The Innocent (8 page)

A little man dressed in a rich old-fashioned brocaded houppelande hurried forward, offering the king a fine leather pouch into which Edward dipped one long-fingered hand. A shower of small coins arced through the air and hit the cobbles with a satisfying ring. The mummers scrambled for their reward, led by the “maid,” who determinedly elbowed the green man and the dragon out of the way as she scrabbled in the dirt for the coins, blond wig askew. The courtiers and the crowd laughed at this display of greed as the wagon with its castle was pushed away from the front of Blessing House by Watt and some of Master Mathew’s bigger menservants.

Miraculously, inside Blessing House everything was ready for the great company that thronged around the king. Outwardly Mathew was impassive but he was delighted to find the entire inside staff of his house kneeling, heads bowed, as he entered with his exalted guests. It made a pretty and well-ordered sight in his spacious hall. In a clear voice he gave the welcome: “My poor house is graced by your presence, Lord King, and in token we greet you thus.” Then he and Margaret, and the girls behind her, sank to their knees in front of the household, and humbly bowed their heads. It was an inspired gesture.

The simplicity of the owner of this great house warmed the heart of the king and charmed him out of the black mood that had threatened a moment or so ago. Smiling, he went to his hosts and gracefully raised Lady Margaret, giving her the kiss of peace, and then her husband, saluting his cheek also. Next, to the delight of the assembled servants and the scandal of the court, he handed Aveline and then Anne to their feet as well.

Was it Anne’s imagination, or did the king’s fingers linger in her palm, lightly stroking the hollow for a moment? And when he raised her, and she stood close beside him for the space of three heartbeats, she felt such a fizzy breathlessness in her chest that her legs nearly buckled and a slow tingling warmth spread from the palm he had touched all through her body until it lodged deep in her belly—a sensation at once confusing and delicious. Fighting to control her breathing, she fixed her eyes on the rushes as the king bowed to Mathew with a graceful flourish.

“Enough of this formality, Master Mathew. I salute you on your name day. Come! Let us eat!” And the king swept into the banqueting hall with Lady Margaret on his arm, servants scrambling to their feet and scattering out of the way of the advancing courtiers.

Piers found himself so caught in the rush of eager guests as they surged toward the long boards set up in the banqueting hall, already weighed down with platters of steaming meats and great bowls of sauces, that he nearly fell headlong into the rushes when he snagged his foot on one of the long tippets trailing from the sleeves of his cotehardie. Corpus saved him by grabbing a handful of the elaborate fabric at the back of the jerkin, though with disastrous results, for in his haste he slopped some gravy onto the precious brocade from the dish he was carrying.

“Oaf! This garment is worth more than your hide!”

“Ah, master, sorry, sorry! Here, shall I…?”

“No! take your greasy hand away!”

Piers was burning with embarrassment. Not only had he nearly fallen headlong in the presence of his king, but now his new particolored cotehardie was ruined. Worse, he could hear the ladies who had seen the exchange laughing at him. He turned on the hapless Corpus and kicked him, sending him sprawling into the rushes. There was much laughter at seeing the old man covered in scalding gravy—and even more to see him leap to his feet and run, shrieking, out of the hall.

Mathew frowned as he looked down the hall from the high table to which he had ushered the king and the greatest of the magnates, including Warwick. His son looked back defiantly and backed out of the king’s presence to change his coat.

The king had seen the byplay also and was laughing heartily at the little drama; Anne, standing behind Lady Margaret’s chair, was perplexed that the king would laugh at someone’s pain, but then she shook her head, impatient with her own squeamishness. Edward was the king, and kings were beings appointed by God to rule and look after all their people in body and soul, therefore he must know very much more than she ever would, or could. He was also a man and much of what men did made no sense to her at all—perhaps Corpus had deserved that kick planted square in his twisted back and would be more civil in future.

Suddenly, she felt a viciously sharp pinch on her upper arm and turned to find herself almost nose to nose with Aveline who hissed at her, “Stay here, girl, and see you look attentive. If our mistress asks, I’ve gone to the garderobe.” Aveline slid away from behind the high table, weaving through the stream of servants bearing food into the hall from the kitchen, and being heartily cursed for getting in the way.

She ducked into a wall embrasure, watching for a break in the flow so that she could slip away through the crowd of servitors unnoticed by her mistress.

“Lady Margaret, I salute you!” The king’s voice called Anne’s eyes back to the table. “Wassail!” With a long heroic swallow the king drained the wine from the silver drinking vessel after first offering it to his hostess to touch her lips against. Anne watched the movement of Edward’s throat as he drank, and as he slammed the delicately made cup down on to the board in front of him, belching robustly in appreciation, she shook herself alert, remembering that it was her awesome responsibility to offer the refill.

Hurriedly, she moved forward and, as carefully as she could, started to pour more of the rich, sweet hippocras out of the silver-gilt jug that had stood between the king and her mistress. The nearness of

the king was intoxicating; her hand started to shake as she poured, unconsciously inhaling his smell.

How she wanted to touch the long fingers that lay on the table so gracefully curled as he chatted easily to his hosts.

“Master Mathew, I seek your advice as a merchant of note in this city—Enough, girl!”

Anne blushed to see she had nearly let the beaker overflow.

The king laughed. “This fair child will have me under your festive board in a trice, Master Mathew, should she keep filling my cup like this!” But the warm look he cast up at her took any sting from the words, causing her more confusion still and a return of the breathlessness she had felt earlier. The king noticed her reaction with delight. “Come now, such a modest maid—and a true one, I’ll vow, unlike the fair ‘virgin’ outside with your dragon, I think.”

Amid the hearty laughter that followed—even Lady Margaret joined in—Anne managed to back away and return to her place behind her mistress’s chair, lowering her flaming face and doing all she could to still the hammering in her chest. She would have to find a way to compose herself, but after this embarrassment, why did she yearn for more such delightful torture at the hands of her king?

Aveline was nearly out of the hall when she heard the king laugh at Anne. Turning, she saw the girl shrink back, head bowed, and she rejoiced at the silly fool’s embarrassment. Then she saw the warm and speculative glance the king threw toward the child. Anne did not see, eyes desperately fastened to the floor—but again Aveline felt a shiver of rage as hot black thoughts burned her mind. How was it that every man seemed drawn to this whey-faced little slut? Had she herself become suddenly invisible? Torn, she hurried on to find Piers. Usually, she was very sure of her physical power over men, but now, even in this new and beautiful dress, the uncertainty she was beginning to feel ate into her confidence. She shook her head to clear the fog. No, she had set herself a course today and would not back away from the task.

It was good, then, that Piers had worked out most of his bad temper by beating John, his body servant, so that when the last button was fastened on his second-best red velvet cotehardie and the knock came at the door of his room, he was calmer. But even so, he frowned on seeing Aveline and spoke more harshly than he intended: “Well, what do you want?”

The girl flushed and glanced at John.

“Well, idiot, don’t stand gawping. Go!” Piers yelled. John, a thin young man with a missing front tooth—courtesy of one of his master’s earlier rages—scuttled gratefully out of the room, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care.

Piers turned back to admire himself in the polished silver surface of his washing jug, savoring the moment, as Aveline stood uncertainly just inside his doorway. He enjoyed being in control and plainly there was more sport to be had from this game or she would not be here, looking at him so imploringly.

Taking his time, he turned and boldly ran his eyes over her body. “You look very nice in that gown, Aveline. Russet suits your coloring.”

Aveline looked puzzled and then hopeful.

“Close the door, girl.” His voice was silky now and Aveline smiled—this was much more what she had in mind. Slowly and sinuously she moved toward him, letting him see the full effect of the pretty dress she was wearing—particularly the bodice she’d pulled down as far as she’d dared. She knew she looked like a lady, though wanton enough to be provocative.

“I have something for you, Aveline. A surprise.” She’d reached him now and he slid an arm around her waist. “Come, I want to show it to you in the light.” He walked her over to the open casement window, one hand moving down her back to find her buttocks, and the other easing around the bodice of her dress to cup one breast. Suddenly he pinched her hard and saw the flicker of pain in her eyes: it hardened him. Aveline forced herself to look lovingly up into Piers’s face. She knew that a faint whiff of fear would excite him, and she felt him stiffen.

Now he forced his hand roughly down inside her bodice, while the other hitched up her voluminous skirts. She was wearing nothing but an underskirt.

At the window he pushed her in front of him, forcing her to bend forward over the sill as he thrust his fingers up between her naked thighs from behind. She was wet, slippery, and hot, and her breathing was coming as fast as his now.

Halfway out of the window, Aveline closed her eyes and allowed herself to become completely limp—she knew he liked that—as he nearly tore the material of her dress, so impatient was he to pull it up and away from her legs and belly, exposing as much of her smooth body to the pale winter light as he could. But she kept her thighs tightly closed around his questing, tearing fingers, whimpering slightly, because she knew he would want to force her legs apart. He held her down hard, as he made her lean ever farther out of the casement into the cold air, breasts completely exposed, and fumbled urgently with the lacing on his codpiece. Then, pulling her thighs savagely apart, he grunted as he rammed himself up into her body. She gasped and tried to brace herself as the cold stone sill ground into her belly.

“Spread your legs wider—wider. Do as I say! There! Right up to the roof—as you like it, don’t you, Aveline. There, and there, and there. Tell me, tell me what it feels like.” She knew his face would be brick-red by now and suddenly she wanted to laugh—what if they should be seen from below?

“Oh, master, be gentle. You are tearing me. Oh, so deep, so hard…oh…but if people hear me scream, they might come running. They would see us. I am nearly naked, Piers.” Aveline was calculating; she knew his lust would be inflamed by the risk.

“Scream, then girl. Let them come. I want them to see you.” He bit her neck so that Aveline cried out.

“Ah, not so hard—oh, oh, oh, you are so huge, master, you’ll break me. Have pity.”

He growled, bit her again, and this time the shriek was genuine, for the bite was hard; that true note of pain sent an exquisite ripple through him. He loved that feeling, utter domination—but then he couldn’t stop it, the explosive spasm and shiver. Always over too soon. He lay upon her panting, as she gently moved her hips back and forth, back and forth, against him as he gathered his breath.

“What did you want to show me, master?” the girl said demurely. He grunted and slipped out of her, wiping himself on the tail of her gown as he did so. That annoyed her and she turned around sharply, though hoping that the disarray of her clothing, her naked lower body and tumbled hair were still provocative to him.

“Cover yourself, girl.” The testiness in his voice alarmed her. She’d have to be extra clever now.

“Ah, come back to me, Master Piers—we have a little time now, the feast will go on for hours yet.”

And she held out her arms to him winsomely, but noted with dismay that he had fully laced himself up and was smoothing his tight cotehardie down with an impatient look on his face.

“My father requires my presence—and yours, Aveline, as well you know. Come now, we will find time to speak later—tonight.” He smiled at her slightly as he emphasized the word “speak.”

“I am glad of that, Master Piers, because I have much to talk to you about also.”

She was relieved by his smile and bared her teeth alluringly, running her red tongue over her lips to make them glisten, but it was hard to make her words sound graceful and pleasant. She was angry that the byplay between them meant her news would have to wait, but she knew there was no point in pushing him.