Besieged (28 page)

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Authors: Bertrice Small

BOOK: Besieged
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When she was in control of herself again some minutes passed. She became aware that he was bathing her gently with the love cloths. She watched him through half-closed eyes. “I have taught you well,” she murmured softly.
He looked at her, his eyes dark with unconcealed passion. “Now, ’tis I who wants more, Fortune.” He knelt over her, and taking his manhood in his hand, he rubbed it against her lips. Back and forth, back and forth, and then her little tongue shot from between those tempting lips, and began to lick at him. “Yes, my poppet, that’s it,” he encouraged her as his manhood began to tingle in anticipation. She opened her mouth now, not protesting at all as he guided himself in, and sighed deeply when she began to nurse upon him, at first tentatively, and then more strongly. “Ah, God, Fortune, ’tis sweet.” He began to harden and swell until he more than filled her dainty mouth. Slowly he withdrew himself from the hot, wet cavity.
Fortune was trembling with her own desire now. What they had done had been incredibly exciting for her. She wondered if other women serviced their husbands in such a manner. Her breasts felt hard and aching, as if they would burst. Her pleasure place was already wet with her juices, and so filled with sensation it almost burned. She gasped when her husband slid down her body, and spreading her open brought her legs over his shoulders so he might service her as she had him.
“Ohh yesssss!”
she breathed, encouraging him.
“Please!”
She was all musk and honey. Hot and slick, and so eager. Her little jewel was swollen and visibly throbbing. He touched it with the tip of his facile tongue, and she shrieked with its sensitivity. Now he played with it, flicking his tongue back and forth while she writhed and moaned with her rising pleasure until the first wave of her lust burst. It was then he entered her body, pushing slowly inside her as her legs wrapped about him once again. “Wanton, little witch,” he taunted her, his love lance flashing back and forth with increasing speed.
“I love you!”
His lips found her, and he kissed her hungrily.
His mouth bruised hers but Fortune didn’t care. Their passion was incredible, and unlike anything she had experienced with him before. “You are so randy, my husband,” she told him. “I hope you will not change as the years go by. Ah! Ahh!
Ahhhhhh!”
The pleasure was rising, rising, rising, and then it burst again leaving her shaken with her joy and delight.
“I love you too, my darling!”
she told him as she yanked the coverlet over them.
They awoke again to the glowing light of a spring dawn coming soft, and faintly golden into their chamber. The fire had long since gone out, the great oak tub blocking whatever warmth it might have provided had it been ablaze. Fortune sneezed, and then she sneezed again. Her husband crawled, swearing softly, from the bed, going across the room to push the great oak tub from before the fireplace, but there was little room. He knelt, and poked among the coals, but their life had been long extinguished. Kieran sneezed.
“Merde!”
He swore more volubly now. “I think I am catching an ague.”
“I know I am,” she responded. “Can’t you get the fire going?”
“I’ll have to go down to the hall and fetch some live coals, for these are dead.” He sneezed a second and third time.
Fortune couldn’t help herself. She chuckled aloud, and then as quickly explained to her aggrieved-looking spouse. “I think there is a lesson in this, Kieran. Do not make love wet, and then sleep in a damp bed on a chilly spring night. I think we had best get some clothing on, and then go down to the hall to get warm. The servants will take care of the chamber, and empty the tub for us, but I could use some oat stir-about, and some hot mulled cider, sir.”
“I concur,” he said. Then a twinkle lit his eyes. “But ’twas a grand evening’s entertainment we had, my lusty wife, was it not?”
Fortune laughed aloud.
April came to an end, and their time in Ulster was growing short. Kieran had gathered several Catholic families as well as individual men and women who were willing to leave their homeland and go to the New World. There were fourteen men. Most were farmers, but for Bruce Morgan, who had been his father’s apprentice and was a good blacksmith. There was also a cooper, a tanner, a shoemaker, two weavers, two fishermen, and a female physician, Mistress Happeth Jones, who came from Enniskillen. She had been driven out by her Protestant neighbors who suggested she might be a witch. Before they might act on their assumption, Mistress Jones had packed her belongings and fled to Maguire’s Ford. Mistress Jones had no declared faith, but she had heard that in Maguire’s Ford there was more tolerance than in the rest of Ulster, and so she had come.
“Do you practice witchcraft?” Kieran asked her bluntly.
“Of course not,” Mistress Jones answered him indignantly. She was a plump, sweet-faced woman with dark hair, rosy cheeks, and bright blue eyes that surveyed him with a level gaze. “The ignorant always try to explain what they cannot by crying witchery, sir. I am a physician as was my father who taught me. I am a healer, as was my mother, who had
the touch.
I have it also. My success in Enniskillen succeeded in arousing jealousy in the town’s two other physicians, and its surgeon. ’Twas they who started the rumors. Not only was I a better doctor than they were, but I was a woman, and we all know that women are only good for bearing children and keeping a man’s house,” she finished with a twinkle in her eye.
“You have no husband?” he pressed her.
“I have no time for a husband,” she replied tartly.
“Jones is not an Ulster name,” he said.
“My parents came from Anglesey,” she told him. “My grandfather was a physician at Beaumaris. My mother’s people were merchants who traded with Ireland. Since my grandfather Jones had two sons, and both followed in his footsteps, my father, who was the younger, had no choice but to leave Anglesey to seek a place where his skills would be needed. Anglesey is a poor place, and one physician and his elder son were more than enough. I was my parents’ only child, and a wee baby when we came to Enniskillen,” she concluded her explanation.
“It will not be easy in the New World, Mistress Jones,” Kieran told her. “Have you no one to go with you?”
“There is Taffy,” she said quietly. “He is part of the reason it was so easy to believe witchcraft of me.”
“Why?”
“He is a dwarf, sir, and he is mute, but he is intelligent, and understands everything said to him. His mother abandoned him when she saw what he was going to be. I have raised him as I would have my own child. He assists me, and is my apothecary. He is not ugly, just tiny. And there are my dogs, sir. I do not keep a cat for obvious reasons,” she finished with a chuckle.
He laughed. He liked her, and knew Fortune would too. “There are certain things you must bring,” he said. “Have you the coin to purchase them? We can help if you do not. Your skills, and that of your assistant, will be valuable assets to us.”
“When do we leave?” she asked him.
“My wife and I will depart for Scotland, and then England in a few days’ time,” he explained. “Then I must be introduced to Lord Baltimore, who is heading this expedition, and convince him to take us with him. My people will remain in Ulster until I send for them. It may be this summer, or it may not be until next year. We have the ships, and they will take our party from here. There is no necessity to travel to England,” Kieran said. “The horses will come with the rest of you.”
Adam Leslie celebrated his fifteenth birthday on the fourteenth day of May. He was as tall as his father now, and openly eager to be his own master. Jasmine, however, took her second Leslie son aside.
“You must keep the peace here,” she said. “You cannot allow
any
persecution of either Catholic or Protestant in Maguire’s Ford. There will be those who will come and attempt to make you choose sides, Adam,
but you must not give way.
No faith is better than another, whatever certain men may say. St. Augustine said,
Love God, and do as you please.
It is good advice, my son. I hope you will go down to Trinity in Dublin in another year, or so. As long as Rory Maguire is here to see to your interests you are free to educate yourself fully.”
“I’ve hae all the education I can stomach, Mam,” he told her. “Duncan is the one who hae a love of book learning. I can read, write, and keep the accounts. I can speak French and Italian, although what good that will do me, I dinna know. Now I would learn from Maguire how this estate is managed, and how to breed the horses. Free me this day forever from the good-hearted, but dull Samuel Steen.”
His mother laughed, and ruffled his dark hair. “Very well, Adam, you are freed. ’Tis better, I suspect, that you learn the business of life now that you have such a responsibility on your strong shoulders.”
“Do I hae charge over Duncan?” the young man asked.
Jasmine thought a moment. Duncan Leslie was now twelve years old. Still a boy. Adam was yet young enough to be a bully. Jasmine did not see the Reverend Mr. Steen, a well-natured man, as having the final authority over Duncan. Mr. Steen could be easily led as he was, by nature, a peacemaker. “Cullen Butler will have charge over your brother,” she told Adam. “And if he is not here, then Rory Maguire. You do not need any more responsibility than I have given you, Adam,” Jasmine concluded, softening her decision.
“If there is trouble,” Adam said, “there are some who will nae appreciate that you appointed two Catholics to hae charge over one of your sons, Mam. What are we to do then?”
“Then,” Jasmine said, “the final authority will rest with your father, Adam, and as he will be over the sea in Scotland, no decision of any importance regarding Duncan can be made until Jemmie Leslie decides it, eh?”
Adam Leslie grinned. “Yer a clever slyboots, Mam.”
Rory Maguire watched them as they spoke. Would he ever see her again? he wondered.
Or their daughter?
It was Fortune he feared for now. The New World was an ocean away, yet he would not brave the journey. His lass was a fine combination of her Celtic ancestors and her Mughal ancestors. And how she loved Kieran Devers! He smiled to himself. She had every bit the fire and passion her mother had. And she was so eager to begin this grand adventure with the man she loved.
I hardly know you, he pondered silently. And you know even less of me, my daughter. Mine is a secret that will go with me to my grave. Only on the day we meet in heaven will you know the truth, Fortune Mary, but I’ll miss you, lass. This year has been the best in all my life because you were here for me to see, and to be with, but you cannot know that. Once, long ago, I bid your mam farewell, and then I wept all the while telling myself that men did not cry. I’ll weep twice as much and as hard this time, lassie, but at least I know you are loved. Not just by your mother, and James Leslie, but by that wild Ulsterman you’ve gone and married yourself to, Fortune Mary Devers. And my love will go with you, my daughter. You will always have my heart, even as your mother has had it all these years.
The last loose end to be tied before they might leave Maguire’s Ford was Rois’s marriage to Kevin Hennessey. The ceremony was performed in the castle’s wee chapel the morning of their departure. The young couple would be going with Fortune and Kieran as their personal servants, although once they were in the New World, Kevin would take over the responsibility of the horses that would be coming with them. Kevin’s parents were long dead, which had played a part in his decision to come. Rois’s parents and grandparents saw her wed to her childhood sweetheart. Michael Duffy wiped a tear from his eye to see his daughter married, but his mother, Bride, wept openly and noisily as her granddaughter spoke her vows. All knew that Bride’s tears were because this would be the last time she was likely to see her youngest granddaughter, and Rois had always been a particular favorite of Bride’s.
In the hall the bride and groom were toasted, and wished every good fortune. The time had come to depart Maguire’s Ford. Jasmine bid her two sons a tender farewell, promising to return in a year or two to check on them. This knowledge cheered her many friends who had thought never to see the duchess of Glenkirk again once she left them.
“Nay,” laughed Jasmine. “I must make certain these two scamps do what they ought. Then, too, one day I shall have to find wives for them, won’t I? This one”—and she tousled Adam’s hair—”is already sneaking about looking at the lasses. Didn’t think I knew?” she teased Adam. “Even from Scotland I shall know what mischief you are up to, my darling laddies.” Then she hugged her sons. Now she turned to Rory.
“Continue as you have in the past, old friend,” she said. “I made no mistake the day I put my trust in you, Rory Maguire. I thank you for all you have done, and for all you will do. I shall be back, I promise you.” Then Jasmine surprised him by leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. “I think I may do that, mayn’t I?” she queried the blushing man. Then she patted his hand. “Farewell, Rory, until we meet again.”
“Why you’re red as a beet, Rory Maguire,” Fortune said with a chuckle as she put her arms about him, and hugged him, kissing his other cheek heartily. “Mama did surprise you, didn’t she? But I haven’t. You should know by now that I love and adore you, Godfather. I shall miss you, Rory. Are you certain you don’t want to come to the New World with us? What fine horses we shall raise from the fine stock you will send us. Ulster is such a sad place, I fear, and growing sadder.”

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