FLAME OF DESIRE (34 page)

It was not difficult to confide in this woman, particularly when Matty vowed that if it was the last thing she ever did she would soon have the other servants flock to Heather’s side. Matty had gone against Agnes once before. It was she who had sent the message to Richard when Edlyn was ill, hoping thereby to have him discover the malicious woman’s perfidy.

“I love him, Matty. But I think I may have lost him. He has been so busy of late that I hardly ever see him.”

Matty wiped her hands on her apron. “You have not lost him. He loves you, lass. Of that have no doubt. He is just a man, and as such has a stubborn streak of pride in him. I would wager that he is waiting for you to come to him. Men don’t like being rebuffed you know.”

“What can I do?”

Matty giggled. “Ah, lass, if you do not know, then I cannot tell you. I will let intuition be your guide.” She smiled mischievously, looking like a little girl despite her years. “But I will lend a hand. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach…”

Matty showed her how to make frumenty, a pudding made of wheat boiled with milk, currants, raisins and spices. It was, Matty promised,  a dish that Richard was inordinately fond of. Heather made the dish for the feast of the plowman, Martinmas, and watched anxiously as Richard tasted of her efforts.

“Tell Cook that this is excellent. The best that she has made,” he said as they sat at dinner. As always, he did his best not to look at Heather as he spoke.

“Cook didn’t make it, I did,” she said shyly.

“You?”

“Matty told me that it was your favorite. I…I…” She started to look away from him but the magnetism between them was too overpowering. In the silence they sat staring at each other as tides of longing washed over them both. Heather wanted to cry out, to tell him how much she missed his arms about her as she slept. How lonely she was in the large bed without him. The weeks had seemed like years without his love.

Richard wanted to say so many things, but as he opened his mouth he found that he was tongue-tied like a small boy again. He loved her more than anything in the world and yet when she had asked him to take her away he had stubbornly refused. He was a fool and now wanted with all his heart to have things the way they were before.

“Heather….” He breathed, but the sadness in those large gray eyes of hers made all his words tumble about hopelessly in his brain and so he said only, “If I had known that first day I met you in your father’s storeroom that you could make frumenty, I would have forgotten all about my duty to Mary and abducted you right then and there.”

It was all Heather could do to maintain her composure. She wondered what the servants would do if she now sauntered across the room and threw herself into his arms, begging him to love her, but said only, “Ah, you would have, my fine rebel? And what of poor Mary then?”

“Mary? I know of no Mary,” he answered with a half-smile. Her hair, he thought, glows like fire in the candlelight. How I want to reach out and entangle my fingers in its silken glory. “Heather….” Leaving his half-eaten portion of the pudding, he came to her then. Her nearness was his undoing. Ignoring the shocked look of Cook, he gathered her into his arms, claiming the softness of Heather’s lips.

“Richard, your pudding…”

“The pudding can wait,” he breathed. “I want only to taste of you. Lord, how I have missed you!” Before she could protest he picked her up in his arms to carry her up to his chamber. “This is where you belong. Here! Please don’t deny me again. I love you.” He unfastened her gown, one of many he had had sent from London, letting it slip to the floor to expose the chemise and petticoats beneath. With slow exploration, he slid his hands over the soft contours of her body until Heather tingled with desire. The chemise and petticoats soon followed the gown to lie in a heap at her feet.

How could she deny him when she loved him so? Did she really want to? No. She had been wrong and now she admitted it to herself. This manor
was
Richard. It had not been fair to make him choose between them. Let the servants cluck their tongues, let Agnes look down her nose. This was where Heather belonged. Here in Richard’s arms. How could she have lived without his love for so many weeks? Edlyn was not his wife, she was.

Boldly she stepped forward to face him, pulling off his doublet and shirt with the ease of one who has had much practice, yanking at the rest of his clothing, anxious for him to join her in his proud naked glory. Tugging at his hand, she led him over to lie with her before the fire on a soft sheepskin rug, where they clung together, their bodies embracing, caressing as they kissed, his lips lightly tracing the outline of her mouth with his tongue, then claiming the whole softness of her lips.

Pulling away slightly, Richard let his eyes linger on her body. It was a familiar sight, and yet she never failed to stir him. How could he have waited so long before claiming her again?

“You are so lovely.” Her breasts  were perfect, her legs long and shapely, her hips just wide enough. He stroked her silken flesh, feeling desire arise in him as it had the very first time he had made love to her. He needed no love potion now to set his pulse to pounding. Her breasts brushed his chest as she reached her fingers up to twine them in the dark curls of his hair, pulling his face down to hers. Their lips moved softly against each other’s at first, only to grow fevered as their very flesh seemed to meld together.

“I love you so, Heather,” he whispered against the fragrant skin of her throat.

“And I, you,” she answered, reaching down to feel the strength of him, the power of him. He was everything she had ever wanted. “I was wrong….” she breathed.

“No. It was I. I should have understood how you would feel and not been so stubborn.”

“I should have realized how you loved this manor. I should never have asked you to take me away. I have learned to love it here too, these past days. From now on I will heed Ruth’s words. ‘Whither thou goest, I will go.’” His lips silenced any further words between them as they ignited a flame in each other.

As he slowly filled her with the sweet length of his manhood, she wrapped her arms and legs tightly about him as if to hold him to her forever.

There was no sound, no words between them, for the rhythm of their passion, the meeting of their gaze as they looked at each other, said all that needed to be said. Heather felt the emptiness that had been with her since they had arrived here burst nearly to overflowing with the love she bore this man. She would never be lonely again. Shaking her head in mute joy, the wonder of it all glowing in her eyes, she captured his hand and drew it to her lips.

At last Richard spoke, his arms tightening about her, his fingers tracing the strong jaw line of her face. “I will never let you go.”

She smiled at him. “Perhaps we can stay just as we are all winter.”

“Mmmmm, it would be nice, though I fear that we would not get much done. You are all too tempting, my love.”

For just a fleeting moment a shadow passed in front of Heather’s eyes, the reminder that to others theirs was a forbidden love, and she clung to Richard as she sought to chase away her fears. In the aftermath of love, she thought about the coming winter, wondering what it would bring. Seton had not followed them. Had his threats been only idle boasts? It appeared so. The memory of him dimmed as the days marched on.

Chapter Forty-Seven

December was relatively mild in Norfolk, with rain and sleet but very little snow, but if the fury of the storm had avoided the countryside, the same could not be said for London, where winds of turmoil seemed destined to sweep forth. At last Heather and Richard could close their eyes no longer to what was happening at court. Stephen Vickery spelled it out for them in a letter sent posthaste by messenger.

As they sat before the fire, Richard read parts of the letter to Heather. “He begs me to return. He tells me I am needed. Needed. As if I didn’t know.”

“And the queen, is she still angry with you?”

Richard shook his head. “Aye. But Stephen thinks that she still trusts my advice and will forgive me in due time. He read on, “Please do not leave her in the hands of such as Renard and Seton, who flatter her constantly and play on her basic trusting nature. It bodes ill for us all if they are to gain absolute power. Did we fight so long and hard only to find ourselves victims of other Northumberland's?”

“Seton in power?” The thought was too horrible to imagine. What would happen to Richard and her then?

Not wanting to alarm Heather further, Richard read to himself. Early in December a dead dog with its ears cropped and the head shaved like a priest’s was thrown into the queen’s presence chamber at Whitehall. There were those angered at Mary’s decision to replace bishops of the reformed faith with Catholic prelates recalled from exile: Bonner, who had been made Bishop of London, and Gardiner, who was now Bishop of Winchester and a close adviser to the crown.

Heather was piqued as he read silently, wanting to share in what was happening at court. “Richard, please, read the letter aloud. I must know what is going on.”

Richard complied, allowing her to read over his shoulder. “Further rumblings have been caused by the rumor that a man named Rafael Mendosa is near to convincing Mary to accept the emperor’s son and heir, Philip of Spain, as her husband. Is this your Mendosa? Let us hope that he does not succeed. We need no Spanish kings! Again, I beg you to consider all that I have told you. Stephen Vickery.”

Richard tore up the letter angrily. It was just as he had feared. The many would suffer because of a few impetuous men.

“Stupid fools. Can they not see that such acts will only harden Mary’s feelings toward those of the reformed church? They play into Seton’s hands.” He told her quickly about the incident with the dog.

“Perhaps you
should
go to London. If Mary seeks to punish anyone for what is between us, it will be me. I was the one who ran away—you did not have to kidnap me, I came freely.” The thought of his ill-favor was like a crushing blow, though not a surprise. Would Mary ever forgive him? Would she welcome him back to court?

As if reading her thoughts, he swept her into his arms. “I will not leave you! You are more important to me than the world. Mary will do very well without me by her side.”

She pushed him gently away. “No. You must go. Could you ever live with yourself if you turned your back upon her when she so greatly needs you? You love me but you love your queen and country as well. I am willing to share you with these two rivals, but no others.” She kissed the tip of his nose. Strange how she had been the one to want to leave not long ago. Now the thought of leaving Norfolk pained her, but she must think of what was best for Richard. He had given up much for love of her. Would he ever regret it? No. He loved her. She was secure in that love.

Richard thought for a long while. “Christmas is coming. I cannot leave you at such a time, nor my tenants. When the new year has come we will speak of this again. What difference can one month bring?” Without realizing it, this question would come back to haunt him in the months to come.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The flickering flames from the Yule log seemed to pulsate with the rhythm of the music, mirth, and merriment which echoed throughout the manor. It was Christmas Eve, a time of celebration. Heather had taken a hand in decorating the manor for the holidays. Holly and mistletoe hung from every bower to bring good luck throughout the following year, and the fires and candles twinkled along the tables, illuminating the veritable feast laid upon them.

Dressed in her emerald-green velvet gown with gold brocade underskirt and white-fur-trimmed sleeves, Heather was lovely and looked every inch the lady of the manor.

“You have outdone yourself, my lady,” whispered a short tiny young scullery maid. “’Tis happy I am that you have come to us.” Her words touched Heather’s heart, for it had taken much patience to win the trust of the girl. One by one the servants’ hostilities were melting away.

Viewing the heavily laden trestle tables with a critical eye, Heather decided that there was certainly enough to feed all that were present. Richard was giving a Christmas dinner for all his tenants, making use of the special rents that he had been given of bread, hens, ale, and the like. It would be a splendid feast, for the workers had been overly generous this year.

There would be merriment until Epiphany, or Twelfth Day, the sixth of January, and the services required of the tenants would be suspended. It was whispered that Richard had been most generous this year. All manorial servants were to receive extra bonuses of the food, clothing, drink, and firewood which comprised their traditional Christmas due. All eyes turned upon Heather, as if everyone knew that she was the reason why the perquisites had been most bountiful.

“Ah, such a feast we will have,” Matty said with a chuckle, rubbing her ample waist.

Only to Matty would Heather have confided her fears. “I’m so nervous, Matty. For so many weeks Richard’s tenants have shunned me, calling me Richard’s whore, and now I must face them as hostess of the house.”

“Fah. Don’t worry your pretty head. The servants all love you, you have won them over one by one. You will do likewise with the tenants. You have not only been good to us but to poor Edlyn as well. No one has such patience with her tantrums. You seem to have the skill to soothe her.”

“I only undo what Agnes has done. Edlyn has been treated like an animal, and so at times she reacts like one. But all will be ended.”

“Ha, I would be so bold as to say that it is time Agnes got her due. For too many years has she reigned as queen in this house, fooling poor Richard with her endearing ways. Like all men, he fails to see her true nature. She is spiteful, lazy and the Lord knows what else.”

Heather sighed. “Richard and I have argued time and time again over Agnes. I have pleaded with him to send her away, but he won’t do as I ask. Why?”