Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

‘N-no. But, Adam!’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘You promised!’

He silenced her with a kiss, and brought his naked body to hers. As flesh met flesh, both of them gasped. Trembling in his eagerness, Adam eased her onto her back. ‘Oh, Cecily, the feel of you—so soft, so…’

In the glow of the braziers Adam could see more of her than she most likely realised. Her skin was creamy, her breasts high and firm. Her eyes looked dark, dazed. She was the most beautiful creature in the world. Burying his face in her neck, he let his hand drift down over her breast. Immediately her nipple peaked under his fingers.

‘Adam!’

Her voice contained shock, but no displeasure. And that nipple was a temptation he could not resist. Smiling, he kissed a path down her shoulder and over her breast, so that he could take it deep into his mouth.

‘Adam!’ Her hands were in his hair, stroking, caressing, holding him to her. She liked it. She liked it…One small hand was sliding under his armpit, tugging him back up, urging his mouth back to her.

‘Adam…’

Her mouth opened under his and she continued to move restively under him. Her scent filled his nostrils, more intoxicating than any wine, and her hands slid down his sides. When she pressed him to her, and thrust her hips instinctively at him, Adam heard himself moan. ‘Sweetheart, yes…’

‘Show me, Adam. Show me what to do.’ Her hand was inching round to his front, but it was too much, too soon. He felt ready to burst. If he was not careful it would be over in seconds. Catching her hand, he eased away and set it back on his waist.

‘Adam?’

‘Not yet, love,’ he muttered, quivering with tension. ‘You will spoil it.’

‘Adam?’ Her breath caught and she turned her head away, her voice small. ‘You don’t like me touching you?’

Gently he brought her head round and kissed her. ‘No—on the contrary, I like it too much. You…you excite me.’

In the dim light of the braziers her eyes went wide. ‘I do?’

Clearing his throat, he gave a shaky laugh. ‘Too much, I fear. You unman me, Cecily.’

‘I…I don’t understand.’

‘Here.’ He kissed her cheek and her collarbone. ‘This first time, let us start with me pleasuring you.’

There were questions in her eyes, but he settled his lips at her breast and ran his fingers over the silky skin at her sides and down her thighs. They parted at his lightest touch, and when his fingers found her secret woman’s place she made a sound that was part-gasp, part-moan.

‘That’s…Oh! Adam, that’s…Yes, that. Adam, don’t stop, please…’

She was making tiny incoherent sounds—sounds that made him think he could wait no longer. Gritting his teeth, fighting his own instincts—instincts that were prompting him to roll onto her and push himself deep, deep inside—Adam kissed, he stroked, he teased, he caressed. He kept reminding himself that his bride was innocent, that she was a virgin, but it was hard for him to remember because she was panting, her breath coming in short gasps, and all the while she clung to him.

‘Adam—Adam, please.’

His innocent wife’s nails were gouging holes in his arm and shoulder, and then it happened. Her breath stopped and her whole body went tight as a bow. Under his fingers the warm flesh throbbed.

She let out a sigh and her body went slack. ‘Adam, wh…what was that?’

‘Pleasure, I hope.’

Another soft sigh. ‘Pleasure indeed.’ She gave his shoulder a gentle bite and licked it.

He groaned, utterly lost. The musky scent of her arousal filled his consciousness. In all the world there was only Cecily and himself. When her hands started to explore his body again, Adam could wait no longer. ‘Now?’

‘Mmm…yes!’

He moved over her, positioning himself carefully, with his weight on his elbows. She writhed. ‘Stop, Princess, stop. When you do that—’ Gritting his teeth, Adam rested his forehead against hers. ‘It is too much. You must hold still—please hold still. I am trying not to hurt you.’

She smiled at him through the dusky light, and as he readied to push she pressed a series of kisses to his mouth, took hold of his hips.

‘Careful, love. Steady, or you’ll—’

Another smile, and she pulled him to her. Inside. He was inside. It felt like coming home. He moved once, twice, before he remembered: innocent, she was innocent. Somehow he froze and managed to lift his head. ‘You moved. I hurt you.’

‘Only for a moment.’ Under him her hips were busy, pressing towards him, moving away, finding her natural rhythm. ‘Can we move again? Together?’

Innocent no more. His convent bride. Heart thudding, Adam buried his head in her neck and rocked his body back and forth. Someone moaned—both of them moaned. ‘No pain?’

‘No pain. I think—if you move again—there might be more pleasure.’

Heart singing, he kept moving. Back, forth, back, forth, the rhythm already perfect. ‘That…pleases?’

‘Don’t…stop.’

Her breath was coming fast. His matched it. The tension was building. It was building too fast. But it had been a long time for him, and she was…she was not helping him slow down. She was covering his face in kisses, nipping at his ear, moaning. His innocent bride. He could not last very long at this rate. One more push, perhaps two, maybe three…

Beneath him, Cecily went rigid. Her insides gripped him. ‘Adam!’

A heartbeat later her name was torn from him in a rush of joy.

By mid-morning the following day Cecily was in the cookhouse, breaking her fast with a thick wedge of Lufu’s latest batch of wholewheat bread. She was sinfully late rising—again.

Still glowing as a result of the carnal love she had discovered with Adam during the previous night, she smeared a wedge of bread with honey and sat on a three-legged stool to warm her toes by the central cooking fire. Who would have thought one of William’s knights could be so gentle? He’d made it beautiful for her. Carnal love. The love that Mother Aethelflaeda had railed against. With Adam it was…She sighed, aware that the colour in her cheeks owed as much to the memory of her wedding night as it did to Lufu’s cooking fire. Even with so much horror between them Adam had made it beautiful. Recalling how he’d overcome her reluctance and had winkled them out of their clothes, down to the last stitch, she hid a smile behind her bread.

‘My lady?’

‘Oh! Sorry, Lufu, what did you say?’ Really, she must try to give more than half an ear to the girl.

‘I was talking about Brian, my lady. He’s a miracle-worker. Not bad—for a foreigner…’

The cookhouse was indeed improved beyond recognition. Logs and kindling were stacked high to one side, ready for use. Well-scoured pots and pans hung in neat array on the walls; the workbenches and tables had been scalded; months of dirt had been scrubbed away; the floor was clean.

‘I’m glad he was helpful.’

‘Aye. He had those useless miller’s boys jumping about and no mistake.’

‘Where are they this morning?’

‘Gone to see to the slaughtering. Brian said it was long overdue.’

Cecily stared. Brian was in the right. The slaughtering was long overdue—it was not for nothing that November was known as the month of blood. She had observed as much to Adam upon their arrival back at Fulford. ‘Evidently there really is more to Brian than soldiering,’ she murmured, recalling something Adam had said.

The rumble of cartwheels sounded on the track outside. Bread in hand, Cecily left the fire to look through the cookhouse door. A moth-eaten mule was drawing a heavily laden cart towards the mead hall, its hooves cutting through the last shreds of mist which clung to the ruts in the road.