Two Novels: The Intended and Flame

Chapter 12

12

As the velvet of the dress pulled off her shoulder, her breasts sprang free of the low neckline, and the knight fastened his lips to first one n****e, and then the other.

Her moans were deep-throated, resonant with desire, as she pulled at his hair with long, white fingers.

“Take me,” she commanded, yanking his head back and looking at him with eyes clouded with l**t. “Take me now.”

“You’re a fool,” he growled, pushing himself to his feet, his hands never leaving off of fondling her breasts. The knight looked down at her moist lips, swollen from his rough kisses. He knew he could not resist. “You heard the horns as well as I. The hunting party will...”

“Then stop talking,” she ordered huskily, leaning forward and pulling at the laces that held his codpiece in place. “I’ve waited too long...”

His manhood, thick and hard, emerged from its confines, and a tremble raced visibly through her as she took it in her hands, stroking its length. The sound of horns again came through the open window, this time they were only an arrowshot from the palace.

Catherine stood, a daredevil look flashing into her eyes. “Come, my buck,” she enticed, pulling off her starched linen cap and tossing back her hair.

He dug his hands roughly into her waist and turned her around, forcing her face and her exposed breasts down onto the billowing mattress. Taking fistfuls of material in his hands, he pulled the dress up, exposing her ivory legs and heart-shaped buttocks. With a laugh, she tried to squirm around and face him, but he wouldn’t let her. With one strong hand he pushed her forward onto the high, curtained bed, and with the other he tore away her linen underclothes. Then he stepped between her legs.

Catherine was ready for him, wet. She was always ready, it seemed. Parting the folds of her womanhood with the tip of his shaft, he felt the flush in his face and instantly gave way to the primal animal urge that blocked out all thought, obliterated all reason, all judgment. He drove into her with a single powerful thrust, exulting in the gasping cry that emitted from her lips.

Holding himself perfectly still, the knight clenched his jaw, waiting as she began to writhe beneath him, her hips undulating as she sheathed him. He reached forward with both hands, taking her golden brown hair in both hands and pulling her head back and turning it until he could see her heavy-lidded eyes, her mouth partially open, the tip of her tongue visible between her full lips.

With excruciating slowness, he slid backward, pausing for only a moment before driving again into her. Again he withdrew and again he plunged, his quickening pace matched by the writhing motions of her hips. Faster and faster he thrust, her cries growing in volume and pitch. But he could no longer hear her. Aware only of the pulsing rhythm in his head and the blinding desire to bury himself deeply within her, the knight rode her—holding her hair like a mane and thrusting again and again—until, with a mighty shudder, his body arched and he released his seed into her.

In a few moments, the knight—still breathing heavily from his exertion—began to extricate himself. As he stood up, he immediately laced his codpiece, and gazed down at the voluptuous beauty, who rolled lazily onto her back. One of Catherine’s hands lay on her chest and as he watched, her fingers sensuously traced the curves of her exposed breast. Her mouth was set in a half smile that conveyed a hint of mockery. He’d seen that look many times before and felt his lips curl into a similar look. The sound of horses and shouting could be heard outside the palace gate, and the knight nodded his head at the window.

“You’d best make yourself presentable for the king, my sweet slut.”

“Don’t you find me presentable now, my buck?” she asked alluringly, her finger circling her erect n****e.

“Aye, for me, you are. But I don’t know that the old boar’s heart will hold out, if you don’t take some care.” The knight turned and headed for the door.

“I know how to manage him,” Catherine called softly, rising slightly as he pulled open the thick oak door. He paused to cast one last look back at her. Her face was wearing the same mocking smile. “But, Edward, do try to ride ahead of the party a bit earlier tomorrow.”

“You’re being unfaithful and you know it.”

Jaime rolled her eyes and gestured helplessly with her hands as she paced the room. “Unfaithful to whom, Mary?”

“You know who as well as I, Jaime Macpherson. To Edward.”

Jaime made an elaborate show of choking back her laughter, trying to make her cousin’s words seem ridiculous. But Mary simply stood with her hands on her hips and frowned.

Jaime decided that Mary was not about to be laughed off. “Then perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what I’ve done that could possibly be construed as unfaithful?”

“Very well. Where have you spent the past two nights? I’ll tell you. You’ve spent them—two full nights—in that man’s room. And that was only after wearing a path to the surgery every hour the first night Edward was gone. Just how do you think Edward would feel—how do you expect anyone in the family to feel—when his beloved, his intended, will happily spend the night in another man’s room, but resolutely avoids spending so much as a moment alone in his company? Have you thought of Edward’s feelings, Jaime? He is a sweet, loving man—heartsick at having to leave you—and yet you...you...”

Jaime pressed her hands to her temples and gazed in wide-eyed disbelief at the younger woman’s expression of righteous anger on her cousin’s behalf. It was bad enough that she’d had nothing better than a hard chair for a bed these past three nights, that she’d barely been able to close her eyes for more than a few moments. Now, to come back to her room and be subjected to this! She shook her aching head incredulously.

“Mary, I find it terribly difficult to believe you feel this way. You’re not serious, are you?” Seeing no change in her cousin’s demeanor, Jaime approached her. “Please tell me this is all in jest.”

“Nay, Jaime. I’m totally in earnest in my feelings on this,” she answered. “What you’ve been doing is extremely inappropriate, considering Edward’s intentions regarding you. And since I’m the only one who has been witness to behavior entirely unbefitting your situation, I see no alternative—”

“You see not alternative to what, Mary?” Jaime asked, a note of challenge creeping into her tone. “Do you intend to run to Edward and inform him of my inappropriate behavior?”

Mary’s eyes flickered away for a moment. “You don’t understand the Howards, Jaime. In this family, well, such misdeeds are not looked upon kindly.”

Jaime’s fists tightened at her sides as her anger welled up in her chest. “Misdeeds? You call caring for a dying man a misdeed? You consider helping another inappropriate? Is having a heart and showing compassion wrong in this family? Mary Howard, if you believe this, you’re the most closed-minded, ill-begotten, young woman I’ve ever known.”

“Nay, Jaime.”

“To think for over a year now I’ve considered you a confidante, a friend...a sister.” Jaime stepped back. “How could I have been so blind? If you truly feel this way, Mary, then I want to see your face no longer. Go and tell him, cousin. Go and proclaim all of these faults you see in me. Because if Edward Howard feels the same as you...”

Mary came quickly forward and reached entreatingly for Jaime's hands. “Jaime, I...I never meant my words to come out so cruelly.”

Jaime turned her back on the miserable woman. Her head pounded with pain. Her eyes welled with tears. “There is no more to say, Mary.”

“Jaime, I...I would never betray your trust. I simply thought...well, you just get these crazy notions sometimes. You don’t think about your future.” Mary wiped her tears from her own cheeks and laid a hand on her cousin’s shoulder, coaxing Jaime to face her. “I just thought that if I were stronger, then I could make you see some sense. Make you think about what might come out of your...coldness to Edward.”

“My future with Edward and my manner of treating him now is my concern, not yours. I’ll not allow you or anyone else in this family to force me into his arms.” Jaime rubbed her temples. “Despite what you think, I believe I am a good woman. And one who will not act against either her will or her good judgment.”

“I know you’re a good woman,” Mary conceded guiltily, “Please forgive my foolishness just now.”

There was no point in holding back. Jaime had seen Mary’s bouts of righteousness before and understood them for what they were. They were short-lived, harmless, and soon forgotten. But somehow this time, it had hurt. Jaime pushed away the thought that perhaps she had struck too close to home. But there was no point in holding a grudge. She allowed herself to be turn around, and the two cousins embraced. “I don’t ever want to talk about this again. Do you understand?”

Mary took a deep breath and nodded.

Jaime drew back and looked into her eyes. “Your anger with me was because of the care I’ve shown to the Scot and not so much for my treatment of Edward. Isn’t that true?”

Mary nodded.

“I know that this noble family is all you have experienced. But the appropriateness of compassion is not dictated by the rank of the person in need. It’s true I’ve spent many hours at that surgery, but I’ll never believe that caring for another human being is a betrayal of Edward. If one of the duke’s falcons were wounded, if one of the dogs in the kennels were ill...”

“I’m so confused by all this.” Mary turned and walked to the middle of the room. “In this past year I’ve learned to love you as a sister. Even before Catherine left for court, you were so special to me. But I fear the way you now break every rule...”

“Which ‘rule’ tells us that we must neglect our Christian duty to care for those in need? Is this what the good duke asks of his household?”

“Nay, of course not. It’s just that you’ve become so defiant of established ways. And the Howard family is a very traditional family.”

“And, of course, the duke and these traditions are always right,” Jaime said facetiously.

Mary nodded vigorously. “Aye, His Grace’s ways are always right because he only wants the best for those under his care. And we should be grateful for his generosity.”

“Oh, Mary,” Jaime responded, spurning the thought of such blind faith.

Mary’s cheeks flushed with anger. “Look at all the family has done for Catherine. She’s no older than we are, and yet, because of the duke, she’s now in a position to marry the king himself.”

Jaime looked away and said nothing. Though she would hold her tongue on that particular point, Catherine’s position was one Jaime hardly considered enviable.

“And look at me,” Mary continued, drawing Jaime's attention back to herself. “As a member of this household, I’ve enjoyed an upbringing that few women in England can boast of. I’ve been educated and cared for, and I have an excellent prospect of finding a match in the highest ranks of society. His Grace has shown me more affection than one might hope to find in any family of the Howards’ stature.”

Jaime bit back the overwhelming urge to take Mary to task over the areas of her education that were so sadly lacking: languages, rhetoric, history, logic. “Honestly, your loyalty is commendable. And I, too, am grateful..”

“As you...” Mary hesitated before continuing. “Well, you indeed should be grateful, Jaime. After all, His Grace invited you here and has treated you as one of his own family, knowing...well, we both know that you were not a true cousin. Everyone knows that your grandmother was a mistress of Thomas Boleyn’s. You are not a descendant of his only wife, His Grace’s sister. You have to appreciate what His Grace has done for you. We all call you cousin, though you haven’t a drop of Howard blood in you.”

“Mary, you cannot understand...”

Mary continued on. “And, in spite of your French and Scottish blood...”

French and Scottish blood. As her cousin proceeded to talk, Jaime's mind dwelled on those words. Though she had always cherished the public knowledge that she was the daughter of Elizabeth Boleyn and Ambrose Macpherson, Jaime knew that in truth they were not her true parents. She still remembered her true mother, Mary Boleyn, Elizabeth’s sister. It had been after her mother’s death that Elizabeth, and later Ambrose, had proclaimed to the world that Jaime was their own daughter. But this was a story she didn’t care to divulge to the Howard family.

How long, she thought, how long she had lived now under this roof. How easily she’d allowed herself to be blinded to all that went against her beliefs, against her upbringing. The Howards saw her as a rebel, in some ways, but Jaime knew that her rebellion had been just a facade. She had allowed herself to be taken in. She had sought to lose herself in the whirl of Kenninghall’s palace life.

But in her heart, Jaime could still feel the sharp wind of the Scottish Highlands, and she could not ignore the forces that had shaped her. Because of all that had occurred on these past few days, Jaime knew that she could no longer let these people run her life to earth like some helpless prey. She was grateful; that much was true. But what price must she surrender to repay the duke’s kindness? Jaime could not surrender herself, out of guilt or a false sense of gratitude, to anything or anyone.

Mary paced the room, continuing her lecture unabated, ignoring Jaime as she moved to a small wooden box beside her bed. Jaime ran her fingers over the beautifully inlaid lid, and then opened the box decisively. Reaching inside the neckline of her gown, she drew out a long chain and gazed at the ornate ring dangling from it.

Jaime held the great emerald ring for an instant in her palm. She knew from Elizabeth that it was a token that had once belonged to her true father. To her it was a link with her own history. But she knew she needed to decide the course of her life with a clear conscience and with open eyes. No link to a past long forgotten would cloud her mind. She had no desire to find the man who had fathered her so long ago.

Without a word, Jaime deposited the ring in the box, shutting the lid with a resounding clap.