Binding Passion

Katherine Kingston

Book 3 in the Passions series.

The people of Alderwood, including young, lovely Lady Mary, received rough

treatment at the hands of their last lord, Sir Benwyck of Cryll. When the King grants the
estate to Sir Philip, they're determined to see him gone, and the sooner the better.

Mary certainly didn't count on an offer of marriage from the handsome knight.

Philip's got one year to show Mary the pleasures of sex to win her as his bride, to bind
her with his passion...

B

INDING

P

ASSIO N

Katherine Kingston

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Chapter One

England, 1345

Sir Philip de MontCharles, newly created Baron of Alderwood, stalked down the

corridor of his manor, hoping he’d remember which door led to his private solar. He

was pretty sure it was the fourth door on the left, but after only two weeks as lord of

this confusing keep, he still had doubts.

He had doubts about any number of things, including his fitness to be lord of a

keep, with people depending on him, their very lives possibly resting on the decisions

he made. As the third son of a vigorous father, he hadn’t been raised to the position.

His questions about whether he had the right room grew when he reached the door

and heard a strange scrabbling, squeaking noise inside the room. Perhaps the maid was

in there cleaning, but late afternoon was not, in his experience, the usual time for it.

He’d always had to ask specifically for a bath to be brought to him, and he hadn’t yet

done so today, so he doubted that was the answer.

Given the numerous attempts already made to injure or harass him, no doubt with

the object of driving him away, caution was becoming a familiar course to him.

He halted at the door and waited. Another squeak was followed by the sound of

feet moving across the floor. He was pretty sure this was the door to his solar.

He wore soft indoor slippers rather than boots, so he had moved quietly down the

stone-flagged hall. Whoever was inside likely hadn’t heard him approach. He grabbed

the door latch and pressed down on it carefully, releasing the catch without a revealing

clatter. Quiet voices sounded. A small giggle followed another noise that sounded

oddly like—the croak of a frog?

It all stopped abruptly when he pushed the door sharply inward. The panel swung

on its hinges all the way back until it banged loudly against the wall. Two faces turned

toward him, twin mirrors of surprise and guilt.

Though both were still beardless, neither of the two boys staring at him with guilty

frowns was a child. For a moment, they just stood there, frozen in place by shock. A

bucket behind them emitted another croak, and Philip drew the obvious conclusions.

The taller one recovered more quickly and tried to dart past Philip for the door.

Philip sidestepped to block his way, and the other came at him as well. Philip hadn’t

spent years training as a knight to be defeated by two beardless boys in unarmed

combat. The struggle was brief, the outcome inevitable.

With the two boys in neck-locks, one wedged under either arm, Philip used his foot

to kick the door closed. He reached for the cord without releasing either one and pulled

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on it to summon a servant. He walked them over to his bed and dumped both boys

onto it.

Anger and satisfaction settled in his gut as he stared at them.
“So, finally, I’ve caught my tormentors,” he said, softly, watching them blanch as

they heard the menace in his tone. “In the act. What was it to be this time?” he asked

them.

“My-my lord,” the taller one, whom he took to be the older as well, though he

hadn’t even a bit of fuzz on his face as yet, squeaked. His voice cracked. “We were here

to swab the floor for you.”

At that moment the bucket emitted a series of unhappy croaks, drawing all eyes

toward it.

“And that’s the water bucket?” he asked. “I suppose it’s purely a coincidence it’s

making those noises.” He shook his head at the boys. “Frogs in my bed this time?” he

asked. “‘Tis not as dangerous as some of the tricks you two have played, but ‘twould

certainly put me out should I have discovered myself sharing the bed with them in the

late hours.”

“My lord, we didn’t…that is, we wouldn’t…”
Philip stared hard at them. The younger one, a pale boy with brown hair and brown

eyes, cringed and appeared too terrified even to speak. The older boy had lighter brown

hair, lightly tanned skin, and strange, pale green eyes flecked with bronze. Those eyes

met his gaze more boldly although Philip could read the fear in them as well.

“Don’t compound your guilt with lies,” he warned. “You’re not—”
A knock at the door interrupted the lecture. At his bidding a servant entered. The

man’s eyes widened as he took in the scene, but he wisely said only, “My lord?”

“Summon Sir Thomas, Sir Peter, and Derwyn. Tell them I have need of them in my

solar immediately.”

“Very good, my lord.” The man made a hasty exit, shutting the door again as he

left.

Philip continued to watch the two boys, though it was mostly the older one who

held his attention. The younger was too frightened and timid to be much use. “While

we wait, may I ask exactly what you hoped to accomplish with these…harassments?”

“We didn’t…”
“Do not lie to me!” Philip’s tone held an intended harshness.
Both boys flinched. The older one drew a deep breath. “What plan you to do with

us, my lord?”

Philip studied them. He’d been asking himself that same question, but he knew

what had to be done. “Make an example of you,” he answered. He hadn’t thought

either one could get any paler, but both did. The younger one moaned and started to

cry quietly.

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The older boy leaned over and brushed a hand across his shoulder. “My lord,” he

said, his voice carefully controlled, “Ross was only involved in this because I made him

help me.” He patted the younger boy’s shoulder again. “Spare him, if you please. The

guilt is entirely mine.”

“Admirable,” Philip said, holding the older boy’s gaze. “What is your name, young

man?”

“Martin, my lord,” the boy’s voice broke into a squeak that he controlled with some

effort. “Martin Fisher.”

“Martin Fisher, you admit this prank was your idea and your doing? And all the

other pranks as well?”

The boy nodded quickly.
“Very well. I’ll keep that in mind. But your friend Ross did assist you and so cannot

be entirely excused from punishment.”

“But you will spare his life?”
“Spare his life?” Philip couldn’t help his astonishment. “What think you I plan to

do?”

“My lord, you said you’d make an example of us.”
“And what do you take that to mean?”
Martin had to draw a deep breath and steady himself to speak. “A stretched neck, I

should suppose.” He tried to make the words light, as though he cared little about it,

and failed completely.

Philip had to control a small gasp of shock on his own part. “It’s past time all in this

keep understood I am their lord now, whether it pleases them or no, and I shall have

order and discipline in my household. That said, though,” he continued, watching the

boys’ reactions, “I’m no tyrant either. While some of your pranks of the last few days

have come close to being attempts to kill me, I would still decline to execute children for

such. I think a sound whipping, performed before the assembled household, will get

my point across, just as effectively.”

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Chapter Two

Both boys looked dazed as three of his own men, Sir Thomas Preston of Westvale,

his nephew, Sir Peter Wrathkin, and Derwyn of Eastchester, arrived to assist him. Philip

had his men secure the two, then he sent Sir Thomas to demand the household

assemble in the great hall immediately, Derwyn to cut a set of switches, and Sir Peter to

gather the rest of the equipment he would need.

He waited with the boys while his men carried out his orders, studying them.

Following his pronunciation of his intentions, both had looked momentarily relieved,

but then, no longer burdened by the worry of impending execution, the older one had

let anger and defiance show on his face. With their hands and ankles bound, there was

little else they could do now.

“I ask again,” he said. “Why have you been subjecting me to this harassment? What

did you hope to accomplish by it?”

The younger boy looked up at the older.
“You’re not our true lord,” Martin said defiantly. “You have no right to be here.”
“And who has determined that?” Philip asked.
The boy shrugged as well as he could. “You have no connection to the Alderwood

family.”

“There were no male heirs remaining after Sir William took it and slew the old

Baron and his son. Title therefore reverted to the Crown. The king granted it to me in

thanks for my part in defeating Sir William. Do you gainsay the king’s right to bestow

the honor?”

The boy shrugged again.
“Who would you have in my place, then?” Sir Philip asked. “Surely you recognize

the need for a lord to hold the keep and secure your safety?”

“We did well enough without one before your arrival.”
“For a short time. ‘Twould not have been long before some other warrior in the area

noted your lordless state and set his sights on it. Many would be far less comfortable

than I to deal with. “ He looked at them, but saw no change in either boy’s expression.

“I at least will endeavor to be fair to all herein, to rule justly, to secure the safety and

prosperity of all who depend on these lands. I am not by nature cruel, harsh, or

tyrannical. I’ll be firm when needed—as now—but will deal gently and respectfully

with those who accord me the same.”

“Pretty words, my lord. But you do not know these lands or the people on them.

Why should we believe what you say? Why would you want to settle down and remain

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here in this out-of-the-way place? Surely an important and powerful knight such as

yourself will have more pressing business elsewhere much of the time.”

Philip looked at the boy again, struck by something out of place in the way he

spoke. It took him a moment to realize the boy’s tone and words suggested a better

education and more boldness and self-confidence than usually found in a household

servant.

“I plan to demonstrate the truth of what I say by the way I conduct myself and the

affairs of the keep. I intend to learn what I can of the lands and the people. And I do

plan to settle here and make this my home. I have no taste for politics or the intrigues of

court, and my closest friends are not far removed from here. But you, sir. What is your

role in this household?”

Oddly, the boy blushed, a hint of pink rushing over the tanned skin. He hesitated a

fraction of a second too long. “I’m assistant to the steward, my lord.”

Philip doubted it was an outright lie, just as he doubted it was the entire truth.

“And your friend?”

“Works in the stables, my lord. He’s very good with the horses.”
A knock sounded at the door. Sir Thomas pushed it open and stuck his head in.

“All is in readiness, my lord,” he said.

“Good.” Philip stood, went the bed, and pulled each boy to his feet. “Release their

ankles, Thomas, and help me escort them to the great hall.”

As he and Thomas pulled the young men along with them, Philip had to admire the

dignified way the older boy faced his fate with head held high and no begging or

whining. He even sent the younger an encouraging smile every now and again.

In that moment Philip realized he didn’t want to punish these youngsters. The older

one, in particular, had a courage he could admire. But then he remembered the frogs in

the bucket in his room, the excessive spice in his stew, the chair leg that had been

damaged so that when he sat in it, it collapsed, pitching him back and off the dais on

which it was placed. But for a lucky twist of his body, he might have been badly injured

by that fall. The thorn in the blanket under his saddle might likewise have caused

serious injury were his steed not so well trained to battle.

He dared not tolerate such incidents and allow them to go unanswered.
Philip didn’t know the household well enough to be sure everyone was present, but

the gathered crowd was large enough to represent a significant portion of it. All seats at

the trestle tables were taken, while groups of people clustered throughout the hall and

lined the walls. Those not present would hear the story of this day’s work.

He signaled Thomas to take the boys to one side as he stepped up to the dais. He

pitched his voice loud enough for all to hear. His speech to the assembled household

wasn’t eloquent or pretty, but it got across his message that he was now the lord of this

household, that he wanted to be fair and just, but he would have discipline in the place

and would serve justice as best he could. That included meting out chastisement when

such was due.

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He explained to the group what the boys had done and why they were being

punished. He added that the older of the two had already admitted his guilt and that

he’d been the instigator and leader of the efforts, so he would get the heavier penalty.

He called the younger boy to stand before him. Thomas escorted the young man

and untied his hands.

“What is your full name, young man?” Philip asked.
“R-r-r-oss Cameron, my lord.” The boy stuttered badly but managed to get it out.
“Ross Cameron, you admit to taking part in malicious pranks against my person?”
“Aye, sir,” the boy said.
“You did so at the behest of your friend, Martin Fisher?”
“Aye, sir. B-b-but I…Sh…No one forced me to it.”
Philip regarded the boy. “An admirable observation, and true as well. For your

fault you’ll receive a dozen cuts with the switch. Undo the laces of your breeks and lay

on the bench, facing toward the room.”

The bench was long enough that the boy’s entire length could be spread on it with

some room to spare. Sir Thomas and Derwyn moved to the bench and quickly used

lengths of cloth to secure Ross’s hands to the legs of the bench and fasten him down on

it at waist and knees. Philip rolled the boy’s breeks down to his knees, picked up a solid

feeling switch and proceeded to deliver the promised dozen strokes.

He struck sharply, trying to measure his blows to raise significant welts without

drawing blood. For the most part he succeeded.

The first three strokes left red lines across the flesh but didn’t raise welts. Philip

increased the force on the next ones. The boy accepted the punishment more stoutly

than Philip expected. He only groaned and tried to kick free once or twice.

The room grew quiet during the punishment, the only sounds the whiz and crack of

the switch as it struck skin and the small gasps of the victim. Looking around Philip

saw one or two of the softer-hearted women wince with each cut, while some of the

men nodded. Most remained stone-faced, however.

After seven strokes, his switch splintered and he picked up a new one. He delivered

each stroke in easy rhythm, but he did make the final one harder than those that had

gone before. It struck with a resounding crack and painted a brilliant red line almost

straight across the boy’s bottom that rose quickly into a thick, angry welt. The boy

squealed loudly, then controlled it into a series of panting groans.

Philip dropped the switch, restored the boy’s breeks and signaled to his men to

release his bonds. Ross wavered a little as he got to his feet and Philip steadied him.

“I hope you learn from this how unwise it is to provoke your lord’s wrath,” Philip

told him.

The boy looked up at him. His brown eyes were bright with unshed tears and his

voice was unsteady as he said, “Aye, my lord.”

“You may go, then. And all is forgiven, but please do not try my anger again.”

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“Aye, my lord,” the boy repeated. Derwyn helped him climb down from the dais

and stagger off to a side of the room.

Philip sighed as he turned to the other miscreant. Ross’s punishment had no doubt

felt harsh to the boy, but in truth it was fairly light. This next one would be considerably

more severe.

Sir Thomas and Sir Peter escorted Martin to the dais, removed the rope binding his

wrists and stood aside. Philip was surprised by the crowd’s reaction. He heard a

number of gasps and a few sobs mixed with many exclamations of shock and dismay.

He couldn’t guess what it meant, other than perhaps Martin was a rather popular

young man. Given the boy’s attractive looks, the boldness of the bright green gaze, and

the quickness of his tongue, Philip could well imagine it was so.

Philip held up a hand and the gathered members of his household quieted.
“Martin Fisher,” he addressed the young man, “You’ve admitted your guilt in the

incidents of harassment and persecution I’ve been subjected to since my arrival. You’ve

further admitted that those were committed at your design and instigation. Have you

anything to add to this?”

The young man stood straight and watched him with a combination of fear,

dismay, and a reluctant respect. “Nay, my lord.” His voice was steady. He came only to

Philip’s chin, but he was slim and held himself with dignified firmness.

“Very well. Since you’ve admitted you own most of the responsibility for the

incidents, you will also receive the majority of the punishment. Ross received a dozen

strokes with the switch. You will get three dozen.”

A number of people gasped. One woman sobbed loudly, and a few scattered

protests erupted, but Philip quelled them with a look. The boy himself had paled

noticeably. A bead of sweat ran down his temple.

“Loosen your laces, Master Fisher,” Philip directed, “and take your place on the

bench.”

The young man drew a deep breath and complied with some obvious reluctance,

though not enough to compel Philip to have one of his men force the pace. Martin

Fisher was fastened down to the bench much as Ross had been, with wrists tied to the

legs of the bench and straps holding him down at waist and knees. The bindings were

pulled a bit tighter since the punishment would be more severe.

Philip rolled down his breeks. The young man’s buttocks were slim but

surprisingly rounded, verging on effeminate. His legs clenched tightly together,

anticipating the pain to come. Still, he’d shown a man’s composure in the way he’d held

himself and dealt with his lord.

Again Philip wavered in his anger, but then he reminded himself this troublesome

boy had put him in considerable danger of injury or worse with some of his pranks. The

entire household knew it, too. Did he not answer it justly, he would get no respect for

any of his commands from anyone here in the future. He picked up another switch,

raised it, and whipped it down for the first strike.

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The boy tensed as the first cut dug in. A red welt appeared almost immediately,

though in truth it hadn’t been a hard lash. Because there were so many to go, Philip

kept the first few strokes fairly light, almost a warm-up. After the first half-dozen,

though, he began to bring the switch down more smartly. He’d been on the receiving

end of such a punishment himself often enough to know how much it would sting and

burn.

By the time he’d delivered a dozen strokes, Martin was wriggling and gasping

occasionally, though he bore it well, with no squalling or begging for mercy.

To spare his arm, Philip allowed some time between each cut, which gave the

victim some recovery time as well. By the time two dozen had been administered, the

young man’s loins and thighs, from just below his waist to just above his knees, were

bright red and webbed with raised, crimson welts. The boy moaned quietly at times,

tensed and wiggled with each lash, and had squealed on one particularly hard stroke,

but he was maintaining a surprising control. Philip had already splintered two switches

and selected bigger, heavier new ones each time.

The boy’s composure began to break up as the last dozen cuts printed new, harsh

welts over already grated flesh. Determined to ensure his message was driven home,

Philip delivered the final strokes with yet more force. With six to go, Martin began to

gasp and groan aloud at each cut. His body arched within the bindings, and he tried to

kick out.

The fourth-to-last stroke drew a long, loud cry that trailed into a series of sobbing

moans. With the next cut he arched and wriggled so hard, he revealed more of his body

than he would have been comfortable knowing about.

Philip almost dropped the switch in shock. He should have guessed, he realized.

There had been clues enough.

Martin wasn’t a young man at all. He was a young woman.
Just as Philip’s brain absorbed the realization, his body reacted to it. His cock,

quiescent throughout the scene so far, abruptly engorged and tried to stand at attention.

Fortunately his long overtunic would hide that reaction from the view of the crowd. But

he grappled with what to do next.

The punishment he’d meted out already was severe but not unduly so for a young

man. For a young woman, though, it was quite harsh. Should he continue?

He doubted anyone around him could have seen what he did, and he wasn’t sure

he wanted to reveal his knowledge. Not until he’d had time to think about what it

might mean. Only two strokes remained to be administered. Drawing a deep breath,

Philip raised the switch and brought it down again. Not so hard this time, but it stuck

across very sore skin. “Martin” jerked and screamed.

Philip made the last cut little more than a tap, then dropped the switch and nodded

to his men to release her. He rolled the breeks up her hips, noting that she now lay quiet

and only twitched occasionally. Finally the rest of her bonds were released, and Sir

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Thomas tried to assist her to stand. She pushed up off the bench, but suddenly went

very pale and wavered. Thomas caught her as she fell forward.

To spare her modesty, Philip quickly retied the laces on her breeks, took her weight

from Thomas and hoisted her into his arms. She was lighter than he expected. He stood

on the dais, holding “Martin” in his arms, and announced to the gathered crowd that

his crimes were forgiven. Philip reminded them all he had no wish to be a tyrant or

unduly harsh, but as he’d just demonstrated, he would punish any wrongdoing

brought to his attention.

Then he stepped down from the dais and walked over to where his men stood with

a tearful Ross and a few other members of the household. Ross looked at the figure

slumped in Philip’s arm.

“Is…Is she…I’m mean, he’s not…?”
“He’ll be fine,” Philip answered, glancing around at other nearby members of the

household who seemed anxious about the answer also. “He was punished hard and

he’s weak from the pain, but there’s no damage done and he’ll recover soon enough.”

He looked around again. “If someone will please show the way, I’ll take him back to his

quarters. And if you have a healer in the household, I’d like the boy to have the

attention.”

He heard the name “Brianne” mentioned and someone turned to go find her. But

no one stepped forward to guide him.

“Can no one show me to his quarters?”
The group looked at each other, doubt and indecision written on all their faces.

Finally Philip said, “Fine. Tell the healer to come to my solar.”

Several of the group gasped. One said, “My lord!”
He turned to the speaker. “Aye?” The elderly woman looked as confused as she did

scandalized. Clearly most of the household knew as well as he now did that the person

he held wasn’t a boy. Philip also suspected this “Martin” wasn’t just a servant, either, to

be the object of so much consternation.

Finally a woman made her way to his side. She was tall, straight, in her middle to

late thirties. “I’m Brianne, my lord,” she said. “I’m told you were asking for my

services.”

“Aye, madam. Can you show me the way to Master Martin’s quarters?”
One of her eyebrows rose. “I don’t believe anyone knows the location of Master

Martin’s quarters. But I’ll take you to a solar we can use.”

“Your own?” he asked.
“Nay. A room that belonged once to one of the lord’s family.”
Still holding the young woman, who stirred and moaned softly, Philip followed

Brianne along the same corridor where his own solar was located. They passed his

quarters, and Brianne opened a door two down on the opposite side. “In here, my lord.

We won’t be disturbed.”

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He carried “Martin” into a large, comfortably furnished room and set her down on

a lavishly pillowed and curtained bed covered in satin and lace throws. The young

woman didn’t move or open her eyes. Philip put a hand on her forehead, which felt a

little cool from the sweat beaded on it. Studying her, he wondered how he could ever

have believed her to be a boy. The features had a delicacy and grace one wouldn’t

expect in a male. She was also older than he’d realized. As a boy she’d looked fourteen

or fifteen. As a female, she appeared to be nearly out of her teens or maybe older.

He turned to look at Brianne and said, “Who is she?”

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Chapter Three

“You should know I can’t tell you, my lord,” Brianne said as she went to her

patient’s side. Philip watched her put a hand on “Martin’s” throat and forehead. “Only

she can explain it.”

“I’m your lord. I could order you to tell me.”
Brianne turned toward him. “Indeed you could. And would you punish me as you

did her should I decline to answer?”

“Perhaps.”
“I think not, my lord. In giving the answer you seek, I’d break a promise made to

someone else. You claim you will try to rule justly. Is it justice to compel someone to

break a promise given to another with threats of punishment?”

“It might be, should I deem the matter of sufficient importance.”
“And do you deem this such an instance, my lord?”
Philip stared at her, not liking the way she’d backed him into a corner. “Nay, it’s

not,” he said. “Not yet, anyway.” He sighed. “Had I known…Will you tell me when she

is able to talk to me?”

“I’ll send word, my lord.” Brianne stood up as he turned to go. “My lord.”
Philip stopped and looked his question at her.
“It was a mistake,” Brianne said, “but not yours, and not so bad a one as you might

think.”

“I hope you’re right. Where might I find Ross’s quarters?”
“He bunks in the young men’s quarters near the barn. He won’t tell you what you

want to know either.”

“Are you sure?” Philip asked, pleased she’d left him an opening for a bit of

retaliation.

“He made the same promise. Ross is not clever, but he’s loyal.”
“But you assume I mean to ask him the same question I asked you,” Philip said.

“All I desire to know from Ross at the moment is whether he’s in unbearable

discomfort.”

For a moment Brianne frowned, then her lips crooked into a half-smile. “My lord.

Thank you.”

Philip nodded and went to find Ross. After some searching, he located the boy in

Derwyn’s quarters. Evidently Derwyn had concluded the youngster needed more

privacy than he’d get in the communal young men’s barracks. The two seemed to have

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developed some friendship in the short time of their acquaintance. When Philip entered

the room, the boy cowered back against Derwyn.

“You need have no fear of me,” Philip told the boy. “You’ve had your punishment.

Unless you cross me again, they’ll be no more.” The words didn’t seem to mollify Ross

very much.

“I came to see if you were in need of anything. If you were in too much

discomfort.”

The boy stared back at him. He didn’t appear to be in any great pain, but Philip

looked at Derwyn for confirmation.

“He’s well enough, my lord,” Derwyn said. “No more than a slight bruise or two. I

put some liniment on them and already the pain is near to gone. Is that not so, Ross?”

“Aye, Master Derwyn. “ The boy looked up at Philip. “How is she?” He heard the

error and colored. “Martin, I mean. How is he?”

“You needn’t continue the deception, Master Ross,” Philip said. “I know already

that ‘Martin’ isn’t a ‘he’.”

The boy nodded but said no more.
“She’ll be well enough. Mistress Brianne is with her and assures me she’s in no

danger. She’ll sleep for a while yet, though.”

Philip left them shortly and went back to the chamber where he’d left “Martin.”

Brianne answered his knock and came out into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

“How is she?” Philip asked.
“You needn’t worry, my lord. She’ll be sore for some time but no worse. ‘Twas an

artfully delivered whipping. Many welts raised but only two broke the flesh and those

only lightly. She’ll sit on pillows for a few days and not move comfortably for a while

but will carry no scars.”

“That was my intention.”
Brianne nodded. “I’ll send word when she can speak with you.”
Philip accepted the dismissal and went about his business for the rest of the day. He

didn’t receive the summons until the next morning.

She had evidently been informed of his awareness of her sex. Dressed as a young

woman now, “Martin” sat on a chaise, supported on a goose-down pillow, wrapped in

a very feminine robe when he arrived. She made no effort to rise.

“Come in, my lord,” she said, when he hesitated. “Please take a seat and forgive me

if I don’t give you due courtesy.” Her words held an edge of mild irony. The throaty

voice was Martin’s but lighter, without the effort to deepen it into a more masculine

sound.

“Forgiven,” he said, seating himself in the only other chair in the room, a hard-

backed, hard-seated affair that faced the lounge. “How fare you?”

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“You’ve a heavy hand with the switch, my lord,” she said. “Brianne tells me that

my derriere is nicely marked up.”

“And she tells me ‘twill heal quickly, leaving no mark behind.” He looked at her,

taking in the light brown hair and peculiar bronze-flecked green eyes that burned with

some hidden emotion. He let his eyes wander further afield and wondered again how

he could have failed to realize her sex. Her breasts were not over-large but softly

rounded and undoubtedly feminine. Her hips, too, curved sweetly. His body began to

react, fueled by the memory of the lovely curves of her derriere and the enticing

glimpse of feminine secrets he’d been afforded. To distract himself, he said, “Had you

admitted to your sex sooner, the punishment would have been less severe.”

“You would still have whipped me in front of the household?”
“Aye, but perhaps not in quite the same way.” She had a fascinating face. Not

beautiful, but pretty, with clear skin, perhaps a little paler than normal, straight nose,

and dark brows arched over the large green eyes. Her lips were soft pink, ripe for

kissing. It wasn’t just the prettiness of her features that made her so appealing, though.

Strength, intelligence, and character showed in the firm set of her mouth and the way

she met his eyes so directly.

“Who are you?” he asked.
She watched him for a moment without speaking. Behind the expressionless eyes,

she was thinking and calculating. He wondered why the answer required so much

thought, then wondered how likely it was anything she said would hold any truth.

“I’m Lady Mary Alderwood,” she answered.
“Alderwood?”
“The late baron was my brother.”
“Sir William’s man?” He couldn’t keep the derision out of his tone.
“No!” Her outrage equaled his own. “The man Sir William murdered to take this

keep. My father held the title before him. Sir William’s man”—the way she said it made

him nearly wince away from the malevolence of her tone—”did not remain here long.”

“Ah,” Philip said. That answered a number of questions raised yesterday. “And

may I conclude your attempt at disguise owed something to the treatment you received

or feared to receive from your brother’s replacements?”

“Conclude as you will, my lord.”
“And while I’m doing so, I believe I’ll also conclude that your campaign against me

was an attempt to bring about my departure as quickly as my immediate

predecessor’s.”

“Nay, my lord. More quickly yet.”
Philip watched her and read fear beneath her anger. Fear that might drive her to

continue her campaign despite the risks. “I intend to settle here and make this my

home, despite all efforts of affronted former ladies of the manor. I strongly advise

against any further attempts to intimidate or drive me from here.”

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17

“You’ve made your feelings clear, my lord.”
“And my willingness to act on those feelings?”
“Equally clear,” she answered, her tone hard and defensive.
“Good. Then we need dwell on it no longer. There are other things we must discuss.

What to do about you now, among other things.”

Alarm showed clearly in her green eyes. “What to do about me?”
“Why are you not wed and raising a family, lady?” he asked. “You’re surely of

sufficient years.”

“And beyond, my lord. I’m two and twenty.”
“And not even betrothed? A lady as comely as you, I can scarce imagine you

haven’t suitors calling constantly.”

“Nay. Not at present. I have been betrothed…twice. The first suitor died before ever

he got to the wedding. The second’s family was offered a proposal they found more

satisfactory. Then my mother and father died, and before another betrothal could be

worked out, my brother was under siege here. You know the rest.”

“Anyone who thought to find a more satisfactory match than you would have to be

a fool. So what do we now, lady? If you stay here with me, an unmarried man, for any

time, your reputation will suffer.”

“I have no reputation to suffer, my lord.” She looked at him, shifted, and grimaced.

“Most of the world believes me safely ensconced in the convent of the Sisters of St.

Benedict.”

“The household knows you’re here and hiding behind the identity of Martin

Fisher.”

“Aye, but they won’t betray me.”
Philip shrugged neither confirming nor denying. “What do you want, Lady Mary?

What future do you seek?”

“Peace,” she said. “A quiet, ordinary life.”
“You’d do well to fly to that convent, then,” he suggested.
“Nay, I want freedom as well. And I feel no call to the contemplative life.”
“To what life are you called?”
“I was trained to be the lady of a manor. To run a household, organize supplies,

supervise servants, keep the books. To…” She flushed a becoming pink.

Philip could guess what she would meant, but wanted to hear her say the words

anyway. “My lady?”

“To be a helpmeet to a husband and mother to children.”
Philip thought about it. “Have you any dower, lady?”
She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “You’ve put your finger neatly on the problem,

my lord. I have none. And no relatives to provide any.”

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Philip nodded and sighed. “I would help you if I could. But my own personal

resources are slight. I’m a younger son with a vigorous father and brothers, whom I

love and to whom I wish naught but good health and long life. All my hopes are

entailed in this estate.”

He clasped his hands together and studied them while he considered what he

might do. “As a lady of the manor, trained in its management, I presume you should

know: could the estate afford you a dowry?”

Her smile was sad and a little bitter. “As of now, only the land itself could dower

me,” she answered. “Sir Benwyck, your predecessor, took all of value he could lay

hands on before taking his own departure.” Her sudden smile still held bitterness, but

some real amusement too, and it lit her green eyes with an enchanting light. “That was

perhaps the most valuable thing of all he took, and to our benefit.”

“Benwyck of Cryll?” Philip asked.
Her face darkened. “You know him. Be you friend to him?”
“Not at all,” Philip answered. “Perhaps you’ll be heartened to know Sir Benwyck

no longer inhabits this earth. He was among those killed when we defeated Sir William

de Railles.”

She breathed out a long sigh, and her expression changed from anger to

satisfaction. “The church teaches we should not rejoice or be glad in the misfortunes of

others, even those we name enemy, and I understand the rightness in that. Nonetheless,

I can’t help but feel some relief to know this world is rid of him. I leave him to God’s

mercy, did he earn any of it.”

“Little enough, I should imagine, if the stories I’ve heard of him be true.”
“Some of them, I can personally attest, are.”
What Philip heard in her voice made him believe she had suffered something very

bad at Benwyck’s hands, and it filled him with a sudden spurt of rage on her behalf. He

almost laughed at himself and wanted to bang himself over the head at the same time.

She’d had no gentle treatment from him, either. He moved to touch her hand, a gesture

of sympathy, and she flinched back, away from the contact.

He could scarce blame her. He watched her and felt sympathy for her difficulties

and a surprising desire to improve her situation. He wanted to protect and shelter her,

if he could. He wanted to see her green eyes lit with laughter, her beautifully shaped

lips form into a smile for him. Something inside him responded to her. And with that

came a thought, the beginnings of a plan.

“Lady Mary,” he said, ignoring the shadow of doubt and distrust in her eyes.

“Think you this estate could be brought to prosperity again, with proper guidance and

management?”

A glimmer of curiosity drove out some of the distrust from her expression. “Aye,

my lord. I’m quite sure it could. The land is rich and the people industrious. ‘Twas

prosperous enough under my parents’ management.”

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19

“Then would you be willing to assist me in restoring it to that condition?”
For the first time she met his eyes directly, assessing him, but with somewhat less

suspicion and hostility. Surprise showed in her expression and some doubt. “You

would want…?”

“Your help. Aye.”
She continued to stare at him, with increasing distress. “But why would you ask my

assistance, my lord? Since your arrival I’ve done naught but try to make your life a

misery.”

“And in some measure succeeded,” he admitted. “But then I’ve answered that as

effectively as I know how.”

This time she flushed a bright red. He watched in fascination as the color rose along

her throat and into her cheeks.

“You need not my assistance in restoring this keep to prosperity. I’ve no doubt

you’re capable of doing so on your own.”

“I’ve no doubt of it, either,” Philip lied. “But your assistance would ease the way

considerably. You know the land and the people. The people know and respect you.”

She drew a deep breath. “They did at one time respect me. I know not if I still have

that.”

“You do. I can promise you. But it brings us back to the question of an unmarried

lord and lady sharing a manor with no chaperone.” He stunned himself almost as much

he did her when he leaned forward and asked, “Lady Mary Alderwood, will you do me

the considerable honor of becoming my wife?”

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Chapter Four

Lady Mary watched the man seated nearby and wondered if she could really have

heard him say what she thought she’d heard. It couldn’t be possible. It must be the

longings of her heart twisting the words into the semblance of what she hoped to hear.

“My lord?” she asked, hating herself for the stupid, pitiful way it sounded.
“Lady Mary, I confess I’m almost as astonished myself as you, no doubt, are. Yet I

think it an excellent solution.”

“My lord…” She sounded witless, repeating herself like this. “I know not what to

say. Of the things I might have expected from you, this would be the very last. I find it

difficult to understand why you should offer such. I’ve tormented you and made your

life a misery since you arrived. I can bring you nothing, as I’ve just told you. You have

this estate and your prowess as a warrior, and you’re quite…well-favored. You could

surely expect to make a more advantageous marriage.”

He was indeed well-favored. She thought him perhaps the most handsome man

she’d ever seen, with his tall, straight carriage and the dark hair that curled becomingly

around his well-shaped head. His fine, dark-blue eyes held flickering lights when he

laughed or smiled, or even when his anger flared, and a well-trimmed beard enhanced

rather than hid the sleek lines of his cheek and jaw.

“You bring me much that I seek,” Sir Philip answered. “Knowledge of the land and

the people, the household and the accounts. But more besides. You’re a clever woman,

resourceful, spirited, and courageous. Most other ladies would have whined or moaned

or berated me for my harsh treatment of you. I believe we should deal together very

well. And…”

For the first time he seemed hesitant and flushed a little.
“And what, my lord?”
He swallowed quickly. “You’re fair of face and graceful of carriage. I believe you’d

be a wife any man would be proud to claim.”

Mary shifted uncomfortably and winced. For a moment she’d forgotten the state of

her rear end, and the pain and humiliation he’d inflicted on her. Yet much as she might

wish to do so, she couldn’t hold it against him in light of the things she’d done to

bedevil him. She had deserved it for tormenting him so. And his penalty had been

nowhere near as harsh as it might have been. In fact, she found a part of her relished his

strength and sternness. But no, she wouldn’t permit such thoughts. She considered his

offer and realized she was very tempted by it.

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21

“You, too, have much to recommend you as a husband, Lord Philip. You’re a

strong, courageous man, well-spoken and well-favored. Yet you have no wife or

betrothed already?”

“As the younger son of a minor lord, there was no advantage to arranging an early

match with me. When I reached manhood, I chose to wait until I could favor my lady

with the means to keep her well.”

“My lord,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “I know it’s common for a

betrothal to take place between two people who know each other not at all, and that

many strong marriages result, but I fear we two know little of each other and have none

to vouch for us.”

“You have the loyalty of your household. That has been made very clear to me since

yesterday’s events, and it speaks well of your nature they value you so. For myself, I

could summon forth a few friends to testify to my character. I believe I’m generally

accounted loyal, courageous, strong enough at arms, and fair besides.”

“I’ve little doubt on that score, my lord. Even prior to yesterday’s events, I was

beginning to have second thoughts about my course.”

“Yet you didn’t turn from it?”
“I…I wasn’t prepared to, just yet.”
“I trust you’ve turned from it now.”
“You’ve twisted that course out of all recognition. My head is near to spinning now

as I consider how to proceed.”

“The decision shouldn’t be so difficult as that, my lady. You have few choices and

one should certainly seem to offer great advantages over the others.”

“You’re correct in that, my lord. But there are…other factors to consider.”
Lord Philip moved closer to her. Mary tried hard to control her urge to flinch away

from him and nearly managed it.

He noted it, however. “Does my harsh treatment of you stand between us?” he

asked. “Did it paint me in the image of Sir Benwyck in your eyes?”

It hadn’t occurred to her he might draw that conclusion. “My lord, no! Though your

punishment was harsh, it was neither unjust nor sinful. Your behavior to all here has, in

truth, been all that is honorable and courteous.” She met his deep blue eyes and found

them full of curiosity and sympathy. A sudden yearning filled her heart, a desire for

this man’s good regard, his respect, and maybe more. But he deserved more than the

little she could give him.

“Then what does stand between us?” he asked.
She drew a deep breath. She owed him her complete honesty, for the generosity of

his offer, if for naught else. But it was hard…She dreaded to see the disgust on his face

when he learned the truth.

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“This is difficult to speak of, my lord. Please understand if I seem to express myself

poorly.” She stiffened her spine and her spirit. “I can be no true and proper wife to

you.”

She watched his eyes and saw naught there but curiosity.
“I understand you might find such personal matters difficult to talk of,” he

answered. “But in light of my offer, I believe I have the right to ask the why of that

state.”

“You have the right, my lord.” She swallowed hard. “You’ve no doubt noticed I

find it difficult to endure your touch.”

“Rather more like impossible, I think.”
“Aye. If I can endure not the touch of a man’s finger, think you how I should react

to…contact of a more intimate nature.”

“Ah. I begin to see,” Lord Philip admitted. “Has it always been thus for you?”
“Nay.” She stared at her hands where her fingers twined together in a fleshy knot.

“Your predecessor…the conqueror who preceded you, Sir Benwyck…created the

repulsion. He wanted something similar to what you asked, but he made no such polite

offer. When I refused his demand for an immediate joining, he took my body by his

strength alone, believing my will would be crushed or turned to his way.”

“He forced you?”
“Many times,” she admitted. Gathering her courage, she looked up into his eyes,

forcing herself to brave the disgust and anger she expected to see. The anger she found,

but not the disgust. In its place she saw sadness along with a fury that brought a vivid

sparkle to his eyes.

“And that is why you drove him off, and tried to do likewise with me. You had no

way of knowing I would never stoop to such a deed. No man of honor could act thusly.

The world truly is better with him no longer in it. My lady, no words of mine could ease

your pain or calm your distrust.”

“Nay, my lord, and therefore I understand if you wish to rescind your offer.”
The anger faded a bit and a curious half-smile twisted his lips. “Nay, I don’t so

wish.” He sighed. “It does make our situation…less simple.” He studied her face for a

moment before he said, “My lady, would you favor me with your hand?”

She stared at him, wondering what he was about.
“I’ll do naught but hold it in mine own,” he said. “I promise that for now, I’ll do

nothing more. And if you truly can’t bear it, you have only to ask me to release it.”

Mary nodded, debated a moment, and decided to trust him. She put her hand out

toward him, trying to keep it from shaking.

He reached out with his own right hand and very gently wrapped his long fingers

around hers. The touch was light and careful, demanding nothing,

offering…everything. If only she had the courage to accept it.

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23

Though her stomach had begun to clench and roil at the contact, it relaxed again

after a moment as the fear faded. It wasn’t so very unpleasant to have him hold her so.

His hand was warm, his clasp just firm enough to keep her from shaking, but not so

tight she couldn’t pull away at any time. So long as she knew she could withdraw

easily, there was no terror. But there was something else, an unexpected reaction on her

part. Small streaks of heat poured from his flesh into hers and traveled along her arm.

They reached her heart and went deeper yet, into her very being.

He watched her intently. After a moment she raised her eyes from their clasped

hands to meet his gaze. She found care and encouragement in his face. Pride and

satisfaction grew there, too, as she watched him. His pleased smile was kind.

“I knew I could trust your courage,” he remarked. “May I put my other hand on

yours, as well?”

At her nod, he put his left hand on top so that her palm nestled between both of his

two. He didn’t squeeze or clutch at her, just held on lightly and comfortingly.

“You can tolerate this?” he asked.
“Aye, my lord. For a short time, at least.”
“It’s a start. Lady Mary, my offer to you will remain open for a year and a day.

During that time we’ll work together to restore the manor to its former prosperity. With

your permission, I’ll also try to build your confidence and at the same time rouse your

interest in a deeper relationship with me. But I promise, may God witness it, I’ll force

nothing on you.”

He grinned an alarmingly sensual and compelling smile. “I shall certainly try to

seduce your interest in me. In fact, I shall do all in my power to bring you to the point of

desiring naught but the closest and most complete union with me, but should anything

I do frighten or repulse you, you have but to say a word and I’ll stop.”

He held her gaze with his own, dark and intent, as he continued. “I’ll not make my

offer again until we’re both satisfied you can truly be a proper wife to me. And I’ll not

penetrate you until you beg me for it. Should we not have reached that goal at the end

of the year and a day, we’ll consider other possible arrangements. What say you, my

lady?”

“My lord, I know not—”
“I promise I’ll do naught you dislike or fear. In truth, I fully believe I can teach you

there’s much pleasure to be found in the joining of a man and woman who respect and

care for each other.” He stroked his left hand lightly across the top of hers, a very gentle

touch, but it sent the most delightful, disturbing vibrations through her. She sucked in a

sharp breath as a curl of warmth unfurled in her belly.

Because she was still more than a little fearful of the idea, she asked him, “And will

you promise not to punish me again?”

She wondered what he heard in the question. His expression turned cautious and

wry. Then she realized he had no more reason to trust her than she had to believe in his

promises.

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“Nay, lady, that I can’t promise, and well you know it. But this I do give you. I’ll

never punish you for refusing or rejecting me in matters relating to the physical

relations between a man and woman. You must be free to tell me “nay” or “cease” at

any time, and I’ll honor your request with no harshness. On other matters, however,

should honor or justice demand it, I will not spare you appropriate discipline, no more

than I would any other member of this household.”

Something he saw in her expression told him she still had doubts. He frowned,

thought a moment, and added, “Should it ever come to that end, and you feel my

discipline unjust, I give you leave to tell me so and ask that I rethink. I do not promise

to alter any such judgment, but I do promise to think it through again and take your

thoughts into consideration.”

“And yourself, my lord? Do you leave yourself subject to the same discipline?”
His sudden frown transmuted gradually into a smile. “Aye, lady,” he said softly. “I

do not exempt myself. Should they truly believe I have offended honor or justice in my

actions, the household may call for a judgment on it and I’ll do my utmost to judge the

case as though the accusation were made against another.” His smile broadened. “There

be no reason now why anyone here would believe that, but should such a case arise,

upon my honor I’ll demonstrate my adherence to the demands of justice.” His

expression grew serious again. “I truly want to make this keep my home and these

people my family. ‘Twill take time, I know, but I want to win their trust, to have them

know me as a lord they can respect. And I would win your trust as well, my lady. And

your respect and affection.”

Now he ran just the tips of his fingers across the back of her hand, and she shivered

at the tingles left in their wake. He lifted her fingers, still clasped between his, to his

cheek. “Can we but try it?”

She could resist him no longer. She smiled and said, “Aye, my lord. We’ll make the

trial.”

He hesitated a moment as though surprised by her capitulation, but his smile made

clear he was pleased with the result. “Come to me, then, when you’re well enough to

assume your duties.”

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Chapter Five

Philip had been waiting for it all morning, but the sharp knock on the open door

that roused him from his concentration wasn’t the interruption he expected. He

dropped the sheets of the steward’s notes about usage of various foodstuff he’d been

reviewing and looked up.

His second-in-command, Sir Thomas, his nephew Sir Peter, and Derwyn came in at

his nod. He nodded at the chairs along one wall of the room. “Bring them here.”

Each man grabbed a chair and dragged it close to the table serving as his desk.

“You need to get out from behind there and come give us a round in the lists,” Sir

Thomas said. “There are none here with sword-skill enough to offer any challenge.” He

sighed lightly. “We have few enough anyway.”

“We need more men to train in arms,” Peter added. “In the meantime, though, we

need you to give us true testing.”

“I’ll do so later,” Philip promised. “For now I’m finding that being lord of an estate

requires almost as much skill at ciphering and letters as more active pursuits. I have

much to learn about it.”

“There’s much to do around here to secure the place,” Sir Thomas agreed. “You

should look to replacing the gates as soon as you can. The walls need work, too. In

places the stone itself is crumbling. It appears repairs have been neglected for years. The

wood in the gates is rotting and the hinges are pulling out of the posts.”

Peter nodded. “The few fighting men there are seem to be armed with rough pikes

and little else.”

“The serfs are complaining about equipment that needs replacing as well,” Derwyn

added. “One showed me the only plow he has. He was using rope to hold it together in

places. Said he’d been asking the lords of the place for years for a replacement but was

told he’d have to wait.”

Philip sighed and rubbed his eyes. “There’s much to do here, but I know not where

to start.”

“The fortifications must be repaired right away,” Sir Thomas said. “We’re

vulnerable to any lord with more than a few dozen men invading and conquering.”

“But if the serfs can’t plow, we won’t have enough food for next winter. What point

strong fortifications do we all starve to death?” Derwyn added.

“What of the harvest this year?” Philip asked.
“I’m told it’s adequate, though the steward said ‘twould be a stretch to feel all with

the extra men now in residence.”

“Meaning us, I presume?”

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“Aye, my lord.”
“Philip, another year and some of the wall will collapse entirely,” Thomas

protested.

“Without more soldiers we can’t possibly defend the place,” Peter said.
Philip held up a hand. “I’ll work on plans for all the repairs to be done. Sir Thomas,

develop a list of all that needs to be done to the fortifications and try to put it in order of

importance. Derwyn, do the same for the farming. Peter, you for the weapons.”

The men nodded. When they rose to depart, Philip said, “Derwyn, how fares

Master Ross this morning?”

“As normal, my lord. He’s back in the barn, feeding the horses. His spirits appear

restored.”

Thomas looked at him and asked, “Is it true, my lord, as Derwyn claims, that

Master Martin is not exactly what he seemed?”

“It’s true. Master Martin is Lady Mary Alderwood, daughter and sister of the last

barons but one. She wore the disguise of a young man because she’d been treated foully

by Benwyck of Cryll when he took the keep at Sir William’s orders. She feared to

receive similar treatment from me.”

“She cannot be happy with you after…”
“After I whipped her for the pranks she played?” Philip finished. “She’s a rather

extraordinary lady. I believe she actually saw the justice in my actions. She was not

pleased to be on the receiving end of it, need I say, but I think she understood why it

was necessary.”

“Then she is an unusual lady,” Derwyn said. “But, what will you do about her, my

lord? Find some lord to marry her off to? Can you dower her?”

“Nay, I cannot dower her, but I can marry her off.” He laughed harshly. “If I can get

her to accept my offer.”

Derwyn sucked in a sharp breath.
Sir Peter laughed. “Your offer, my lord? You asked her to marry you?” He sounded

as though he expected Philip to call it a joke and waited for his friend to deny it. When

he didn’t, Peter added, “A lady who tried to kill you? You wish to spend the rest of

your life guarding your back in bed?”

He had a few doubts about that, too, Philip admitted to himself. No point in his

men knowing about them, however. “She knows now she gains more by my protection

than by my death.”

Thomas’s eyebrows rose. “I very much hope you’re right about that, my friend.”
“You may rest assured,” a female voice said from behind them. “I know this keep

needs a strong lord to hold it and restore it.”

The men turned to stare at the young woman in the doorway. Dressed in a white

shift with a green overdress, her face framed by a green wimple, Lady Mary made a

Binding Passion

27

strikingly graceful and attractive figure. Derwyn, Thomas, and Peter gaped, but finally

Derwyn said, “My lady. I’m pleased to see you about.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.
Philip stood and walked to meet her as she entered the room. “Lady Mary,” he said,

“May I make known to you my friends, Sir Thomas Preston of Westvale, Derwyn of

Eastchester, and my nephew, my sister’s son, Sir Peter Wrathkin?”

The men bowed in acknowledgement. She curtsied to them as well, offering a

charming smile that had a visible effect. Derwyn’s face lit up as he returned the grin,

and Peter seemed a bit dazed. Thomas regarded her with a more reserved, thoughtful

expression. Finally the men recovered their senses and excused themselves to go about

their assigned tasks.

Once they’d departed Philip turned to Lady Mary. “You’re certain you’re well

enough to be up?” he asked.

“I’m quite well, my lord,” she said. “Only a trifle sore in the rump. Naught that will

keep me from work, and in truth I was becoming restless. There’s always much to do,

and affairs will go awry do I not keep close watch on them.”

Philip nodded. “Perhaps you can help me read and evaluate this list from the

steward. I confess this is beyond my current knowledge.”

She nodded. “Aye. Affairs grew into a huge tangle during Sir Benwyck’s stay, and

I’d yet to restore order when you arrived.”

“Then help me sort this out,” he invited.
They worked on the paperwork together for another hour, then they proceeded to

make a tour of the manor. Though he’d been introduced to many of the people before,

with Lady Mary as his companion, he received a much warmer welcome and found

everyone more willing to share information and accept the suggestions he made. He

was surprised that so few mentioned or seemed concerned about his treatment of the

lady. Perhaps her apparent acceptance of his actions and his presence won him their

regard as well.

He was pleased to find so much of his assessment of the lady confirmed as he

watched her interact with the servants of the manor and deal with problems brought to

her attention. She was intelligent, charming, firm when she needed to be, but

understanding as well. She settled a dispute between the steward and the cook by

suggesting a compromise that satisfied both. Before accepting their agreement,

however, she turned to Philip to ask if her solution would be acceptable to him.

“It appears a reasonable suggestion,” he said. “Let it be so.”
Her smile lit her face in a way that nearly outshone the torches lighting the dimmer

corridors. Her green-flecked eyes sparkled. He had a sudden desperate urge to pull her

into his arms and kiss her. His cock reared and grew heavy at the thought.

As they made their way out of the room and down to the storerooms, he put a

gentle hand on her arm to stop her in the corridor. Mindful of his promise, he restrained

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himself and only smiled at her. “Thank you,” he said. “Already you’ve made more

progress in restoring order here than I had in two weeks.”

“Two weeks during which I did all in my power to hamper your efforts, my lord.”
It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. “The servants conspired with you to

make it appear affairs were even worse than they are?” he asked.

Her smile faded into distress and worry. “You’ll not hold it against any of them. All

knew of my treatment at the hands of Sir Benwyck and had no reason to believe you

would be different.”

“Nay,” he said, after he conquered his irritation. “I cannot fault them for their

loyalty. Does this signify that affairs are not as bad as they appear?”

She sighed. “Not, mayhap, as bad as has been portrayed to you, yet not altogether

good either. There’s much to do yet to restore this keep to order.”

He touched her cheek, gently running a finger down the soft flesh. “Together, my

lady, we’ll set it right.”

She went stiff for a moment, then relaxed when she realized he would go no

further. She stared into his eyes for a moment, as though trying to read his intentions.

“Aye, my lord, we shall.” She reached up and clasped his hand, holding it against her

cheek for a moment, her fingers stroking gently across the back of his hand. It took all

the power of his will to restrain himself from dragging her closer. He hadn’t realized

what a hard job he’d set himself when he vowed to seduce her with care and restraint.

He nodded and dropped his hand when she removed hers. They continued on their

rounds but Philip found it difficult keeping his mind on learning about the affairs of his

keep when it was the lady of the place he wanted to explore. He dutifully followed her

and listened.

When they returned to the room he’d marked out for his office, they spent some

time discussing what needed to be done. He repeated what Sir Thomas, Sir Peter, and

Derwyn had told him earlier.

“Aye, it’s so. Much needs repair,” she agreed. “Our master sawyer was killed in the

fighting when Sir William took the keep. The sawyer’s two apprentices are still a year or

two from coming of an age to do the work alone themselves.”

“Can we find someone else hereabouts to take this on?”
“We might send Florian Cooper to Detlington to train with their sawyer. He’s quick

and strong. I believe he could learn the trade quickly enough.”

Philip nodded. “Will you arrange it?”
“Aye,” she agreed.
“Will you have someone find another table and chair to bring in here? I believe we

shall need two desks.”

She nodded again.
“One thing more. Can the estate afford to mount a feast in the next few days? I

would celebrate a new beginning for all of us.”

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29

She thought for a moment. “The harvest is all but in. I believe it would be possible,

my lord. How many guests should we expect?”

“How many people have we working the manor and the lands close by?”
She frowned. “Perhaps 300, my lord. I can provide enough servants. But I’ll need to

know how many guest quarters to prepare.”

“I suppose some from the outlying areas will need to spend the night. I know not

how many of them there might be.”

“Perhaps fifty. We can accommodate them. But your friends and guests, my lord?

How many of them might we expect?”

Philip finally understood her confusion. “None for this, my lady. This feast is for

those people who are now my vassals. I would have everyone understand that I’m lord

here now, and we begin anew to rebuild this estate and make it among the greatest and

most productive in all of England. I want them to understand that I care for this place

for more than just what it can give me, and that I’ll try to be both a fair and just lord.

They know already I can be harsh when it’s required. I would have them know I can be

generous as well.”

Pleasure and gratitude chased the surprise from her face as she understood. “My

lord, that is a wonderful idea,” she said.

“You’ll see to the arrangements?” he asked. “I would be as generous with the food

as we might. The ale as well. We must have music and dancing, and whatever else is

appropriate.”

“It will be done, my lord,” she said. The excitement on her face was almost reward

enough for any effort he might make for the feast.

“You’re pleased with this?” he asked.
“Aye, my lord,” she said. “It’s a wise course.”
“For many reasons.” Philip moved closer to her. He was surprised and gratified

when she didn’t flinch back from him. “To see such joy on your face, for instance.” He

reached a hand toward her and waited until she took it. “Lady Mary, I’m going to kiss

you.”

He paused a second, allowing her time to protest or resist. When she did neither, he

leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers. She jumped in startlement at the

contact, then settled down and waited. Her lips were sweet and soft. His cock leapt to

attention as his heart raced, even though she remained still and unreacting.

He let his mouth slide carefully along hers, tasting fully the honey of her lips. For a

moment she was still as he caressed, but then she quivered gently and her lips moved a

bit under his. He ran his tongue along them, first outlining, then moving inward to the

damper, smoother region near the gums. He drank in the small sigh she let out as her

body softened and relaxed out of the tense fear. He knew then he would win her over

and it wouldn’t take all that long if he remained careful and controlled until he made

her forget the expectation of abuse.

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Her lips softened and parted. She put her arms around him, resting her hands on

his back, pulling their bodies closer together. He probed gently into her mouth,

brushing her teeth with his tongue. Her breath came faster and he felt her chest rise and

fall with the quicker rhythm. He put his hands on her face, running his fingers under

the wimple and into her hair. Her skin felt like satin.

For long minutes he explored the hot recesses of her mouth. When she moved her

tongue to meet his, they danced together, stroking each other, receding, then advancing

to dip and touch. She made a sound like a sob deep in her throat.

He moved in closer, but when she felt the hard staff of his aroused cock press

against her, she jumped and moved away, tearing their mouths apart.

Still, her eyes had sparkled with excitement and her lips curved in a sweet smile

before his arousal had frightened her.

“Your pardon, lady,” he said. “Some reactions cannot be controlled. A man’s cock

will rise in the presence of a lady he admires. Yet, the choice to use it remains his

decision. I’ll not let my body have its way until you’re ready to enjoy it as much as I

will.”

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Chapter Six

The noise surrounding her would have been unbearable save that it was the first

time in many years such joyful sounds had filled the air around the manor. Music

floated across the lawn from a group of local serfs piping and plucking with more

enthusiasm than skill. Fortunately a more talented group of traveling minstrels would

play later.

The hundred or more people already gathered on the grass in front of the manor

sang, laughed, shouted, and talked. A few were already dancing, practicing the steps in

preparation for more serious efforts later.

Mary’s heart lightened as she circulated among the people gathered there, asking

about families, babies, marriages, elders, crops, and other news. As her mother had, she

tried to keep up with the concerns of their serfs, but she’d been neglecting the job ever

since the arrival of Sir Benwyck changed her life so dramatically. It was time to catch up

again.

But even more than their own concerns, all wanted to talk about their new lord. She

was bombarded with questions about him, making her realize how little she actually

knew about Sir Philip as she tried to respond to the curiosity. Through her own

answers, she also realized how much doubt she still harbored about him. On the issue

of whether they could trust him to stay around to lead and protect, she could say only

that he’d said he would, and she thought it was true. She hoped it was true.

She occasionally caught sight of their new lord as he, too, moved among the

gathered crowds, introducing himself and engaging folks in conversation. More than

once she heard him laugh. The sound worked its way into her heart.

Mary had just gotten a cup of cider and was enjoying a quiet moment to sip it when

she spied him talking with two young women.

Alspeth was married with two small children and another one on the way. Yviane

was unmarried but had already borne one child without benefit of clergy and would

likely bear more. She was reputed to be well-acquainted with all the men in the area

under the age of forty, and a few of the more vigorous elders as well.

From her vantage point, Mary could see only the young woman’s back and a thin

sliver of her side, but she could read the come-hither wiggle of hips and shoulders with

no difficulty. The sudden surge of fury rising from her gut took her completely by

surprise. She’d rejected Sir Philip’s suit, though he’d refused to take it for that. What

right had she to object if he sought relief elsewhere?

Nonetheless, her fingers tightened around the pottery cup until they would have

dug into any softer material. Mary drew a deep breath and tried to calm herself,

reminded herself she had no claim on Philip. It served little purpose, however.

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She only began to calm again when Philip turned away to face a group of men

who’d come up to him. The two young women blushed and giggled as they walked

away, apparently sharing their approval of the new lord. Not that they cared much

about his character. They knew only that he was strong, handsome, virile, and

available. What more could a shallow, silly girl want?

“Your expression tells more than you might wish, my lady.”
Mary shook herself and turned to face Brianne. The woman was older than herself

and the healer, herbalist and midwife for the estate. She was also Mary’s closest friend.

“And what does it say?” Mary asked.
Brianne’s eyebrows slid up as she followed Mary’s former line of site unerringly

toward Sir Philip. “Dare we trust him? A man so well-favored, so strong and straight,

so well-spoken and powerful. Can he be true? Can he be what we need to lead us in

rebuilding to become prosperous again? Can he be what Lady Mary needs to heal the

wounds of the past?”

“You’ve seen all that in my expression?”
Brianne shrugged. “I’ve known you from your earliest days, my lady.”
“And what say you to those questions?”
Brianne’s expression grew more serious. “My lady, I believe he might indeed be all

he seems.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Time will prove it one way or another.”
“Aye.”
“Is it true he made an offer and you declined?”
Mary sighed. “He made an offer. I explained my…limitations as a bride for him.”
“And?”
“He has great confidence in his persuasive abilities.”
“Ah,” Brianne said, an expression that told Mary little.
“Ah—what?”
Brianne grinned. “I believe I could learn to like Sir Philip a great deal.” She drew a

long breath and her expression turned more serious. “My lady, if you’ll listen to my

advice…don’t fight him. You’ve little left to lose and much to gain, and he’s no Sir

Benwyck. Marriage is always a gamble and a struggle, yet in Sir Philip, I think you have

a better chance than you’d any reason to expect.”

“I tend to agree, but it’s not truly him I’m fighting. It’s myself.”
Brianne nodded. “Let him help you win the fight. Even if he isn’t all we hope, he

isn’t what we feared either. He, at least, will leave you no worse off, should he leave.”

“Except, perhaps, for a broken heart.”
Brianne’s eyebrows rose. “Has it come to that already?”

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33

Mary shrugged, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “He’s handsome, kind,

courteous, and has offered for me. He’s now the lord of this manor. How could I not

feel an attraction?”

“Then why do you not accept his offer?”
“I cannot give him what a wife owes her husband. Whenever he touches me, a part

of my mind can think only of Sir Benwyck and his brutality. Though I’d will it not to

happen, a panic overwhelms that I seem powerless to stop. I retreat and freeze up. Is

that a proper way for a wife to react to her husband?” Mary sighed and shook her head.

“What says he to it?”
“He’s confident in his power to charm and enchant me until I forget aught else.”
Brianne smiled. “I say again, then, give him the chance to do so.”
“I shall. But for now, I must to duty.” Mary noted that the servants were beginning

to bring out the serving platters of food, so she excused herself and went to supervise.

Grand platters of meats, breads and fruits provided a bountiful feast. Torches on long

stakes were planted in the ground in preparation for the celebration to last into the

night.

For the next couple of hours the details of organizing the party engaged her

attention. She had donned one of her few remaining nice gowns for the occasion, and

now had to take care the long, flowing sleeves didn’t trail into a food dish on one of the

trestle tables. She rolled them up and tucked under the ends as she stepped in to help

serve when a crowd grew too big at one place.

Many of those collecting food complimented her on how well she looked, and a few

added how nice it was to see the change in her station the last few days. She enjoyed

being with her people, dressed as a lady, filling that function again. For a little while she

could even pretend things were as they’d been a few years earlier, before Sir William

and Sir Benwyck combined to destroy the life she’d known.

Daytime was giving way to twilight as they finished serving food. A boy went

around lighting the torches. Mary left the cleanup to the servants. The more

professional group of minstrels had begun to warm up and tune their instruments, so

the real dancing would begin soon. She should be looking for Philip, since the lord and

lady of the manor would be expected to lead the first set. But first she went to check that

the minstrels had all they needed.

The lead musician, a young man with flowing dark hair and a glint of wicked

humor in his gray eyes, doffed his feathered cap with a flourish and bowed deeply as

she approached.

“My lady!” he said. “Good even to you. A fine party you’ve mounted here. And a

lovely day you chose, for so late in the year.”

His good humor and lopsided smile were so infectious, she felt confident the

evening’s entertainment would be more than satisfactory. “Thank you, Sir Musician. I

trust you’ll grace us with your best this evening. Will your music be equal in perfection

to the other trappings of the day?”

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34

“For you, lady, naught but the finest. We’ll give you all our very best, and you’ll be

more than satisfied.” He bowed yet again, dipping so low he nearly fell forward.

“I trust your efforts will be equal to your claims.”
He tried for an insulted frown but his merry face couldn’t retain the scowl. “Ah,

Lady, I have no facility with words to equal the sublime glory of the music we play.”

Mary laughed. “Either you underestimate your verbal gifts or you truly will

transport us to worlds divine.”

A voice from behind her said, “That’s a pleasant sound to hear.”
She turned to see Sir Philip standing directly behind her. “Do I believe Sir

Musician’s word, ‘tis naught to what we’ll experience later,” she answered, thinking he

meant the odd array of noises being produced by the musicians tuning their

instruments.

“I doubt it,” Sir Philip said. “Your laughter falls sweetly on my ears.”
Surprise held her silent a moment. Before she could voice any response, the

musician had doffed his hat again and bowed.

“My lord?” he said. “Have I the honor of addressing the lord of this keep?”
“Aye, Master Musician. Sir Philip of Alderwood, at your service.”
The merry young minstrel did a small jig, setting the bells on his shoes jingling.

“My thanks, Sir Philip. I hope your ‘service’ to me will more than balance my service to

you. Yet do I think in the end mine will be the poorer part of the bargain, since my

service will entertain the many hundreds of people here this evening, while yours will

only feed my few, poor fellows here.” He swept out a hand to indicate the other

members of his troupe.

Sir Philip smiled. “When your stay is ended and all services rendered, then can we

judge more accurately who gained most in the exchange.”

The musician nodded. “As you say, my lord. We’ll do our turn and throw ourselves

on your good nature.”

“You’re of an optimistic turn, then, Master Musician.”
For a moment the young man’s face went solemn. “Nay, my lord. I take each day as

it comes, the good and the bad, and try to change what I can, and live with what I

cannot.”

“A wise philosophy,” Sir Philip said. “Yet you will find I believe in fair recompense

for services well rendered.”

The smile returned to the musician’s face. “Then we should embark on earning a

great reward,” he said. “My lord and lady.”

Philip put a gentle hand on her arm and said quietly, “I believe it’s customary for

the lord and lady to open the dancing. Can you bear to partner me for one round at

least?”

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35

“Aye, my lord. But a moment, if you please.” She turned to the musicians once

more. “Have you all that you need, sirs? A pitcher of ale is there for your thirst, and I

presume you’ve supped?”

“Our thanks, my lady,” the young spokesman said. “We’re well supplied.”
She nodded and allowed Philip to lead her to the center of a large square set off by

a set of torch stakes. Other couples and individuals waited there, beginning to form into

lines for the dance.

Philip’s hand rested on her arm, sending strange little spurts of warmth running

along her flesh. When his thumb smoothed lightly across the inside of her wrist, below

where she’d tucked up the tails of her sleeve, the sensations ran like rivers of liquid fire

up her arm and all around her body. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before,

at once exhilarating and alarming. She shivered lightly, but he felt it.

“Are you well, Lady Mary?” he asked. “Has the work been too much for you?

You’ve had little rest these past few days, with all the preparations.”

“I’m well, my lord,” she said. “Just a momentary chill.” With evening falling, the air

was becoming cooler. “Once the dance begins, I’ll warm rapidly.”

He nodded and looked around. For the first time, she noticed he appeared uneasy.

“I fear you’ll find me a poor partner,” he said. “I’m too big and awkward to make a

pretty figure dancing.”

“My lord, I doubt it. I watched you practice with the sword in the yard yesterday.

There’s naught that is awkward about you. It seemed to me much of your cut and

thrust was just another form of dance. One done more quickly and with no music save

the clash of steel on steel, yet the movements were of a pattern, and there was an

appealing rhythm to it.”

For a moment he was stunned, but before he could say more, a flourish of the horn

announced the musicians’ readiness to begin. People fell into place behind them.

Mary had begun learning dance steps almost as soon as she could walk. She loved

the feel of the movement, the way her body seemed to flow with the music, becoming a

channel for sound to be made visible in motion. Without any conscious thought on her

part, her feet moved into the steps, her shoulders dipped and twisted, her knees bent

and hips swiveled as the pattern demanded.

All the time her attention remained on her partner. Contrary to his claim, Sir Philip

moved with careful grace and dignity through even the most complex steps. Twilight

moved into darkness as they stepped, rounded, twisted, and swayed to the rhythm of

the music. The torches reflected joyful glints in his eyes, though his mouth showed as

an even line over the neat beard. Flashes of light sprayed glorious highlights in his

thick, curly black hair, most prominent when he bent his head or turned rapidly. The

flickering light cast deep shadows across his face, highlighting the hard lines of jaw and

cheekbone.

She hated to show her admiration so openly by staring at him, yet her will to resist

was subverted by an even stronger desire to watch him. Each time she looked his way,

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36

his gaze was fixed on her. His eyes caught and held her own to the exclusion of all else.

Whenever the pattern of the dance brought them face to face or hand to hand, his lips

curved into a small, private smile that made her heart start to pound and her breath

come faster.

Sir Philip represented an incredible change in her life. In his extraordinary looks,

noble carriage, and winning personality, he was unlike any man she’d met before. But

more, he actually seemed to like her. The eyes that met hers said he found her

attractive. No one had ever looked at her with that combination of admiration and

desire. It burrowed into her, tunneling right down into her heart and set something

aflame there.

Before long she lost any sense of where she was or what she was doing. The rhythm

of the music carried her body in motion, but her attention was all for her partner. They

might have been the only two people there for all she was aware of anything else. The

touch of his fingers against her hands or on her arms when they met or twirled was the

only sensation that mattered, his the only face she saw. Her hand trembled each time

she placed it against his, and she felt an answering shiver from him.

When the music eventually stopped, it took several beats before she realized it. In

that time she kept dancing, her gaze fixed on his face. Only when his hand on her arm

stilled her and the quiet penetrated her bemused mind, did she halt her movement and

look around. A few people stared at her, but most were intent on their current partner

or already seeking a new one.

Sir Philip leaned over to whisper to her. “Lady Mary, I believe this is where the lord

and lady should retire and allow the people to continue their revelry unfettered by the

gaze of their masters.”

She nodded and allowed him to lead her away from the dance floor back toward

the manor. On the way, he plucked one of the torches from the ground to light their

path and picked up a flagon of ale that he tucked into the crook of his arm. A few

people waved or nodded as they passed, but many were already deep in an ale-induced

haze or intent on finding a partner for the next dance. Isabel, her young maid, saw her

and began to follow, but Mary waved her off, telling the girl she could manage for

herself for the evening. For a moment, Isabel’s gaze flickered between her mistress and

the lord who was her companion, then she grinned and nodded before turning back

and resuming her interrupted flirting. She moved a little and Mary noted the gentleman

gathering Isabel’s attention was Sir Peter. A hint of alarm flared. The girl mustn’t set

any hopes on Sir Philip’s handsome nephew.

She forgot the worry when she looked at Philip again. No one else stopped them or

interfered. The interior of the manor was deserted and echoed in an odd way. Yet with

Philip at her side, she had all the companionship she needed.

“I’ve never heard the manor this quiet,” she said. “Always there’s some noise

somewhere, someone talking or moving about. It seems very strange.”

“There is someone about now, though,” Philip said. “We two.”

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37

They reached the door to his solar. He paused there and his gaze questioned her.

She wasn’t sure she understood the question, but she knew the answer. She nodded.

His grin deepened into a real smile as he pushed the door open and ushered her into

the room.

A fire was laid and he put the torch to it before setting the light into a bracket on the

wall. The fire threw out heat into the chilly room, and they moved closer to it.

Once inside the circle of its warmth, Philip offered her a drink and poured out cups

of ale for each of them. For a few minutes, they drank in silence, staring into the fire.

“My thanks, Lady Mary, for all your effort in making the feast such a success.”
“It was my pleasure, my lord. Many a day has gone by since we’ve had such

merriment here. ‘Tis long overdue.”

“Time brings change for all of us.” He drained his cup and set it aside, then reached

out, took her cup, and put it on the side table as well. His eyes had a wicked glow that

was more than just reflection of the flames in the fireplace when he asked, “May I hold

you?”

She nodded, knowing she wanted it, fearful of failing him. He drew her closer,

putting his arms around her. He held her carefully, letting her feel his strength, yet in a

way that also told her she could break away from him at any time and he’d let her go.

Though she tried to will herself to relax, her body went tense anyway, as though it

still expected the assault she grew used to from Sir Benwyck. Philip felt it. He loosened

his hold but didn’t let her go. Instead he rubbed a gentle, soothing hand up and down

along her back, firmly enough to massage the muscles but not hard enough to hurt. It

helped ease her tension, which drained gradually away.

The warmth from the fire penetrated her flesh, but even more, the heat of his body

began to work its way into her. Prickles crawled up and down her skin and she raised

her head to look at him. She met his intent gaze. His expression questioned her, though

a flame burning deep in his blue eyes told her what he wanted. The fine tremor of the

arms around her suggested he wanted it very badly.

Mary sighed. Sir Philip was by far the most handsome man she’d ever met, but he

was so much more than just his good looks. Noble, strong, and kind. Amazingly kind.

That was something she’d never looked to find in a husband.

She reached up and put a finger on his lips to feel their soft, damp fullness. A shiver

ran down his body as she touched him. He opened his mouth and pulled her finger into

its hot depth with a gentle suction. The sensation shot through her like a bolt of

lightning. Energy charged from his mouth, from the heat and pressure there, spreading

into her finger and thence all through her. Muscles tightened in her body again, but not

with fear, this time.

The tip of his tongue brushed across the finger in his mouth, circled lightly around

it, and caressed. She gasped deep in her throat as her breath caught and held there. “My

lord!” The words came out almost as a moan with little air behind them.

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The hands that had been rubbing her back stilled, then moved up until they reached

her neck and pushed beneath the back of the mesh hair covering to find the bare skin

below. Clever fingers explored the hollows below her hairline, then moved until they

were under her ears. She’d never guessed her earlobes held so much capacity for

sensation.

He released her finger and bent forward until he could press his lips to hers. The

tingles she’d felt earlier were small and pale compared to the shafts of fire that tore

through her. His mouth moved over hers, the touch a rough caress and a potent

demand. Her lips parted under the onslaught and his tongue invaded.

He pulled off her hair covering and ran his fingers through her hair, combing out

the fine strands while his tongue stroked over hers. It sent a shivery shock through her.

He drew back and released her mouth but kept his hands on her shoulders. “Tell

me how it feels,” he demanded. “Does it repel you?”

“Nay, my lord. It’s strange. It makes me feel hot and heavy inside, as though the

skin can barely contain the excitement it causes. Is that how it should feel?”

“Aye. Does this feel good to you?”
He stroked his fingers along her throat.
She sighed with pleasure. “Aye, my lord.”
“Philip. Philip when we’re private, Mary.”
“As you will, Philip.” She drew in a sharp breath as his hand moved down the front

of her gown. When his fingers approached her breast, the fear started to creep back in.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling her sudden tension.
“Where your hand is.”
“Your breast,” he said.
“Aye. Sir Benwyck used to grab them and pinch and squeeze until he left bruises.”
Philip muttered something too low for her to understand.
“My lord?”
“Words not fit for a gentle lady’s ear,” he admitted. “Mary, if you’ll allow it, I’d like

to show you what your breasts can truly feel. ‘Tis all we’ll do tonight. And forget not

that I’ve promised you can stop me at any time. Will you trust me in this?”

She looked at him, studying his face, the sincerity in his clear, deep blue eyes. As

Brianne had said, what had she left to lose?

“Aye, Philip.”
His smile made her heart beat strangely and her breath catch in her chest.
“I’ll tell you what I would do, so as not to startle you. First, though, I’m going to

kiss you again.”

He did, matching his lips to hers and stroking with his tongue until her blood

began to flow more quickly in her veins. She felt herself melting against him, but then

he pulled back.

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39

“I’m going to run my hands down the front of your gown now. Try to relax and just

feel it. You’ve naught to fear from me.”

She drew a breath and nodded. He put a hand on either side of her throat, trailing

his fingers along the sensitive flesh as he moved down. Then the hands slid down

farther, along the front of her gown, until the tips of his fingers brushed over her

breasts.

A sharp spear of pleasure stabbed into her as he touched the tips. It was a quick

brief contact before he ran his hands down along the sides of her gown to her waist. He

watched her face as he reached back up again and laid his palms over her breasts,

resting them there. When she didn’t object, he moved them gently, sliding back and

forth across the mounds. She sighed as the heat from his touch penetrated right down

to her loins.

“You like that?”
“Can you not tell?” she said on a sigh.
“I would be sure. I’m going to open your gown. You’ll enjoy it yet more on your

bare skin.”

He found the tapes that held the gown closed and tugged loose the tiny, hidden

bows that fastened it over her shift. He pushed it off her shoulders and let the gown fall

in a heap on the floor. She stood in front of him. Though the material of the shift was

light and thin, they were close enough to the fire that she felt no chill. She wasn’t sure if

her shiver was due to fear or excitement. Possibly both.

He ran his hands up and down her arms to soothe and calm her. “There’s naught to

fear.”

The shift had a tape at the back of the neck to hold it closed. He reached over her

shoulders to release it and pushed the material back off her shoulders. It slid down until

it caught on her girdle, leaving her bare to the waist. He backed a step a way to stare at

her. Her breasts were small compared to most of the other women she knew, pointed

and high. The tips pulled up into hard little nubs.

“Beautiful,” he said. “You’re perfect. Any man who could treat such loveliness with

so little respect forfeits any right to honor, position, or love.” He reached up then and

cupped her breasts in the palms of his hands, lifting them tenderly so the pink tips

pointed upward. His big hands, with the long, slender fingers, cradled her flesh so

gently, so carefully, her fear dissipated to nothing.

“I must kiss them,” he said.
He dipped his head to press his lips to the top of first one breast, then the other.

After he returned to the first, he ran his mouth down until it touched the hardened tip.

She moaned as the contact sent licks of flame through her. “Philip!”
He lifted his head to look at her. “You’d have me stop, Mary?”
“Nay,” she answered. “Nay.”

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He watched her, but once he was sure it was so, he looked down at her breasts.

“These are the most perfect I’ve ever seen.” He gently pressed them together and lifted

them in his hands.

“You’ve seen so many, then, my lord?”
He laughed. “On many a tavern wench with a low bodice serving me a tankard of

ale.” Instead of lifting his head, he looked up at her through his eyelashes. “Is that the

proper answer?”

“‘Twill do.”
She put her hands on his cheeks and lifted his face until she could reach his mouth.

His eyebrows rose as she leaned forward to press her mouth to his. His beard rasped

pleasantly against her palms. He tasted of ale and something uniquely Philip.

While she kissed him, moving her lips carefully across his, testing their texture and

pliancy, he moved his hands on her breasts, splaying the fingers so that the tip of each

index finger rested on a nipple.

She sucked in a gasp as his fingers pressed down lightly. Exquisite, prickly

sensations jabbed into her through the nipples. It was hot and icy cold at the same time,

like nothing she’d ever experienced, and it sent a bubbly sensation floating through her

veins. The heat from it gathered low down in her loins, building a new sort of tension

there.

He squeezed gently, brushed across the nipples, circled them with his fingers, even

pinched just enough to make her squeal with pleasure rather than pain. He was gentle,

careful, and clever, teasing the hardened tips until she didn’t think she could contain

the fire it roused.

Then he dipped his head and ran his tongue over them. Pleasure more intense than

she’d ever imagined was possible shot through her when he licked and sucked at her

nipples.

Time disappeared, lost meaning, didn’t exist, as Philip taught her the many ways he

could pleasure her breasts. She felt she could have spent the rest of the night letting him

show her the stunning sensations of which her body was capable. But eventually, he

drew back and lifted her shift back into place. He tried to retie the tape at the back but

his fingers weren’t steady enough to manage.

She took his hands and moved them off her shoulders, holding them in front of her.

“I’ll just put the gown back over it,” she said. She didn’t release his hands, however, as

she searched his face. She was coming to like his face a great deal, she realized, and she

treasured every hot look from his blue eyes, every smile from his shapely mouth.

“Philip,” she said on a sighing breath. “Thank you.”
He kissed her again, a kiss that went on and on when neither of them wanted to

break it off. At last, though, he drew back. “‘Tis time to be abed,” he said. “The morning

approaches more rapidly than we might wish.”

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41

* * * * *

When she’d left, Philip lay back on the bed. His mind replayed the scene with Mary

over and over, keeping him from sleep. His cock grew harder and throbbed as he

remembered. She would be his e’er long. Though she knew it not, hers was a sensual

and responsive nature. Soon enough she’d be begging to have his shaft inside her. She’d

be hot and tight and slick.

The thought made his cock harden even further until it ached unbearably. He reach

down and wrapped his hand around it. With thoughts of Mary’s shapely lips, lovely

breasts, and rounded derriere in mind, he pumped himself. Liquid precursor dripped

from the end, lubricating the slide of his fingers. He gasped as the pleasure and tension

grew. One of these days she’d put her lips and tongue on his cock, touch its head, run it

down the length…

The tension tightened to that glorious point of unbearable heat, poised at the brink

of a precipice. He imagined her holding his balls, touching them with her tongue, and

he pitched over the brink, spurting his seed over his hand and belly. He soaked in the

pleasure of it and at last fell asleep with thoughts of Mary a sweet guide.

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Chapter Seven

The day got off to a somewhat sluggish beginning the next morning. Mary had to

drag an unwilling body out of bed, so she sympathized with the workers who had to

rise even earlier, although she was grateful to find enough of the kitchen staff had

showed up to provide food.

She fortified herself with a cup of warmed, spiced cider and a slice of bread

smeared with the head cook’s special multi-fruit preserves before she headed toward

the kitchen to check on how badly the previous day’s festivities had depleted supplies.

Sounds echoed around the enclosed hall between the main part of the manor and

the kitchens. Before she entered the cavernous main cooking area, she knew there were

problems. She could hear the shouts of the head cook and several other voices arguing

from a good distance away. The cacophony of raised voices grew louder as she got

closer, with more voices entering the fray.

Mary stopped at the entrance, surveying the scene in the main room of the kitchen

for a moment.

Six people stood in the middle of the space, the head cook, the head baker, three of

the kitchen girls and a younger boy. All except the boy were talking at once, each one

arguing their own point of view with fierce intensity. Even after listening for a couple of

minutes, Mary couldn’t get the entire gist of the argument, though she did pick up that

each of the girls tried to pass off guilt for some lapse onto the others or onto persons not

present.

The head cook looked up and noticed her presence. The others followed her line of

sight, and all of them fell silent when they saw her.

“What is the problem here?” Mary asked.
All of them started talking at once. Mary held up a hand to quiet them.
She looked at the head cook and said, “Eadwynne, if you would start?”
The woman, older, gray-haired, tall and thin, said, “I told Arice and Jehane to be

sure the stew for this evening’s dinner was begun first thing this morning so the meat

would be tender. But when I arrived, they hadn’t started it.”

“We had no meat,” Arice, a girl of no more than fourteen or fifteen answered.

“Joseph should have brought us a haunch this morning, but he didn’t.”

“You could have started preparing the vegetables instead of standing around

complaining about the meat,” Eadwynne scolded.

“Did anyone try to find Joseph to ask about the meat?” Mary asked.
Arice and Jehane stared at each other. “I told her to go,” Jehane said. “I had to get

the fire stoked and get the potatoes.”

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43

“I was supposed to do that,” Arice complained. “You just said you’d do it instead,

so you wouldn’t have to go outside in the cold to find him.”

“Neither one of you wanted to go out,” Mary said, cutting across their revived

argument. “We’ll deal with that later. Has anyone seen Joseph?”

“Nay, my lady,” each said in turn.
“I’ll go find him,” she said. “In the meantime, you’ll do as Eadwynne directs.”
“Aye,” they agreed.
Mary left the kitchen and headed for the barn. Some of the young men who shared

quarters in the men’s barracks should be there.

Initially no one admitted to knowing where the missing Joseph could be found. One

of the stable boys said he’d seen him get up and go out that morning and another

confirmed he wasn’t in his bed. She sent a couple to search the men’s’ quarters.

While she waited for their return, she talked to the stable hands about the horses. A

couple of the younger boys were more than happy to share their affection for their

charges and a great deal of information about them. Though the youngsters weren’t

allowed to handle the battle-trained horses used by Sir Philip and his company, the

animals were much admired. They took her to look at them, showing them off with a

peculiar, possessive pride.

Her messengers returned with the word that no one had found Joseph. She

dismissed them back to their work, but Ross, her partner in some of her efforts to harass

Sir Philip, stopped her outside.

“My lady,” he said, “I believe I know where ye’ll find Joseph. He likes to nap in a

corner of the cheese-house.”

She thanked him and set out for the cheese-house. It was just a large room off the

dairy, but had its own entrance. The area was unoccupied and quiet, pungent with the

aroma of ripening cheeses.

Joseph was curled up behind a shelf stacked with bowls and other implements. She

shook his shoulder until he woke. For a moment he just stared, then the reality of his

circumstances penetrated and he stood quickly, a flash of panic showing in his eyes.

“My lady,” he said. “I must have fallen and hit my head.” He swiped a hand over

his head as though searching for lumps or bruises. “What time is it?”

“Well past the time you were supposed to bring a haunch to the kitchen for

tonight’s dinner.”

“Oh, my lord,” he moaned. “I’m so sorry, my lady. I’ll bring it right now.”
“Do so,” she suggested, “Right now.”
The boy nodded and raced to get the meat.
Mary went back to the kitchen to tell Eadwynne the meat was coming and to ask

about the boy bringing it. The head cook was vehement on the subject.

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44

“He’s a lazy, good-for-naught. He does as little work as he can manage and sleeps

most of the day away.”

By the time Joseph arrived with the haunch of meat, Mary had fetched the butler

and steward. She beckoned the boy aside once he’d dropped his burden.

“I’ve heard this morning was not the first time you’ve failed in your

responsibilities,” she told him. “As a result, you’ll be confined in a cell for a day with

naught but bread and water. I hope it will give you time to meditate on your failings

and resolve to execute your duties more faithfully in the future.”

Joseph’s face went tight with rebellion and anger. She beckoned the steward and

the butler toward her to take charge of the boy.

“If you don’t mend your ways, the next time I hear of your sleeping while you

should be working, you’ll be whipped.”

His eyes widened and skin blanched at that. Mary hoped it meant she’d scared him

into taking his duties more seriously.

The cook had already chided the two kitchen maids, and Mary was content to leave

it at that.

She went back to the manor proper and to the office. Philip was there, consulting

with Sir Thomas and Sir Peter over which of the walls should be repaired first. The

three of them were bent over a large sheet of parchment, showing a rough layout of the

manor and lands around.

“The south face is in the worst condition,” Sir Thomas argued, pointing with a large

finger at a stretch of the outer wall. “I’ve near to lost my balance on the crumbling stone

twice when I’ve been up there. The parapet’s in no better condition. Should I have fallen

against it, no doubt I’d have gone right through and off the side.”

“Aye,” Sir Peter agreed, “but the odds are any attack is more likely to come from

the east. ‘Tis more urgent we fortify that side.”

Philip studied the areas they indicated for a minute, then said, “In this I have to

agree with Peter. The south face is in worse condition, but the risk of attack from that

side is small since any company would have to come at it from over the hills. The east

wall must be repaired first.”

He looked up and saw Mary standing in the doorway. All three straightened up

when they noticed her. “Will you see to getting it started?” Philip asked the men. “Lady

Mary, are there some men available to get work underway? And a stonecutter nearby?”

“The harvest is nearly done,” she answered. “There will be men available for the

job. And some can be hired from town to work for their meals and ale. Walter

Stonecutter hasn’t had any work in some time, and he’s too old to resume now, but he

has still his wits about him and could teach a couple of the younger men the art. There

is a place on the east wall, near the north tower that urgently needs repair as well.”

Philip nodded and turned to Sir Thomas. “Will you go see the stonecutter and make

the arrangements?”

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45

Mary gave Sir Thomas directions to the stonecutter’s cottage and suggested names

of young men who might be trained in the craft. She added Joseph’s name to the list.

The boy certainly wasn’t happy at what he was currently doing. Perhaps a different job

might better suit him.

Philip finished his discussion with Sir Peter about the same time she concluded her

suggestions to Sir Thomas. The two men departed then, leaving her alone with Sir

Philip.

When she met his very blue eyes, she couldn’t help but remember the previous

evening, the intimate way he’d touched her and how she’d responded. She felt the heat

rising in her cheeks.

He saw it and gave her a wickedly knowing smile, but he only asked, “Slept you

well, my lady?”

“Aye, my lord,” she answered. “Though I feared it might not be so, with so many

new sensations crowded into my mind. And did you so?”

“With the images of such beauty fresh in my mind, how could I do aught but rest

blissfully,” he answered.

“You’re a wicked charmer, Sir Philip.”
“How can it be wicked when I speak only the truth?”
“You turn the truth so it reflects only the light you wish it to.”
“But is that not true of everything we say? All our words come through the sieve of

whatever schemes our mind designs.”

“Aye,” she admitted, “But many have minds that can do naught more than sift for

whatever truth is most obvious.”

“But, you, Lady Mary, have a mind clever enough to seek the meanings below the

meanings and sort truth from falsehood in any pretty guise.”

“Whereas, you, Sir Philip, can take truth and wring it into forms so twisted and

devious, it serves whatever purpose you desire.”

“I’m a knight, a warrior, trained to use whatever weapons are at hand.”
“Then in truth, my lord, you’ll never be disarmed.”
“I know not whether you intend to flatter, but I’ll take it in that spirit.” He paused,

studying her face, and said, “But come, Lady Mary, you looked troubled when you

entered. Is something amiss?”

“Nothing of great importance. A minor annoyance in the job of running the

household.” She told him about Joseph and his neglect of his duty.

He drew a deep breath and his expression grew serious. When she finished, he

paused for a minute, then said, “Mary, please keep in mind that I’m now the lord here.

If there are issues of discipline and trouble with the staff, it should be brought to me.

The welfare of everyone who lives here, works here, and depends on this manor, is my

responsibility. Except in very minor matters, decisions about discipline should be made

by me.”

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46

He looked at her and read her expression. “The king has entrusted this estate to me.

You’ve entrusted your body to me. Have I not told you I mean to settle here? These

people are mine. Their welfare is now my primary concern. Matters of discipline are in

my authority. I must insist that in the future you bring such issues to me for my

decision.”

His insistence troubled her, though she couldn’t just then discern the reason for it.

“What would you have done differently, my lord?” she asked.

“In truth, I know not,” he admitted. “But I must learn how to handle those

situations. And all who dwell here must recognize that I am lord. They know you as

their lady, you having been here from birth and the daughter of their former lord. I’m a

newcomer and they know naught of me. They must acknowledge me and come to trust

me. If you would demonstrate to all that you recognize me as lord here, it would lead

the way for them to do likewise.”

“Aye, I see,” Mary admitted. Her example would help win the trust of her people.

But did she trust him enough to put their care so completely in his hands? Or was her

hesitation based on something else entirely. Honesty compelled her to admit, to herself

alone, that she enjoyed the power and authority she’d wielded when no lord her people

could trust ruled the manor. A small, selfish part of her didn’t wish to share the regard

they had for her or the mastery of all things that concerned the running of the place.

“I understand your feelings in this, my lord,” she said. “And I’ll try to honor your

request and support your lordship here to the best of my ability.”

She wondered if he heard some reluctance in her capitulation. His austere

expression softened only slightly when he said, “I thank you, my lady. And I’ll depend

on your actions suiting your words.”

“And should I forget?”
“Then I’ll have to remind you.” His expression abruptly darkened again. “I hope I’ll

not have to make any further public displays of discipline, but I’ll brook no challenges

to my authority as lord here. Even from you, my lady. I recognize the authority you

have as a birthright here, but mine is the greater claim and I cannot allow yours to

undermine it.” He drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I have no wish to argue

with you.”

“Nor I with you, my lord,” she agreed. But an odd, sneaky part of her did want to

argue, even felt a strange curl of mixed fear and excitement tightening her loins at the

thought of challenging him.

“Enough of that for now,” he said. “I trust my will is clear. There’s another thing I’d

ask you about.” He went to a cabinet in one corner of the room and extracted a rough

wooden box with a hinged cover, which he brought to his work table. “This morning as

I lay in bed trying to force myself to abandon the warmth and comfort, I cast my gaze

around the room and noted a few stones that appeared out of line beside the fireplace.

When I investigated, I found the stones could be removed and a goodly sized

compartment lay behind them. This was inside. Know you anything about these?”

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47

He lifted the cover. Mary gasped at the contents. “Aye, my lord,” she said. “These

were my mother’s.” She reached out to touch the deep red gem hung from a chain of

fine silver links, one of several pieces in the box. “I thought these long gone to feed Sir

Benwyck’s appetites.”

She had a sudden vision of her mother, dressed in a gold-embroidered gown for

entertaining noble friends, the chain hung around her neck. Mary herself must have

been small at the time, for she saw herself looking up at her mother, thinking she

looked as grand and beautiful as any queen or princess in a tale.

“The dagger was your mother’s as well?”
“Aye, it was a gift to her from my father. His grandfather had brought it back from

the Holy Land where he’d gone on Crusade. I recall my father saying it was forged by

Saracens and taken in battle from one of their great leaders.” Her mother had worn it in

a specially made leather scabbard that hung from her girdle, most often when she was

away from the manor. It was one of the most beautiful things Lady Anne had owned.

Though she hadn’t been allowed to touch it when she was a child, Mary had always

been fascinated by it.

Mary stared at it now, still fascinated by its glitter and grace. The blade was forged

of polished Saracen steel with a silver hilt, elaborately scrolled and chased. In the center

of the hilt was set a large, polished green gemstone that glinted like an eye into another

world. She moved her hand over the side of it and understood why her mother had

forbidden her young daughter to touch it. Both edges were honed to razor sharpness

and the blade ended in a wicked point. The combination of beauty and deadliness had a

fascinating intrigue to it.

In addition to the necklace and dagger, the box held a silver ring, and a tiara forged

from several strands of silver chain woven into a mesh and set with gleaming pearls.

She caressed the pearls, relishing the smooth slide of their round surface against her

fingertips. Her eyes burned as tears filled them, then spilled over to run down her

cheeks.

“Mary!” Philip’s voice held sharp concern.
“Forgive me,” she said, brushing her sleeve across her eyes to stop the flow of tears.

“I thought never to see these again, and each one brings with it a remembrance of my

lady mother.”

“She died when Sir William took the keep from your father?” Philip asked.
“Nay. She contracted a wasting illness some years before that. I believe I was four

or five and ten when she went home to the Lord. It was a mercy by then. She could eat

naught and was in constant pain, though she bore those trials with strength and

courage.”

“I grieve for your loss. She could not have been old.”
“Nay. And she was so beautiful, remained that way until the last of her illness.”
“And she remains that way still in your mind.” Philip picked up the box and held it

out to her. “She would have wanted you to have these.”

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Mary brushed away more tears and met Philip’s eyes over the top of the box. The

concern in the blue depths warmed her soul. “Thank you, my lord. You cannot know

what this means to me.”

“Perhaps not, but your smile is reward enough.” When she’d taken the box, he

picked up the dagger and weighed it in his hand, testing its balance, tried the grip for

both stabbing and throwing, ran a finger down the blade, then used it to slice a corner

of the parchment diagram of the manor. “Take care with this,” he advised. “Its edges

are honed fine. A worthy weapon.” He set it back in the box.

“I have the scabbard still.”
He nodded and reached for the tiara. After holding it up to the light and admiring

the glitter of the silver, he let the web of fine chains spill through his fingers, winding

around one and puddling in his palm. “Would you wear this for me at dinner this

even?” he asked.

“Aye, my lord. I will.” She held the box tight against her breast as she fled the

room. The tears started again as she left the room, flowing down her cheeks in a cascade

she couldn’t control.

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Chapter Eight

An hour or so later, Mary finally had her emotions in check enough to get back to

work. Harvest time meant a great deal of work in the kitchen, preserving soft fruits and

vegetables, sorting the hard ones to store in the cellars, smoking meat of animals culled

from the herd as unlikely to survive the winter, and putting herbs to dry. Mary had

many happy memories of working alongside her mother as she helped with those tasks

in the kitchen.

Some of those surfaced as she helped chop fruit and then took her turn stirring the

pot of boiling pulp. Though it fatigued her arm, it was still her favorite part of the

process. She savored the rich color of the preserves and the fragrant aroma released as

she ran the wooden spoon through the viscous mass. A memory of dipping her finger

into a cooling pot when she was a child came back to her. She thought she’d gotten

away with the snitch but her mother had spotted the red stain around her mouth. She’d

only smiled indulgently, however.

Mary had a sudden, unexpected vision of herself smearing some of the mixture

onto Philip’s lips with her finger and then licking and sucking it off. It would taste all

the sweeter mixed with his own unique savor. She must have made some sound

because one of the girls broke her reverie by asking, “My lady? Are you well? Did you

burn yourself?”

“Nay, ‘tis nothing.”
From then on, she tried to keep her mind on the work. Occasionally she heard

giggles from the girls working at the table behind her. She mostly ignored it until one of

them drew her into their conversation.

“He is, though, isn’t he, Lady Mary?” Riscia asked.
“Is what?” she answered. “And who is ‘he’? I’m sorry, I wasn’t following your

conversation.”

“Lord Philip,” Riscia said. “Is he not the most handsome knight ever?”
“‘Ever’ would be a very long time and there are many lands in the world beyond

this, our home,” she answered. “I could not say if he were the most handsome knight

ever. He is the most handsome I’ve ever seen, however,” she admitted.

“Ah. I told you as much,” Riscia said to her companions. “He could be Lancelot in

those tales of King Arthur, or even King Arthur himself.”

* * * * *

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50

Later Mary washed herself carefully and had Isabel take more than usual pains in

arranging her hair under the net. The girl gasped with shock and pleasure when she

saw the tiara. “It’s beautiful, my lady,” she said. “Never have I seen this before.”

“It was my mother’s. Lord Philip found it hidden in the master’s solar and returned

it to me.”

Isabel dropped it into place and arranged the strands so that the pointed part of the

mesh web fell forward onto her forehead. “Oh my, oh my,” the girl said on long

breaths. “You look like a queen, my lady.”

Mary regarded herself in the mirror and was surprised at how regal she appeared.
The maid helped her into her gown. “You must ask my lord for fabric for some new

gowns,” the girl said, sighing over a worn patch on the sleeve. “Most of these gowns

were your mother’s as well, were they not?”

Mary nodded.
“You have urgent need of some new things.”
“Not so urgent,” Mary answered. “Clothes are less important than restoring the

estate and repairing the manor. Once that is accomplished, I’ll consider a few new

gowns.”

She deliberately delayed going into the hall after the dinner gong had sounded.

Mary didn’t ordinarily enjoy drawing attention to herself by arriving late, but on this

evening she wanted all to see her decked in her mother’s tiara.

A flurry of gasps, followed by a moment of stunned silence greeted her arrival.

Philip stood up as she approached and the other men at the head table followed his

example.

“Lady Mary, you look quite ravishing tonight,” he said, as he helped her into her

seat.

Her heart did a funny little flip-flop inside her chest.
The meal was a long and merry one, with jests and laughter. Mary was very

conscious of Philip at her side, especially when he passed a dish her way or leaned over

to make a quiet comment intended for her ears alone. After they finished eating, the

minstrels who’d performed at the feast the previous night again entertained them.

They’d be departing in the morning but Philip had evidently settled with them already,

and much to their satisfaction, for they made several comments on the lord’s generosity.

Mary blushed when, on several occasions they complimented her for her looks and

her ability as chatelaine as well. They sang a number of favorite ballads, a few love

songs, and a couple of more humorous, bawdy ditties. The servants responsible for the

food crept into the hall to join in the fun as they finished with their duties.

Beneath the trestle table, Philip reached out and clasped her hand. His palm was

warm and strong as it cradled hers. Part of his arm rested across her thigh. Even

through several layers of cloth, the heat from it penetrated her skin, firing a burning

awareness in her.

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51

Many glances directed themselves at the head table, both from the minstrels and the

others gathered in the hall. Mary wondered occasionally what they saw. Their joined

hands were hidden from view, but perhaps their expressions gave away something. She

tried to concentrate on enjoying the music. At times she succeeded, but each slight

movement of Philip’s fingers or arms would recall her thoughts to him. At one point he

tapped the rhythm to a couple of pieces against her thigh.

When the musicians performed a few popular numbers, they invited all present to

join on the refrain. Raucous participation followed. Enthusiasm and pleasure saturated

the atmosphere in the hall, surrounding all in a miasma of joy.

Mary couldn’t recall that she’d ever felt happier in her life. She squeezed Philip’s

fingers and turned to look at him. He watched her with that burning glint of desire in

his eyes, but also a surprising tenderness that seemed to take pleasure in seeing her joy.

The evening need never end as far as she was concerned, but eventually it did anyway.

Folks began to droop and some of the older ones retired to seek their beds. At a nod

from Philip, the minstrels concluded with a tune wishing them good night and good

rest, and thanking them for the welcome and expansive hospitality. They sang that part

with so much emphasis, Mary decided Philip must have been quite generous, indeed.

When it was done, Philip stood and wished all good night himself. He escorted

Mary from the hall with a hand on her arm and walked her to her solar. He stopped at

the door and turned her to face him. He would have kissed her, but Isabel came rushing

up at that moment, skidding to a halt on the stone floor of the corridor as she saw the

two of them.

“My lord,” she said, breathlessly, and turning to Mary said, “My lady.” Then she

sidled by them, through the door, and pointedly shut it behind her.

Philip grinned and laid a finger on Mary’s lips. “Others will be along shortly, too,

so I’ll do naught but bid you good night and fair rest.” In opposition to his words,

however, he glanced up the hall, and seeing no one coming toward them at the

moment, leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on her lips. Then he turned and retraced

his steps to his quarters.

While she helped Mary disrobe and prepare for bed, Isabel chattered at great length

about the evening, the entertainment, and most volubly of all, about Lord Philip. It

didn’t take her long to realize Isabel had developed a crush on her lord, one that

seemed to be shared by virtually every other young woman in the manor.

“He’s so kind,” Isabel gushed. “A couple of days past, he stopped to help Yvaine

gather some pins she’d spilled from a cup. He complimented Cook and all the kitchen

staff on the food at the feast. Oh, and he’s so handsome, too. Those eyes of his…I could

stare at them all the day long.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Mary said dryly, as Isabel turned back the bedcovers for

her.

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“Well, nay, I wouldn’t,” Isabel admitted. “He’s still our lord. But he is a pleasant

change from Sir Benwyck.” At that the girl set a candle on the nightstand beside the bed

and left.

Mary agreed heartily with her last statement and fell asleep dreaming of the feel of

Philip’s finger on her lips and his arm resting on her thigh.

For the next several days, life dropped into a more normal rhythm of work and rest.

Work began to repair the stone walls of the manor, and Philip was most often to be

found consulting with the laborers or Sir Thomas, who was supervising the job. At

other times, he joined Derwyn in meeting with the home farm workers and arranging

for the supplies and equipment they’d need for the winter crops as well as for the

spring planting.

Several days in a row, he and Mary rode out together, going around to various

homesteads, meeting his vassals and listening to their concerns. Each day they’d come

back so tired they could do no more than bathe, sup, and retire to bed. Mary came away

from those visits impressed with Philip’s patience in listening to all the gripes and

complaints and his intelligence in the suggestions he made and careful handling of each

concern.

Only once did they get any time alone together, during a stop for lunch beside a

quiet stream as they made their way from one cottage to another some distance away.

After they’d eaten, Philip laid her down on a soft stretch of grass, browned now by a

frost a few nights past. He kissed her, playing his mouth and tongue against her lips so

cleverly, she melted under the caress. When he lifted his head, she threaded her fingers

through his curly black hair and pulled his face back down to her.

After a minute, though, he backed off, resisting her tug. The weather that day

started out cool but grew warmer under the gaze of a bright sun, so she didn’t get cold

when he loosed the tapes on her gown and pushed it aside far enough to let him reach

the tops of her breasts, first with his hands, then with his lips. His fingers circled the

tender skin around the nipples and pinched lightly at the hardened buds. His tongue

flicked, dug, and rubbed until she was sobbing under the assault of fiercely pleasurable

sensations.

When he sucked a nipple into his mouth and tickled it with his tongue while

maintaining the drawing suction, she squealed in delight as the heat flooded her being.

His hand rested on her thigh and she had a sudden desperate need for him to move it

up and inward, to touch between her legs.

He didn’t, though. Instead he drew back, sighing and brushing a tender hand

across her cheek.

“Mary, did I consult only my own desires, I’d stay here with you the rest of the day

and pleasure your body until you screamed for me. But other duties call us, and do I

not stop now, I cannot vouch for my ability to halt later.”

She nodded, but she had to force herself to rise, even with his assistance, and

rearrange her clothing. For some time after they’d mounted and set out on their journey

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53

again, the heat continued to bubble through her veins demanding the fulfillment she’d

denied herself.

* * * * *

They’d been at home for several days, though they’d had little time alone together.

Mary was helping the head housekeeper take inventory of bed linens when a frantic

young man came searching for her.

“My lady,” he said, breathless and panting. “There’s been an accident. Sir Thomas

asks that you go to my lord’s quarters forthwith.”

The boy had already turned away, apparently on the next leg of his mission, when

she stopped him. “Lord Philip is injured?” she asked. “How badly?”

The boy shook his head. “I know not how serious, my lady. I must go and find

Mistress Brianne.”

“Aye,” Mary agreed. “I believe you’ll find her in the herbarium.”
Shock gave way to a nearly choking fear as she raced along the corridors and up a

flight of stairs to the lord’s quarters. He couldn’t be seriously injured. Not now that they

were so close. He couldn’t be…Lord, please, let him not be badly hurt, she prayed as she

ran down the corridor.

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54

Chapter Nine

The door to his solar stood open.
Sir Peter, coming up behind her, almost crashed into her as she stopped there.

“Your pardon, my lady,” he said. “I heard there was an accident of some sort, and my

lord might be…” The man was pale beneath his dark beard.

“I understand,” she said, though she spared him only a brief glance.
Her attention was all on Philip.
He sat on the side of his bed, awake and aware of what was happening. Blood

streaked the side of his face and clothes, but his posture wasn’t that of a man nursing

severe injuries. His voice was querulous, almost angry, as he insisted he was fine and

asked them to leave him and attend to someone else.

Mary pushed her way through the men gathered in the room. She was aware that

Sir Thomas was there, one hand on Philip’s shoulder, steadying him, along with two

other of Philip’s men-at-arms, and several men from the manor or surrounding lands.

Many of them bore scratches or streaks of some chalky gray or white substance in their

hair or on their clothes.

She reached Philip’s side. He looked up at her as she approached and managed a

wavery smile. “Mary, please convince these men I’m fine and would rather be left

alone. They need to check on William. I fear he was hurt worse than I.”

“What happened?” she asked.
Several of the men tried to answer at once, but she gave her attention to Sir Thomas

who said, “A stone fell from the northeast tower as we were working on the east wall. It

landed right in our midst. It would have fallen square on young William’s head, save

that Philip, who stood right next to him, managed to push him out of the way.”

Mary nodded and looked around at the gathered men. “Anders,” she directed,

looking at an older man who’d done maintenance around the manor since before her

birth. “Please go find out about William’s condition and report back to us as quickly as

you may.”

The man nodded and left. He almost ran into Brianne, who was hurrying in.
“I was told there was a mishap,” Brianne said. She looked around the room, then

focused on Philip. “What have you done to yourself, my lord?” She walked over to him,

lifted his face and stared into his eyes for a moment. Several of the men launched into

the explanation about the stone falling. Brianne nodded and asked Philip to move arms,

legs, hands, fingers, and feet.

While she did that, Mary herded the men out of the room. Sir Thomas insisted he’d

wait outside the door until he heard the healer’s verdict on Philip’s condition. He

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55

settled his back against the wall. Sir Peter insisted on remaining as well. Mary went

back into the room.

Philip was able to meet all of Brianne’s requests, though he couldn’t always

suppress a wince of pain at some movement. Brianne nodded again, then took a cloth

and began to sponge the blood away from the wounds on his face to examine them.

“This should heal without the need for a stitch,” she commented, feeling around a cut in

his temple.

Anders returned at that moment. “My lord, William’s injuries shouldn’t be fatal,

but it does appear that his arm is broken, and possibly his collarbone as well. He’s in

some pain. Mistress Brianne, if you’d go to him as soon as you finish with my lord.”

“You can go to him now,” Philip said. “These are naught more than scratches and

strained muscles. The boy has more urgent need of your services.”

Brianne nodded. “Aye, my lord,” she agreed. “I’ll go now. Lady Mary can clean the

rest of your hurts. A warm bath afterward will ease the strained muscles.” The healer

rushed from the room.

Mary went out to convey the news to Sir Thomas and Sir Peter. Both looked

relieved as they left their posts. “You’ll take care of him, Lady Mary?” Sir Thomas

asked.

Sir Peter turned and threw a quick, dubious glance at the other man, then gave her

a harder, sterner look. “You’ll answer for it, do you not,” he warned. His harshness

surprised her into a taking a step backward. But he was Philip’s nephew and naturally

concerned for his uncle.

She assured them she would give him the best of care. “Would you stop at the

kitchen and ask for water to be brought for a bath for Philip? Brianne thought it would

help ease his injuries.”

Sir Thomas nodded and both men left.
She went back into the room. Philip still sat on the side of the bed and she went to

stand in front of him.

“You gave me a terrible fright,” she said. “When I heard there had been a mishap

and it involved you…My heart went right down into my stomach.”

He gave her a small smile and took her hand. “Would it make you so unhappy did

something happen to me? You’d then be free to be the ruling lady of the manor again,

and perhaps choose some other lord more to your liking.”

She couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was serious or teasing. “My lord…Philip,

you must be aware by now that I’ve come to care for you. It would distress me a great

deal to lose you. In truth I can’t imagine that any other lord could possibly be more to

my liking.”

He looked up at her, his blue eyes blazing with emotion. “And I know now how

empty and joyless my life was before I came here and found you. You’ve brought light

and color and fire to me, and were I to lose it now, the world would never seem as

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56

bright again.” He tried to stand but she put her hands on his shoulders to hold him in

place. Mary went to her knees in front of him, which put her face a little below his. He

leaned forward to kiss her. It went on and on, a giving and taking of newly

acknowledged feelings about each other.

A knock at the door finally forced them apart. Mary bid the knocker enter. Several

servants paraded in, lugging the hip bath and buckets of water. Others came behind.

They placed the buckets on the hearth to stay warm while they positioned the tub near

the fireplace while they moved the tub into place, then poured the water in.

Once the tub was ready they departed, after being assured by Mary there was

nothing further they need do.

Philip’s eyebrows rose. “You mean to assist me yourself, then, Mary?”
She felt the blush rising in her cheeks. “Aye, my lord. Is that not one of the duties of

the lady of the manor? One I’ve sorely neglected in truth, but…”

“I understood why you’d not offer it,” Philip said. “If you’d assist me in removing

my boots, I prefer to not waste the hot water.”

It took some struggle to get his boots off. She helped him remove his belt and lift

the tunic over his head, unlace his shirt, and pull it off as well. Though it embarrassed

her, she couldn’t help but stop and stare. His chest was magnificent. Broad shoulders

tapered to a much narrower waist, padded with hard, shapely muscle. A light mat of

dark, curly hair covered much of the surface, narrowing and thinning toward his flat

belly. A nasty scar cut across his waist, shooting around his side. It looked fairly recent.

“Does the sight of my body distress you?” he asked, watching her reaction. He

stopped in the motion of loosening the laces of his trews.

“Nay,” she answered. “Quite the opposite. I’m all admiration of your physique,

Lord Philip.

“Would you prefer to turn your back for the rest?”
“Perhaps it would be—Nay, my lord. This is part of what is between a man and a

woman. If I’m to be your wife, I must learn your body.” She walked over to touch the

red line of the scar. “This isn’t very old,” she said, tracing her fingers over it, watching

his face to be sure the touch didn’t pain him.

“Earned in the battle to defeat Sir William. “Bloo—One of William’s men came at

me from the side while I was engaged with another and caught me this. I was fortunate

he did no worse.”

“As was I,” she whispered. She pushed aside the fingers struggling to undo the

laces. A nasty red swelling swooped down his left arm, making his use of it difficult

and painful. Mary undid the knot, heatedly aware of touching his belly in the process.

She pushed the trews down his legs, and his cock sprung free, jutting upward in salute

to her.

She had tried not to look at Sir Benwyck any more than she had to, and so had only

once really seen his tool, the time when he’d jammed it into her mouth. After she bit

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57

down on it, he never tried it again. Of course, he’d punished her for the affront,

slapping her face until her head swam.

It was this bit of the male form that had caused her unspeakable agony from

Benwyck. But then Benwyck’s hands had also caused her pain, while Philip’s fingers

brought her to peaks of pleasure. Perhaps the same would hold true for his male part.

Sir Philip’s cock was longer and more elegantly made than Benwyck’s blunt instrument.

Philip walked over to the tub and carefully climbed in. Mary followed, picking up

the washcloth and cake of soap the servants had left sitting on the floor.

He settled himself carefully, wincing once or twice, then closed his eyes and tipped

his head back against the side. He let out a sound that was half sigh, half groan. Mary

pulled over a stool, sat on it, soaped the cloth, and began to run it over his chest and

down his arms, careful of the long, red swelling that trailed down the outside of his left

arm. She scrubbed longer than needed, but he seemed to be enjoying it and she liked

the feel of rubbing him. A surge of possessive longing flooded through her. She wanted

him as her husband, her friend, and her lover. She just didn’t know if the last two were

possible.

“Lean forward, Philip, and let me get your back.”
He did as she requested. From behind his shoulders looked even broader. She

enjoyed rubbing the cloth up and down across his back, moving in long strokes, from

side to side and then up and down along his spine.

“Ah, Mary, if you only knew how good that feels,” he said.
“I’m glad, Philip. Tell me what happened up there. You say a stone fell? I’ve never

before heard the tower was crumbling so badly pieces of it were coming down.”

She continued the rubbing of his back that became more massage than wash after a

while. But he did seem to relax and feel better for it.

“I hadn’t thought it to be in such miserable condition either,” he admitted. “But

then I haven’t looked closely at that part of the manor. I suppose it’s possible that in

digging into the stone in the wall nearby, we shook it slightly and loosened something

already close to coming free.”

She moved to the other side of the tub and lifted first one foot, then the other,

washing toes and sole, moving up his legs as far as the knee. “True. Did anyone look up

afterward to see if anyone was up there?”

He sighed and flexed his legs to assist her. “We were all too concerned with seeing

to the injured. I knew the stone had hit William and was worried about him.”

She heard the concern for his squire in his voice. “Brianne is as good as there is at

setting bones and treating injuries. William could get no better care.”

He nodded.
Mary got up and moved around the tub again. “If you’ll dunk your head, I’ll wash

your hair,” she told him.

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58

His angled, dark eyebrows rose. “Is there not another portion of me you’ve

neglected?”

“Aye, but it’s difficult for me to reach.”
Philip crooked a grin at her. “I could make it easier. Nay, it is an awkward angle,”

he admitted, watching her try to reach down. “Hand me the cloth.”

He swiped over himself, then dunked his head below the water for a moment. She

lathered soap into his hair, working it through the curly strands that he wore cut to just

below his ears, massaging his scalp with it at the same time. He enjoyed that, too, and

she kept it up until he said, “The water’s beginning to cool.”

He rinsed the soap out of his hair, then stood up, shaking water off his body. She

wrapped him in a drying cloth she’d set near the fire to warm, and helped him out. He

still moved stiffly, but seemed more relaxed. He walked over to the garderobe and

pulled out a long nightshirt. She helped him pull it on over his head.

Mary rang for a servant to remove the tub.
“Have dinner sent up here tonight,” Philip requested. “I’ve no inclination to dress

again or go down to the great hall to eat.” He looked at her. “Would you care to join me

for an informal dinner here?”

“Aye, my lord,” she answered. “It would be my pleasure.”
She helped him dry his hair with a cloth and combed out the strands, which were

already starting to curl as they dried. He leaned back against her as she sat behind him,

working with the comb. A wave of tenderness ran through her as his shoulders and

back settled against her breast.

The comb stilled as a thought crossed her mind. They had time before their meal

came…

“Philip?” She hesitated, glad he had his back to her and couldn’t see the color she

could feel as a tide of heat rising in her face.

“What?” he asked after her silence went on.
“Would you show me how to touch you? What pleases you?”
He froze in place for a moment, but she couldn’t see his face, so she didn’t know

what caused that reaction.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Mary?” He moved forward and turned to face

her. “It might lead to more than you—” He must have seen a change in her expression.

“Nay, I’ll not take you. In any way. I’ll not change our bargain on that. You must want

it enough to beg me for it. But if you touch me, I might not be able to hold back spilling

my seed.”

She sucked in a long, deep breath, fighting visions of the past, knowing she needed

to replace hideous memories of Benwyck’s actions with remembrances of Philip’s

generosity and attractions. “Aye, I want it. But I’ll need your assistance.”

“With pleasure,” he said. “And I mean that in more than one way.”

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He stood up and helped her up with the right arm. “Come.” He led her over to the

side of his bed, pulled the long shirt up over his head, and let it drop to the floor. He

stood nude before her, allowing her to look her fill, before he moved to lie down on the

bed. His cock, which had been flaccid and hung down when he emerged from the bath,

stood erect again. “We’ll be more comfortable here,” he said as he slid across to allow

room for her beside him.

Mary sat beside him, admiring the graceful lines of his long, lean body. He was so

much more attractive in looks that Benwyck ever had been, a reflection of a more

honorable and noble nature. She reached out a hesitant hand and put it on his chest.

He felt her reluctance. “Touch where you will, whenever it pleases you,” he invited.
“I won’t hurt you?”
“Avoid my arm, if you please. Save that, I’m yours. I’ll tell you if anything you do

causes pain,” he said. “But I doubt very much you will.”

She ran her hands over the strong muscles of his shoulders, across his throat, and

along the muscles of his chest. He was hard and sleek at the same time. She stroked

along his sides, then moved her fingers to the brown masculine nipples nearly buried in

dark curly hair. He let out a small hiss when she touched them.

He noticed her worried frown and said, “My reaction was pleasure rather than

pain. At times they can look and sound much the same. But trust me to tell you if I can’t

bear something you do.”

She nodded and let her fingers investigate his nipples a bit more. They beaded up at

her touch, just as her own were wont to do, though his sat on a pillow of hard muscle

rather than the soft mounds of breast. He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes

briefly.

His skin was warm and giving, the hair on his chest lending an interestingly rough

texture. She ran her hand down his flat stomach, feeling the fluttering of muscle in

response to her touch. Avoiding a red, swollen spot on his side that would likely show

a bruise in a few hours, she stopped at the indent of his navel, investigating its recesses

with a finger.

Mary glanced at his face.
He opened his eyes to smile at her. “Your touch is the sweetest I’ve ever known,” he

told her.

She drew a deep breath and moved her hand lower yet but skirted the heavy, full

length of his cock, tracing a path along his hip to his thigh. Thick, strong muscle padded

his upper legs. He groaned lightly as she trailed her fingers along his thigh and moved

his legs apart just enough to give her a view of the hairy, pink balls beneath his cock.

Very carefully, Mary reached up to touch them. Philip drew a long, gasping breath.

She felt around the sacs, brushing the tips of her fingers along their curving surfaces,

then cupping them in her hand. She squeezed gently and he moaned deep in his throat.

“That feels good to you?” she asked.

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60

“Better than you can imagine,” he said through clenched teeth.
When she patted and rubbed them again he twitched, leg muscles jumping and

stomach tightening.

“Oh, Mary,” he sighed. “Your touch is heaven.” He pulled her face down to him for

a long, throbbing kiss.

Breathless and almost shaking with the heady excitement of touching and exploring

him, she leaned back and pressed her fingertips along his cock. His body bucked, back

arching and face tightening. She waited until she was sure it was pleasure and not pain

she was seeing, then ran her hand up along the shaft until she reached the tip. Philip

took several harsh breaths.

His cock jumped in her hand as she touched the tip. It felt so marvelously soft and

smooth, like finest silk. He groaned. She ran her fingers around the edge and along the

groove.

She cupped one hand around his balls, brushing at them and squeezing carefully,

while the fingers of the other hand ringed his cock and slid up and down along it. His

balls felt heavy and full in her palms, rough-textured yet giving.

“Mary,” he gasped. “It’s good. Too good. I can’t contain…much longer.”
Muscles all along his body tensed to rock hardness. His cock throbbed in her grasp

and she pumped her hand along it even faster. Of a sudden, he let out a long, loud

moan, and a viscous white fluid spurted from the tip of his cock, spreading in a small

puddle across his belly.

She held his pulsing cock, waiting until his breathing began to return to a normal

rhythm, then got up and went to get the wash rag she’d left beside the tub. She sponged

the stickiness off his belly and her hands.

“Thank you,” she breathed
“Again I say it was my pleasure,” he said. He turned onto his side, reached for her,

and pulled her down next to him on the bed. “Lay with me a while,” he asked, holding

her against his body. To her surprise, they both fell asleep for a while, waking only

when a servant knocked on the door, bearing their dinner.

* * * * *

Following the meal, Mary went down to check on William’s condition. She found

the boy asleep, swathed in bandages, with another servant watching out for him. The

man knew little of the boy’s condition. He’d been told William would likely sleep for a

while longer.

Mary went to the suite of rooms Brianne shared with her husband in the south

wing of the manor and knocked at the door. Brianne herself answered the knock and

appeared unsurprised to see Mary. “You want to know about William,” Brianne

guessed. “He’ll do well enough, but it will be a while. The bone was displaced in his

arm, and I had to set it. His collarbone is cracked as well, but I’ve had to immobilize the

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61

arm in any case, so there was naught to do for that save bandage it tightly. He’s young

and healthy. He’ll not be taking sword practice for several months, but with proper care

he’ll heal and have full use of the arm. I gave him some tincture of poppy before I set

the arm. He’ll sleep until morning.”

“My thanks,” Mary told her. “Lord Philip was concerned about him. I’ll pass that

on.”

“How fares his lordship?” Brianne asked. “It appeared he had some bumps that

will be stiff and discolored by morning, but I judged nothing was broken.”

“He’s well enough,” Mary answered. “He was resting when I left him. The bath did

seem to ease his soreness.” Her efforts might have helped as well, but she wasn’t going

to share that with Brianne.

She thanked the woman and returned to his lordship’s quarters just long enough to

deliver the news concerning William. Philip was sleepy, however, so she didn’t linger

with him.

The next morning she rose early and went out to the north tower. Overnight the

weather had turned cooler and the air smelled like rain coming. She walked past the

area on the east wall where the stone had fallen. Several irregular pieces, ranging in size

from the width of her hand to one that was over a foot square, sat among a virtual

snowfall of shards and powder. She looked up. The stone could easily have come

straight down from the tower, but there was no obvious place it might have come loose

from.

She proceeded to the tower itself and went around to the door into it. There was

one below on the ground level as well, but the climb to the top was easier this way.

She’d just gone in and was on the bottom step, when a voice stopped her.

“Are you looking for something, my lady?” Sir Thomas asked.
Mary shrieked and nearly dropped the piece of bread she’d been nibbling on. She

whirled to face the source of the voice.

“Sir Thomas,” she breathed, holding a hand to her chest to still the furious

pounding of her heart. “I did not expect to meet anyone here. At this time of day in

particular.”

“Nor did I,” he answered. He regarded her with cool, suspicious eyes.
Watching him, Mary was struck again by what a handsome man he would be were

his expression not so bleak. With his straight, light brown hair, regular features and

sensual mouth, he would be extraordinarily appealing if one didn’t see the cold

harshness of his gray eyes.

“What brings you here on such a chill morning?” she asked.
“Curiosity,” he answered, “But I might ask the same of you.”
“And you’d receive the same answer.”

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62

Mary studied the steps leading up to the tower’s roof. Thick dust had gathered all

over. With limited manpower to guard the manor, she’d had no one stationed on this

tower to look out for as long as she’d ruled the place.

There were smudges in the dust now, irregular patches on each step, as though

someone had taken a brush and wiped the dust off in vaguely circular motions.

“Are you going up, my lady?” he asked.
“Aye, Sir Thomas. And yourself? Or have you just come down?”
“Nay, lady. I fancied a walk on the tower roof this morning.”
She turned to stare at him again. Suspicion and harshness colored his words. “Is

there something specific you wish to see?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. He nodded toward the stairs. “After you, then, my lady.”
She mounted the curving stairs of the tower as swiftly as she could. Sir Thomas

stayed with her, no more than a couple of steps behind. The exertion had her breathing

hard by the time they came to the top. Sir Thomas brushed by her and pushed up the

trap door that let out onto the roof of the tower, then waited for her to precede him. The

breeze struck her as she emerged, blowing her clothes around until she pulled her cloak

closer around her body. She moved straight to the side where the stone must have

fallen from.

A gap in the top of the parapet marked the place the stone had lately occupied. This

size of it stunned and dismayed her. That no one had been killed was more miracle than

anything else.

Sir Thomas stood beside her as she went over to it and looked closely at the edges

of the gap. She ran her fingers along the rough sides, feeling the ridges of the surface,

then feeling…small streaks in the remaining mortar, slightly flattened areas. She

removed her fingers and looked more closely. Surely those were the marks of a knife

jammed into the mortar?

Aware of Sir Thomas’s eyes on her, she moved around the edge of the tower,

testing the permanence of the stone in the rest of the edge. None rocked or slipped in

the least when she pushed at them. As she approached the gap again, she spied

something bright on the floor of the tower where it intersected with the wall. Mary bent

down and retrieved a bright bit of metal. Not wanting to examine it too closely in Sir

Thomas’s presence, she held it tightly in her fist. She looked at him as she stood and

met his gray eyes. His glance flicked to his fist and she waited for him to ask about it.

He didn’t.

Mary sighed, wondering what to do about her suspicions. She could point at no

specific individual, save Sir Thomas himself. But he’d been with Philip when the stone

had come down, so surely he couldn’t be responsible. Unless he’d worked with

someone else, had arranged for someone to be up here to push the stone while he made

sure Philip was in its path. It had so nearly succeeded.

She shivered with a combination of chill from the wind and belated terror. “I

believe I’m ready to go back in,” she told Sir Thomas. He nodded and followed her,

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63

closing the door behind them. Bemused and distracted by what she’d found, she went

down the tower steps and returned to the main part of the manor. At some point as she

walked to her solar, she lost Sir Thomas. She had no idea when he’d stopped following

her or where he’d gone.

Once in her quarters, with the door shut behind, she opened her fist to consider the

thing she’d found. The triangular piece of steel had been polished and two edges honed

sharp and tapering to a wicked point. The other side of the triangle was rough and

jagged. It could be almost nothing but the broken-off point of a knife or dagger,

probably snapped in the effort to lever the stone far enough up and out to let it be

pushed over the edge.

She would have to keep watch on the various men when they used their knives.

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Chapter Ten

Philip watched his friend Thomas pace back and forth across the office floor in his

agitation.

“She went up there for a reason,” Thomas said. “Looking for something. And she

found it. I know not what it was. She didn’t wish me to see it. But she picked up

something and hid it in her hand.”

Thomas stopped a moment and turned to look at him. “Philip, that stone didn’t fall

on its own. I’d wager my last crown on it. It had help.”

“Do you propose to me that Lady Mary went up there and pushed the stone over

on me?” Philip asked.

Thomas winced at his doubt. “Nay, my lord, she could not have done it herself. The

stone was no small weight. But she commands the loyalty of nearly everyone in this

household. She could have had one of her own men do it. And did he lose something

up there, she would go back to retrieve it.”

Philip shook his head. “Nay, I cannot credit it. What reason would she have?”
“She ruled this manor herself before you arrived. She’d do so again with you gone.”
Philip wasn’t ready to share with even as good a friend as Thomas why he believed

Mary loved him and wouldn’t endanger his health or safety. “Did some such thing

happen, word would get around in any case,” Philip said. “I’ve learned how difficult it

is to keep secrets in such a manor as this.”

Thomas drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I wish I could convince

you, my lord, but failing that, at least lend me your promise you’ll take care and be ever

vigilant.”

His mood lightened and he clapped Thomas on the shoulder. “On that you can

depend,” he promised.

When Sir Thomas departed to oversee work on the walls, which Philip had insisted

continue for as long as the weather held, Philip tried a short workout with sword and

shield. His left arm featured a large bruise that covered most of the skin between his

shoulder and elbow, with another smaller one on his forearm. It was stiff and sore, so

he eschewed using the shield, relying more on his legs than his arms to dodge a young

opponent.

Later on Philip dropped by William’s quarters to see how the boy fared. He found

the young man awake but in some pain that he tried not to show. Philip stayed with

him for a while, talking to him. He asked about the accident and what William

remembered. All the boy knew was that everything seemed normal one moment, then

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in the next moment Philip was pushing him out of the way of something falling from

the sky.

“No one has yet told me,” William asked, almost reluctantly. “Will my arm heal?

Will I be able to use a sword again, and ride and fight?”

“Judging by what Mistress Brianne said yesterday, it seems you’re likely to heal

with no ill effects from the injury. ‘Twill be a while, probably not until spring, but you’ll

be back to polishing my armor and oiling my saddle before you’re ready. So enjoy the

rest for the winter.”

“I’ll try, my lord,” the boy promised.
The next day Philip received a note from the Countess of Highwaith accepting his

invitation for them to come for a visit prior to the winter holiday. Rosalind indicated

she and the earl would arrive in a week’s time for a visit of a few days. Philip

immediately sent for Mary to tell her about the impending visit.

“Jeoffrey is my oldest and closest friend as well as being my liege lord,” Philip

explained to her. “He and I grew up together, squired together, and served our early

knighthood together. When he inherited the family estate of Blaisdell I went with him

as his chief man-at-arms. He led the revolt against Sir William, and the king awarded

him Highwaith in gratitude. He wed Lady Rosalind, the daughter of the former earl,

this past summer, but their story wasn’t as simple as that suggests. I think you’ll like

Rosalind. She’s about your years, and she’s had no easy road the past few years

herself.”

“I’ll look to preparations for their arrival. I would place them in the royal chamber.

What think you, my lord?” Mary said.

“The royal chamber will serve well enough. Despite their grand title, the earl and

countess are not so very formal, but still I should like to entertain them well. I owe them

much and would repay some in hospitality. Think you we could get that group of

minstrels back?”

“I’ll put out inquiries. They may have advanced too far on the road, however. Or

retreated to their winter quarters. I fear we’re none too far from the first snows.”

“Aye. Do what you may. But I’d like to serve only the best I’m able to them.”
“Of course,” Mary said. “I’ll consult with cook on menus and we’ll bring them to

you for your approval.”

He smiled at her. “My great thanks, Lady Mary, and I know I can rely on you. Oh,

and Mary,” he added. “‘Twould please me if you’d arrange for a few new gowns for

yourself. If you could find fabric to match the necklace from your mother, that would be

splendid.”

Her expression brightened, making her green eyes sparkle, and a tide of color rose

in her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if the blush was from embarrassment that he’d noticed

the somewhat worn condition of her clothes or pleasure at the idea of new things.

“I’ll see it done, my lord,” she answered.

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For the next few days, the manor fairly hummed with activity. Excitement ran high

once word got around that they’d be hosting such exalted visitors. The royal quarters,

so called because the king had once spent a night there while passing through the

region, were opened and aired, beds were turned, linens replaced, hearths swept,

chimneys checked, and furniture polished in preparation.

Additional chambers had to be readied for the men-at-arms and servants who

accompanied the earl and countess as well. Mary admitted she couldn’t remember a

time when so many of the manor’s rooms had been in use at once. The linen supply was

stretched to its fullest, but she thought it would suffice.

Menus were prepared and brought to him for approval. The steward grew frantic in

his search for the best wines, ales, meats, and other stuffs to feed their guests.

In the midst of the chaos, Mary sought him out to resolve a problem. She had two

young men in tow, both somewhat disheveled, bruised, and scraped, when she found

him consulting with a blacksmith he’d hired to do some work on their arms and armor.

Philip finished up with the man and then invited the three of them to join him in his

office.

Mary explained the head groom had caught the two fighting in the barn. By the

time he stopped it, the altercation had already caused some damage to a pair of stalls

and had spooked several of the horses. The two boys, both in their early to mid-teens,

had a history of squabbling and had come to blows several times before. They’d been

warned of dire consequences should they continue to engage in fisticuffs where they

might cause harm and while they were supposed to be about their duties.

Philip nodded when she finished her explanation and asked Mary to step outside

the room for a moment. He went with her and shut the door, leaving the two downcast

young brawlers inside.

“Have they been punished for this before?” he asked her once they were alone in

the corridor.

“Aye. And they’ve been warned several times, as well. I do believe the last time

they fought Master Forlin, the head groom, gave them each a couple of strokes with a

strap and insisted they repair the damage they did.”

“They’ll certainly do that again,” Philip said. He paused and sighed. “This is the

hardest part of being a lord. I know how much Jeoffrey has struggled with it. I think he

is perhaps too demanding, but still he makes a great effort to be fair and just.”

In truth, he knew what needed to be done, but he was reluctant to do it. Mary

watched him with a level, serious gaze. He’d demanded she recognize his authority in

these issues. He had an obligation to do the job properly.

He drew a deep breath. “Would you please fetch Master Forlin and ask him to

bring the heaviest strap he has?” He let the breath out slowly and shook his head. “It’s

not in my nature to be harsh with people, but in this case…”

“They’ve had more than ample warning,” she agreed. She turned and left.
As she was leaving, he had another thought, but he’d tell her about it later.

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He sucked in another hard breath and went back into the room. The two young

men sat on the chairs pushed against the wall, and they stared at him with similar

expressions, a blend of fear and resentment, as he entered. He sat behind his desk and

stared back.

“I understand you’ve been warned about fighting in the barn while you should be

working. In fact, you’ve been chastised for it on a previous occasion, so you cannot

claim ignorance that what you were doing was wrong. Have you anything to say for

yourselves?”

They looked at each other with so much anger and resentment, Philip wasn’t

surprised when their argument, which appeared to be over the attentions of a girl,

broke out in hot words and soon descended to blows.

“Stop that right now,” he said. Though he didn’t allow it to show, even he was

surprised at how much force and authority he managed to put into the words. They

both paused and looked at him.

“You’re in a deal of trouble already,” he told them.
Both young men stared at him. Fear began to replace the anger on their faces. “My

lord,” the darker, taller boy said, “I apologize for my actions. I was wrong and I’ll help

to repair any damage done.”

“Good,” Philip said, as the other one offered his own admission. “You will both

certainly make good your harm to the barn. After you’ve had your punishment.”

A knock sounded at the door. Philip got up and went to it, had a quick, whispered

conversation with Master Forlin, and then nodded for him to enter the room. The man

held a heavy leather strap some two inches wide and three feet long.

“Now,” he said to the miscreants. “You each have a choice. You may take a dozen

strokes of Master Forlin’s strap on your bare arse, or two dozen over clothes.”

One of them drew in a sharp breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob.
“Which of you is the older?” Philip asked.
“I am, my lord.” The dark-haired boy claimed that honor with no pride or joy in it.
“Your name?”
“Warin, my lord.”
“Very good, Warin,” Philip answered. “You will be first. What is your choice?”
Warin just stared at him for a moment, then swallowed hard and said, “I’d have it

over as soon as may be,” he said. “I’ll take it bare.”

Philip nodded his acceptance of the decision, turned to Master Forlin, and nodded

to him. The head groom took over directing the boy in removing clothes and getting in

position over the back of a chair, hands gripping the edge of the seat. The man then

delivered a sound and painful strapping, holding the length of leather at one end and

allowing the rest to swing free until it connected with the vulnerable flesh, emitting a

startling crack.

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The young man took the first half dozen strokes without a sound beyond several

sharp, hissing breaths, though he jumped each time the strap landed. After eight, his

buttocks looked very red and sore, with thick welts beginning to span the surface. On

the last few strokes, Warin’s control began to slip. He moaned aloud on the tenth, took

the eleventh in silence, and shouted in agony as the last one came down with greater

force than any of the previous.

Master Forlin ordered him to stand and re-dress, and all waited in silence while he

did so. Because he seemed a bit dazed, Philip helped him to a chair, though the boy

chose to sprawl on his side across two, rather than sit.

The other boy was John and after watching his nemesis suffer, he decided to take

more strokes over his clothes.

Master Forlin ordered him into the same position and delivered another sound

strapping. From the way John jumped and the anguished sounds he let out after ten

strokes, Philip decided it couldn’t be hurting much less than if he’d taken it bare.

Nonetheless he bore it with as much courage as Warin had shown, emitting nothing

more than a groan or quickly cut off squeal until the last couple of strokes drove him

beyond control.

When it was over, Philip thanked Master Forlin and dismissed him, then faced the

two red-faced young men.

“I regret I had to do that,” he said to them. “And I hope it will never again be

necessary to repeat the lesson with either of you. I’ll have you go now and make those

repairs you promised.” He stopped and glanced at each one. Both stood straight,

watching him. “But first, since you two seem so eager to fight, I have an offer for you.”

They waited, unmoving.
“We’re in need of trained men at arms. Should another lord attempt to take the

manor we’ve too few fighting men to defend it. Once the damage is repaired, should

you choose, I’d have you report to Sir Peter for training. Perhaps it will make better use

of your energy and strength than fisticuffs with each other.”

The two stared at each other as though wondering if he was making a joke at their

expense.

“My lord,” Warin said, “You’d allow us to train for battle?”
“I believe that’s what I was offering.”
“Aye, I’d like to do so,” the young man answered. “But will Sir Peter take us on,

after he knows about…?”

“He need not know about it,” Philip answered. “None here need know if you set

the damage to rights and do not wish to tell of it. Lady Mary and Master Forlin will

speak about it to no one, nor will I unless something else you do makes it necessary.”

Their expressions changed from sullen to surprise to excitement.
“I should like to be trained for battle as well,” John answered.

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69

“If you think you can finish your repairs today, I’ll let Sir Peter know you’ll be

joining him in the morning.”

He dismissed the two. Both made their exit from the room walking stiffly, rubbing

at sore bottoms. Philip sat for a while, wondering what, if anything, he might have done

differently.

Mary found him that way a few minutes later. “My lord, are you well?” she asked

him.

He heard her concern and lifted his head. “Well enough.”
She moved around behind him, put her hands on either side of his neck, and

rubbed gently. “Your muscles are all bunched up in knots back here,” she said. “What

did you with Master John and Master Warin?”

“They got a solid strapping from Master Forlin, then I offered them the opportunity

to take training in arms.”

“Train in arms?” she asked. “They’re serfs.”
“Aye, but we have too few men-at-arms. A few more trained for battle would serve

us well, and those two have need of a better outlet for their will to fight. I think they’ll

turn into very good soldiers.”

Mary’s hands halted for a moment. “‘Tis a good idea, my lord.”
He reached up and laid his palm over one of her hands, holding it against the side

of his neck where it felt both deliciously cool and warm at the same time. “Mary, after

dinner this even, would you come to me? Dismiss your maid early and come to my

solar?”

She stopped, standing quite still, then said, “Aye. I’ll do that.”
“Wear that necklace from your mother at dinner for me as well?” he asked. “I

would see it against your skin, making your eyes sparkle just as brightly.”

“As you wish, my lord.”
Mary looked wonderful wearing her mother’s necklace, even though her gown was

worn and faded. She glowed with life and joy. As beautiful as the jewel was, it was her

face that kept drawing his attention. The green of her eyes seemed brighter and clearer

than usual, and she smiled in a way he’d seen only a few times before.

Dinner took too long for Philip’s taste, although he was sure the food was quite

good. He just barely remembered that the wine was smooth and fruity. He drank

enough of it to make him somewhat light-headed, but the real kick for him came

whenever her hand or arm touched his.

Once the meal was over, they retired quickly to their quarters. A few minutes later,

Mary knocked at the door and slipped inside. She walked straight into his arms, and he

wrapped them around her, holding her tight against his body. He was honored that she

showed so much trust in him, considering how difficult she’d found it to accept his

touch at all when first they’d met.

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He leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were soft, sweet, and hesitant at first under the

touch of his mouth. Then she relaxed slightly, opening to him. The recesses of her

mouth were hot and slick, tasting slightly of the wine they’d drunk with dinner. She

shivered delicately as his tongue swept across her teeth and pushed forward. He

nipped lightly at her full bottom lip and felt as much as heard her sigh.

He kissed his way down along the side of her throat, occasionally nipping or licking

at the tender flesh. Mary melted against him. Need settled, hot and heavy, in his loins.

She trembled in his arms, but not with fear, as his lips traveled down onto her shoulder,

nudging aside the edge of her gown to explore the delicate hollow there, before

continuing on toward her breasts.

He spread the gown out, then kissed one of the pointed nipples, sucking on it

through the linen shift. The fabric was rough against his tongue and lips but he could

feel the hard contour of her flesh beneath it. She gasped deep in her throat as he probed

the dampened fabric for the treasure beneath it. Philip lifted his face so he could see her

reaction. With its graceful, clean lines tightened by pleasurable need and desire, she was

exquisite, as bright and rare as the jewel in the necklace.

He could scarce credit the turn of fortune that had brought him both the manor and

its lady, and he’d thanked the Lord on his knees more than once for the gift. He would

never fail to treasure each and care for them to the best of his ability.

He turned her so that her back was to him, pressed against his chest, and reached

around under her arms to cradle a breast in each palm. She rested her head back against

his shoulder, leaving one lovely pink ear and the delicate side of her throat within easy

reach of his hungry lips. As he nuzzled her earlobe, he brushed his thumbs over her

breasts, again and again, until she squirmed in his arms. She sucked in a series of sharp

breaths and moaned his name in between.

He loosed the tapes on her gown and brushed it off her shoulders, then reached

down inside her shift to caress the flesh beneath. Excitement raced through his blood

and flared in his loins.

He reached down and unhooked the chain of her girdle, letting it drop to the floor.
“Mary.”
She shivered as his breath brushed over her ear when he spoke.
“I’d like to see your body. All of it.”
She nodded. He tugged an end of the ribbon of her shift and released it. A slight

push and the fabric slithered off her shoulders and down her body to land in a puddle

of white around her. He turned her again and let his gaze run down the luscious curves

of her breasts, hips, and legs. She wore only the necklace, pale stockings with garters

and her calfskin indoor slippers. The jewel glowed against her skin, which was just as

radiant.

“Heaven have mercy,” he said reverently. “You’re beautiful, exquisite.” He reached

out and put a hand on her side, just below her arm and ran it down along the dip of her

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71

waist and the flare of her hips. Her skin felt smooth and cool beneath his grateful palms.

He felt her go tense again.

“Nay, Mary,” he said. “You needn’t fear. I promise again I’ll do naught you don’t

want. I’d like to touch you and learn your body, all of its curves and recesses. But that’s

all we’ll do this even. Just my fingers. And if you don’t like what I do, tell me, and I’ll

stop. You have my oath as a knight on that.”

The wide green eyes met his gaze. He touched the satin-soft skin of her cheek with

a gentle finger and leaned down to kiss her again. Her mouth strained towards his this

time. She was so responsive. Her body wanted what he could give more than she knew.

He had only to get her past her fear so she could relax and accept it.

He picked her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her on it. She didn’t

protest but watched him with wary eyes struggling to trust. He loved her for that

struggle. She had such courage to let him do this after all she’d suffered at Benwyck’s

hands. He was determined to erase the memory of Benwyck completely from her

thoughts and replace it with more pleasant thoughts of the delights he would bring her.

He removed her slippers and stockings, watching her shiver again when his fingers

ran down her leg in the process.

“Your body is beautiful,” he told her, “made to give pleasure to the man God

designates for you, and to yourself. Mary, I believe I’m that man, and I can’t imagine

what I’ve done to earn such a boon.” He rested one hand on her breast and another at

her waist. “You’ve already learned some of the pleasure your body is capable of, but

there’s more, a great deal more. The Lord God, in His infinite wisdom, endowed men

and women with the capacity to love and be loved and to share with each other a joy so

sublime it must have been meant as a foretaste of heaven.”

He lingered over her breasts and nipples for some time, until she was gasping and

squirming with pleasure. Then he slowly moved his hands down across her stomach,

giving her ample time to object or ask him to halt. She didn’t. Her gaze fixed on his face

as though she found comfort or encouragement there.

He moved his hands down to the triangle where her legs met and nudged them

gently apart. She drew in a long breath, but didn’t say anything. He stroked the soft,

soft skin of her thighs for a little while, running his palms and the tips of his fingers up

the inside, but halting before he arrived at the apex.

Hidden in the silky brown curls were the petals of flesh that protected the most

secret recesses of her quim. Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he brushed a finger

upward and then ran it over the lips that closed her slit. She drew a sharp breath and

her body tensed. He left his finger in place while he looked to her face again. She

opened her eyes and met his gaze. Then she smiled.

He returned it and leaned over to kiss her. When he released her lips, he moved so

he could reach more easily and get a better view of the womanly flesh he would fondle.

He stroked over the outer lips with gentle careful brushes.

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72

“I would open you now,” he said to her, caressing the lovely soft flesh of her inner

thighs. “I vow to be careful of you.”

Showing her trust of him, she moved her legs farther apart.
“Thank you, my love,” he said.
She moved, startled, apparently at his words.
“Know you not that you are my love?” he asked. “Though I’ve known you but a

short time, you’ve come to be the light of my life and the crown jewel of this manor I’ve

been granted. My heart is in your keeping, has been since the day I learned you were a

lady, and one of remarkable courage as well as remarkable beauty.”

He touched the petals of flesh again. “Every fold, every curve, every line of your

body is beautiful to my eyes.” Using the fingers of both hands, he gently pulled apart

the outer folds of skin to reveal the treasures beneath. He touched reverently, carefully

at the delicate tissues within. She jumped and cried out.

Philip looked at her face in alarm, but after a moment he realized it was shock and

pleasure that had wrung the cry from her rather than pain. “Most remarkably sensitive,

these places on our bodies,” he remarked. “A gift from the Lord. But they must be

treated properly. Used brutally and with no thought for one’s partner, as you’ve been

used, they can cause tremendous pain. But when treated properly, with reverence and

care and love, they can bring pleasure beyond imagining.”

She sucked in a sharp breath as he ran his finger very carefully along the jutting

pieces of flesh, down to the opening to her womb. She was still dry there. He’d been

taught that a lady’s opening should be moist with her own juices to be ready for a

man’s entry. He had no intention of doing more than touching her, introducing her to

the potential for pleasure in those small folds. Even though she should come to beg for

it, as was their bargain, he wouldn’t take her then. She needed time to adjust, and he

planned to take it slowly. He had thought to introduce his finger into the opening to

begin preparing her for the stretching by his cock, but even that could wait.

Still, it raised doubts in his mind. Was he doing this properly? She took pleasure in

his touches, clearly, but was there more he should be doing to bring her to the dewy

state of readiness necessary for her fulfillment?

As gently as he could, he worked the soft, delicate tissues, listening to her breathing

and watching the reactions of her body to gauge what gave her most pleasure. Though

his cock ached with the hot, heavy need that engorged it, he strove to ignore it and

concentrate only on what she wanted. He found the small pearl of flesh that responded

most strongly to his touches and he worked it carefully. Though she squealed, moaned,

and writhed under his care, her entrance remained tight and dry each time he fingered

it.

He wanted to try his tongue on her, but he’d promised he’d use fingers only. There

would be time for it later.

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73

After a while, she reached down and stopped his hand. “My lord,” she said, her

breath coming in small bursts. “Enough for tonight. Wonderful though it is, I’m unused

to this and ‘tis all I can bear.”

He moved until he lay beside her and pulled her against his body, holding her close

while he struggled to contain the raging need that tried to demand he do more. He

would handle his own release later. After a while he let her go and rose from the bed,

then helped her up and back into her clothes.

He peered out the door into the corridor to be sure no one moved there, before he

allowed her to make the short trip back to her own solar. He felt a little silly sneaking

around his own manor in such a way, but there was also something amusing and even

appealing about it.

Once she left, he lay back and took his aching cock in his hand. It throbbed beneath

his touch, begging to be milked. He felt like a raw boy again, resorting to bringing

about his own satisfaction in this way, but he couldn’t continue to show her the

pleasures of the body without occasionally satiating the fiery need that rode him.

With visions of Mary’s glorious body in mind, he stroked himself and gasped aloud

as the warmth streaked through him. He pumped, faster and faster, until a gout of hot

juice exploded from him, convulsing his body and relieving the pressure in his cock.

It failed to relieve the doubts that had begun to assail him, however. Would she

ever truly be able to accept him into her? Could he bring her to that ultimate level of

pleasure that would bind them together inextricably?

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Chapter Eleven

Despite Philip’s reassurances that the Earl and Countess of Highwaith wouldn’t

stand on formality or be too critical of the hospitality, Mary still worried about having

everything as well prepared for them as possible. If for no other reason than that they

were Philip’s friends, she wanted Alderwood to make him proud.

The staff worked hard, scrubbing furniture, sweeping floors, washing and airing

linens, preparing what food could be made ahead, laying in necessary provisions, and

making room in the stables and outbuildings for the visiting horses and equipage.

Mary dealt with the panic that arose from the discovery some of the linen was no

longer usable, dispatching someone to the town to purchase additional fabric. Even

standing for fittings of the new gowns her seamstresses were preparing offered no

respite. People brought her a litany of problems and questions.

Twice more, during those evenings, she went to Philip’s quarters and allowed him

to teach her about her body and the responses he could draw. She was astonished by

the things he could do and the pleasure it would bring her.

As his fingers found new ways to stroke and tweak the very private recesses of her

body, she felt as though she might explode or come apart. Never could she have

guessed that such wicked-sounding activities could bring such pleasure.

Yet apparently, there was some additional peak to be reached. And something was

worrying Philip about her, as though he feared she might not be able to reach whatever

ultimate there was.

Everything he did, each new touch he tried, brought her to new heights of pleasure.

Yet, she felt no inclination to beg him for his penetration. What, she wondered, would

bring her to such an extreme of need, when his marvelous touches had not, as yet?

And someone, it appeared, had tried to kill him. Who could want to do that? Mary

watched constantly for someone using a knife with a broken tip. She questioned

servants about whether anyone had seen such an item. She learned nothing. None of

those serving as personal maids or manservants admitted to having seen one. She

vowed to continue to be looking out for it, but her efforts were distracted by the

increasing pace of preparations for the Highwaiths’ arrival.

Finally, the day of the arrival of their guests came. Mary thought everything was as

well prepared as possible. That morning, she and Philip together ran down the list of

preparations needed to ensure nothing had been overlooked. They could think of only

one small item, a need for extra drinking water to be provided for the pregnant

countess. That was easily resolved.

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Word came that the party had been spotted in midafternoon. Mary joined Philip at

the main door to welcome the guests. She tried not to let her worry and nerves show,

but he must have seen it, because he took her hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

Outriders preceded the carriage bearing the earl and countess, and Mary was

impressed by the grandeur of the trappings, including a glittering crest on the door of

the conveyance. A footman stepped down, opened the door and assisted a young

woman to alight. Despite Philip’s description of his friends, Mary was still surprised by

her.

Rosalind, Countess of Highwaith, was about her own age, a very pretty young

woman with brown hair under an attractive wimple and a pleasant expression. Her

middle showed the rounded bulge of pregnancy, very obvious on her slender frame.

When she spotted Philip, her face broke into a huge smile, and without waiting for her

husband to escort her, she ran toward them.

“Philip!” The Countess threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him on the

cheek. Philip put a hand lightly on her back to steady her until she stepped away.

“You’re looking well,” she said. “Clearly being the lord of this manor suits you

well.” The countess then turned her attention to Mary.

Philip anticipated her interest and said, “My lady, this is Lady Mary Alderwood,

the daughter of the late lord of this manor. Lady Mary, may I introduce to you Lady

Rosalind Blaisdell, Countess of Highwaith.”

“Call me Rosalind, please,” the Countess begged, taking both of Mary’s hands in

her own. “I’m having the devil of a time adjusting to this Countess business.”

“And I’m the afterthought known as her husband,” a deep voice said from behind

her. Jeoffrey Blaisdell, Earl of Highwaith, was Philip’s height but broader and huskier.

Straight, near-shoulder-length blond hair topped a stern, handsome face, but his

expression softened as he approached. He shook Philip’s hand and clapped him on the

back, while Philip did nearly the same thing in return.

“I trust you’ve found a few musty rooms for us and a crust or two of bread to

spare?” Jeoffrey asked.

“I’ll personally break the mold off your bread and strain the grit from your cider,”

Philip returned. “And with such a lovely companion in your bed, you’ll not notice any

other stray visitors that might bedevil you there. Of course even the fleas would hesitate

to draw the notice of such a stern disciplinarian as yourself.”

“Nay,” he protested. “‘Tis entirely too difficult to convince a louse to do your

bidding, even for so loud and harsh a one as me.”

“Then enter my home if you dare, and risk your skin to the wrath of the vermin.”
“Did I not know you so well, Philip, I swear your words would have me climb back

in the carriage and make for the next estate.”

Clearly the two men were close enough to be entirely comfortable with each other.

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Rosalind looked at them, shook her head, rolled her eyes, and took Mary’s arm.

“Let us go in, Lady Mary,” she said. “They can go on like this for hours.”

“Just Mary, please, if I’m to call you Rosalind,” she said.
“And you are,” the other woman assured her. “We’re going to be good friends, and

you’re going to tell all about your relationship with Philip. I’m sure Jeoffrey will get

from him his feelings, but I’d know about your feelings for him.”

She smiled and laughed. “But here we’ve yet to even enter your home and already

I’m bursting with impertinent curiosity. Feel free to ignore me, Mary, until such time as

we’re more comfortable. I fear I allowed my warm feelings for Philip to overrun my

common sense. We do care for him a great deal, my husband and I.”

“He’s spoken of you often,” Mary said. “I know he values your friendship greatly

as well. He’s worked hard to ensure all is in readiness for your comfort. I hope your

stay here will be both pleasant and profitable.”

Rosalind smiled warmly. “Of course it will. I know Philip well enough to rely on

it.”

Mary conducted the guests to the great hall where tea and pastries awaited. While

they ate, the Highwaiths told about their journey—eventless aside from a rickety bridge

the earl insisted be shored up before he allowed the carriage to cross it—and her

pregnancy, which so far was going smoothly. The babe was expected in mid-spring.

Though she liked Rosalind instantly, Mary wasn’t sure how she felt about the Earl.

He seemed a somewhat stern, almost harsh man, yet his face softened whenever he

looked at his wife, and his love for her radiated from him. No question that Rosalind

adored him in turn. Mary had to smother a wistful envy as she watched them together.

Then she looked over at Philip and surprised him watching her. What she saw in his

expression was not so different from what was in the Earl’s.

The realization astonished her so much she lost the thread of the conversation for a

while.

When they finished, she walked the couple down to their quarters so they could

rest and refresh themselves before dinner that evening. Mary left them and went down

to the kitchen to be sure all was in order for the meal.

Dinner was a tremendous success. Mary had been able to get the minstrels to

return, the kitchen did themselves proud with a feast worth of royalty, and there was

much laughter and joyful conversation. They lingered late into the evening.

The following morning, Mary woke early and went down to the kitchens again.

Arice and Jehane were arguing again, but it didn’t appear serious enough to warrant

her attention. Otherwise all appeared in order, so she went back up to the great hall.

The Countess sat at a table by herself, nibbling on a honey-roll. The woman looked

up as Mary approached with her plate and invited her to sit down opposite.

“I hope you slept well last night?” Mary ventured after wishing her good morn.

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“Quite well,” Rosalind responded. “Although these days that means I only wake up

two or three times a night when the pup decides to practice wrestling. But our quarters

were perfectly comfortable.” She saw Mary looking around and guessed the reason.

“Jeoffrey and Philip rode out early this morning to look at the lands. I suspect they

wanted some time for themselves. They’ve been as close as brothers for most of their

lives.”

Mary fought down a small stab of hurt that Philip hadn’t told her what he planned,

nor had he asked her advice for where to go to show his friend the best of the estate.

Who knew it better than she? But perhaps he hadn’t been able to find her or thought her

still abed and wished not to disturb her.

“Aye,” Mary agreed. “I’ve heard much about your husband from Philip. He

admires him greatly.”

“As do I,” Rosalind agreed. She blushed a little. “But we both regard Philip quite

highly as well. He helped me through a very difficult time, when I believed it was quite

impossible Jeoffrey and I should ever be able to marry. Philip offered me a solution

much more acceptable than any of the other paths I could contemplate.”

This time the spear of jealousy Mary felt was palpable and easily identified.

Apparently it showed on her face as well for Rosalind said, “Nay, Mary, ‘twas not like

that. Philip did indeed offer to wed me, but purely to give me a home and security. He

did so from friendship. And I love him for it, as well, but not in the way I love Jeoffrey.

More as I would regard a brother.”

Rosalind continued to watch her. “You do regard Philip in that way, though, do

you not? I do hope it’s true because I’ve seen the way he looks at you and know that his

feelings are strong. And I know of no man more worthy and deserving of happiness

than he.” Rosalind hesitated, studying her face. “There is something that stands

between you, though,” she ventured.

“Aye.” Ordinarily, she wouldn’t share the story with anyone other than those who

already knew, or a few such as Philip who had need to know, but Mary found herself

wanting to tell it to this friendly, open young woman. “Before Sir Philip arrived,

another lord, a Sir Benwyck, was awarded this manor after Sir William de Railles

conquered it and killed my brother and his men. Sir Benwyck was no such man as

Philip, though he wanted the same things, this manor, the lands, and myself.” Mary’s

hands drew up into fists. “Unlike Philip, Benwyck cared not to earn those things. He

took what he wanted by force.”

“Yourself included,” Rosalind guessed, when she didn’t continue.
“Aye, myself included.”
“But that need not prevent your relationship with Philip.”
“I feared it would preclude a relationship with any man,” Mary admitted. “I’d been

unable to let any man so much as touch me since. Sir Benwyck used me so brutally, the

fear made me nearly blind afterward.”

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Rosalind dropped the remains of her roll and wiped her hands before looking up to

meet Mary’s eyes. “I’m so very sorry to hear that. My relations with my lord have

taught me that congress between two who care for each other can be a most pleasurable

thing.”

“I’m beginning to learn,” she admitted. Rosalind turned a raised eyebrow on her

and Mary felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Philip is teaching me. We’ve a bargain that if

he can make me comfortable with the relations between a man and woman before a

year is out, we’ll wed.”

“And you’re making progress,” Rosalind guessed.
“Aye.”
“I’m glad of it,” she said. “You both deserve happiness.” The Countess stood and

Mary rose as well. “May I see more of your manor and grounds?” she asked.

“Of course.”
As they made their way down the corridor, Rosalind said, “Did you know that Sir

William held me prisoner for a while after he slew my family, because he wanted me? I

suspect he was just days away from trying to force me in the same way Benwyck forced

you. Or he would have left me to rot forever in his dungeon. But Jeoffrey rescued me.”

“Nay, I knew it not,” Mary answered.
The Countess laughed. “I deceived him into rescuing me, in truth. He was freeing

some prisoners whose families had paid to have them returned. I promised to pay him

as well, though I could do no such thing.”

“And how did he react to that?”
“As you would expect, he was none too pleased. He offered me a choice. To be cast

out on my own without further assistance or to stay and accept the penalty for my

deception and make payment in another fashion.”

“You chose to stay? But how did…? Forgive me if I’m being rude in asking,

Rosalind.”

“Nay,” the lady answered with undimmed cheerfulness. “I chose to stay. He

whipped me in punishment for the deception, then took his payment in my service.

‘Twas while I was tendering my payment that we two fell in love. My lord is a stern

man, but he’s honorable, fair, loyal, and courageous as well. He also has a loving heart

and a sense of humor, though he does not often show that part of himself to the world.”

“He is also a very handsome man,” Mary ventured. “Though, not, I think as

handsome as Philip.”

“Ah, I might argue that point with you, but there be no use in it. Both are

handsome. And his looks certainly influenced me in learning to love him.”

“Aye. Though we’re taught what is inside is more important, a pleasant exterior is

no handicap to a growing love,” Mary agreed. “But ‘tis odd you say that Jeoffrey began

your relationship by whipping you. Philip did likewise with me.”

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“Did he so?” Rosalind sounded shocked. “But why? I know in truth I deserved the

punishment my lord delivered, for I did deceive him in an important matter. I cannot

conceive Philip would inflict such a punishment undeserved.”

“He did not.” Mary went on to explain her actions on Philip’s arrival, her dressing

as “Martin” and her efforts to harass him into leaving the manor. “I made his life a

misery,” she concluded. “And when he caught me out, he had no choice but to make

clear he wouldn’t tolerate such, else none would ever respect him as the lord of this

manor.”

“You weren’t angry with him for punishing you then?” Rosalind asked as they

walked down corridor of empty guest chambers.

“I was somewhat at the time. He thought me a boy and therefore the chastisement

was harsher than it might have been had he known the truth. I was angry while he

caused me pain. Yet afterward I understood why he’d done it, and…”

“Aye? And?” the Countess prompted.
Mary drew a deep breath and turned them toward the working areas of the manor.

“Rosalind, you said your lord whipped you for your deception. How felt you

afterward?”

The other woman took a moment to answer. “Directly after the punishment, he

introduced me to the… service he required of me. He took great care to ensure that I

found just as much pleasure in the performance of that service as I had felt pain from

the whipping. It was quite a wondrous experience. And I discovered…”

“Aye?”
“I don’t enjoy being punished,” Rosalind said slowly. “But afterward…The pain

can add something more to the feeling when pleasure comes after it. I understand it not,

but have found it to be so.”

“Your lord has punished you again since that first time?”
Rosalind blushed. “Aye. Sometimes I have deserved it, and sometimes…” She

shrugged and looked amused. “At times I’ve deliberately provoked him.” She stopped

for a moment and added, thoughtfully, “I think sometimes there is a part of me needs to

know he is my strong lord and master, a man who’ll not accept my misbehavior,

disrespect or dereliction of duty. But he’s never unjust and will always give me

whatever I want, if it be in his power.” She chuckled a bit. “I wouldn’t tolerate it from a

man who wasn’t fair and honorable, but with Jeoffrey, I need to know he can master

me, care for me, and demand the best of me.”

That gave Mary much to think on. For the rest of the tour of the manor, they spoke

on less personal topics, until the very end, when Rosalind confided her fears about the

coming childbirth.

“I look forward to seeing our child,” she said. “Yet do I worry that all will be well

with the babe… and with myself. Should I not survive, I know not how Jeoffrey will go

on.”

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“You’re a strong, healthy lady,” Mary said. “There should be no reason to expect

problems.”

“Nay,” Rosalind laughed and waved it off. “Forgive me. Being in this condition at

times makes me prey to silly fears and worries.”

“I think not that they’re silly,” Mary said. “Rather, common to us all, I should

believe. I suppose when I, too, have a babe growing, I’ll know the same fears.” Mary

heard her own words and was stunned by them. Before Philip’s arrival, she had

thought it unlikely she would ever know that satisfaction, yet now she was beginning to

expect it.

Later, they sat over embroidery for a while and discussed Rosalind’s family, which

had been destroyed by William de Railles and his ambition, much as Mary’s own had.

They talked about the arrangements at Highwaith for the babe and how much she and

Jeoffrey looked forward to its arrival. They walked on the grounds and discussed

fashion and running a household.

Toward the end of the day when they parted so the Countess could rest before

dinner, Mary realized she’d confided in Rosalind in ways she had never done with

anyone else. Philip had been right yet again when he’d said she’d like his friends.

* * * * *

Philip spent most of his time with Jeoffrey, either in the office, or more frequently,

out around the manor, watching the young men practice their fighting skills, checking

on the progress of repairs or talking about crops and cattle.

They talked at great length about managing the land and the manor, the

possibilities for increasing crops, the types of livestock best suited to the place, and how

to keep the serfs at peace. They discussed the need for keeping discipline in the manor

and on the lands and methods for doing so.

Philip confessed he still considered Jeoffrey’s methods a bit sterner than they

needed to be, but he had come to understand better how essential it was that all learn to

respect their lord and his justice. He admitted to his friend how hard he found it to

administer punishment when needed.

Jeoffrey agreed. “I know you think I do it more often than needed, yet I’ve never

found it easy, either.”

“People who were strangers and nothing to you are suddenly your people and

you’re responsible for their well-being and prosperity. It changes the way you view

them. I wasn’t trained to be the lord of anything. I have to find my way through the

morass as best I can.”

“It’s no easy responsibility,” Jeoffrey agreed. “And it matters not how much

supposed training you received. When faced with the obligations, you find you’re still

not well-prepared.” He shrugged. “You learn and do the best you may. And there are

compensations.”

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“Aye,” Philip agreed.
“Would the Lady Mary be among them?”
“Aye.”
Jeoffrey frowned at him. “I hear a reservation. What is between you? She’s a very

comely lady, and you’re aware of it. I’ve seen how you look at her.”

Philip explained to him about Mary’s history and her problems with conjugal

relations. “She’s willing to let me try to introduce her to it as it was meant to be.”

“Then there’s no doubt of the outcome,” Jeoffrey proclaimed. “If a doughty knight

such as yourself cannot woo and win her, none can do so.”

“Yet this is not the sort of war I’ve been trained to.”
“Aye, but your heart knows the way. Listen to it.”
“Is that how you won Rosalind?”
Jeoffrey hesitated. “I think the Lord God may have been acting for me. She’s been

such a miracle in my life that no efforts of mine could have earned it.”

“Then I suppose I must pray for my own miracle.”
“Perhaps a small one. But I’ve seen the lady watch you as well, and her heart is

yours already. With patience and care, her person will be as well.”

Philip drew a long breath. “I hope you have the right of that, my friend. Much of

my hope of future happiness rests with her.”

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Chapter Twelve

At dinner, they all talked and laughed together. Mary came to see the warm sense

of humor that lurked beneath the Earl’s stern expression. On several occasions, she saw

him bend a look of such aching tenderness on Rosalind, there could be no question he

loved and treasured his wife.

When the Highwaiths finally departed, the manor seemed almost too quiet and

empty for a while. She missed Rosalind’s cheerful, chatty company. There was enough

to do, however, that she couldn’t linger long on her departed friend.

And that evening, Philip asked her to keep him company, promising to show her

new delights.

As before, he kissed and petted her until she was almost shaking with the heat that

ran though her, then he stripped off her clothes and carried her to the bed. His hands

and fingers worked her breasts until little shocks of pleasure radiated from her nipples

and spread all through her, settling most strongly in the area of her womb.

He told her how beautiful she was, how much he appreciated her trust and

delighted in her body. He stroked down her body, over her belly, along her legs, then

up again on the insides of her thighs until he reached the center of her.

He parted her legs and stroked the folds of flesh of her quim until she was

quivering and nearly overwhelmed by the bolts of pleasure tearing through her. She felt

when he rested a careful finger at her opening, then gently inserted it a little way. He

worked it in and out until it was slick with her juice and slid more easily.

All of it made her body tense until her back arched and she clutched the bed covers

in her fists as she moaned and squealed with each blast of sensation.

He paused for a moment. The he leaned in closer to her slit to see better. At least

she thought that was the reason. She realized she was wrong, when a soft, whisper of

air blew over her quivering flesh as he gently breathed on the sensitive areas.

After a minute or two of that, he said, “I’m gong to kiss you down here.”
His touch had sent shards of pleasure ripping through her, but when his rough

tongue ran over her most sensitive flesh it was like a wave of the most sublime bliss

crashed into her and carried her. She’d thought she could get no more tense, but in that

she was mistaken. As he licked and sucked and nuzzled over her, she moaned in

panting breaths with the sensation.

Dimly she knew her body strained to reach some sort of climax, some height of

rapture she’d never yet achieved. It seemed as though something held her back, that

there was a last barrier she couldn’t surmount. Though he sucked and rubbed her until

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she began to get sore, it didn’t turn loose. She finally had to still Philip with a hand on

his head when she could take no more.

She understood now that there was another level to reach. It disappointed him that

he’d been unable to take her there as yet.

When he started to rise to get her clothes, she reached out and wrapped a hand

around his wrist. Because he was only partly up and off balance, she was able to jerk

him back and bring him down on the bed beside her.

“Nay, my lord,” she said, grinning at him. “We’re not done yet. You’ve had your

taste of me. I’d do likewise for you.”

His expression of joyous astonishment went straight to her heart and lit a warm

flame in it.

“Mary,” he said, sound hesitant and almost a little shy. “Be you sure of this?”
“Aye.”
He helped her remove his clothes, piece by piece, and tolerated her exploration of

his body as each removal revealed new expanses of flesh. When he was completely

bare, he lay back and let her have her way with him.

She explored his nipples, first with her fingers, then with his tongue. He tasted of

labor and manhood. She enjoyed licking over the hard, masculine nubs, watching his

face tense up, his eyes close and his body jump as she returned the heated kisses he

pressed on her.

With her tongue, she traced lazy circles around his chest muscles, then slid down

along his flat abdomen. She poked into the recess of his belly button and stroked her

finger into the curls of dark hair cushioning the engorged organ that rested there.

It took a bit of working up of nerve to finally move her mouth close to his male

shaft and rest her lips on it about half way down its length. He jumped and groaned at

the touch. She stuck her tongue out and carefully tasted the flesh. Salt and skin and

essence of Philip made a sharp, pleasing combination.

He sucked in a harsh breath when she slid her mouth down to the root, where the

column of flesh met the softer balls, then back up. On the back of the tip she found a

ridge and dip, and when she licked across it, he shouted so loudly she looked up to be

sure she hadn’t hurt him. He smiled at her.

“You’ve a clever tongue,” he said. “And it draws me nigh unto madness.”
“A joyful madness, I trust.”
“De—delightful.”
He bucked when she moved her lips up to the head of his cock and reached out to

touch it with the very tip of her tongue.

After a couple of hard breaths, he said, “A screaming madness if you stay this

course.”

He was beginning to thrust up toward her. Mary could see he was nearing the point

of exploding. She moved until she lay on top of him and cradled his cock against her

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chest. He stared at her in astonishment that grew when she pressed the hard shaft into

the cleft of her breasts and put a hand under to nestle it as close as possible. Moistened

by the efforts of her mouth it slid easily up and down the tunnel between her breasts.

He thrust hard in that soft, surrounding cushion, once, twice, three times, and then his

seed spurted forth, landing on his chest.

When they were both breathing evenly again, he drew her down next to him and

held her against him.

“This even was planned to be about your pleasure not mine,” he said, sounding

apologetic.

“But you did pleasure me,” she said. “All I could tolerate.”
He nodded and held her close.
Mary took comfort in hearing the sound of his heart thumping under her ear and

the feel of his skin against hers.

* * * * *

The days settled back into a routine after the departure of the Highwaiths. With

winter imminent, there was much to do in preparation. The last of the harvested fruits

and vegetables had to be processed and stored, various parts of the manor sealed up to

prevent drafts, wood gathered, wool blankets aired and distributed, and extra hay

loaded into storage for the livestock. Mary was kept busy supervising those

preparations while Philip worked with the groups trying to get as many repairs done as

possible before winter weather set in.

At dinner, she continued to stare down the table in either direction and along the

others, searching for a knife missing its tip. Any other time when a man would bring

out a blade, she’d strain for a look. But she caught no sight of it.

A week after the Highwaiths’ departure, they had the first snowfall of the season,

an all-day storm that left a white blanket three inches high on the ground. Following the

manor’s tradition, Mary allowed anyone who could be spared or who’d already

completed their duties to have the day free to enjoy the weather. She particularly urged

the older servants to pick up extra work if needed to allow the youngsters the rare

opportunity to play in the snow.

It didn’t occur to her until much later that Philip might not be pleased with her

making that decision and acting on it without consulting him.

She was chagrined when he asked her about it later and she realized she should

have discussed it with him first. She went to the office to consult with him about the

Steward’s request that they acquire more ale, and found him studying diagrams of the

manor and the surrounding lands with his friends, Thomas, Peter and Derwyn.

He looked up at her, and she knew from his expression, he wasn’t happy. The other

men turned her way as well. Their cautious, guarded looks told her he must have

mentioned something to them, and they knew there was a problem.

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At his nod, the three men said they’d discuss it more with him later and left the

room. Sir Thomas’s expression, in particular, was troubled. He met her eyes briefly as

he passed her. She read either anger or warning in his gaze.

When they’d departed, Philip drew a deep breath and stood up. “I’m told you gave

orders that most of the younger workers should have free time today,” he said.

Mary nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis a tradition at the manor to celebrate the first snowfall.”
“And one I heartily approve. But, did you not think I should have any part in

deciding that or in announcing it?”

“I didn’t think on it, my lord, or I would have agreed you should.”
“Aye, indeed. Clearly you didn’t give the matter sufficient thought. Sir Thomas was

working with several youngsters who were supposed to report to him to help move a

beam for the gate. He is not pleased that his assistants are out romping in the snow

rather than moving wood. I am concerned that some other planned tasks will not be

completed. But more than that…” He paused and his expression grew strained and sad.

“Mary, what am I to think?” He raised his hands and clasped them together tightly.

She heard confusion and possibly even pain in his voice. “You think me fit to make

decisions about disciplining errant villains, and yet when it comes time to do a thing

more pleasant for all, I’m not consulted. Your actions today were at cross-purposes to

mine, and it seems to concern you not that it shows me poorly before my own men and

your people.”

Mary bit her lip. “It wasn’t intended to hurt or damage your standing, my lord.

‘Twas merely that I forgot.”

The way he looked at her cut to her heart.
“Aye. You forgot because it is your custom to give all orders for the manor. Yet we

have discussed before that I must be seen as a strong lord here. The risks are great if it

be not clearly evident I control this manor and all in it. But Mary, do you truly

acknowledge me as lord of this manor, and your lord as well? I think perhaps you’re

not as sure of that in your mind as you would have me believe.”

She looked at her hands to hide her surprise. Not so much at his words as at the

realization there was truth and insight in what he said. Were she completely honest

with herself, she would have to admit a part of her did consider herself not just the lady

of the manor, but the only true ruler of the place. It was a truth she had barely realized

before and feared to admit to him.

It was wrong. The king had granted the manor to him. She might not deem it just,

but it was the reality. He’d been kinder to her, more willing to let her remain and act the

role of lady, more accepting of her than she’d had any right to expect.

And yet, some part of her still fought against acknowledging him as her lord.
“Philip… My lord, you’re right. I do have difficulty in admitting that someone else

should rule this manor. Yet do I know ‘tis so. I do truly admit you as my lord, and in

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truth, I admire you greatly in the role. I owe you more duty than I’ve granted, and that I

do most truly regret. I beg your assistance in teaching me to recall the duty I owe you.”

He looked troubled. “Do you truly wish it, Mary?”
She watched his face and read as much in his expression as she heard in the words.

Promises made earlier about to be kept. Her heart thumped faster as she considered.

But the decision wasn’t that hard. Telling him about it was.

“Aye,” she said, drawing a deep breath to get the words out. “I do.”
He watched her silently for a moment. Gathering tears stung her eyes and began to

spill over before he said, “Well enough. Come with me.”

She followed him out of the office and down various hallways to his solar. When

they were inside his quarters, with the door shut behind them, he stopped and looked

at her again. “Mary, I’d as soon not have to do this, but I fear—”

“Nay, my lord. Do what is necessary. And forthwith, if you please, e’er I lose what

little nerve for it I have.”

Philip nodded and led her to a tall-backed chair pushed against the far wall. “Kneel

on the seat, facing the wall,” he directed, “and hold tight to the back.” There was a

cushion on the seat. He moved her skirts out of the way as she knelt, then took them in

a bunch and tucked them into the back of the neckline, leaving her bare from mid-back

down. She shivered with a chill that was more fear than cold air.

A few small clicks and the rustle of clothes told her he removed his sword belt, then

a hiss sounded as slid the sword sheath off it. She wrapped her hands around the

knobby tops of the back of the chair and clung hard.

When the first slap of the belt smacked against her bottom, she gasped and dug her

fingers into the wood. It smarted enough to wrest a small moan from her. That

wouldn’t do. She must bear it with more courage.

A whish of rushing air preceded the second blow. Pain washed from the site of

contact all along her nerves. She tried to accept the pain, embrace it, even welcome it.

She must learn from it. Learn to remember she was no longer forced to rely only on

herself, that all her people no longer had just her to protect and lead them.

The belt cracked again, printing a ribbon of fire across her derriere, adding to the

growing, spreading sting of the previous lashes. She must accept that Philip was the

lord here, her lord. In truth, there was little hardship to herself or anyone else in that, so

why did she fight it?

The next smack was lower down, at the spot where her bottom and legs met. The

flesh there was more tender, and the blow stung with the fire of a large bunch of nettles.

She struggled to hold back a sob. Philip had given her much: a chance at a secure life,

his protection, and the opportunity to be lady of the manor, his wife, the mother of his

children. He was even slowly erasing the memory of Sir Benwyck’s brutality, replacing

the nightmares with the pleasure he taught her.

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A hard whack across both bottom cheeks had her struggling to remain in place. She

wanted to kick or jump up and rub away the burning fire. She dug her fingernails into

the wood of the chair back to keep herself still. She’d given Philip so little in return.

She’d taken his protection for granted, ignored his efforts to fortify the manor, subtly

undermined his authority with the serfs, and accepted his efforts to please her without

giving him the plea for his penetration she knew he wanted.

A blow low down on her derriere stung so badly it drew a small squeal that

squeezed past her efforts to remain quiet. She panted and tried to sink into the pain. She

had to let it in and let herself out. She didn’t have to carry every burden herself

anymore. She more than owed it to Philip to share them with him. She belonged to him

in a way deeper than ever she’d belonged to anyone else before. And he belonged to

her.

It was getting harder to think as the fire in her bottom grew to blazing heat with

each crack of the belt. She wanted it to stop. She wanted Philip to take her and hold her,

to forgive her and accept that she viewed him differently now.

The next stroke pushed all other thoughts from her mind as she writhed and

moaned in overwhelming pain.

“Please, no more,” she begged. “Please, my lord. I’ve learned the lesson.”
“Have you?” he asked, pausing a moment. “Have you, Mary?”
“Aye, my lord,” she said, her voice breaking on a sob.
“Then you’ll take three more and ‘twill be done. It must end when I say it will end

rather than when you would wish it to be finished. I am the lord here, and your lord as

well.”

She wanted to protest, to scream at him that she could bear no more. Pain was a

crackling fire sizzling through her veins. But it was also a heat settling into her womb,

and it was bringing an odd sort of longing with it.

The next smack of the belt across her bottom made her entire body convulse with

the agony. She shrieked. Fortunately the following two strokes came so rapidly they

were over before she could draw breath to scream again.

A soft splat was the belt hitting the floor when he dropped it. After a long moan,

while her body rocked back and forth trying to cope with the pain, Mary let herself

relax against the chair, loosing the tears to flow. Her derriere was a throbbing, burning

center of pain that must be swollen to twice its normal size. She longed to rub it, to try

to ease the fire, but she wouldn’t do so until her lord permitted it.

She turned to look at him, only to find he was standing beside her. He eased her

down off the chair, catching her when she swayed and picking her up in his arms. As he

carried her to the bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his

shoulder and sobbing aloud.

He sat on the side of the bed, cradling her against him. For a few minutes he let her

cry it out. Then he asked, tentatively, “Mary? Are you bad hurt?”

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“Less so…in body than in spirit,” she answered, the words interrupted by sobbing

hiccups.

“You’re injured in spirit?” he asked. “How so?”
“I real…realized how much I owe you and how little I’ve returned. I was too selfish,

and…perhaps scared…to trust you enough. To trust this manor that has been my home

from birth to your care. I was wrong in that, and you’ve deserved better of me.”

“Ah, my dear, my love,” he said, in a gentle, soothing tone. “You’ve given me more

than you know. More than I would have guessed possible. This has been a hard thing

for you to accept, but I hope we can put it behind us and work more closely together

now.”

She sniffled, sobbed, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You don’t hate

me then?”

“Hate you? My dear, do you not know? I love you. Love you with all my being. It’s

I who fear you hate me now. For punishing you so severely yet again.”

“Because I did deserve it yet again,” she said. “Nay, my lord. I cannot hate you for

it.”

“Mary,” he said on a long, sighing breath. Then he tipped her face up and kissed

her, long and deep. The heat of his mouth on hers set nerves tingling all up and down

her body. Those met with the sting radiating from her bottom, and the combination set

off an explosion of need and desire that made her want to wrap herself around him,

draw him into her very being, hold him and never let him go.

He felt her response and shifted her so that she lay on the bed. Her bottom

protested briefly as the sore surface touched the rough fabric of the cover, but it soon

became another part of the tidal flood of sensation. Philip helped her remove gown,

shift, and stockings. Then he stretched out beside her. He put a hand on her breast and

sparks danced around the area, then raced all over.

A long, ragged moan poured from her throat as his fingers tweaked her nipples.

She was burning up in a fire of need and longing, fueled by the sting in her bottom, the

tingles from his touch, and a surge of pure, heart-drenching love for the man. She

opened her eyes to look at him, put her hands on either side of his face, feeling the

rough hair of his beard, studying the glow in his blue eyes. When she raised her head to

kiss him, he put a big hand beneath it, running his fingers into her hair, to hold her

close. Their mouths clung to each other for some time.

He let her down gently and leaned over to put his mouth on her nipple. She

squealed and squirmed as he licked and sucked at it. The suction drew her heart and

soul from her body, into his keeping. She arched her back and kicked out as the

pleasure and pressure grew and grew. When he ran his tongue along her belly and into

the soft curls at its base, she sobbed aloud. At the first contact of his tongue on her

quim, she screamed and writhed, closing her eyes to soak in the wash of pleasurable

feelings.

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He stroked and sipped at her. She could see only the bright, colored lights flickering

behind her tightly closed eyes, could hear only the soft sounds of his movements. But

she felt…sensation rushing over and through her, gathering up all and throwing it into

the fire of need blazing higher and higher.

She thrashed her head from side to side and clutched the bed covers in her fists. The

need was so great. And now she knew what the need was.

“Philip,” she moaned. “Philip! Please, I need you. I need you to fill me. Come into

me,” she begged. “Please! Come.”

He froze for a moment. “You’re quite certain?”
“Aye!” She almost screamed the word. “I need you. I’ll never be complete without

you.”

He quickly shucked off his clothes. His cock stood at attention, ready for action.
“Please,” she begged again.
He moved to position himself over her. She felt the tip of his rod rubbing at her

opening. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Aye, aye.”
With a firm thrust, he penetrated her body. She moaned as he stretched her, but it

wasn’t the rough brutal taking of Sir Benwyck. He was careful to slide in only as far as

she comfortably accommodate. Philip waited until she adjusted herself to his size, then

began a smooth in and out motion.

Her body’s throbbing began to move in time with his thrusts. With each penetration

the tension tightened and streaks of pleasure swept through her. When the rhythm

grew faster, she began to raise her hips to meet his thrusts. Her breath puffed in and out

in harsh gasps. She was close…on the verge of falling…

And then, suddenly, she exploded in huge, sublime spasms. Wave after wave of

them had her bucking against him as he joined her in riding the tide of ecstasy.

Together they climbed and crested again and climbed again. He roared a yell of joy and

triumph as he spilled his seed into her.

Afterward, they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, struggling for breath.

The most amazing sense of peace, contentment, and completion spread though her. This

time when they kissed it was acknowledgement and thanks and a promise. At least on

her part, it was. Philip was lord, lord of her body, lord of her home, lord of her life. She

embraced his body, treasuring him.

“Thank you, my lord,” she told him, when she finally had breath enough to speak.

“You’ve exorcised the last of Sir Benwyck’s foulness from my heart and my memory.”

“I took great pleasure in the doing so,” he admitted.
They lay quietly and fell asleep for a while. They woke with the first dinner gong.

Philip jumped up and collected their clothes. When Mary turned over to lever herself

up off the bed, her derriere pressed against the covers and the resulting twinge

reminded her that she’d been thoroughly spanked.

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He must have seen her wince. “Roll over and let me look,” he said.
She did as he directed. His big hand felt soothing as it rubbed carefully over her

sore bottom.

“Aye, you’ll likely have a few bruises,” he said, bending down to press his lips

against first one cheek then the other.

The touch began to set off a renewed surge of need. “Philip,” she groaned.
He slapped her bottom lightly, almost playfully. “Not now, wicked woman. We’ve

dinner to attend.”

The meal took too long. Entirely too long. Mary squirmed on the cushions, from a

combination of soreness in her rump and desire tightening her body. Philip seemed

unaffected, save that he seemed more cheerful than usual, and when he met her eyes a

wicked glint ignited in his blue depths.

His men noticed both their reactions. Sir Thomas, in particular, studied both her

and Philip thoughtfully. Once she met the knight’s cool gray eyes as she was shifting to

take her weight off a sore spot. A wry grin twisted his lips. Anger and chagrin made her

stare back at him coldly. Then she caught Philip’s eye on her and he chased thoughts of

all others from her mind.

Neither she nor Philip lingered over their cups. They excused themselves as soon as

decently possible and raced back to his solar to begin again.

Mary learned the thrill and sense of completion to be found in joining bodily with a

man in love. This was the sort of union blessed by God, where two people trusted their

bodies and souls to each other’s care and found an unparalleled joy in the act of

sharing. Lying with him that night she wished they need never rise from the bed at all.

* * * * *

The pace of work slowed somewhat during the cold months, once the fall

preparations were finished. Outdoor activities were limited to what was necessary. As

her mother had at that time of year, Mary spent more time with the seamstresses and

weavers who had their own small wing of the manor. She’d never been very skilled at

decorative needlework, the mainstay of a high-born lady’s creative output, but she tried

to do a few hours of it each week. It provided an opportunity for her to relax with the

women doing the needlework and catch up on their gossip.

The favorite fodder for the gossips was the activity of the nobles of the house. Mary

learned in those sessions just how popular Philip had become. The ladies in the sewing

rooms were charmed by him, and they reported the men respected him as well. All

agreed they’d been most fortunate in the king’s choice of lord to send to them.

Her own obvious joy in the relationship with him was noted and commented on as

well. She was frequently asked when the wedding would occur. Mary tried to

circumvent the questions and gave no straight answers. She couldn’t, when she didn’t

have any answers herself.

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Philip hadn’t said anything to her about it, and she didn’t know how to raise the

issue herself. He’d said they wouldn’t talk about it again until they were satisfied she

could give him what he needed in the physical side of their relationship. She thought

that was now true, but he hadn’t mentioned anything more about the possibility of their

marriage.

The next week was a calm, joyous period. With outside work halted by weather,

they each had somewhat more leisure to indulge in explorations of their new

relationship. They made love often, taking advantage of every small bit of free time they

could find. Now that she’d learned to relax and open for him, she had no trouble

admitting him into her body, but they soon discovered that a few swats on her bottom

added an extra fire to the act that she learned to crave. Philip was more than happy to

indulge her.

One afternoon he followed her down to the wine cellar when she went to check on

their supplies. In that cool, dim room, lit only by the torches they’d brought with them,

he sat her on the side of a wine barrel, raised her skirts, pushed down his leggings far

enough to free his cock, and took her there. He stroked her quim with his fingers while

he plunged his rod into her and pumped, moving in and out, caressing her pearl, until

they came together in a tangled mass of clothes and limbs, and nearly both fell off the

barrel in the process. They laughed like children about it afterward.

Mary felt like both child and woman, indeed. A child in the new sensation of joyous

abandon in the care of another, but a woman in her newfound capacity to fulfill a man’s

need and return the love he gave her. She’d had so little of happiness in her life, she

found it almost difficult to accept, and worried that it couldn’t last.

It didn’t.
A few days later the smooth course of their lives was disrupted again.

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Chapter Thirteen

It happened at the evening meal, the day after the wine cellar tryst, and started with

an innocent remark by Philip.

“Next time I must remember not to distract you when you go down to fetch wine

for dinner,” he said.

Mary turned to look at him. “What mean you, my lord?” she asked.
He picked up the wine cup and stared into its depth. “This last pitcher of wine is

terrible.”

“It is?” Mary took a sip from her own cup. “It tastes quite normal to me.”
“Then your taste is spoiled,” he said. He took another drink and made a horrible

face. “‘Tis awful. Smells terrible as well.”

He swayed oddly in his chair.
Alarmed, Mary picked up his cup and sniffed at it. The odor was definitely

different from hers. She sipped at his drink cautiously and immediately spat the

mouthful out onto the floor. “No more, my lord, no more!” she said, suddenly terrified.

“How much did you drink?”

He stared at her, but his eyes weren’t focusing and his hands trembled. “Don’t…”

His eyes rolled oddly, and he began to fall from the chair. Mary caught and held him

until Sir Peter and Sir Thomas relieved her of the burden.

Though her attention focused primarily on Philip, Mary heard the chaos break out.

She wasn’t sure if she said the word or someone else guessed it, but within moments,

cries of “poison” and “in the wine” were breaking out all over. People screamed, cried

out, got up and rushed out of the room or raced toward the head table. Pitchers and

trenchers went flying in the confusion, scattering food and liquids on the floor.

Sir Peter, Sir Thomas, and Derwyn got Philip to his feet and hauled him off to his

solar. Mary and a pair of servants followed right behind. She turned and saw a worried-

looking Brianne running close behind her. When they got to the room, the three men

took him inside, but then Sir Thomas stopped and turned around.

“Nay,” he said, standing in Mary’s path. He held out an arm to stop Brianne as

well. “We’ll care for his lordship. I’ll not offer you another chance to finish the job you

began.”

Mary stared at him in shock for a moment before fury replaced it. “You fool, Sir

Thomas. I wouldn’t harm Sir Philip. I love him. This is no time for games or foolish

quarrels. Philip needs us.”

Sir Thomas’s eyes were cold, hard steel. “Nay, I’ll have none of your people near

him. He needs his true friends around him to protect him from those who would take

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his life.” The man gestured a couple of Philip’s men-at-arms over to reinforce his next

words. “You’ll stay out.” He and the others began to herd her and Brianne toward the

door.

“Know you how to treat for poison?” Brianne ground out as she tried to scoot

around the men to reach Philip. One of the men took her arm and dragged her back to

the door.

“We’ll care for him,” Thomas said. “We’ll keep him alive.”
“Don’t let him lie down or go to sleep,” Brianne told them, desperate now to at least

convey basic advice. “Get him to vomit as much of it up as you can. Give him milk. I’ll

have some sent from the kitchen. Nay I’ll go and bring some. And drink from the cup

myself before I hand it to you. Keep him moving until it’s out of his system.”

Mary strained for a look at Philip before the men pushed them back until they stood

in the hall. He looked gray and only half awake as Sir Peter shook him to keep him from

passing out. Waves of terror broke over her as it occurred to her the poison might

already have worked its way too deep into his system.

“Please,” she begged Sir Thomas. “Let me go to him.”
The man wasn’t moved by her words or the tears gathering in her eyes and

beginning to spill over. She, Brianne, and a few other gathered servants were pushed

out, and the door slammed closed.

Mary leaned back against the wall, letting the tears run down her cheeks. Brianne

stood beside her and held her. “I’ll do what I can,” she promised. “I must go get the

milk from the dairy.”

“Aye. Do.”
When Brianne left, Isabel and some of the other household servants stayed around.

Mary barely noticed them for a while as she fought the fear and wondered what she

might do to assist. With Sir Thomas barring her from the room, there was naught, she

realized. She might call together some of her own men and have them force the way in.

But Philip’s men were trained in arms and battle-hardened. The few of her men-at-arms

who’d survived the battle when Sir William took the keep were mostly older and

getting feeble. They’d be no match for Sir Philip’s men. A fight would lead only to their

slaughter. So there was naught to do, save to pray. That she could do. She left Isabel to

tell Brianne where she’d gone, then made her way to the chapel.

It was chilly and dim in the small chapel, with only a single, small candle burning

beside the altar. Mary fell onto her knees and prayed with all her heart and soul for

Philip’s recovery. Tears continued to run down her cheeks, dripping onto her clothes or

the stone floor.

She couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without him. He’d brought so

much to her. He’d taught her how to love, and not just in the physical, bodily form.

He’d given her back laughter and joy. He’d shown her that a man could be true and

good and strong at the same time. That he could be deserving of her trust and respect

and worthy of her love.

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Only later did it occur to her that if he didn’t survive, she probably wouldn’t either.

His friends believed she’d tried to kill him. They wouldn’t credit her protests of her

innocence and would probably put her to death. She couldn’t bring herself to mind too

much. Did Philip die, she’d want to, as well.

She was aware of others joining her. Many of the household servants and some of

the serfs who worked the fields or herds began to crowd into the chapel, kneeling or

sitting in prayer. Surely God couldn’t refuse to hear the pleas of so many. Hers wasn’t

the only cheek dampened by tears.

She put all her desperation into her prayers. Philip had to live. Surely God couldn’t

be so cruel as to give her a glimpse of the heaven his love could create for her and then

so abruptly withdraw it. A merciful God couldn’t let it happen. She begged and

pleaded with Him to grant her this boon. She prayed until she ran out of words and

arguments.

Gradually her mind slipped from those to thoughts of who might have tried to kill

him and how it could have been done. The wine had been poisoned, but his wine only.

She sought the memory of all that had happened at dinner. The wine had been in a

pitcher on the table. She had poured it into his cup herself, and refilled her own at the

same time. His had tasted distinctly different from hers, so whatever had been added

had been put into his cup alone. Others had drunk from the same pitcher as well, and

no one else suffered the same symptoms.

Who might have put the poison in his cup? Who had been close enough? As she

had poured the wine, she herself would be first and most obvious candidate for

suspicion. But she hadn’t done it. So, who might have?

The servant who’d placed the pitcher on the table—she couldn’t remember who it

was and, made a mental note to ask in the morning. Then others had moved around. Sir

Thomas had come over at one point to get the pitcher. Derwyn had reached over for

bread. Sir Peter, seated on the other side of Philip, had leaned over once or twice to

listen to something she said. Any of them might have slipped something into the cup

without being seen.

After a while Brianne joined her in the chapel, kneeling beside her. “They’re doing

all they should,” she reported in whisper so as not to disturb others at prayer. “When I

brought the milk, I asked what they were doing and managed to get a look into the

room. They’re making him walk. And though they wouldn’t let me give it to him

myself, they did get him to drink the milk. I insisted on staying to watch. Of course, Sir

Thomas had to take a drink of it himself before they’d give it to my lord. Even after I

drank some,” she added with a bitter twist.

Mary almost hesitated to ask the next question. “What think you…? What of his

chances?”

Brianne drew a long breath that made Mary’s heart clench painfully. “I know not.

But he was still on his feet while I was there, and I take that for a favorable sign.”

“When will we know?”

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Again Brianne paused but this time it was in thought over the situation rather than

considering how to frame the words. “By morning, I believe. I know not what was used

and could not find enough unspilled to try to determine, but it took effect quickly, and

therefore it should come to crisis quickly. Even does he survive, though, he’ll be several

days recovering from the effect. For now, we pray.”

Mary nodded. That was enough to turn her thoughts back to pleas with the

Almighty.

Some hours later she noted many people nodding and even a few snoring, so she

chased them off to their beds. Only Brianne insisted on remaining with her as she kept

her vigil in the chapel. Her knees ached, but after a while became numb. The agony of

knowing how much Philip suffered and the possibility he wouldn’t survive it would

have kept her from any rest. More than once the tears began to flow anew.

It was by far the longest night of her life.

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Chapter Fourteen

By the time the light of pre-dawn began to crawl through the chapel windows, even

Mary was so tired she was starting to doze on her knees. Brianne leaned against the side

of a pew, eyes closed, hands clasped together tightly.

The agony of doubt and fear had settled to a heavy dread and exhausted

acceptance. When plodding footsteps approached the chapel, Mary almost feared too

much to turn and see who came. But she drew a deep breath, braced herself, and went

to meet Derwyn when she saw him standing at the door. Brianne roused and followed

her.

Mary couldn’t tell aught from his expression, save that he’d had a long, arduous

night.

“My lord?” she asked him, her heart pounding with dread.
“Lives yet,” Derwyn said, the words drawn by his exhaustion. “And like to survive

this, I’m thinking. Thomas believes his heartbeat is stronger now and he seems more

alert.”

Relief made her light-headed. Her vision started to fog, but she didn’t realize she’d

begun to collapse until she felt Derwyn’s arms under her and realized he’d picked her

up. He took her back to her solar and advised her to get some rest. She begged him to

let her know when she could see Philip, and he promised to send word.

When Brianne tried to linger, Mary chased her off to her own bed. Mary slept until

well after noon. Isabel waited quietly, mending stockings, in a corner of the room near

the window, when she woke. Mary sent her off to ask about Lord Philip. The girl came

back smiling.

“They say he’s past the crisis and is now sleeping,” she reported. Mary found the

tears flowing again, this time from relief and joy. She wondered she had any tears left in

her, so many had leaked out over the last day. Once dressed and fed, she stopped in the

chapel to say a prayer of thanks, then went to knock quietly at the door. An exhausted-

looking Sir Thomas answered.

He repeated what Isabel had said.
“May I see him?” Mary asked. “Just for a moment.”
“He’s sleeping, my lady,” he said.
“I know, and I’ll not disturb him. I just want to…” Her voice broke. “I want to

touch him and reassure myself he’ll survive. She raised her arms. “I have no weapons

or aught else to harm him. Stay with me, but let me but see him for a moment…”

She expected another out-of-hand refusal and was surprised when Sir Thomas

drew a deep breath and nodded. He walked with her across to the bed.

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The room smelled strongly of recent illness, and clothes lay scattered here and there

in disordered heaps. Mary’s attention focused on the man in the bed, however. She

noted with relief that his chest rose and fell in regular rhythm, but little else about him

gave her joy. Even in sleep his expression showed the strain of the recent ordeal. Deep

shadows lay under his eyes like bruises, his cheeks were very hollow, and sweat matted

his dark hair close to his head.

But he was breathing, and when she touched his wrist, she felt the beat of his pulse.

His skin was warm and a bit damp. Much as she wanted to see him open his eyes and

smile at her, she wouldn’t disturb this sleep he needed so badly.

When the tears started again, she backed away so they wouldn’t drip on him. “Are

you well, my lady?” Sir Thomas asked as he escorted her to the door.

“Aye,” she answered. “It’s just the relief. I prayed all night for him in the chapel. I

could not stand to lose him. Not now.” She had to stop crying. She’d done more of it

than she’d done in years. More than she’d done at the deaths of her parents and

brother.

“You deny, then, you had aught to do with poisoning him?”
“Aye.” She struggled for control. “I know you’ll not believe me, but I love him

deeply. Losing him would destroy me.”

“He punished you not long ago for taking too much on yourself.”
“And did he tell you also of how we reconciled afterwards?”
Sir Thomas nodded. “Such things can be feigned.”
“Aye, ‘tis true, and I have no words to convince you of the truth. Yet I do mean to

discover who did this deed to my lord. You’ll be guarding him until he’s well enough to

protect himself?”

Sir Thomas nodded. “One of our men will be with him at all times for the next few

days.”

He looked startled when she said, “My thanks for that, Sir Thomas.”
She left and went down to the kitchens.
After some questioning of various people, she finally found the girl who’d brought

the pitcher of wine to the head table. She was small, thin, timid, and no more than

twelve. When Mary called her over, she looked almost sick.

Mary asked about her delivering the wine, and panic streaked across the child’s

features. She had evidently heard the rumors that the poison delivered to Lord Philip

had been in the wine and recognized her own peril.

“Aye, I did, my lady,” she said, stumbling over the words. “But I didn’t put aught

into it. That I swear!” She sounded as though she didn’t expect anyone to believe it.

“Where did you get the wine?” Mary asked.
“Master Steward handed me the pitcher.”
“And did anyone stop on you on the way to the table or get near to the wine?”

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“Nay, my lady. No one.”
“When you brought the wine to the table, what did you with it?”
“I placed it on the table. Between yourself, my lady, and my lord.”
“Did you see anyone touch it after that? Or do anything with Lord Philip’s cup?”
The child looked utterly distraught. “Nay, my lady. I did not. But I didn’t do

anything myself either. I swear it. I fetched the wine from Master Steward, brought it to

the table, put it down, then turned away and came straight back here for another. I did

naught to the wine before I brought it.”

Mary took pity on her. “I know you didn’t. Please tell this not to anyone else for

now, but I’m reasonably sure the poison was put into my lord’s cup rather than into the

pitcher.”

Relief broke over the girl’s face and brought a sweet smile. “Thank you, my lady.”

Then she frowned. “I’m that sorry about my lord and I’m very glad he’s getting better.

He’s a fine lord and we’re all that proud to have him here. Everyone I know says the

same thing. None of us would wish him harm. I understand not why anyone would put

poison in his cup.”

“I understand it not myself,” Mary agreed with her.
She questioned the steward, who reported that he’d gotten the wine directly from

the cellar and it hadn’t been out of his view until the girl came to take the pitcher to the

great hall.

Mary sought out others who’d been present at dinner to ask what they remembered

about the head table and the movements of people there. Most recalled little. Servants

had gone back and forth to the head table, delivering food and drink. A few told her of

Sir Thomas moving around to retrieve something from near Mary’s seat, which brought

him close to Philip’s cup, and others remembered that Derwyn had gotten up to fetch

something. No one could reliably add to what she herself had managed to recall. She

asked specifically about Ross, Warin and John, thinking they might harbor enough

resentment against Philip for disciplining them to try to harm him. But John hadn’t

been at the meal, Ross sat in a corner far from the lord’s table and never ventured close

to it, and Warin had been beside a young woman who vowed he’d never left his seat.

In the end she was left mystified. Aside from her servants, the only persons who

had been close enough to slip something into his drink were herself and his own men.

Philip recovered more rapidly than anyone expected. Within two days he was back

on his feet, eating and drinking normally, complaining only of a residual sore throat

and some weakness.

Mary didn’t see him until he came down to the great hall to break fast on the third

morning following his long night of fighting off the effects of the poison. He’d lost

weight and still had remnants of the dark shadows under his eyes, but he looked

wonderful to her. Servants and others stopped him as he entered the room, remarking

on how well he looked, telling him how glad they were to see him, wishing him well.

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Her heartbeat picked up speed and her breathing grew tighter as she waited for him to

notice her.

She wasn’t sure whether his men had told him of their suspicion of her, and if they

had, whether he would believe it. Surely he wouldn’t. Surely after their nights together,

after her surrender and acceptance of him, he couldn’t credit it. But he trusted his own

men.

He looked up and saw her. The smile that lit his face reassured her. She went to him

and, heedless of the others in the room, walked straight into his arms. He wrapped her

up and held her against his body, then tipped her face up to kiss her. The usual fire

swept through her when his mouth moved on hers, fueled to even greater heat this time

by the frightening memory of how close she had come to losing him. For a time she

knew nothing else, but when he released her, the chatter and cheers surrounding them

penetrated her awareness.

“Tonight,” he whispered in her ear. “You must come to me tonight.”
She nodded.
Duty called them to other tasks for the day, but Mary found it impossible to keep

her thoughts from wandering to him and anticipating the evening. Time moved too

slowly to suit her. Each hour passed in slow motion.

Eventually though, they made it through the day and the dinner at the end of it.

They all watched carefully everything he ate and drink, making sure he took nothing

that hadn’t been tasted by someone else first. Mary noticed during the meal that he

looked tired, and she worried that the day had worn him out. Perhaps the activity with

him would be too much. Then she had a thought. He saw her smile and teased her

about it.

“I hope that look is anticipation,” he whispered so only she would hear.
“Aye, it is,” she said. “I hear cook has developed a new pudding that she says is

quite spectacular. She plans to bring it out tonight. We’re to test it for worthiness to

serve during the Christmas-time.”

“I have something for you far more savory than pudding.”
“You cook, my lord?” she asked, feigning shock.
“I know how to heat up a sweet morsel until she boils over.”
“And can you stir the pot and thicken the juices properly?”
“My lady, I can conjure a mix that fires the palate, tickles the tongue, and warms the

belly. What more could you ask from a savory?”

“Ah, but the savory might have a surprise in store for the cook.”
Mary dissolved into delighted giggles at his look of pleasure and anticipation.
That evening when she crept into his solar, she wore only a light wrapper with no

shift beneath. She’d sent Isabel to her bed and made sure the hall was deserted before

she ran down it and in at his door. He lay on the bed, hands folded thoughtfully

beneath his head, staring at the ceiling, but he turned to her with a wicked smile. When

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he started to rise, however, she sped to his side and laid a hand on his chest to hold him

down.

“Nay, my lord, stay as you are. You’ve been ill and are still not fully recovered, so

this even, I’ll do the work and you’ll lie here and accept.”

“You’re forceful tonight,” he said.
“In your interest.”
“Oh, I am entirely interested,” he said.
Mary unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head, then disposed of his slippers and

breeches. She couldn’t keep from running a hand along his leg, then up across his belly

and along his chest. The feel of solid flesh and hard muscle reassured her. She loosed

the wrapper and let it slip off her body. He gasped at the sight of her.

“Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?” he asked.
“Nay, not for at least the last ten minutes.”
“Then come here and allow me to remedy that.”
She joined him on the bed, stretching out next to him. With her hands and mouth

she worshipped his body until he could no longer lie still. He stopped her, though, long

enough for him to pull her nipples into his mouth and suck on them until she squealed.

When he ran his teeth over them and bit down carefully, causing her a frantically

arousing mix of pleasure and pain, she arched her back and moaned.

He started to move over her, but she stopped him. “Nay, my lord. Allow me.”
She pushed him back down, then rolled and levered herself up. She threw a leg

across him and sat, straddling his belly. His hard cock prodded at her backside until she

shifted, positioning herself over it. She rubbed herself against it, teasing him until he

groaned, then she pushed down and back, impaling herself on his shaft.

“Mary!” The word came out as a prolonged groan of ecstasy.
She moved over him, pumping herself up and down on him. He reached up and

took her breasts, pulling on the nipples, pinching and squeezing until the pressure built

inside her. She leaned forward to kiss him. Their mouths joined in a long, hot kiss,

tongues tangling, and lips nipping at each other. But she couldn’t ride him in that

position, so she straightened up and began the lift and push movement that drove his

cock satisfyingly deep into her womb. Heat worked its way all through her, and the

pressure built with each stroke. She felt him pulsing quicker and pushing faster, so she

increased her pace to match his rhythm.

Mary pushed herself down on him as hard as she could. It touched something deep

inside that rolled all through her, jerking her into a near-unbearable tension of need. It

was pleasure too exquisite to be borne long. She raised herself and lowered again, and

this time the push of him against a special place in her womb throbbed like a dagger’s

thrust of pleasure. It exploded within her, sending her over the edge into a throbbing

completion. Her spasms sparked his release as well, and with a long groan, he released

his seed into her.

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She collapsed on top of him, panting and still riding wave after wave of aftershocks.

They lay together, breathing hard and holding tight, until they calmed down. Mary

found herself reluctant to let him go, and she held his cock tight inside her. From this

angle, she could study his beloved face, stroke the elegant line of his temple, cheek and

jaw, run her fingers into his hair, stare into the deep blue eyes, and drown in the love

she found there.

Finally her legs began to cramp and she was forced to roll off him. He held her tight

against him and they fell asleep that way, wrapped in each other’s arms.

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Chapter Fifteen

A second snowfall, a couple of days later, served as a reminder that the Christmas

holiday approached. Philip found preparations for it underway everywhere he turned.

Small groups practiced mimes or plays or singing carols in odd and deserted corners of

the manor. In the kitchens, the ovens ran constantly, spreading the savory aromas of

spices and baking breads and pastries. Boys hauled in a never-ending stream of wood

to keep the fires running. Servants paraded in and out, bearing long strings of ivy and

sprigs of holly, while others wove them into garlands, and yet another set hung them in

swags on the walls of the great hall.

Philip had his own preparations to make, and those helped draw his mind away

from the awful memories of the worst night of his life. His recall of the events following

the dinner was vague, but the pain remained vivid in his mind even yet. Agonizing

cramps, spasms of vomiting until his throat was grated raw, aching muscles, and a

headache that threatened to split his skull wide open—all those he remembered quite

clearly.

Although his return to the world of the living was greeted with relief, welcome, and

congratulations by the people of the manor, he nonetheless moved through the place

more warily than before. The falling stone he’d believed to be an accident, but he could

no longer deny that someone appeared to be trying to kill him.

He couldn’t imagine who would want to do so. His own men were convinced Lady

Mary was behind it, had given the orders, even if she didn’t carry out the attempts

herself. Sir Thomas reminded him that she’d removed some bit of evidence from the

tower the stone had been dislodged from, and she’d also poured the wine out for him.

Who would have had a better opportunity to add something to it?

Philip refused to believe it. How could it be possible that Mary would be so

delightfully responsive to him, act as though he’d given her the world, tell him she

loved him in words whose sincerity he couldn’t doubt, when at the same time she

plotted to kill him? He promised to be wary, even around her, but he would not give

credence to their doubts. After an extended argument with Thomas about it, Philip

assigned the knight the duty of finding out who was behind the attempts, or bringing

him proof of Mary’s guilt.

Shortly after Sir Thomas departed, Mary came in to discuss with him the question

of Christmas-time gifts to the serfs and villeins. Aside from the customary feasts they

would spread and offerings of sweetmeats and other foodstuffs, she suggested that

they’d had to slaughter more animals than usual to feed the influx of men, and

therefore they had an abundance of leather. Sufficient, she thought, to provide each

person enough for a new pair of shoes.

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Philip agreed to the suggestion and asked when she would announce it to the

people.

“Nay,” she answered. “I’ll not announce it. That is the duty of the lord of the

manor. If you’ll take my advice, my lord, you should present the gift at the final feast on

Twelfth Night.”

“Aye, that seems good,” he agreed.
The sparkle glowing in her green eyes as she anticipated the holidays delighted

him. The kiss she gave him before she left the room set his body afire and his cock rising

to beg for attention. How could he believe this woman would try to murder him? It

wasn’t possible.

The hustle and bustle of preparation continued over the next few days. Sir Thomas

returned to talk to him about what he’d learned two days later. He started by admitting

that he’d achieved neither of the goals Philip had set him.

“I believed I’ve talked to near everyone who resides on the manor grounds,” he

said, sounding discouraged. “And yet I’m no closer than I was when I set out. I talked

to the servants who served the wine, including the little girl who brought it to the table

that night. I’m afraid the poor child was scared near to death of me.”

He looked at Philip. “Am I so frightening that a child would swoon with fear when

I approached her?”

Philip studied Sir Thomas. The man would generally be considered well-favored,

save for his expression. “I believe it’s that grim look you wear always,” Philip

answered. “It would put many people off approaching you. And your size alone might

frighten a child.”

The man looked startled. “Am I so grim, then? I realized it not.”
“You do not smile often,” Philip answered. It hadn’t occurred to him until then to

wonder at that. He’d known Thomas only a few years, had met him when the man had

arrived to serve with Jeoffrey. At the time Jeoff had been promoted to Earl of

Highwaith, and he’d been made Baron Alderwood, Thomas had elected to come with

him rather than remain with Jeoffrey. Philip hadn’t given it much thought, assuming

the man saw more chance for advancement in a smaller keep. Though they regarded

each other with mutual respect and liking, there had been no close friendship until their

arrival here and Philip found him to be the most intelligent and reliable of those who’d

accompanied him.

“I’ve found little reason to smile in this life,” Thomas said. There was no plea for

sympathy or understanding in it, but in that bald statement of fact Philip heard echoes

of an underlying sadness or disappointment. Thomas had never confided much about

his past, and Philip would not force a confidence.

“I hope someday you’ll find more reason for joy,” Philip told him.
Thomas shrugged. “In any case, it appears unlikely the wine was tampered with

before it was brought to the table. Many of us drank from that pitcher with no ill effects,

so the draught must have been put directly into your cup. A few servants went by,

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delivering food, but I’ve found none who seem less than honest and direct. All I spoke

to praised you highly, appeared to value you as their lord, and wished you good

health.”

“In fact,” he continued, “I found no one at all who openly wished you ill, nor did I

detect in anyone even a hint of some other emotion where you’re concerned. I talked to

all the boys you’ve chastised. Warin and John were not happy about being punished,

but both are so excited about being trained for arms, they hold no resentment about it,

either. Young Ross appears to idolize you, though I think he prefers to do so from afar.”

He lifted his shoulders yet again. “Nor did I have any greater success in finding any

proof regarding the lady Mary. None of the servants close to her think it likely. Most

believe she’s very happy with you and loves you deeply. I was able to get into her solar

and search it while she was out. I believe I know what she picked up in the tower, but it

tells me naught that is helpful.”

“What was it?” Philip asked, his curiosity aroused.
“The tip of a knife, broken off from the whole. Most like it was used to loosen the

mortar around the stone pushed off the tower and broken in the process. Do we find the

owner of a broken knife, we likely find the one who would harm you.”

“And did you find such a thing in her solar?”
“Nay, my lord. Only the broken piece alone. Nor did I find anything else there to

indicate guilt on her part.” The man’s normally stern expression turned even grimmer.

“I humbly ask your pardon for my failure in this task. I’ll not halt my efforts, but I have

no strong idea how to proceed right now either.”

“You’ve naught to apologize for, Thomas,” Philip assured him. “You’ve done all

that could be expected.”

“I wish it had been more, but I’ll continue to keep at it,” he said.
He departed then, leaving Philip to his preparations for the holiday.
Mary glowed with joy as she directed the servants in the hanging of decorations,

consulted with the cook on menus for the feasts, arranged for various gifts, and

occasionally offered advice to various groups of performers or helped them rehearse.

He stole kisses whenever they found a moment to be together in private. She came to

his solar those evenings when she wasn’t too exhausted from the work. He couldn’t get

enough of her. Each time he deposited his seed in her, it left him with a burning

anticipation of the next opportunity.

Two days before Christmas a hunting party led by Sir Peter and Sir Thomas set out

at dawn to bring in the traditional boar for the Christmas dinner. Philip would have

liked to go with them, but found other duties in the manor kept him closer to home. His

regret was tempered by the satisfaction he never failed to feel each time someone

consulted him, needing the lord’s advice. At times he still found it difficult to believe

this long-held yet unlikely seeming dream had come true for him, and he wondered if it

could last. He thanked God on his knees often for all the blessings he’d been granted.

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Yet neither could he entirely the forget the shadow on his joy represented by the person

who had twice tried to kill him.

The hunting party returned at sundown, amidst much fanfare, flush with exertion

and triumph. They dragged behind them a boar of truly heroic proportions, and all

agreed it was a favorable sign for a prosperous year to come. The spit was prepared and

the roasting begun before the night had passed.

On Christmas Eve, most of the household processed into town for Midnight Mass.

Though he would have preferred to ride, Philip traveled in the carriage with Lady

Mary. The chance to watch her and talk with her compensated for the discomfort. In

addition to her finest gown, she wore her mother’s tiara and necklace, and looked

radiant. He thought of the gifts he’d collected for her and could scarce wait to see her

reaction as he presented them.

His devotions were more than usually heartfelt, since he had much to be grateful

for, not least of all his recovery from the poison. He prayed that they would learn who

was behind the attacks and it could be stopped. And that it wouldn’t prove to be Mary

responsible, he added.

The Mass went on for more than two hours and it took another two to return to the

manor, so it was near morning by the time they returned. Philip gave leave to sleep late

to all those whose duties didn’t require them to be up early. He doubted many would

take advantage of the opportunity since a high degree of excitement ran though all as

they anticipated the celebrations to come.

The feasting began at a couple of hours past noon. As all assembled and took their

places, servants brought in tureens of soups and platters laden with fruits, vegetables,

and breads. There was a pause as Philip and Mary entered the hall and were welcomed

with applause by the gathered household. They stood at the head table.

Philip led the household in a prayer of thanks, then added, “To all here present. I

thank each and every one of you for the contributions you’ve made to this celebration,

to the preparations for it, and for the work you’ve done over the past months to make it

possible. When the king granted me this manor in June of this year, I had no idea what

I’d find when I arrived. And I must tell you that I’ve had many surprises.” He gave

Mary a meaningful look. She laughed and the rest of the household followed suit. “But

most of the surprises have been pleasant, and I now consider myself one of the most

fortunate and blessed knights in this kingdom. This is a wondrous place, with

wondrous people, and I can only bless God for leading me here.” He raised his cup to

them. “And now that I’ve had my say, I’m sure you are all eager to get to the more

pleasant part of the day: the eating. A joyous Christmas to all. And now let us dig in.”

Soup was ladled out, and bits of fruit distributed. Ale and wine flowed freely, but

all knew this was just the beginning and most ate lightly.

As the assembled household spotted the group waiting at the door from the

kitchens, a reverent hush fell.

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It took six strong men to carry in the board and set it on the waiting trestle in front

of the lord’s seat. Many gasps of amazement and pleasure followed its progress, as well

as a small army of men armed with carving knives and youngsters bearing empty

platters.

The boar was roasted to a perfect brown color and emitted a swoon-inducing

aroma. Artfully splayed on the platter, surrounded by fruits and vegetables and small

pies, it sat in majestic splendor with an apple in its mouth and a paper crown on its

head.

When Master Butler himself stepped forward to begin carving, a round of applause

greeted him. The first serving went to the head table. Philip tasted it and approved.

“Perfection!” he pronounced. “Convey to Cook that it is fit for the king himself.”

Laughs and cheers followed. When portions of pork had been distributed to all

present and then consumed, there was a lull, until a group of young people got up to

present the first of many mummeries. Philip laughed heartily, especially when he

realized that all the “girls” in the playlet were actually boys, and the “boys” were girls.

Clearly all were delighted at the opportunity to dress up as the other sex, and they

acted out their parts with great enthusiasm. He couldn’t quite follow the plot of the

story, but didn’t need to understand it to find it hugely entertaining.

The mummery concluded with a rousing round of pratfalls by all concerned. The

audience laughed, howled, clapped, cheered, and made ribald comments when it was

done.

Servants entered again to clear emptied bowls and platters, then returned bearing

trays with a small mince pie for each person. Mary had made sure the three important

spices, cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg, representing the three gifts of the Magi, had been

baked into the pies, which where shaped in the oblong of the manger that had held the

infant Lord Jesus.

Mary leaned over to him. “You’re supposed to make a wish before you take your

first bite.”

“Am I supposed to tell everyone what it is?”
“Nay, that can be your secret.”
“Well, thank the heavens for that. We’d both be embarrassed did I speak mine

openly.”

She blushed so beautifully. The high color made her eyes sparkle all the more.
“So, tell me, Mary. Would you be embarrassed to speak your wish aloud?”
She met his eyes and reached for his hand below the level of the table. “Aye, Philip.

I would.”

“Good. Come to me tonight. I have something for you, but it’s not for giving in

public.”

“Your gifts have always proved sweet indeed,” she whispered back to him.

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They dug into the mince pies. A group of singers trolled a few hymns and then the

servers brought out the frumenty, the sweet to conclude the meal. The thick porridge

was well set and redolent with cinnamon and nutmeg also.

Afterwards, the folks broke up into groups to play various games. The youngsters

engaged in more active pursuits, while the elders tended to go for more sedate card or

board games. Philip was impatient to be done with it and retire in private with Mary,

but he did his duty as host, joining in here and there, offering advice, taking time to

wish as many as possible a “Happy Christmas.”

Eventually the time came, and he was able to retire. Mary knocked softly a few

minutes later. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her until she grew tense with

need and her fingers dug into his back. It took an effort to put her from him. “A

moment,” he said, and went to his trunk. “Since it’s the first day of Christmas, I have a

gift for you.”

He handed her a lovely, fine silk scarf woven in shades of blue and green. “My

lord,” she breathed, staring at it. She ran it through her fingers, relishing the soft feel of

the fabric. “It’s lovely!” Her eyes sparkled as brightly as he’d anticipated, save that

there was a mist of tears there.

“It will be even lovelier wrapped around your neck or… other places,” he said.
She looked her question at him, but he just smiled and said, “Come here, my love.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her until she was sagging against him,

again, drowning in the drug of love they shared. She tasted of wine and frumenty and

Mary, a potent combination that had him rather light-headed as well.

She shivered delicately as he peeled off her gown and shift. She groaned when he

kissed the tip of each breast, drew the nipple into his mouth and sucked hard enough to

make her squirm with the pleasure. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to his

bed. Once he had her stretched out there, he sat for a moment, admiring her lovely,

graceful shape, before he kissed his way from her mouth down her throat, over her

breasts to the crease between her legs. She moaned and writhed under the tormenting

swipes of his tongue.

Every small, secret corner of her delighted his eyes and his taste buds.
He took the scarf he’d given her and swished an end of it across her nipples.
“Oh, oooh,” she said on a long moan that combined surprise and delight. She

grabbed at the bed linens and bunched them in her fists. He rubbed the fabric across her

breasts, then laid it on them and kissed the nipples through its surface.

Holding each end, he stretched the soft, sleek fabric taut between his hands and ran

the length of it across her breasts, centering it on her nipples. Back and forth, the

material swished against her skin. She groaned in amazement and pleasure.

He moved downward and wrapped the scarf around her right thigh, holding the

fabric loosely against her. When he slid it up and down that sensitive area, she bucked

and writhed. She cried out his name a couple of times and gasped as he pulled the silk

right up to the top of her thigh then twisted the length a bit to push it into her slit.

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Her entire body tensed into an arch when he slid the scarf so that it moved over the

sensitive pearl at her core. He pulled it back and forth along the slit, caressing her bud

until she squealed and even shrieked.

“Philip,” she begged. “Come into me. I can wait no longer. Please!”
But she could, and he made her wait while he continued to torture her, putting the

scarf on the other leg and sliding it upward yet again. Her face contorted with need

when the silk again brushed across the sensitive recesses of her slit. He worked it back

to front over the center of her pleasure until her entire body pulsed with the force of her

need. When she begged again for him to enter, he could no longer hold himself back.

As he buried himself in her warm, tight sheath and watched her face, he reveled in

the way the tension tightened her features. He pumped in and out until she exploded in

spasms that milked the seed from him. Peace and joy took control of her features as she

relaxed from the force of her pleasure, leaving her softened. Love radiated from the

gaze she bent on him.

He knew himself the most fortunate man in the world.
On the second day of Christmas, there was more feasting, more music, dancing,

games, laughter, and sweets to distribute to the children. Philip spent much of his time

participating in various contests, often eliciting gales of laughter when he joined one or

the other of the children’s amusements. For as long as an hour or two at a time he felt

almost like a child again himself and was remarkably refreshed by it.

That evening, he gave Mary a set of silk ribbons for her hair. After he’d kissed her

thoroughly and slid her clothes from her body, he stretched her out on the bed and used

the ribbons to tie her hands to the bedposts. She looked at him in mock alarm, but then

he stroked and caressed her until she was sobbing with need and begged him to take

her and give her release. He freed her from the bindings before he buried himself in her

hot, tight sheath.

Philip found that no matter how often he took her, shortly after it was over, he

wanted her again. He wanted her always by his side. Even when he wasn’t hot and

hard with need, he liked to look at her, to feel the softness of her skin, to hear her

laughter, to smell the rose-water scent she used.

On the third day of Christmas a group of traveling actors came around and put on a

long play recounting the story of the birth of Christ, the shepherd’s search and then the

travels of the Wise Men to find the newborn Savior. Philip invited them to stay the

night at the manor, to participate in the feasting and merriment.

In the evening, he gave her a comb and hand mirror. He combed out her brown

tresses for her, and the feel of those strands running through his fingers delighted him.

She held up the mirror so she could see what he was doing and their eyes met in the

glass. The sparkle in the green depths of her gaze was an invitation and a command

that as usual made his cock go hard and heavy.

When he had her naked on his bed, dripping in readiness from the caresses he bent

on her nipples and slit, he asked her to roll over and get up on her hands and knees. She

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looked puzzled until he said, “I mean to enter from behind this night. If you find it too

uncomfortable, say so, and we’ll change.”

But she didn’t object as he used his hands to pull apart the solid globes of her

derriere and fingered her entrance. When he pushed into her, he found the position

allowed an even deeper penetration, and his balls slapped satisfyingly into the gap

between her spread legs.

He could also reach around and caress her breasts and her quim while he pumped

his cock within her.

By the time he was ready to burst, she too was gasping and pushing back onto him

with equal force. As he spilled his seed, the spasms of her fulfillment pumped him. He

spent so hard that for long minutes afterward, he could do no more than sag over her,

head on her back, arms wrapped around her, with his fingers kneading the irresistible

softness of her breasts.

On the fourth day, everyone in the manor engaged in games of charades and blind

man’s buff. They feasted, and drank, and several small groups held a musical contest.

Philip and Mary were named judges and had to award a small prize to the best musical

performance. Though one group was clearly superior to the others, they wisely refused

to judge and gave prizes of sweetmeats to all the musicians.

His gift to her that day was a gown of green trimmed in gold that brought out the

highlights in her eyes. He had her try it on for him, swirling in it to show it off. Then he

bade her remove it again for him—slowly, revealing only inches of flesh at a time. Once

she was done, he stripped off his own clothes and took her in his arms. Instead of

kissing or petting her, however, he wrapped his arms around her and guided her

around the room in a light rhythmic step while he hummed a dance melody.

She picked up the tune and joined him, her feet moving in time to the measures

they hummed. Her breasts bounced against this chest while his cock nudged at her

belly. They danced in the nude for some time before they collapsed on the bed and

joined.

On the fifth day of Christmas, several groups of carol singers and dancers came to

the manor. After all had performed, Philip invited them in for the traditional sharing of

Wassail. The warm mix of ale, honey, and spices rested in an enormous bowl in the

center of the great hall. Philip served the guests himself, ladling out the strong brew

into cups and wishing the guests waes hael or “be well,” to which they responded drinc

hael, “drink and be well.”

His gift to her was a rose made from stiffened fabric. He pushed it into her hair,

letting the stem rest on her ear, and left it there when he laid her on the bed, nude but

for the flower. He used his mouth more strongly that night, sucking at and scraping his

teeth over her nipples until she squealed and bucked. Then he turned his attention to

her slit. He licked and nuzzled, explored with the tip of his tongue, and finally pulled

the bud into his mouth. He nibbled and sucked on it until she screamed and the

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rippling pulses of fulfillment convulsed her. When he entered her, though, he pumped

in and out until he roused another fire that brought her to release yet again.

On the sixth day, they went into town and visited many of the craftspeople whose

services they used, accepting their hospitality. Their hosts welcomed them with warmth

and generosity. It strained Philip’s capacity to take a drink of wassail at each stop, but

he wouldn’t insult anyone by declining the offer. By the time they returned to the

manor, he was quite light-headed.

He gave Mary a new girdle of leather, tooled with an elegant scrolled design.

Folded over it also made an effective paddle. She looked startled when she saw him

holding it, but alarm turned to something softer and inviting as she met his eyes. She

undressed and laid herself willing on the bed, face down, waiting for him.

The trust she showed humbled him. Even so, he worried that it might remind her of

his harsher punishments and was careful to make his first stroke so light it was a mere

caress. She neither jerked nor moved, and he dared spank harder the next time. She

would tell him did she find it unbearable. But she didn’t, though after five or six strokes

from the leather, her bottom was growing quite pink. She groaned aloud with some

strokes, jerked, wiggled, and squealed. But she didn’t ask him to stop. He smacked

harder, until the girdle was cracking on her derriere, and the flesh went from pink to

red. Finally after he struck lower, just where her thighs and bottom met, she squealed

and said, “Enough, please, my lord.”

He dropped the leather and leaned over to kiss the hot flesh. Mary moaned in

delight and shifted just enough to let him reach a breast as well. For a few minutes she

tolerated his caresses, then she rolled over and reached for him. He barely got his

clothes off before she was pushing herself against him, and she convulsed in release

after only a few strokes of his cock in her sheath.

On the seventh day, they had a relatively quiet time with just a few visitors joining

them for the evening feast. Most of the household had gone off to town again, but Mary

and Philip remained behind. His gift was a set of quills and writing paper, but he used

the quills in a most unliterary manner, stroking her breasts and quim with the soft

feathery end, scratching light lines across her nipples with the pointed side. Both made

her jerk and writhe.

The eighth day marked the start of a new year. They attended Mass in the morning

and hung fruit on trees to ensure a bountiful crop for the coming spring. Anticipating

Mary’s reaction to the coming gifts, and particularly that last, special one, he found

himself making a private wish that they two would also have a fruitful year.

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Chapter Sixteen

Mary hadn’t known such joy, peace, and contentment was possible. She still wasn’t

sure she believed it was ever meant for her to feel such, or for more than a brief time,

anyway. The manor was in high spirits, the like of which hadn’t been seen under that

roof for many a year. Since her mother’s death, in fact, some eight years before. Philip’s

gifts were a constant surprise and delight.

She had gifts for him as well, but she held off giving them to him, mostly because

they seemed so mundane compared to his. Wool socks, warm scarf and gloves, leggings

and cloak all seemed terribly ordinary. Since he appeared to derive as much pleasure

from the giving of his gifts as she did from the receiving, she didn’t see a problem with

waiting.

On the night of New Year’s Day, he gave her a jar of Sandalwood oil. He smoothed

the aromatic oil, which she must have cost him a great deal, over her body, rubbing it

into all the creases and folds. She then returned the favor, leaving them both greasy and

smelling wonderful. Though the oil lubricated his slide into her, it also mean that he

tended to slide off her body as well. They laughed like children at the difficulty.

On the ninth day, it snowed again, and all spent time out in it. Mary and Philip

indulged in a snowball tossing contest, helped to build a snowman, and made snow

angels. He had a bath waiting for them that evening and he presented her with a bar of

sweetly scented soft soap.

To her astonishment, he joined her in the tub, though its tight confines left little

room for movement and forced them close together. They soaped each others’ bodies

far beyond what cleanliness demanded. Their joining in the tub was somewhat

awkward but delightful in its way. Mary sat in his lap and impaled herself on his shaft

while he kissed her wet lips, ran his fingers into her wet hair and tweaked her breasts.

On the tenth day of Christmas, the children put on a long pageant of singing,

dancing and acting. Philip gave her a pair of slippers of softest kidskin. She had no idea

how he’d managed to get the size so perfect, but they felt wonderful on her feet. He

found another use they fit as well.

When he had her clothes off and her stretched out on his bed, he rolled her over.

She jumped in startlement when he first spanked her bottom with one of the slippers,

though in truth it stung less than the leather girdle had, feeling more in the nature of a

hot, hard caress.

He watched her a moment after each stroke, judging her reaction. Did she say the

word, he would stop. But she had no need yet for that. The warming strokes burned,

but in a way that mixed pain with pleasure. The heat in her derriere moved directly into

her womb and set the fire of need blazing.

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She let him continue to spank her until the blaze in her bottom demanded soothing.

His cock, slicked by the liquid that dribbled from it and her own juices, provided just

the balm she needed.

On the eleventh day, they visited town again, for a parade of musicians through the

main street and a long pageant. Philip gave her a kidskin purse. Inside she found a set

of metal rings of various sizes, all too big to ride on her fingers but too small for her

wrist. She was puzzled by them.

He gave her a sly, wicked grin and began to strip off his clothes. Then he showed

her how to slide the rings over his erect cock. She had great fun moving them up and

down, on and off, squeezing on a few of the tighter-fitting ones. He pulsed under her

efforts and moaned often, particularly when her fingers brushed over the most sensitive

spots.

He tolerated her play for a while, then hissed, “Mary…stop now or…”
But she slid a ring down onto his rod, tapping a finger over the opening at the top

as she did so, and he lost control, spraying his seed onto her.

When his spasms finished, she drew herself up straight and said, “You naughty

boy! Kneel right here and move not!”

When he was in position, she took the purse and slapped his bottom with the flat

leather side of it. A pink mark appeared right away. He hissed a long breath out, but

didn’t move. She spanked him again and again, watching his bottom grow pink. He

moaned once or twice and drew a sharp breath once, but made no objection. When his

flesh was a nice, hot color, and her arm beginning to tire, she said, “Rise now and

prepare the proper receptacle to receive your seed.”

His attentions to her breasts and slit were eager and as enthusiastic as she could

wish. Not much later he spilled seed again, but into a much more satisfying place.

Mary lay in bed that night, marveling on all that had happened, wondering what

the next day, the twelfth and last, the Feast of the Epiphany, would bring. Philip had

hinted at something special, but his gifts so far had all been so wondrous, she could

scarce imagine what could be better. Or, rather, she did have an idea, but feared to let

herself hope.

The day dawned bright and clear and there was a new hustle and bustle to prepare

for the final day of the celebration.

Shortly before the feast would begin, Philip called her into the office and shut the

door behind them.

“This cannot wait for this evening,” he said, and handed her a large wooden chest.

Mystified, she opened it, only to find another, smaller one inside, and yet another

smaller box contained within that one. She worked her way in through six ever smaller

containers until she got to the last one, which sat easily on her palm.

Inside that one, a gold ring rested on a bed of wood shavings. Philip picked it up

before she could, however, and set the box aside her. Holding both her hands, he said,

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“Lady Mary Alderwood, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wedded

wife, as soon as the banns can be called and arrangements made?”

Tears overflowed her eyes and ran down her face. “Yes, My Lord Philip of

Alderwood. I’d be honored and privileged to be your lady.”

They kissed until the heat rose in an unbearable, irresistible tide. Philip hoisted her

up and sat her on the side of his desk, pushed up her skirts, freed his rampant cock

from the binding of his breeks and drove it into her. He stroked her quim and tickled

her pearl while he pushed in and out until they came together in an explosive climax

that left her limp and leaning against his chest. She reached up to stroke his cheek,

feeling the beloved slide of his beard beneath her palm.

“Philip,” she breathed, still gasping for air. “I love you. More than I’ve ever loved

anyone before. More than life itself.”

They announced their betrothal at the feast. The gathered crowd broke into loud

applause, stomping, cheering, and yelling congratulations to them. Mary felt as though

she’d just been granted everything she could ever have thought to wish for, and she

moved through the rest of the day and evening in a haze of happiness. Even the

concerned looks on the faces of Sir Thomas and Sir Peter failed to dim her excitement.

That night, they spent a long, slow time worshipping each other’s bodies, driving

each other close to peaking, then backing off and stopping for a while, only to resume

teasing each other. Then they joined three times in succession, and for the first time, she

remained with him in his bed instead of returning to her own quarters. She relished

lying in his arms, with his strong, warm body wrapped around her.

Nonetheless, a niggle of worry did slip into her joy. Could she really deserve such

good fortune? Could it last? Few good things in her life had. Why should this be

different? She tried to dismiss those worries as fanciful imaginings, but they didn’t go

away easily.

The household swung right from cleaning up after the holiday feast to preparing

for a Wedding celebration. Mary worried that their supplies were too low to risk

putting on much of a feast for it, but then a series of wagons arrived, bearing kegs of

ale, wine, grain, dried fruits and other foodstuffs, courtesy of the Earl and Countess of

Highwaith. A note from Rosalind conveyed her joy and delight in the news of the

Wedding. Though she was getting ungainly in her pregnancy, it would not be

permitted to keep she and her husband from attending.

The banns were called in the town church each Sunday. Mary and Philip each had

to stand for endless fittings while the seamstresses worked on their Wedding clothes.

Gifts rolled in, bits of embroidered linen, woven cloths, carved cups from the serfs,

more elaborate presents from the town craftsmen.

Mary had nearly forgotten her doubts about the possibility of her joy lasting when

the disaster occurred.

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It happened so quickly that even afterward, when her life depended on it, she had

trouble reconstructing in her mind the exact sequence of events, as well as recalling

who she saw, where, and when.

She had just entered the great hall. Sir Philip stood at the far end talking with a few

servants. He turned to leave, and something sailed past her, just barely missing her arm.

It glittered as it sped across the open space. She must have made some sound. Philip

turned, and that saved his life. The knife just skimmed his arm before it buried itself in

the wall behind him.

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Chapter Seventeen

For a minute, Philip had no idea what had just happened. He’d been discussing the

crops to be planted in spring with a group of serfs. When he turned away, he heard a

yell, felt a sting as something sliced past his arm, then heard the thud of something

hitting the wall behind him.

He stared at the dagger still protruding from the wood panel, then turned back to

where it must have come from. Mary stood there, staring open-mouthed and stunned.

Someone started to pull the knife from the wall. “Don’t touch that,” he ordered.

Startled, the man jumped backward. No one else moved. Something crawled down his

arm, bringing his gaze down to the place where blood dripped from the slice on his

outer forearm. The dagger had missed burying itself in his heart by no more than a few

inches.

Suddenly everyone moved at once. Sir Thomas, who’d been standing nearby

rushed over to where Mary stood and took her arm. Others scattered, apparently

searching for someone else behind her.

He couldn’t help staring at the knife protruding from the wall, the very knife he’d

given Mary, the one she’d said had been her mother’s. Though it had only sliced his

arm and pierced the wall, he felt its stick all the way to the depths of his heart. His mind

didn’t want to grasp the implications of it and yet couldn’t escape them either.

“I want everyone who was here present questioned about what they saw,” he told

Derwyn and Sir Peter, who had come running into the hall on hearing the fuss. Sir

Thomas had Mary by the arm and dragged her over to where Philip stood.

“My lord, you’re hurt,” she gasped.
“Just a scratch. A small thing compared with what was intended.” The words came

out cooler and sharper than he intended, but he was still in shock. “Mary, did you see

anyone around you when you rounded that corner?”

“Nay, my lord. I know only something whizzed by me and then…” She stared from

him to Sir Peter, Derwyn, and Sir Thomas, noting their grim expressions. She went pale.

“Philip, my lord, I didn’t throw it. I would never…”

“Have you seen what was thrown?” he asked.
He moved aside and watched her face as she saw the dagger. Her pale face went

ghostly white, and her eyes rolled before she collapsed in Sir Thomas’s hold.

Philip drew a deep breath, feeling another sharp stab in the region of his heart.

“Take her to her quarters and confine her there. Have a guard posted.” Thomas nodded

and picked up her limp form. Philip couldn’t help but watch them go. Pain that had

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naught to do with his injured arm filled him, squeezing the breath out of his chest,

making his head throb.

Brianne threaded her way through the crowd and moved to look at the slice in his

arm. “This must needs be stitched,” she said to him.

“A moment,” Philip told her. He found Derwyn. “Question everyone you may

about what they saw. There must have been someone behind her, and someone must

have seen it. Bring word to me in my solar.”

Derwyn nodded and Philip went off with Brianne. They met Sir Thomas in the

corridor. “Is she well?” he asked.

Thomas nodded. “She’s restored, but somewhat distraught.” He nodded to the man

standing by the door. “I’ve set the guard you requested.”

“Go back and help Derwyn and Peter question those who were in the hall. I would

know if anyone saw what happened and who else was there.”

Thomas nodded and departed.
While she prepared her needle and thread, Brianne asked him what had happened.
“She knows how to throw a knife, does she not?” Philip asked the woman when

he’d related the events in the hall.

“Aye,” Brianne admitted on a long sigh. “But she would never…Not you, my lord.

She loves you. She’s never been happier in her life than these past weeks. There’s no

reason in this world why she would try to hurt you.”

“I believe that,” Philip said. “But unless my men can find someone who saw

someone else there, the situation is going to be difficult.” He winced as the first stitch

penetrated his flesh, though that pain was minor next to the agony of the reality starting

to sink into his thoughts. “It will appear to all that she did try to murder me.” The

implications began to sink in, though he hated to confront it. “I can’t ignore it or

pretend it didn’t happen. I know not what I can do.”

“Then we’ll hope and pray your men will find the person truly to blame.”
“Aye.” Philip sent up a quick prayer that they would be successful.
It wasn’t to be, however.
When he returned to his office, all three men came in within a few minutes. All

shook their heads even before he asked.

Sir Peter put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m truly sorry, my lord, but I’ve

found no one who saw anything but the lady standing there after the dagger passed by

you. One or two saw her come in, but none saw anyone else around her.”

“I couldn’t find anyone who even saw her come in,” Derwyn admitted.
“I found only one, but he saw naught else, though I believe he’s short-sighted and

unlikely to have known what he saw in any case,” Thomas said.

Philip was quiet a moment and the others remained so as well, respecting his

thoughtfulness. Finally, though, Peter asked, “What will you do about her?”

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Philip drew a long breath and let it out on a sigh. “I know not. I need to think on it.

Let me be for a while.”

The others nodded and filed out.
Despite his words, he found he couldn’t do much clear thinking on the problem. He

didn’t believe Mary had thrown the dagger. She wouldn’t try to kill him. She loved him

as much as he did her. She’d been joyfully planning their future together. In any case,

she wasn’t the sort of woman who could take a life in such a cold, calculated way. But

who could? He couldn’t bring to mind a single person who would want to kill him.

He couldn’t ignore the incident or write it off as an accident. Too many people had

seen it. Too many people had seen her standing in the place where the dagger must

have been thrown from. What could he do? He was the lord here, and the people

looked to him to administer justice. How could he do so in this case? All evidence he

had pointed to her guilt, and he was unlikely to get more now. The people here loved

her, however, and might not accept whatever decision he made, whatever action he

took. But would anyone respect him if he ignored it and failed to take any action?

He wrestled with the problem all that afternoon and through a long sleepless night.

In the morning he still had no answers.

He sat at the desk in his office, head in hands, knowing he would have to do

something, make some decision, shortly, when a knock sounded at the door and

Thomas entered. The man looked at him closely as he sat down.

“You look as though you got little sleep,” he remarked.
“Less than that,” Philip admitted. “None.”
“Know you what you will do?”
“Nay,” he said. He looked up at his friend, searching for any sort of help. “Do you

believe Lady Mary threw that dagger?”

Thomas hesitated. “Last fall, when the stone fell, I was entirely sure she was behind

it. When you were poisoned, I thought it likely she did that, too. But this…Nay. The

Lady Mary is many things, but I have never thought her stupid. I find it difficult to

make sense of her doing it in such a way.”

“What can I do? Send her away? To where, though? Hold trial for her here? What

else can I do but find her guilty, do I so? And how do I sentence her to death? Can I do

anything else, do I find her guilty, as it would appear, in the interests of justice, I must?”

“You could take her to the king for the trial,” Sir Thomas suggested. “She might

demand it herself. She’s a noble lady.”

“I doubt she would. And if I accuse her, the king will seek for a confession,” Philip

pointed out. “They’ll torture her to get it. And if the king sentences her for trying to kill

one of his loyal knights…Nay, if it comes to it, that she must die for this, I’ll at least see

it done mercifully. Oh, my Lord,” he said, his voice breaking up. “Please let it not come

to that. Yet I see not what other course I have.”

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He covered his face with his hands, unwilling to let Sir Thomas see the agony he

knew must be showing. “I never thought, when I dreamed of someday being the lord of

my own demesne, that I’d ever have to face a situation such as this. That the demands

of justice would tear me one way, while the demands of my own heart would pull me

another.”

“My lord,” Thomas said slowly, “I have little help to give you, and but one piece of

advice I would impart. Do not act too hastily. Actions done in haste, may well be

repented for a long time. Consider well before you do aught.”

Philip stared his surprise. He would swear that Thomas’s advice came from bitter

experience, but the man didn’t offer to share any more. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

“Yet do I have little time. We’re to be married in a week.” The pain stabbed through

him again, and he could hardly bear the agony of it.

“You must talk to her,” Thomas advised.
“Aye. I know.” Philip sighed again. “I know not what I’ll say.”
His friend nodded and left. It had to be done. Philip steeled his will and went down

the corridor to her solar. She sat in the same chair she’d occupied when he’d first met

her as a lady. The memory cut an agonizing path through his gut to his heart.

She looked up at him and the pain swelled. Her face was strained, eyes dim and

shadowed. “My lord,” she said. “Have you come to tell me what doom you plan for

me?”

“Mary.” He sat and took her hand, pressing it between his palms. He wanted to

lean over and kiss her until they could forget everything else, but he dared not. “This is

tearing me apart. I know not what to do.”

“Tell me this,” she begged. “Do you truly believe I would do aught to harm you?”
He shook his head. “Nay, Mary. I believe it not. Yet am I in a difficult position.”
Her pained look eased. “Thank you, my lord. I can bear whatever happens more

easily knowing you, at least, know I would not do such a despicable thing.”

“But that changes naught,” he added. “I am in a difficult position and have few

options. My men have questioned all who were in the great hall or nearby yesterday.

They found no one who saw aught but you standing there where the dagger had come

from. You say it came from behind you. Did you see anyone? Hear anything? Have you

any idea who did toss it?”

Her expression had gone bleak again. “I saw no one. At first I was concerned only

with warning you about it. When I turned to look for the source, whoever it was had

gone.”

“You heard no one?”
“Nay,” she answered. “Coming into the room, I concentrated only on your presence

there. And afterward, I was too shocked and then too relieved to realize you took no

serious harm to notice aught else.”

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He drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I understand it not. Who would

want to do away with me? And in such a dishonorable, underhanded way?”

Mary thought for a moment. “Who inherits this place after you?”
Philip looked startled. “I’ve named Peter my heir. He’s my sister’s son and strong

enough to hold the place. Yet I cannot imagine he is so eager to supplant me.”

“And should Peter die as well?”
“‘Twould then go to my next older brother, I suppose.”
“One of your other men might take control,” Mary suggested.
“Aye,” he admitted. “Thomas or Derwyn would have the strength and will. But all

of them have supported and helped me. None have shown any jealousy or unhappiness

with my rule.”

“A clever man wouldn’t. And whoever is doing this is clever enough to attack you

and make it appear I’m responsible.”

“Aye.”
“Philip, know you I found a broken point of a knife on the tower after the stone

near to fell on you? I have kept watch for a broken dagger but have seen naught. And

I’ve questioned near to everyone who lives or serves here. No one has seen such a knife.

If it still be in the manor, ‘tis hidden well. I know not what else to suggest to you.”

“I shall have to think on it,” he said at last. “I must go now. There are many things I

need to think on.”

She nodded but stopped him as he turned to go. “Philip. My lord, will you not at

least kiss me before you depart?”

It was difficult to meet her eyes. He nodded and leaned down, fitting his lips to

hers. He did little more than brush his mouth across hers. Anything more would take

him into depths he dared not plumb at that time. Even the touch was devastatingly

sweet and dangerous. He couldn’t linger over it and tore his lips away after just a

moment.

Sir Thomas waited for him in the corridor. Thomas’s compassionate look let Philip

know his friend had seen his agony. “My lord,” he said. “I have a suspicion, and a plan

to prove your lady’s innocence, but it will be dangerous and might prove fruitless or

fatal.” He told Philip the plan, but declined to identify where his suspicions lay. When

he concluded he asked, “Will you risk it?”

Philip drew a deep breath. “I must needs talk to Mary about it first.” He stared at

the man and wondered how far he dared trust him. Still, if Thomas didn’t do his part,

Philip might still use the plan to show Mary’s innocence. Either way, there was a huge

risk.

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Chapter Eighteen

Mary paced the confines of her solar, fighting fear, despair, and anger. She had to

concentrate on what she might do to help her situation. Only one useful idea had

presented itself so far, and she hated it passionately.

When Philip came to her again later the same day, it took all the restraint she had to

keep from throwing herself into his arms and crying on his shoulder. His burdens were

weighty enough already. Her own fears and grief would only add to them.

Her heart twisted with pity when she looked at him. “My lord,” she said, taking his

face between her hands and kissing his lips. Tension drew his features into hard lines,

and agony twisted his lips into a harsh frown.

She saw the effort he made to keep the discouragement from his face and voice

when he said, “Mary, I have no good tidings to impart. No new information has come

to light, and time closes in on me. I must do something. I’m the lord here. I cannot fail to

act on this.”

“Aye, I know. I’ve been thinking also,” she said. “I feared this would be the

outcome. Whoever has set up the attempts on your life is clever. This last one was done

in such a way that it would force you to act did you survive and made it look very

much as though it were I who had thrown the knife. Whoever has done it was sly

enough to be sure he would not be caught. My lord, I realize you’re being squeezed in a

vice. Your position obliges you do something.”

She drew a long, deep breath and looked at him, letting her love for him shine in

her eyes. “I have considered if there was aught I could to spare you. I believe I have a

solution, though it cannot give me any joy. Yet do I not see any other solution that will

not cause us even more grief. If you’ll allow me to depart this place, I’ll take myself off

to a convent of cloistered nuns and immure myself forever there.”

For a long moment he couldn’t say anything. He surely knew what it cost her to

make such a decision, and how very little she wanted to take the veil. “Mary…” He had

to stop and clear his throat. She thought she detected a mist of tears in his blue eyes.

“That you should offer such…humbles me. And it is one possible solution. I have two

others to offer, and you may make the choice, though neither is like to make you

happy.”

His mouth twisted even tighter. “One is to take the case to the king and let him

decide how to proceed. He might conclude you’re innocent and free you.”

“And does he not?”
“You’ll go to trial. But…”
“What, my lord?”

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“They generally prefer to have a confession from the suspected culprit and will use

whatever means necessary to obtain it.”

“‘Whatever means’…Torture?”
He nodded. “And should you be deemed guilty, the penalty would be much more

severe than anything I might be inclined to impose.”

Mary thought about the possibilities. Her face must have shown her horror. Philip

took her hand and said, “Nay, I’ll not risk it. Whatever is to be done, will be done at my

decision. Even should it mean…But it will not. There is another idea, but you will have

to put your very life in my hands to make it work. And at that there’s a terrible risk.”

He drew a deep breath. “Rather than any trial presided over by king or lord, we’ll

have a trial by water ordeal. I believe it will show your innocence most convincingly,

but the true purpose is to bring all out of the manor for some time. While they are out

I’ll have someone search for a broken knife or other evidence to point to the identity of

the true culprit.”

“But if they cannot find any proof…”
“The trial itself should prove your innocence.”
“With the very real risk I might die in the process. Yet would I die vindicated.”

Mary had to force herself not to show her fear and doubt. Oddly, though, the fear

wasn’t entirely for herself. She didn’t regard it with any enthusiasm, but she could bear

the thought of dying, especially if in the process she proved her innocence. What would

it do to Philip, though, should she not survive it? Could he bear the guilt and

desolation? Would he be able to go on and be the lord he needed to be?

She stared into Philip’s eyes and saw all her own doubt, fear, and pain mirrored

there. She liked it not, yet she had no other suggestion to offer. His plan offered the only

real possibility of survival and vindication for her, though she thought the odds of its

success were not in her favor.

She turned from him and paced the room once more. Did she insist on escaping to a

convent, he would let her go. She would live and be safe, though it would be an

endlessly barren and cheerless existence.

Or she could choose to trust Philip and take a risk that might cost her life. Nay, that

would likely end her life.

There were no good choices. An assured but barren future or risk her very life for

the possibility of achieving a more fulfilling end.

She drew a long breath and expelled it before she turned back toward him. “I’ll

choose to trust your plan, Philip.”

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Chapter Nineteen

Watching the priest bless the stream chosen for this trial, Philip’s heart pounded in

his chest, beating so hard he felt sure it would break free of the wall of skin and bone

containing it. Fear was a drug that slowed his every movement and tightened his throat

to the point of making it difficult to speak. Where was Thomas? Philip had delayed the

proceedings as much as possible, making a slow, stately procession to the stream,

giving a long-winded speech about the Lord’s Will for justice prevailing, and waiting as

long as he could to signal the priest to start his ritual. Time was running out.

He couldn’t bear to look at Mary. His one glance her way since they’d arrived at

this spot showed him she’d made her peace with whatever would happen here. Even

did she die, it would be in peace. And indeed it might well be so. All she had said since

she’d agreed to try this plan was that she’d heard drowning was an easy death.

He’d deliberately not looked at her as he’d announced to the assembled household

that the Lady Mary would undergo trial by ordeal in the water. It was an ancient form

of trial, not much used anymore since the injustice of it was evident. The suspect was

tied hand and foot and tossed into a stream blessed by a priest. The theory stated that

the holy water would reject anyone with the stain of guilt on their souls, and they

would rise and float on the water, while the blessed stream would take to its bosom the

innocent, and they would sink and stay down. The likelihood, of course, was that they

would drown before anyone was convinced enough of their innocence to fish them out.

It went against all his instincts to trust someone else in a mission so critical, but he

had to be here to make this work. And he couldn’t help but admit Thomas’s argument

that a lord must know when to do something himself and when to delegate a task to

another. He was right but that didn’t make it any easier. And how sure was he could

trust Thomas?

He looked around at the crowd gathered to witness this. Only one was missing, but

attention focused so tightly on him, Mary, and the priest that he doubted the absence

would be noted. Sir Peter and Derwyn along with his other men-at-arms stood silent

and grim-faced nearby.

The priest finished his blessing. Derwyn stepped forward to bind Mary’s hands

together behind her back and tie her ankles. He wasn’t happy about it. In fact, he’d

protested fiercely and loudly when Philip had assigned him the task. Unable to explain,

Philip could only ignore the man’s protests and insist his orders be obeyed.

Thomas had better be right, or many of them would be haunted by the events of

this day. Philip knew he would never be the same. Thomas had better hurry as well.

Philip had delayed as long as he could. He had to act.

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At his signal, Derwyn picked Mary up. Her green eyes met his as she was lifted off

her feet. A lifetime’s worth of emotion passed between them in that one glance. He had

all he could do to keep from snatching her away from the man and running off with

her. Derwyn carried her into the freezing water, placing her in the very center. It was

only five or six feet deep there, but for someone clothed and tied, it was deep enough.

They’d had to build fires on the ice to melt an expanse of it for this test.

His heart nearly exploded in his chest as her body hit the water. For a moment she

did float, but as her clothes became soaked, she began to sink. After a few moments,

only her face remained still above water, peaceful and resigned. Where was Thomas?

The water dragged her under. Philip wanted to run in and pull her out right then.

He dared not, though. He had to wait a little bit at the least. His fists clenched and he

was nearly sick when he saw her face slip beneath the surface. How soon could he act?

He watched to be sure she didn’t slide downstream and back under the ice.

Just as he was ready to declare the obvious fact of her innocence and go fish her

from the water, he heard the shout he’d been waiting for.

“Innocent!” Sir Thomas proclaimed, galloping toward them. “The lady is innocent! I

have the proof.”

“Get her out!” Philip shouted. Derwyn and several other men immediately jumped

in and removed the sunken form. For a moment, though, he had to turn his attention to

Thomas. The man had dismounted. Sir Peter had gone first to meet him. Philip watched

the two have a few quiet words, then suddenly Peter was running toward the horse and

jumping into the saddle. He turned the mount quickly and galloped off.

Philip was so overcome by the relief at Mary’s salvation, it took him a moment to

understand what had just happened.

He looked at Thomas, running toward him. “Peter?” he asked, shocked. Thomas

nodded.

They both turned to where the men had placed Mary on the shore. She lay still and

unmoving, eyes closed, face gray. “She’s not breathing,” Derwyn yelled.

“No!” Philip knelt down beside her. He wouldn’t accept that she could have died so

quickly. What to do, though? Following an instinct he just barely understood, he rolled

her over and pressed on her back, pumping up and down. Water began to pour from

her mouth, then after too many long moments, when his heart began to collapse in on

itself, she coughed and gagged, spitting out more water.

He wrapped his cloak around her and added the one Thomas handed him as well.

He held her until she was breathing near normally, then he picked her up and began

the long walk back to the manor. Exhausted by the ordeal, Mary lay quietly, her head

cradled against his chest. When he looked down to be sure she was still breathing, she

gave him a small, tired smile.

Sir Thomas joined him.
“Tell me,” Philip demanded. “How did you know?”

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“I didn’t know with any certainty, but once I decided it unlikely the Lady Mary was

responsible, he became the most likely one. Besides the servants, only those of us who

sat at the head table had access to your wine cup to put the poison in, but none of the

servants seemed likely. And of the group of us at the head table, only Peter and Derwyn

were not on the wall when the stone fell, but Derwyn was already in the hall when the

dagger was thrown. I found the broken knife in Peter’s quarters.”

Thomas looked at Mary. She still looked pale and her wet hair and clothes dripped.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he said. “It was well hidden in the bottom of a trunk. I

came as soon as I had it.”

“You did well, and I’m grateful to you,” Philip said. “The plan was a good one.”
The man nodded. “I wish I could have found it faster and spared her that

suffering.”

To the surprise of both of them, Mary herself spoke up. “You proved I was not the

one trying to murder my lord, Sir Thomas, and for that I am grateful. My suffering

wasn’t all that great, and it was worth it for all to know I would never harm Philip.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Thomas said.
“My own nephew,” Philip said. “I understand it not. Why would he do it?”
“I find it difficult to comprehend as well,” Thomas said. “He was ambitious, was he

not?”

“Aye. And he was my heir. He thought to have the manor for himself, I suppose. If

he could murder me in a way that made it appear Lady Mary was guilty, there would

be none to oppose his claiming it.”

Thomas nodded. “Will you have me go and seek to find him?”
Philip considered it. “Nay. I believe he’ll be well away by now, and I doubt we

should ever see him in these parts again. Let it go. He’ll find his just recompense

sometime, in this world or the next. I’d as leave not have to explain to my sister why I

executed her son, in any case.”

Binding Passion

125

Chapter Twenty

When they reached the manor Philip carried Mary straight to her solar. Brianne met

them there and insisted she would stay with the lady for the next day or so to watch for

any sign of lung inflammation.

Fortunately, though, that didn’t occur, and by the next day, Mary was up and

moving around, ready to set to work again on the Wedding preparations. When Philip

offered to delay the ceremony, she told him she saw no reason for it. As guests began to

arrive, her color improved and the sparkle returned to her eyes.

She didn’t protest when Philip asked that she not come to visit him again at night

until they were truly joined as man and wife. He regretted that resolution at least once

an hour thenceforth until the day arrived, and he began to plan all the delights he

would have for her when they came together again.

It appeared that even the Lord smiled on their union when the day of their

Marriage dawned clear, bright, and unusually warm for a January day. People lined the

road all along the way from the manor to the town as they rode in separate carriages to

the church. Friends and householders filled the church to overflowing. They processed

down the aisle and stood before the priest to exchange the vows that would finally

make them one flesh.

Afterward, the manor rang with music, talk, and laughter. Feasting and dancing

celebrated the joy shared by all.

The only small shadow on the happiness of the new bride and groom was Sir

Thomas’s announcement that he would be leaving. He said little about why he was

going other than that there were things he must do. Philip suspected the man had

things in his past that haunted him still, and he must needs find a way to lay those

ghosts. He agreed to part with him reluctantly, promising the knight would always

have a place to stay with him and whatever assistance their friendship might afford him

in the future.

The groom’s bridal gifts to his new wife included a set of satin and velvet scarves, a

chain girdle of fine silver links and a necklace of pearls. Before their Wedding night was

over he would manage to use all of those items in ways their creators had most surely

never envisioned.

Once the eating, drinking, singing, and dancing ended, the ladies departed first to

array Mary for the night in the new bridal shift made for the occasion. The pale linen

had froths of snowy white lace at neckline, hem, and wrists. They undid her hair from

the confines of the wimple and brushed it out until it hung in glittering, rippling waves

down her back. Then they tucked her into Philip’s warmed bed to await her groom.

Katherine Kingston

126

Meanwhile, the men hailed the night with one last cup of brew. Sir Thomas

proposed a long-winded toast to “the end of a man’s freedom and his subjugation to the

chains of matrimony.”

Derwyn waxed eloquent and concluded a poetic ode to marriage, with, “‘Tis a thing

of beauty when a man and woman who love each other come together as one. Their

love spreads outward from them.”

To which Sir Thomas responded, “So long as they do not spread outwards too

greatly themselves.”

They all accompanied Philip to his solar amidst many jokes about preparing his

sword for use, taking care in his feints and ripostes, and sheathing it in the proper place.

They met a giggly bunch of ladies exiting the solar and found Mary under the covers,

which were drawn modestly up to her neck. They helped Philip remove his Wedding

finery and don a night shift. When they tried to assist him into the bed, he roared at

them to “Begone!”

Only the bravest of men would dare argue with him when he commanded so

convincingly. For a moment it appeared Derwyn might step over the line into

foolishness and linger, but Sir Thomas put a hand on his arm and dragged him from the

room. They were last out and shut the door firmly behind them.

Only then did Philip turn to Mary and reach out to draw her closer against him. He

kissed her hungrily and hoped he might contain himself long enough to give her

pleasure before his seed burst from his impatient cock.

They clung together for a little while, however, enjoying the solid feel of each

other’s bodies and grateful to find they were both still alive and free and together. Mary

leaned against him and sighed.

“Philip, I do believe you are my own personal foretaste of heaven,” she said and

kissed his throat. “And ‘tis clear the Lord God ne’er meant me to be a nun.”

It near to robbed him of breath, but he managed to sigh, “Praise the Lord for his

wisdom in that.”

Then he couldn’t keep his hands off her breasts any longer. He felt, caressed,

stroked, kissed and suckled at them. He stroked her quim until she was quivering with

need.

He entered her quickly and pushed in as far as he could. They were both frantic

with need. They pumped hard, Mary pushing upward to meet his rough thrusts.

Neither of them could wait long, and their ferocity rose to fever pitch within several

rapid strokes. She shrieked as the tension wound her body into a tight knot that

suddenly unraveled in a wave of spasms that wracked her body. Philip held out only

one thrust longer before he groaned and spurted into her hot, tight tunnel.

Afterward, they clung together, joined for as long as they could.
When he rolled off her, however, Philip had no idea of going to sleep just yet. He

took the scarves he’d given her and teased her with them. He caressed her throat and

her breasts, stroking the soft cloth along them, then tied a velvet scarf around one thigh

Binding Passion

127

and a silk one around the other. He alternated rubbing them up and down her legs until

Mary was squirming and squealing. Then he used his tongue on her in a long slow

lapping, while he caressed her breasts with the cloth at the same time. He worked her

until she screamed and dissolved in spasms of ecstasy. He held her as the aftershocks

continued to rock her body.

She took the silk scarf and began using it on him in turn. He sucked in a sharp

breath and groaned when she rubbed it across his nipples, but he nearly spent himself

right away when she began to stroke it up and down his cock. She knotted the scarf and

let it flutter from the end of his cock like a bizarre flag. When she tugged on it, however,

the sensation flooded him all but taking him out of himself. He dragged it off hastily so

he could insert his rod into her before he burst.

Even that didn’t completely slake their thirst, however. After a brief rest, he began

stroking her again, and she responded with her usual heat and eagerness.

He took the silver chain and wound it around first one breast, then the other,

pulling it just tight enough to be excitingly uncomfortable. He slid it around her thighs

and worked it along her slit until she sobbed and moaned.

She surprised him when she took it from him and pushed him back down on the

bed. Starting at the base of his shaft, she wound it around and around his cock, until the

entire thing was encased in silver mesh, glittering in the light of the torches.

“How pretty,” she breathed, blowing along it and squeezing just hard enough to

drive the metal into his flesh in a most irritating and exciting way. She unwound the

chain from his cock and began to work it around his balls and thighs until he was once

again ready to explode. When he entered her this time, though, he took a long, slow

time, working them both up close to the peak, then stopping, resting, and beginning the

climb again. When he stopped the fourth time, she punched him in the arm and said,

“Now, damn you. Now!”

“How can I refuse such a forceful lady?” he groaned, panting with the effort to keep

from spending right then.

A few more sharp strokes sent them both over the edge into long paroxysms of

pleasurable release.

Eventually they slept, wrapped up in each other. But even in a sated sleep, he

dreamed up new ideas for adventures to try.

Mary looked both surprised and puzzled when the first thing he said to her as they

roused with the dawn light coming in the window, was, “Honey.”

“Honey?”
“Aye, you’ll see,” he promised. “And feel and taste. Now come here and kiss your

husband good morning.”

About Katherine Kingston

I’m really very ordinary, you know, so it’s hard to know what to say. I’m a mom

and a grandma. I do laundry and clean house (well, sometimes) and wash dishes like

everyone else. I grew up in New York (the city, that is) and moved to North Carolina

some thirty years ago. I discovered books early and buried myself in them as much as

possible as a child and a teenager. I still love sinking into a good book and getting

swept away.

I’m an unabashed reader of genre books. I love mysteries, romance, science fiction

and fantasy. Horror, not so much. I wrote my first short story at the age of ten, but I

didn’t take up writing seriously until many years later. I love the Medieval period and

did a great deal of research into it while in college, even though it wasn’t my field.

That’s why my historical erotic romances are set in that period.

I dream a lot, too, which makes writing the perfect vocation for me. How else can

you claim to be working when you’re sitting in an armchair staring out the window?

Katherine welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

addresses on her

author bio page

at

www.ellorascave.com

.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email

the author

directly or you can email us at

[e-mail]

(when contacting Customer

Service, be sure to state the book title and author).

Also by

Katherine Kingston

BronzeQuest

Charming the Masters

Checkmate

Cilla’s Master

Dominance Program

Dominant Boys of Summer

Gargoyle’s Christmas

Jennifer’s Lessons

Kyle’s Bargain

Nick’s Lady

Passions 1: Ruling Passion

Passions 2: Daring Passion

Passions 4: Healing Passion

Phantom Affair

Secret Santa Sir

SilverQuest

The Last Candle

The Princess Brat

Walpurgis Night

Print books by Katherine Kingston

Aquamarine Allure

anthology

BronzeQuest

Kyle’s Bargain

Nick’s Lady

SilverQuest

Holiday Heat

anthology

Passions 1: Ruling Passion

Passions 3: Binding Passion

Passions 4: Healing Passion

Sexy Summer Fun

anthology

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Binding Passion

ISBN 9781843603450

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Binding Passion Copyright 2003 Katherine Kingston

Cover design by Syneca

Electronic book publication January 2003

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