Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

Throat dry as dust, she swallowed. Might he want her again? Perhaps a cup of mulled wine had not been such a bad idea? she thought, shooting another covert glance at her husband’s bare back. The muscles there flexed in the most fascinating manner. His shoulders were so wide, and the way his back narrowed down to his waist…Why, even his back pleases my eyes, she realised, startled. His hair was glossy in the candlelight, dark as a raven’s wing. His neck still looked vulnerable to her, used as she was to men who wore their hair long, in the Saxon fashion.

Adam turned, caught her watching him, and a dark eyebrow arched upwards. The scattering of hairs on his chest was dark and ran down—ran down to…What did he look like there?

‘Cecily?’

Cheeks burning, she wrenched her gaze up and caught the tail-end of a grin. ‘Mmm?’

Leaning towards her, he took up her braid and idly began to unplait it. ‘I ride for Winchester with Richard in the morning. I’ll leave young Brian in charge of the men, and I plan to be back well before nightfall. Are you happy to rest here for the day?’

‘Of course.’

He fanned her hair out over her shoulders, warm fingers lingering on her breasts. Her nipples tightened. Oh, no, it looked as though Adam Wymark was going to want to do…that all over again. How shocking. She swallowed. When he repeated the movement, cupping her breasts through the linen nightgown, a pleasant ache started in her belly. Oh, yes! So it had been last night, she thought, holding back a moan. How did he do that? Carnal love. He was very skilled at it. And truly Mother Aethelflaeda would be disgusted with her response. So wanton. She felt hot all over. And she was sure today was not a day that was approved for doing…that…

‘That’s good,’ Adam said, clearing his throat and continuing with his gentle caresses until her nipples felt as though they were going to burst free of the gown. He was touching her, and her body was straining towards him, greedy for more. ‘Very good.’

Fingers under her chin, he brought his head to hers and their lips met in a lingering kiss. The moan escaped her and Adam drew back, his hand going to the tie of his chausses.

‘Wait! Adam, you forgot the candles!’

Eyes immediately guarded, he gave her one of his lop-sided smiles. ‘The candles—of course. How could I forget?’ He pinched out his candle; she pinched out hers. Around the bed the darkness thickened, save for the glowing braziers. ‘Better, Princess?’ She heard a quiet sigh.

‘Y-yes. I’m sorry, Adam.’

His body met hers, warm and welcoming, and Cecily melted. He had the power to turn her bones to water. Carnal love. Why had no one thought to tell her how exquisite it could be? And on a forbidden day too.

‘No matter,’ he said, skimming his hand down her flank as she fell back into the pillows, helpless with sinful longing and guilty delight. Utterly reprehensible. He twitched at her nightgown. ‘But, since you are trying to hide in the dark, this can come off.’

‘Yes, Adam.’ She raised her arms to help him. ‘I did not think you would want me tonight.’

‘Not want you?’ Hand on her gown, he stilled. ‘Why on earth not?’

‘It is not one of the approved days. Mother Aethelflaeda had a calendar—’

‘A calendar? Dear God! Cecily, I will not permit that woman to poison what we have. If we want each other, we will have each other. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Adam.’ If we want each other, he had said. Not If I want you, but we. Her heart swelled.

‘One day, Princess. One day.’

‘Adam?’

The nightgown was being drawn over her head and muffled his answer. ‘One day we will make love naked, in broad day. We will hide nothing.’

‘Adam…’

‘But in the meantime…’ Shifting over her, he gently bit her neck. ‘In the meantime…’

‘Matty? Matty!’

Gudrun, Cecily thought sleepily, has the voice of a trumpet when she chooses. She rolled over, buried her nose in Adam’s pillow, and breathed in his scent. Last night, after they had done that not just once but twice, Adam had muttered something about not wishing her to catch a chill and pulled her nightgown back over her head. She had fallen asleep in his arms, but this morning he was gone—to Winchester, apparently. She inhaled deeply. Adam. She would get up in a moment, truly she would. She only wanted to doze on his pillow for a couple more minutes, recapturing…

‘Not got him!’ Down in the hall, Gudrun’s voice rose to a wail. ‘Saints, where is he? He can’t have walked!’

All thoughts of dozing were put to flight by the urgency of Gudrun’s tone. Lurching out of bed, Cecily grabbed a shawl and rushed out onto the landing. She peered over the guard-rail. ‘Gudrun, whatever’s the matter?’

Gudrun’s face turned up towards her, white as whey. ‘It’s Philip, my lady. He’s not in his basket!’ She turned to Matty, who was calmly eating an apple. ‘Are you sure you didn’t put him down somewhere?’

Matty lifted her chin. Unlike Gudrun, she didn’t look the least bit worried. ‘I’m not about to forget Philip, Gudrun. I’m not daft. Maybe one of Sir Adam’s men has him?’

Gudrun made an impatient gesture. ‘That’s not likely.’

‘Could be wrong there,’ Matty mumbled through a mouthful of apple. ‘One or two of them seem quite taken with him.’

Careless of her state of undress, Cecily scrambled down the stairs. ‘He can’t be far. Matty, are you positive you didn’t take him over to your mother and leave him there?’

Matty swallowed down some apple and shook her head. ‘Last time I saw him was when he woke to feed in the middle of the night. Gudrun put him back in his basket.’

Cecily eyed Matty’s apple. ‘You didn’t see him in the cookhouse when you went to the storeroom?’

‘Didn’t think to look. Thought he was asleep.’

Cecily’s heart began to beat in heavy strokes. Forcing herself to speak calmly, she wound her shawl about her shoulders. ‘Gudrun, I take it Sir Adam and Sir Richard have already left?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘I’m going to dress. Please fetch Brian—try the armoury, the stables and failing that the practice field. Whatever he’s doing, tell him I need him here at once. We must find Philip. He can’t be far away. In any case, it must almost be time for his next feed.’

Gudrun pressed a hand to her breasts. ‘Past time,’ she said, wincing. Her face tight with worry, she hurried out.

Minutes later, wearing Emma’s blue wool gown and cream veil, Cecily stood frowning by the pillory in the village square. Everyone was looking for Philip, but no one had seen hide nor hair of him since his last feed in the small hours. Where could he be? Or—worse—who could have taken him?

She oversaw Brian’s progress round the village. Harold and Carl were hauled from the stables, knuckling sleep from their eyes. ‘No, sir, we’ve not seen him.’ Father Aelfric and Sigrida were prised out of their cottage. From her standpoint Cecily couldn’t make out their reply, but the priest and his wife shook their heads and looked towards her with puzzled eyes. Brian pounded on the door of the mill—no joy there either. A couple of men were despatched down the road towards the other houses, and she watched them trudge back, shaking their heads.

Brian’s expression was not promising as he returned to her side at the pillory. ‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ he said. ‘No one’s seen him.’

The cookhouse door was closed. Some sixth sense prompted Cecily to ask, ‘Brian, did you speak to Lufu?’

‘Aye, my lady. But she can’t help, either.’ Brian spread his hands. ‘It’s a mystery. Maybe little Philip will cry when he’s hungry, and then we will hear him.’