Read Just Beyond Tomorrow Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
Just Beyond Tomorrow (11 page)
“Nay, down in England at her home that now belongs to the Duke of Lundy,” Mary said.
What kind of a family had she been married into? Flanna wondered. A mother-in-law who was a princess. A brother-in-law who was a royal bastard. So many lords and ladies if old Mary was to be believed, not to mention a murderess! “What happened to her?”
“Why, naught, my lady,” Mary replied. “Lady de Marisco killed a wanted criminal who had already murdered four people. She was a verra braw old woman, God rest her!”
And now her husband was returned, Flanna decided, she must learn more about his family. She noted Patrick Leslie's look of approval as he strode into the Great Hall to see the furniture polished and the floors free of dust. The chimneys had been cleaned and burned smoke-free. The windows were shining. There were bowls of potpourri.
“Welcome home, my lord. Ye were successful, I believe, and we hae meat enough for the winter.” She handed him a goblet of wine, then curtsied.
“Four stags, madame,” he replied, and drank down his wine. “The weather is turning again, and so we must remain indoors; but I intend going out again as soon as we can. 'Twill be rain this time; but the snows will come again soon, and winter will set in. I hope to find at least one other deer and perhaps a wild boar for the larder.”
“Ye will want a bath, of course,” Flanna said. “I hae prepared it for ye.” To his surprise, she took his hand and led him upstairs to their apartments. “Donal,” she spoke to the duke's manservant, “take his lordship's clothing. The shirt, drawers, and stockings should go to the laundress. I will bathe my husband. Tell Angus we will eat in our dayroom this evening.” She smiled, and Donal was dismissed.
Taking his master's garments, he hurried out.
Bemused, Patrick climbed into his tub. The water was hot, and as it pierced his flesh, he realized how sore his muscles were from several days of riding, the cold, and the dank weather. “Madame,” he said to her, his green-gold eyes closing with enjoyment, “ye are proving to be the perfect wife. The hall was a joy to my eye, and now a bath.”
“If ye're pleased, then I am content,” she replied modestly.
He laughed. “How meek and mild ye hae become, lass,” he teased.
“I can scarcely argue wi' ye if ye are satisfied wi' my conduct, my lord husband,” Flanna answered him tartly. She took up a boar's bristle brush and, soaping it, began to brush his back and shoulders as she knelt upon the wooden steps of the tub. The brush moved swiftly and with purpose over the broad expanse of skin. Lifting an arm, she scoured it thoroughly. Then she did the other. Moving the steps about so that she faced him, she took up a foot and leg, washed it, then did its mate.
She had taken off her skirts when Donal had left the chamber, and now bathed him in her petticoats and blouse. It was the same skirt she had worn the day after their marriage. He realized suddenly that Flanna probably had few clothes, and certainly none that suited her station as his wife. He had been so intent upon making certain there was enough meat in the larder for the winter months, he had given no thought to this young woman who was now his wife. He would remedy that as quickly as possible. Still, she was quite fetching, her red head bent in concentration as she bathed him. The laces on her blouse had come undone, revealing to his eye her round, ivory bosoms. A wicked smile touched his lips. It was simply too tempting.
Flanna shrieked in surprise as he pulled her into the tub atop him. “Are ye mad, Patrick Leslie? Do ye think I hae clothing to spare that ye can make so free wi' me!” She struggled against him.
He ducked her blow, yanking the scrubbing brush from her hand, and kissed her mouth. She continued to struggle, pulling her head away from his, even as his hand slipped into her blouse to cup a breast. “Madame, ye canna show me yer wares and nae expect me to buy,” he murmured in her ear, and then his tongue swept about the whorl of it.
“Ohhh, ye're a villain,” she protested faintly. She bent her head, and her lips brushed over his softly. “Is this what they call
loveplay,
my lord?” Her silver-gray eyes were half closed and glittering as she settled herself facing him.
loveplay,
my lord?” Her silver-gray eyes were half closed and glittering as she settled herself facing him.
“Aye,” he answered her, his tongue running over her lips. Removing his arm from about her supple waist, he slid his hand beneath her petticoats.
“Ye're wicked, ye are,” she half whispered, but she shifted her position even as she spoke to facilitate the roving hand.
“Ye're a shameless hussy, madame,” he said. “I knew it from the first when ye attacked me, but then, I am a man who likes shameless hussies, Flanna.” His fingers teased at her nether lips, twining themselves amid the luxuriant curls adorning her Venus mons.
She sighed, and her face nuzzled into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. She did like this lovemaking, and tonight he would come into her bed again; but it would not be like their wedding night. Tonight she would be without fear and very anxious to learn how to please him. “Ohhhhhh!” she gasped, totally unprepared as he lifted her up to impale her upon his love rod.
“There now,” he murmured, “that's better, eh, lass?” He pulled her forward, drawing her sopping blouse off and dropping it upon the floor. Her tight nipples brushed his lightly furred chest.
She could feel her cheeks burning. Her head was spinning dizzily. “Ohhhhhh!” His hands were cupping her buttocks as he began thrusting movements with his pelvis. The sensation of their two bodies locked in amorous conjunction was absolutely delicious, Flanna thought, as she mimicked his sensual movements. “Ohhh, aye!” she cried, surprising him with her enthusiasm.
God's boots, if she were skilled in the arts of love, she would be a truly dangerous woman,
he considered, as he pistoned her. “Kiss me again, lass,” he commanded her, and accepted her mouth with supreme pleasure.
he considered, as he pistoned her. “Kiss me again, lass,” he commanded her, and accepted her mouth with supreme pleasure.
Wonderful! Wonderful!
Flanna reflected mistily as she experienced the pleasure his thick and probing lance gave her as he drove himself within her. She sensed she might offer him even greater delight if her sheath were tighter. She experimented in an attempt to squeeze him. When he groaned loudly, she knew she had been successful and tried again. Pulling her head away from his, she asked, “Does that please ye, my lord? Shall I do it again?”
Flanna reflected mistily as she experienced the pleasure his thick and probing lance gave her as he drove himself within her. She sensed she might offer him even greater delight if her sheath were tighter. She experimented in an attempt to squeeze him. When he groaned loudly, she knew she had been successful and tried again. Pulling her head away from his, she asked, “Does that please ye, my lord? Shall I do it again?”
“Aye, ye witch, ye gie me incredible enjoyment.” He pushed himself deeper and harder into her, and the water in the tub sloshed violently.
Flanna shuddered, soared to heights she hadn't even known existed, and then collapsed against him, feeling quite distinctly his juices thundering into her body. “Ohhh, my lord, 'twas delicious,” she whispered. “I do enjoy this coupling wi' ye verra much.”
Patrick Leslie laughed weakly. “So do I, lass,” he admitted.
The water about them was rapidly cooling. He had withdrawn from her and now stood, pulling her up. Flanna blushed at her naked breasts and stood in her sopping petticoats considering what to do. He solved the problem for her by loosening the tapes of the garments and pushing them off her body so that now she stood naked before him.
“Ye're lovely, Flanna, and hae nae reason to be shy wi' me. As yer husband 'tis my right to look upon ye, and admire yer beauty,” he told her.
She blushed again, then said, “Step out of the tub, my lord, and I will dry ye. I set towels on the rack by the fire to warm.”
“We'll dry one another,” he told her, smiling, taking up a towel and beginning to rub her briskly. “Are ye hungry, madame? I certainly am. I wonder what Angus hae brought for us to eat.”
“God's boots!” Flanna swore. “Do ye think he heard us?”
“ 'Tis possible, but I suspect yer Angus is a man of the world, lass, and 'twould nae be shocked to hear a man and his wife sporting.”
When they were dry, he put on a fur-trimmed, green velvet dressing gown while Flanna slipped on a clean, soft linen shift. Barefooted they walked into the dayroom where they found the table laid with a platter of raw oysters, another of prawns in white wine, a roasted capon, a plate of lamb chops, a salad of lettuces, fresh bread, a crock of sweet butter, a wedge of hard cheese, and lastly, an apple tart. There were two pitchers, one holding October ale, and the other, wine.
“Allow me to serve ye, my lord,” Flanna said.
“Gie me the oysters first,” Patrick said. “If ye like the coupling so much, madame, I will need my strength returned swiftly.” He sat down at the head of the table, looking at her expectantly.
“Do ye mean we can do it again tonight?” Flanna said, surprised.
Patrick Leslie laughed at her ingenuousness. “Aye, and probably more than just once, madame, if ye will allow me to rest between our bouts of passion. Does the thought please ye?”
“Aye,” she said frankly. “I like it when ye make me fly like a bird, my lord. Una said I might know pleasure, and I surely do when ye go into me; but I would like to please ye as much as ye please me. Will ye nae tell me how I may do that?” She watched wide-eyed as he swallowed down the entire dozen oysters.
“Sit next to me, Flanna,” he said, indicating the chair on his right. For a moment he ignored her query. There would be time later to explain. Reaching for the platter of prawns, he told her, “We'll share them.” Choosing a large crustacean by its tail, he began to enthusiastically devour it.
His appetite was prodigious. When the prawns had been eaten, Flanna filled him a plate with a large portion of chicken, several chops, and some of the lettuces. She pushed the loaf of bread between them, tearing off a hunk for herself and buttering it lavishly. Her own appetite was, she discovered, almost his equal. She felt ravenous and ate appreciatively until there was nothing left but the small tart, which they split between them. The pitcher of brown October ale was drunk.
“We'll keep the wine for later,” he said with a grin.
“Is it proper,” she asked him, “for a wife to enjoy her husband's attentions as much as I enjoy yers, my lord? Wi'out this love everyone talks about? We hae but known each other a week, and ye were away most of that time. Is it right that I like ye so much? I would be a good duchess and nae bring shame to the Leslies of Glenkirk.”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and looked into her silvery eyes. She was really quite beautiful, he considered on reflection. The small, straight nose, the oval-shaped eyes fringed in thick, sandy lashes and crowned with sandy brows. He brushed her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was like cream and soft to his touch. It had a translucent quality to it that only true redheads possessed. There was just the faintest smattering of golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. Patrick Leslie kissed the tip of that nose.
“Ye're an intelligent lass,” he said. “I know ye can be a good duchess, Flanna, although our life at Glenkirk will nae be an exciting life. I will nae, like my father and mother, go to the king's courtâif there even be a court now. I will nae become involved in politics or the religious infighting, or even wi' my neighbors unless I canna help it. There are those who would seek to destroy my family and steal our wealth because of the meanness in their wizened souls. I would be left in peace to live my life, to care for my people, to raise our children to be free of all prejudice, vanity, and envy. I canna do that if I allow the world and its noisy foolishness to intrude. Ye will nae entertain kings, Flanna, as my parents and my grandparents did. Ye will gie me bairns and oversee this castle, which will be yer kingdom. Do that for me, and ye will be a good duchess, and I will certainly honor ye. Can ye be happy wi' such a life? 'Tis all the life I can gie ye, Flanna, but I will nae ever leave ye to fight for the cause of any ruler, be it a king or a parliament.”
“I can be content, my lord, wi' the life ye describe. 'Tis the life I hae known. I feared a different life to which I hae nae been bred. I did nae want to embarrass ye, Patrick Leslie, for ye are, it would seem, a good man.”
“Come sit in my lap, Flanna,” he said, releasing his tender hold upon her chin and drawing her up by the hand. She settled herself, and he cradled her in his embrace while the fireplace crackled noisily.
Laying her head against his shoulder, Flanna sighed, satisfied. She had not expected to come to so easy an arrangement with Patrick Leslie, nor so quickly. She hadn't imagined marriage would be like this at all. She couldn't see her brothers cuddling their wives. Her brothers were too busy ordering their women and children around for any show of kindness. She liked his tenderness as well as she liked his lovemaking. Perhaps her life wouldn't be so terrible after all. He had, after all, promised her her freedom if she did her duty well. Without thinking she rubbed her cheek against the velvet of his dressing gown, smiling to herself as he kissed the top of her head.
“What hair ye hae, madame,” he remarked. “ 'Tis the same red-gold color as my ancestress whose picture hangs in the hall. I should like a wee lassie wi' hair like that.” His hand slipped into her shift and cupped her breast, his thumb absently rubbing her nipple.
Her heart jumped in her chest. “First,” she struggled to answer him, “we must hae a son or two for Glenkirk.” She knew her duty. She would do it before his family discovered that the elegant, wealthy, and educated Duke of Glenkirk had wed with an ignorant Brodie of Killiecairn. “I am used to lads wi' all my brothers,” she said.
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