Spring's Fury (29 page)

"Geoff, my wife and I will catch a breath of fresh air before the dancing starts," he said, his voice husky with his need for her.

Nicola cleared her throat to hide her laugh. The last thing she wanted to do was catch her breath. "Aye, I would like that," she said, rising from the bench.

Geoffrey aimed his gaze at her, then his brother, a faint air of amusement in his look. "As you will."

Gilliam grabbed her hand and nigh on pulled her out of the hall. Outside, the night was clear, the sky filled with stars, a waning moon already seeking its rest on the western horizon. Those of Geoffrey's men and Ashby's soldiery not interested in dancing had gathered in the bailey. Their fire was just coming to life, but their kegs of ale had been well tapped. Dice rattled in someone's cup. Walter crowed as he saw his lord and lady.

"I win! I told you they could not last a day!"

"Hold your tongue," Gilliam snarled at them as he and Nicola hurried their steps across the open expanse, "this is a private matter."

Nicola pulled him to a halt at the base of the tower stairs. "Gilliam, we cannot use the bed."

"Who's there?!" The cry came from around the corner of the cellar. Arnold, the master mason, appeared, lamp in hand. "Oh, 'tis you Lord Ashby, my lady." His brusque nod barely acknowledged her. "I expected another pair thinking to hide behind the cellar wall to couple. I've driven three away so far."

"Good work, Arnold," Gilliam said. "We want no fornicators at Ashby. What are you doing here?"

"Make some measurements. I do not hold much with frivolity. Waste of time." He stood, watching them as if waiting for something.

"Well then," Gilliam said, "I suppose we'll be going back to the hall and leave you to your work."

Arnold nodded as if this was a suitable answer. "Good night, my lord." He disappeared behind the wall again.

Nicola waited until he was out of earshot. "I've put fresh linens on the bed. We cannot use it," she hissed.

"He'll never notice, I vow," Gilliam whispered back. He caught her to him, tugging off her head cloth to bury his hands in her hair. Their mouths met in a frantic mating, her arms clutching him tightly to her. He lowered one hand to catch her breast, his thumb toying with the peak. She tore her mouth from his to kiss his throat, then his earlobe. Sweet Mary, but she wanted him right this moment.

"It’s wrong to abandon our guest this way," she breathed, trying to stop herself.

He caught her tightly to him, forcing her to rise onto her toes. Nicola melted. She could feel his shaft even through their clothing. "Once and quickly, then. Best you put a whole week's worth of passion in it. I still won't play this game for others' benefit."

"Praise be to God," he murmured, then grabbed her by the hand. They dashed up the stairs and into their darkened chamber. Gilliam pushed at the door, not taking time to see it properly shut.

Laces flew and gowns were discarded in record time. He grabbed her to him, and they fell onto the bed. Ropes squealed and posts squeaked. The footboard creaked.

His mouth burned a line down her throat; her fingers drew lines on his nape. As his hand caught her breast, she kissed his ear. Her thighs parted, and he entered her with one swift and wondrous thrust. She arched beneath him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He rose above her on his elbows to spare her his weight. Not this time. She caught him around the neck, forcing his mouth to hers. Her kiss demanded that he take her with all his power. He groaned against her mouth and thrust again. Pleasure exploded in her.

The bed rocked, but Nicola was too far gone in her own passion to notice. She freed his mouth and kissed his throat as her heels on his buttocks urged him to move again and again. There was an odd squeal in the room.

Gilliam gasped as she cried out. Feet braced against the bed's end, he poured himself into her, thrusting with all his might. And kicked off the footboard.

Ropes snapped, the end of the mattress dropped to the floor. The end bedposts clattered against the wall, curtain poles fell. The headboard started to drop atop them, only to stop, braced in midair by the curtain poles. Without the support of the footboard, the sideboards fell toward them and they were trapped in the sagging mattress.

"Mary Mother of God," Nicola cried out, her voice muffled by the curtains atop them, "you broke the bed!"

Gilliam shook in silent laughter.

"There is nothing humorous about this," Nicola protested, reaching up to push the bedcurtain out of her face. "You great lummox, you broke the bed. Where is your brother going to sleep? Oh, Jesu, how are we going to explain this to him? I cannot believe you broke our bed!"

"Oh, Colette," he started, but could not get more out as he was laughing out loud now. When she made an irritated sound, he caught it back and managed to gasp out, "It’s Geoff's fault. The damn bed's too short for me. It's your fault, too. By God, but you drive me beyond sanity."

Of a sudden, it was funny. A tiny laugh bubbled out of her. "They will have to dig us out, I think."

"Nay, if I ease backward, I can slip out the end. I have it! We'll dress and hurry back to the hall. When it’s time to bring Geoff out here, we'll act as if we had no idea how this had happened."

"Gilliam," Geoff said, his voice coming from the door, "it cannot work. I have caught you already."

"It was not my idea," Nicola protested, laughing in earnest. "I said the linens were clean and should stay that way."

"How?" Gilliam demanded.

"The master mason was working near the cellar and heard a terrible noise in this chamber. He rushed to the hall to fetch you or me, saying some couple used this chamber. I see he was right."

"It’s your fault. I told you the bed was too short," Gilliam said. "Now go back to the hall, my mother's oldest son. We'll be back as soon as we are finished here." He grinned at his wife.

Nicola laughed. "Aye, but best be patient.  We may be a while.”

If you liked this book (or even if you didn't, I suppose) please consider
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Thank you for reading Spring's Fury, the third of my stories about the FitzHenry brothers. I thought I'd take a moment and give you a little context for this book, and how this series evolved. It all started in 1978 when I had a dream about two people, a couple, in Medieval England, a time in history I didn't know at all. In the dream they conveyed to me some of their complicated relationship. As I woke up I caught myself saying "I have to write this book!" But I also knew I wanted to write an accurate novel because I believe wrapping historical facts up in a good fictional story will teach you more about history and the way people lived back then than any textbook. Twelve years of research ensued before I felt capable of recreating this amazing time period. By the time Spring came around I'd been to a castle and a city, what else was there?

Why a Medieval manor, of course. These small holdings were the backbone of the country. Lucky for me that after two books my publisher still wanted more. Even luckier, I still had two more brothers to explore out of Winter's Heat.

Gilliam became my choice mostly because I hadn't yet even seen Geoffrey in my imagination although I was aware of him. Although I hadn't done it on purpose, Gilliam reminded me of my second son Justin. Like Gilliam, Justin was then a curly-haired blond (his hair has darkened since but is still just as curly), and a very big man. Let me just say that when Justin went to freshman orientation at high school, the football coach made a beeline for him and nearly got down on his knees to beg Justin to join the team. Justin, who now wears a 53 jacket, refused.

What I had yet to discover back then was that Justin has Asperger's Syndrome, or high functioning Autism. Oh, we knew something was wrong. There were hints, like how he walked as a child: step, step, step, turn; step, step, step, turn. Or the way he'd take a silver pen and move it back and forth in front of his eyes for minutes at a time to calm himself. But, he was verbal and very, very, very bright. He started his first business at fourteen, teaching people how to use their computers. No surprise that he is now a highly successful computer programmer.

I didn't know any of that back when Gilliam's story occurred to me so I let myself imagine what Justin's life might have been like if he'd lived in the Twelfth Century.

As a thank you to all of you out there who turned Rannulf and Rowena into best sellers, I'm offering my novella "An Impetuous Season" FREE on my website.
Click here to download it

The Graistan Chronicles (sometimes known as the Seasons Series)

Winter's Heat

Summer's Storm

Spring's Fury

Autumn's Flame

A Love for All Seasons

The Lady Series,
although two doesn't quite a series make. There were supposed to be more. Hmm, I wonder... .

Lady in Waiting

Lady in White

My only Regency era book
. I'm sorry. It was too modern for me. I'm better off back when guys just bashed each other with hunks of steel.

Almost Perfect

Monica Sarli's Memoir
Men-ipulation

And then there's Monica Sarli's memoir that I co-wrote.
Men-ipulation
is a memoir of addiction and recovery. After fifteen years abusing Cocaine, Crack and (her personal favorite) Heroin, Monica chose on August 4, 1986 to clean up and hasn't looked back-even though cleaning up cost her everything she valued in life. For anyone struggling with addiction or who loves someone suffering with addiction, this is a book you won't want to miss. (And, yes she really talks like that...all the time.)

By the way, I'll note here that I am title defective. For the first five books, my fabulous stepdaughter
Amberly Neese
came up with the original and very clever idea of using the seasons, and the publisher ran with it. Beyond that, well, I count on the kindness of editors and others.

If you want to keep up with me or send me a note, please feel free to email me at
[email protected]
or visit my website at
DeniseDomning.com
where you can read my blog. I'll warn you, the blog has nothing to do with writing. Instead, it's the chronicle of how my husband takes me on a journey into Green Living and Permaculture. I have a feeling this will turn out to be a mangling of "Under the Tuscan Sun" and "Green Acres".

Wish me luck (I'll need it) and happy reading!