Blaze Wyndham (13 page)

“Ahah ha ha!” chuckled Lady Dorothy. “Here’s one pretty maid not taken in by your handsome face, Tony. If her sisters are as sensible, I should be pleased to have one as a daughter-in-law.” She reached over and patted Blaze’s hand. “I like you, Blaze Wyndham!” she said.

“Gently, my love,” Edmund admonished his bride. “You rise too quickly to Tony’s bait. If you continue to give him pleasure, he will continue to tease you.”

“I would certainly give him no pleasure!” she protested softly.

“Good,” he replied, “for I would have you pleasure only me, sweet wife.” He took her hand beneath the table, squeezing it for emphasis.

Blaze glanced up at him from beneath her thick lashes. Seeing the intensity of his gaze, she blushed a fiery pink.

The village children ran happily about the lawns. Blaze turned her eyes to them in her confusion. Beside her she heard her husband laugh softly, and the intimacy of the sound sent a shiver up her spine. She felt her breath shorten, and hoped that she wouldn’t faint. A troupe of gaily clad Morris dancers arrived, having heard of the marriage celebration, and asked the earl’s leave to entertain the wedding party. Since Morris dancers were considered good luck, the troupe was welcomed.

The afternoon was sunny and warm for mid-September. The dancers with their garb of bright ribbons and their tinkling bells moved gracefully, tripping through the ancient patterns, so old that their origins were lost in time. When they had finished their entertainment they were invited to join the feasting, and the earl rewarded the leader of the dancers with several silver coins. Local musicians now began to play upon the pipes, the tabor, and the drums. Anthony Wyndham and Owen FitzHugh thrilled some of the prettier village girls by dancing the country dances with them. By late afternoon, with the casks running low and the sun beginning to disappear behind the hills, it was deemed time to end the wedding celebration.

Since it was assumed that the bridal couple had slept together the night before, following the proxy ceremony, there was to be no “putting-to-bed” frolic, much to the disappointment of some of the guests.

“A lot of silly nonsense, if you ask me,” said Lady Dorothy. “I remember when I married Richard how embarrassing it all was. You are fortunate to be spared, Blaze. Tell me, though I know it is early, will you be keeping Christmas here at RiversEdge? Catherine always kept a magnificent Christmas, the full twelve days.”

“I should like to do that, ma’am,” replied Blaze shyly. “I shall need you, however, to teach me how it is done, for I have never run a big house myself. I fear the simple customs of Ashby will not do for such a fine house of which I am now mistress.”

“Why, bless me, Blaze Wyndham, I shall be delighted to guide you, though I doubt after this year you shall need me. Still, I am happy to be of use. Many of the customs here were kept in my own childhood. RiversEdge is a large house. You will want to invite your family to come for the Twelve Days of Christmas.” Lady Dorothy was beaming with gratification that her brother’s young bride would ask her aid.

“That was nicely done,” approved Edmund several minutes after his sister and her family departed for their own home.

“I do need her help,” Blaze replied candidly. “Though I would bring a part of myself to this family, I would not ignore the conventions that have been a part of RiversEdge since before my coming.”

“What an interesting little creature you are, Blaze. You have a charming innocence, yet you have wisdom beyond your years.”

“You flatter me, my lord. I have but a modicum of common sense. It is nothing more.”

He smiled at her modesty. “Did you like our neighbors?” he asked her.

“Very much. Is the Earl of Marwood really looking for a bride, or did he simply seek to flatter me?”

“It is as he said. He was betrothed for twelve years to a young woman his late parents chose. She died last spring.”

“Would he be an eligible parti for one of my sisters?”

“Absolutely! He is twenty-five years old. His title is ancient, though both his estates and his fortune are small. The dowry I have settled upon each of your sisters would be more than adequate for such a match. Have you a bride in mind for him?”

“I do not know him well enough to choose, but I think either Bliss or Blythe would suit. May we invite Owen FitzHugh for the Twelve Days of Christmas, my lord?”

“Aye. He would like that. He has no family left, and it is lonely for him. He spends little time on his estates, but usually follows the court.”

“I am surprised then that he has not found a wife amongst the ladies of the court,” Blaze remarked.

“There are many women at court, my sweet innocent, but those who are free are usually not the sort of women a man would take to wive. You would not know about such things, however.”

The passing days slipped into weeks. It was an unusually mild and golden autumn. Blaze rode over the estates owned by her husband, and was somewhat taken aback by the vastness of the Earl of Langford’s lands. He possessed enormous flocks of sheep and cattle. His orchards stretched as far as the eye could see. There was a large forest whose hunting rights were the Wyndham family’s by grant of royal charter. There were nine villages belonging to the earl, including the two through which Blaze had passed on her wedding day. More than ever she became aware of the responsibility upon her to produce an heir for her husband. She had never in her life imagined that such holdings or wealth could belong to one person. It was a maturing thought.

Edmund Wyndham courted his young wife with a skill that only a man of experience could. There was not a morning that she did not open her eyes but to find some trinket or other token of his favor upon her pillow. Though he normally spent a great deal of time monitoring the running of his estates, Edmund temporarily put aside most of his personal responsibilities in order to spend the time with Blaze.

He found her an interesting young girl with a good mind and an eager intelligence that readily learned all he was willing to teach her. She could read and write. She had been taught simple mathematics, and church Latin. It was actually more than he had expected in a girl who had been raised so simply in a backwater such as Ashby. She had a small lute upon which she could play. Her voice was clear and sweet. Finding that she had an ear for languages, he began to broaden her Latin, and added Greek and French to her curriculum.

Their lives became a pleasant routine that ended before the fireplace in her receiving room each evening. There they sprawled upon a carpet before the warm blaze while he taught her the history of their country in story form. She had known very little of it, and she loved to hear his rich voice speaking to her of kings and queens, knights and maidens fair; battles in England, France, and the Holy Land; courtly love and tournaments.

Blaze was most intrigued by the current ruling family, the Tudors. She loved the tale of how Princess Elizabeth of York and Henry of Lancaster had wed, thus ending the Wars of the Roses and bringing peace back to England once more. She wept at the plight of poor Queen Catherine, the current king’s wife, who could only produce one living child, her daughter, Princess Mary. Now it was rumored that after many years of marriage the king wished to put his wife aside.

“How can he do that?” Blaze demanded of Edmund one evening.

“There is precedent for such things,” he answered her.

“But she is his wife in the eyes of both God and man, my lord!”

“Henry is King of England, Blaze, and he must have a son. Catherine of Aragon cannot seem to produce a living son, and is now, if the rumors be true, past childbearing. Other Christian queens have, with the church’s blessing, stepped aside. Some have founded their own religious orders. Others have simply retired to some quiet spot and been honored for their selflessness to both their lord and their country.

“The queen, in my opinion, is a prideful and stubborn woman. King Henry should not have wed with her in the first place. She was his brother’s widow, and had not the old king who ruled then been so greedy to gain her dowry, she would have been long gone back to Spain. Old King Henry, the present king’s father, amassed great wealth in his time. When Prince Arthur died, only half of Catherine of Aragon’s dowry had been paid. The old king thought to gain the other half by betrothing the widow to his younger son, the new heir, our present King Henry.

“The Spanish king, Ferdinand, was as greedy as our old king. An English prince had already, he believed, tasted of his young heifer’s milk, and without the whole dowry. He saw no reason to keep his bargain with England to pay the full dowry. The English were not threatening to return Catherine, and were even betrothing her to the young Henry despite the fact that she was almost six years his senior.

“The old king stubbornly refused to give up his belief that the dowry would be paid. It is said that once it was, he intended returning Catherine to Spain and betrothing his heir to a French princess. The Spanish dowry was, after all, agreed upon for the match between Prince Arthur and Princess Catherine, not Henry and Catherine. There would have been no dishonor involved in the act.”

“Do kings not believe in morality, sir? To have gained the whole dowry and then returned the princess would have been a terrible thing!” protested Blaze.

“A king’s morality is generally suited to his own desires, my sweet,” said Edmund with a smile. It pleased him that she reasoned so well. He would have to add logic to her schedule of learning.

“Why, if his father really didn’t want him to marry the Spanish princess, did King Henry do it?” asked Blaze curiously.

“It is likely that the old king shared nothing of his plans with Henry. You see, Blaze, he was totally unprepared for Prince Arthur’s death. His elder son was his pride and joy. Queen Elizabeth’s too. She died a year after his death in childbed, but some said it was actually grief that killed her. The old king was never really the same after their deaths. He did not think a great deal of his younger son whom he intended for the church, and he preferred to keep the reins of government in his own hands.

“Finally, upon his deathbed old King Henry realized that King Ferdinand had outsmarted him. The rest of the dowry would never be paid. Had he managed to live long enough, I believe that he would have sent the Spanish princess packing, but alas, the old king died before he might correct the situation. The new king, our King Henry, was eighteen then. He was, and is, a tall, handsome man. The Spanish princess was a petite woman with red-gold hair and a pretty, youthful face. The king had admired her ever since he was a boy. He was not so much in love with Catherine as he was in love with love. Before anyone might convince him otherwise, he wed with her.

“There are some who say that her incapacity to birth a living son, and the fact that the two boys who did live past birth, but died soon afterward, is God’s sentence upon the king for taking his brother’s wife as his own wife. Those are judgments I prefer not to make, but I do believe that the queen should now step aside and allow the king to contract another, hopefully more fruitful marriage. The fault lies with the queen’s inability and not the king’s. That much is plain.”

“Is it, my lord? How so? Both the king and the queen are responsible for the child’s initial creation. Why should the whole blame be placed upon the poor queen?”

“It is obviously the queen, Blaze, for the king has a healthy living son by another lady.”

“But if he is wed to the queen, how can that be?” she demanded.

For a moment Edmund Wyndham was completely and totally startled. That she was innocent he knew, but he had never suspected the scope of her naivete to be that wide. “Men,” he said quietly, “even married men, occasionally find amusement and solace in the beds of women other than their wives, Blaze. If a man is particularly loyal to a woman other than his wife, she is called his mistress.”

“Have you ever had a mistress?” she asked him artlessly.

“No.”

“You never made love with any other woman but your first wife?”

“I did not say
that
, my sweet,” he replied, his voice edged with laughter. Reaching out with an arm, he drew her near. “You ask far too many questions for a wife,” he teased, his eyes growing warm with something she did not understand.

Blaze’s breath grew short. Her heart skipped several beats as her belly knotted and unknotted. He put his mouth upon hers, and she felt her lips immediately soften as the pressure of his kiss grew. His kisses had the most mesmerizing effect upon her, despite the fact that they had been kissing for several weeks now.

He laid her back upon the carpet, and looking up at him, she managed to say, “But if I do not ask questions, how will I learn, my lord?”

He ran a gentle finger over her kiss-swollen lips. “I will teach you everything that you need to know, my sweet. I have spent so much time these past weeks on Greek and French and history that I have neglected a far more enjoyable part of your education.” His graceful fingers swiftly undid the six little pearl buttons that ran down her pale blue silk chamber robe from the V neckline as, leaning over her, he put an arm about her shoulders. His other hand slid swiftly beneath the loose silk, caressing her breast for the very first time.

She gasped, and for a moment thought that her heart would burst through her chest. To her surprise, Blaze found that she was not frightened. Indeed she found his touch to be most pleasurable. With a soft little murmur she pressed up against his hand, feeling as she did that her nipple had hardened, sensing a rough spot in his palm with her delicate flesh. This action caused him to groan as if wounded, and unable to help himself, he forcefully tore away the delicate fabric of her chamber robe, baring her to the waist.

“
Edmund!
”

For a moment he was beyond reason. He covered the soft and sensitive flesh of her tender virgin breasts with his kisses, reveling in the sweet freshness of her skin and the delicate fragrance that clung to it. He seemed unable to satisfy some deep and primitive longing that was possessing him.