Page 24 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

“Aye,”

she answered him, for there was no doubt her nieces were pretty children.

He stopped just past their side of the low wall with its little wicket gate and, pulling her into his arms, murmured against her mouth, “Are ye certain ye’re not wi’ child yet, lovey?”

Then his lips brushed her brow.

“Aye, Alex. Not yet. With some ’tis quick, and with others it takes time,”

she said feeling just the tiniest twinge of guilt for she knew well that there would be no babes just yet.

Just before the wedding ceremony at Queen’s Malvern Daisy had spoken to her in private, and although at first her words had shocked Velvet, she had listened, fascinated.

For the first time in many years Daisy had felt at a loss as to whether or not she was doing the right thing, but thinking how upset her Mistress Skye would be upon learning of her daughter’s marriage, she decided a grandchild in addition would be far too much to tolerate, and so she spoke out. “I know that this is something that your mama would tell you if she were here,”

she began, “but she ain’t, and so I feel it my duty to do so. Years ago your Aunt Eiblin, your mother’s sister that’s the doctoring nun in Ireland, gave your mama the recipe for a potion that prevents you from having babes. I know you ain’t too happy about this marriage—not that you don’t love the earl,”

she hastily amended, “but I know you hoped to wait until your parents returned. I know you also wanted to be courted like a princess in a story, and I know you’re far too young to be a mother right now even though your mama had your brother, Ewan, at sixteen. She was too young herself, and many’s the time she’s said it, though she’d not wish Master Ewan away.”

Daisy held out a small crystal goblet. “Drink it,” she said, “and you’ll be safe this night.” Then she pulled back her hand. “You’re not already with child, are you?”

“Nay,”

said Velvet, her eyes round with surprise.

“Then drink this,”

replied Daisy, holding the goblet out again. “I’ve a vial of it already made up for you and I’ve entrusted the recipe to Pansy with careful instructions. As long as you don’t want babes, take it daily and you’ll be safe. When you’re ready to start your family, stop the potion and let nature take its course.”

“Would Père Jean-Paul approve?”

Velvet queried nervously. “I cannot think it is permitted by the holy church.”

“Father Jean-Paul is a good man, but he’s never borne a babe, nor is he likely to. Remember this potion was given your mama by her own sister, a holy woman. Would the good nun go against God’s law, child?”

Daisy counted on Velvet’s innocence to win her over. If Mistress Skye disapproved when she returned, it was Pansy who had the recipe, not Velvet, and on her mother’s orders Pansy would destroy the formula.

For only the briefest moment Velvet hesitated. She wanted children, but not so quickly like Angel. Marriage to Alex could be delightful if only she could be sure there would be no baby right away. So she reached out and, taking the little goblet from Daisy, drained it. Each day since then she had taken a small dose of the golden-green potion that smelled of angelica, and it had obviously worked, for her monthly flows came regularly.

“I want to put a bairn in yer belly,”

Alex Whispered. “When I see how rich with life Angel is, and Rob’s three wee girlies, I ache for a child of our own.”

“ ’Twill be in God’s own good time, my lord,”

she answered, hoping her guilt did not show. Dammit, must he harp so on babies?

“Aye, in God’s own good time, but think of the fun we will have in the meantime trying to execute the Lord’s will,”

he teased her, and Velvet giggled.

“Fie, my lord! Do not be sacrilegious!”

she scolded him, but he heard the laughter in her voice. While she spoke she surreptitiously scooped up a handful of snow from the stone balustrade that flanked the steps to the terrace of Greenwood, and, whirling about, she pelted him with a downy snowball.

With a roar of mock outrage he fought back, pulling her back down the steps and chasing her through the garden. With a shriek, Velvet fled him, stopping every few seconds to toss handfuls of snow at him. They raced about the garden like a pair of unruly children until, attempting to make a run for the steps to the house, Velvet was caught and pulled down into the snow by her husband, who rolled her onto her back and tickled her until, giggling uncontrollably, she begged him to stop.

“Stop? Impudent wench, ye deserve much more punishment for this disrespect of yer lord and master!”

Straddling her, he bent to kiss her, but Velvet turned her head aside.

“Master?”

She pretended outrage. “Master, is it? Are we back to horses and dogs again? Which am I, pray, sir?”

“A kitten!”

he answered quickly. “A hissing, spitting, ferocious kitten!”

“Meooow! Fssst! Kittens respond best to warmth and affection.”

Her emerald eyes sparkled mischievously.

“Indeed, madame?”

Swinging himself off her, he pulled her up. “Then let me take this small, bedraggled kitten into the house,”

he murmured. “Into my bed to cuddle it and make it more amenable.”

She shook her skirts free of the snow. “Purrrr!”

she responded, and then she darted away from him and up the steps into the house.

With a burst of laughter he was after her, chasing her through the library, into the main hall of Greenwood, up the stairs, and down the passageway to their apartments. They burst into the rooms, startling Pansy, who had been dozing by the anteroom fire. Seated by her side upon the floor, his head in her lap, was Dugald, who leaped to his feet.

“M’lord! M’lady!”

He poked at the sleepy Pansy, hissing, “Get up, lass!”

Bleary-eyed, Pansy stumbled to her feet, and Velvet realized the lateness of the hour. “Just undo me, Pansy,”

she said, “and then find your own bed.”

Pansy nodded but said, “I’ll put your gown away, m’lady. ’Twill only take a minute.”

She followed her mistress into her bedchamber.

The gown removed, Velvet stood in her silken undergarments thinking dreamily back on the lovely evening. Pansy fumbled at her neck and removed first her necklace and then her earbobs. Clutching the gown and the jewelry, she departed for the dressing room, to return a few moments later.

“Good night, m’lady,”

she said, bobbing a curtsy, “and a Merry Christmas to you!”

“Merry Christmas, Pansy!”

came Velvet’s reply. The door shut behind the young tiring woman, and slowly Velvet began to remove her petticoats, underblouse, shoes, and stockings, which she flung upon a chair. Naked, she walked to the small silver ewer holding the warm water that Pansy had prepared and, taking up a little cake of fragrant soap, washed her face and hands and then rinsed her teeth. In the bedroom fireplace the red-orange flames crackled sharply as a log slipped in the grate, sending up a shower of golden sparks. Velvet stretched lazily in the warmth of the room.

“Jesu, ye’re beautiful!”

Alex stood in the doorway that connected their two bedchambers. “I never tire of seeing ye this way, as God has created ye. Yer creamy skin, yer eyes, yer hair! ’Tis all pure perfection, lovey.”

He moved up behind her and, sliding his hands around her, cupped her breasts in his two hands.

The pier glass was before them, and, fascinated, Velvet watched as he caressed her. Her breasts were in perfect proportion to her size, yet as she watched him play with her it seemed as if his big hands made her appear smaller. Her nipples began to tingle with sharp sensations and shriveled into tight little love knots. The rounds of her breasts swelled under his soft, mesmerizing touch.

Velvet sighed deeply and said softly, “Don’t stop, my love. I adore it when you touch me so!”

He smiled at her over her shoulder in the glass. “I’m glad ye’re not one of those icy wenches who undresses in the dark and must have all the candles out,”

he said. “I love to pet my kitten and see her purr with pleasure.”

He bent his head and dropped a kiss on her smooth shoulder.

One of his hands slipped down her satiny skin and moved in a circular motion around her belly while the other remained in possession of a breast. Velvet’s whole body was becoming atingle with a myriad of delightful sensations. She relaxed against her husband and, closing her eyes, murmured contentedly. His long fingers slipped to her Venus mont and, parting the plump lips, found sweet sensitivity. Velvet drew her breath in sharply as her eyes flew open. She couldn’t resist looking into the mirror, and she was half-shocked, half intrigued by what she saw.

Suddenly everything in the deep, half-golden gloom of the room was richer and lusher. Her body seemed more voluptuous than she could ever remember it being. There was a tautness to her belly that gave her skin a silken sheen and belied the melting passion she felt within her. Slowly her eyes dropped to his teasing fingers, and then they widened as she saw her own flesh, pink and glistening with pearly drops of moisture. She was unexpectedly aware of his manhood, hard and insistent, pressing between her tight buttocks. Lifting her eyes, she caught her breath a second time as she saw his face dark with the hot passion he felt for her. He ceased his dalliance and, turning her about, drew her gently into his embrace, his mouth covering hers with a hungry kiss.

The pressure of his lips was hard and fierce, forcing the breath from her. She parted her own lips to catch a breath, and he invaded her mouth with his tongue. Velvet shivered but was not yet ready to give quarter. Together their tongues, those two sleek organs with seeming lives of their own, danced madly back and forth in the dark caverns of their mouths. Then, never lifting his lips from hers, he lifted her up and carried her to their bed. Gently he lowered her, his own body following hers down upon the mattress, which sagged under their combined weights. His fingers tangled in her thick hair holding her head still.

It was a fiercely passionate kiss that drained her totally of whatever will and strength she might have had. Her whole being was attuned to but one thing: to receive pleasure, and to give it.

His mouth now moved from hers to travel a route that took him to her quivering eyelids, her cheeks, her chin, her soft throat with its violently leaping pulse that told him the depth of her own passion. He let his lips linger on that pulse, kissing it softly until it quieted a small bit; then he moved onward down to her lovely breasts. With a sigh Alex took the nipple of one breast into his mouth and sucked it lovingly for several long minutes before saluting its mate as tenderly.

Velvet felt a strong tug of desire deep within her. Why was it that he could make her want him so very much? With a deep sigh of her own, she caressed his head and neck, her hand gradually moving to his shoulders then sliding down his back to fondle his buttocks. He groaned with the pleasure she gave him, and then with a fluid movement he parted her thighs and slid his loveshaft into her fevered body.

Velvet felt tears sliding down her cheeks in a totally uncontrolled fashion as he moved upon her. “I love you!”

she whispered softly. “Dear God, how I love you, my wild Scots husband!”

He kissed her tears, tasting their saltiness upon his tongue, and then he took her face between his hands, saying as he did so, “I love ye, Velvet! There has never been any other woman who engaged my whole heart, and there never will be! I will always be faithful to ye, sweetheart. Always!”

Then they sought love’s perfection in each other’s arms, their souls as well as their bodies blending until there was nothing for either of them but the other in every moment of their love.

Christmas Day dawned with the sound of voices singing carols beneath their windows. Tousled but happy, Velvet and Alex smiled at each other and then arose from their bed, carefully sliding into the night garments that had been laid out for them but never used. Then going to the windows of their bedchamber, they flung them open and cried “Merry Christmas”

to the children who were so sweetly serenading them. The children beamed delightedly at the lord and lady’s approval, and then scrambled for the coppers that Alex tossed to them.

“There’s cakes and ale at the kitchen door,”

Velvet called to the small songsters who, curtsying and bobbing bows, scampered around the side of the house and out of sight.

Alex slipped his arm about his wife and pinched her mischievously. Then he buried his face in her warm bosom, inhaling her sweet fragrance.

“Oh, no, my lord!”

Velvet pushed him away. “We have services to attend in the chapel. The priest is due at eight! Would you cause a scandal?”

“Yes!”

He grinned and grabbed for her.

Skillfully she evaded him. “My lord, fie! As your wife I am the moral arbitrator of this family. We will begin our Christmas properly. What would the holy man think if we are late?”

“He will undoubtedly think of the fine breakfast of brawn with mustard and Malmsey he’ll receive afterwards,”

muttered Alex, but obedient to his young wife’s wishes he repaired to his own room to dress.

Christmas dinner was the main event of the day, and it began at three in the afternoon at the Earl of Lynmouth’s great mansion. The invited guests were few, consisting of the earl’s newly married sister and brother-in-law; the earl’s elder sister and brother-in-law, the Earl and Countess of Alcester, and their five children; Sir Walter Ralegh; and Bess Throckmorton. These last two had been invited separately, and had each managed to get their mistress’s approval for their absence providing they appeared back at court in time for the dancing that night. The queen had no idea that one of her favorite gentlemen and Mistress Throckmorton would be at the same table this Christmas Day.

The meal was a lavish one consisting of several courses each preceded by music from the minstrels’ gallery. They began with great platters carried into the hall by footmen, led by the Earl of Lynmouth’s master of the revels. Upon the platters were seafood of all kinds: sea trout served whole and surrounded by carved lemons and garnished with chervil; sole in a sauce of eggs, heavy cream, and dill; prawns that had been steamed in white wine and stuffed with lobster; a great oaken tub filled with ice and, amid the ice, oysters ready to crack open and eat whole. There was an enormous side of rare beef that was brought in and placed on the sideboard to be carved by an underchef; several fine hams; succulent capons stuffed with dried fruit; an enormous turkey stuffed with both oysters and chestnuts; a pheasant, roasted whole with all its feathers replaced and served on a golden platter; several large pies, one of rabbit, one of pigeon, one of goose, each wheeled in upon its own specially made cart as they were far too large to be carried by hand. There were bowls of carrots glazed in honey, peas cooked with leeks, and lettuces steamed in wine. There was fine white bread, butter, and salt aplenty, but the highlight of the meal was the bringing in of the boar’s head.

The honor of carrying in the beast had been given to young Henry Edwardes, Willow’s eldest son. One day, Robin thought after he had very much pleased his eldest sister by his choice, I shall have my own son to delegate this task to, but for now Henry will more than do. Proudly, the lad, his father’s young image, came forth, led by the master of the revels and preceded by musicians and songsters. Upon a huge silver salver, almost too large for the boy, rested the boar’s head, crowned and garlanded with laurel leaves and rosemary, a lemon in its mouth to suggest plenty. At Henry’s entrance the assembled family arose from the table singing:

“Caput apri defero,

Reddens laudes domino.

The boar’s head in hand bring I,

Bedecked with bays and rosemary;

I pray you all sing merrily,

Quot estis in convivio …

Then, set in its place of honor on the board, the boar’s head was greeted with much cheering.

The Earl of Lynmouth and his guests ate heartily and drank deeply of fine Archambault wines. Even so, the leftovers would easily feed all the beggars who came to his door that night and feed them generously at that, especially when the servants’ leftovers were added.

When the last course of wine-soaked cakes, rich custards, fruit tarts, candied angelica, rose petals, and violets, sweet biscuits, and Malmsey was cleared from the board, the Christmas mummers were let into the hall to perform the time-honored play with St. George, the Saracen, and the Dragon. Along with the three major performers were lesser ones, consisting of Father Christmas with his holly bough, a doctor to cure the “wounds,”

a handsome young boy carrying a wassail bowl, and a pretty little girl with warm brown eyes and golden brown hair who carried the mistletoe.

The children, Willow’s five and Robin’s three, were enchanted by the rather simple performance. Bess Throckmorton turned and smiled at Walter Ralegh who, free of royal restraint, gazed passionately back at her.

“It is almost like my childhood at home,”

she said wistfully.

“And do you find it preferable to your life at court, Bess?” he asked.

She sighed. “At court, or so I am told, I serve the best interests of my family who have ever been in service to the crown. I love the queen, my mistress, but that does not mean I do not long for a simpler life in the country, a husband, children, and my own hearth. That life I should prefer to the court.”

Then she smiled sadly. “I am, however, past my prime in the marriage mart, and, lacking a dowry, who will have me?”

“I would have you, Bess,”

he declared softly. “I have more than enough wealth for us both!”

“And how long would you have it, Walter, should you cease to be Her Majesty’s loyal and loving knight?”

she asked. “I would not be the cause of your downfall, not after all you have done to gain your position.”