The Maid's Lover Page 4

  Anne felt far removed from it all, as if she watched this turmoil from a distance away. She wrapped her robe tighter around her, frowning as she thought of Robert. Since he came to Court, she felt closer to him than ever in so many ways. And yet she also felt further away, almost by herself in a cold sea of longing and dreams.

  Well, the time for futile dreams was over. If she wanted Robert, really wanted him forever, she had to find a way to make that happen. To show him her determination. Now.

  Anne glimpsed a mask in her half-open clothes chest, a strip of white leather and black plumes meant for the New Year’s masquerade a few days hence. It gave her a wild idea.

  “Catherine,” she said, beckoning to Catherine Knyvett. “Did you say you know who is to play King George in the masque tonight?”

  “Here comes I, old Father Christmas!” cried the player on the stage set up in the great hall. He strode about in his green velvet robes and false white beard as the audience laughed. They saw this masque every year, and yet it never lost its charm. Even the Queen, so plagued in the last few days by all the plots around her, seemed most amused by the frivolity.

  “Christmas comes but once a year, but when it does it brings good cheer,” said Father Christmas. “Roast beef and plum pudding, and plenty of good English beer! Last Christmastide I turned the spit, I burned my finger and can’t find of it!”

  Anne peered through a tiny hole in the curtain draped around the stage. Father Christmas hopped and flailed around, demonstrating what happened as he burned his finger. The courtiers gathered in their glittering ranks on the tiered benches behind the Queen’s throne howled with laughter. But Anne felt only her nerves, that anxious fluttering deep in her stomach. Her hands were frozen in their leather gauntlets.

  Earlier, this had seemed a very good idea to secure Robert’s undivided attention. Now she was not at all sure. But it was too late. She just had to press forward.

  “I’ll show you the very best activity that’s shown on the common stage,” said Father Christmas, waving his arms about dramatically. “If you don’t believe me what I say, step in, King George, and clear the way!”

  It was her cue. There was no running away now. Anne took in a deep breath as she told herself this was no different than the holiday theatricals at her grandmother’s house. Then she lowered the visor on her plumed helmet and leaped onstage. The audience’s laughter steadied her as she strutted around the plank stage.

  Finally she threw back the visor and gave an elaborate, flourishing bow to riotous applause. As she stood up straight, she caught sight of Robert at the edges of the hall. He scowled most gratifyingly, his hands curling into fists as if he would snatch her off that stage. She brandished her sword at him, and he spun around to push his way out of the noisy crowd.

  “I am King George, this notable knight!” Anne cried, waving her sword high as she tried to force away the sinking sensation of Robert’s brusque departure. Had she ruined things utterly with her spectacle-making?

  Well, she was a spectacle-maker. It was her nature. Robert knew that. He had to accept it, accept her, fully and completely, or they could never go forward.

  She stomped across the stage, making as much noise in her costume armor as she could, waving that sword in a big arc. It was really quite enjoyable to play the warrior!

  “I shed my blood for England’s right,” she said, remembering all the old lines of the mummer’s play. “England’s right and glory for to maintain! If any should challenge me, I stand ready.”

  She swung the sword back and forth, waiting for the other actor to appear for their duel. The curtains parted, revealing a knight in matte-black armor, the visor of his black-plumed helmet lowered in a most ominous way. He seemed taller than the actor she had so briefly rehearsed with, but surely that was just the illusion of the play.

  “I am that gallant soldier, Bullslasher is my name,” he said, his voice deep and disguised behind the visor. “Sword and buckle by my side, I mean to win the game. First I draw my sword—and then thy precious blood.”

  Despite the whispers of disquiet in her mind, Anne laughed. “Don’t thou be so hot, Bullslasher! Don’t thou see in the room another man thou has got to fight?”

  “Nay—a battle betwixt thee and me, to see which on the ground dead first shall be. Mind the lists and guard the blows—mind thy head and thy sword.”

  Anne held up her sword to meet the first strike, but it was much stronger than she expected. No light stage-blow, designed to create noise, his blade met hers in a great clash she felt all down her arm.

  Startled, she fell back a step before she rallied, meeting the blow in a fierce strike of her own. The laughter in the hall faded, replaced by a silent tension as Anne and the black knight fought on, first one then the other driven back.

  Anne had learned much of swordplay from her male cousins, but it had been many months since she practiced at all. The muscles in her arms and shoulders ached, and exhaustion clouded her mind as her mysterious opponent gave her no rest. Sweat trickled down her spine beneath her linen shirt. She had no idea what was going on, how the lighthearted play had so transformed, but she knew she was caught in a true battle. A battle she had to win.

  At last, her strength collapsed and she was pushed back. She fell to the stage, her sword skittering away with a clatter. Her opponent’s blade pressed to her armored breast. One last flare of anger blazed through her, giving her a new burst of strength. She leaped to her feet and pushed back his black helmet.

  Robert’s face was revealed, streaked with sweat. A fury to match hers burned in his eyes.

  “You!” Anne cried in shock. “What have you done with Master Smithson? How dare you…”

  Suddenly Queen Elizabeth rose from her throne, her satin skirts rustling. “Enough,” she called imperiously. “We are bored with this scene. Bring back Father Christmas. Lord Leicester, perhaps you would escort the gallant King George from the hall so he can change his garb?”

  Her mind reeling with confusion, Anne barely felt it when Leicester’s arms closed around her and swung her down from the stage. He carried her efficiently from the hall as Robert disappeared and Father Christmas went on with the play as best he could.

  Leicester set her on her feet in the quiet corridor outside, helping her remove her helmet and the bulky stage armor. “That was most—amusing, Mistress Percy,” he said.

  “I am glad someone thought so,” Anne muttered. She just hoped that her “amusing” escapade would not get her banished from Court.

  Or lose Robert forever.

  She sent Lord Leicester back to the play and made her way to the Maids’ chamber to change from her shirt and breeches into a proper gown. But she turned the corner to find Robert waiting for her by the door.

  She slowed her steps, studying him warily. He could have been a marble statue he was so still and expressionless, his arms crossed over his chest. He had also shed his armor, but was no less fearsome clad in his simple shirt, breeches and high leather boots.

  Anne refused to be frightened, though. She had done what she could to be bold, to gain his attention. Now she had it. But she wasn’t entirely sure what she should do with it.

  “Robert,” she said, walking toward him with a resolve she was far from feeling. “I thought…”

  Suddenly in a blurring movement so fast she had no time to react, he lunged forward and caught her around the waist. He heaved her up and over his shoulder, turning down the corridor.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, only to be silenced by a smack on her bottom. It was more startling than stinging, but she kicked out in protest.

  “Hush, Anne,” he said. He climbed easily up the stairs, holding her balanced on his shoulder as if she was a feather pillow. “Do you want everyone to see you like this? Or perhaps you do, after your performance on stage.”

  “Do you want everyone to see you, the great Lord Langley, behaving like a villain?”

  “’Twould be nothing new here at Court. Bu
t it hardly matters. Everyone is busy in the great hall, and there is no one to see us here whatever we do.”

  He carried her down the shadowed corridor, which was lit only by a few flickering torches. It was indeed silent up here, echoing and empty, and Anne reflected on his words with some disquiet. He could do whatever he wanted here, and none would know.

  Her stomach twisted with a rush of warm excitement.

  He nudged open a door with his booted foot, sliding inside before kicking it shut again. They were in one of the small private chambers allotted to privileged courtiers, a space almost filled by a large, carved bed hung with fine velvet draperies. Satin quilts and furs were piled high on the mattress, the lush nest lit by one candle and the moonlight through the single window.

  He dropped her onto that bed, and she sank back into those sensual, soft blankets. She tried to scramble back, to sit up, but he fell atop her, pinning her down with his lean, hard body. He braced his arms on either side of her, his hips cradled against hers. She could feel his hardness through the thin layers of their clothes.

  “What were you thinking tonight, Anne, to behave so scandalously?” he said roughly.

  Anne tried to turn her face away from his burning gaze, but he tangled his fingers in her loosened hair, holding her still. “I wanted to gain your attention.”

  “You what?” His hands slid closer, cradling her cheeks gently in his palms. His gaze was full of exasperation, anger, and—and amusement. “Oh, Anne. You have had my most undivided attention since the moment we met.”

  Anne frowned in doubt. “Have I?”

  “Of a certes. How could I think of anything else but this?” He kissed her temple, the arc of her cheekbone, the tip of her nose. “How soft your skin is, like a summer breeze. How your eyes flash when you’re angry—how they turn so dark when you’re aroused.”

  He kissed her eyelids, first one then the other, until she closed them tightly. In that darkness, she fell down and down into a soft, velvety abyss where there was only sensation. Only her desire for him, which obliterated all else.

  His open mouth slid down her neck, hot and hungry as she arched back for him. At the pulse beating frantically at the hollow of her throat, he licked at her skin as if he would absorb that life into himself. And Anne would have happily let him, if it meant she would part of him.

  He eased her shirt away from her shoulders and down her arms, sliding the soft fabric over her sensitive nipples. He cast the garment away and his mouth took its place on her skin, his teeth lightly scraping over the edge of her shoulder. Anne trembled, and drew her knees up tight to either side of his hips, rocking up against him.

  His tongue touched the soft curve of her breast, tasting her so thoroughly, so gently, but without giving her what she longed for. She cried out, and he silenced her with a finger against her lips.

  “Patience, Anne,” he said. “For once, we have no need to hurry. We have all night in this bed. And I mean to win the game.”

  She sucked the tip of his finger between her lips, catching it in her teeth. His breath hissed between his lips, and he sat up above her, holding her still with his hips.

  “You are very naughty, Anne,” he said. He reached for her discarded shirt and ripped it into strips. Holding the linen between his teeth, he forced her hands above her head and bound them together. The end of the strip he wound around the bedpost, holding her still.

  “Robert!” she protested. She tried to capture him with her legs, but he eluded her. He slipped off the bed, sliding her breeches from her legs as he went, and tied her ankles to the other posts, her legs spread wide for him.

  “I warned you to be still,” he said sternly, coming back to kneel between her thighs. He rose up tall above her, his body shadowed by the candlelight, his face hidden from her in the dark. “I mean to take my time with you, Anne Percy, so you will have no doubts of my—attention.”

  “Robert!” she cried, straining against her bonds even as they excited her.

  “Don’t make me bind your mouth as well,” he warned, lowering himself against her again. “I’ll have use of it later.”

  With that, he took her aching nipple between his lips, suckling it until she moaned. His tongue circled the erect, sensitive flesh, and he caught it between his teeth as she had his finger. He bit it, and soothed the sweet sting with the tip of his tongue. His hand flattened on her trembling abdomen, slowly sliding lower, lower as she gasped with the hot need for his touch.

  “What do you want, Anne?” he whispered against her breast. His fingertips lightly traced the damp curls between her legs, but did not press closer.

  “I—I want…”

  “Do you want me to touch you—here?” One finger delved between those curls, caressing the swollen, satiny folds of her womanhood.

  “Aye,” she whispered fiercely, her head tossing on the mattress as hot sparks of sensation shot through her whole body.

  “And do you want me to kiss you—here?” He tongued her nipple again, a second finger sliding deep inside of her.

  “Aye!”

  His open mouth, hot and wet, trailed along her rib cage, over her stomach. “What do you want the most?”

  “I want—you, Robert. Only you.”

  She felt the curve of his triumphant smile on her skin. “And I want only you. In every way.”

  His head dipped, and she felt his mouth join his fingers on her most intimate, hidden place. He spread her wide for his kiss, his tongue licking lightly up along her wet seam before delving deeply.

  Her hands twisted against her bonds as she cried his name, over and over. His breath was hot on her sensitized flesh, branding her as his forever and forever. Any way he wanted her, she was his.

  “Stop, stop,” she begged, as the crashing waves of pleasure threatened to consume her. “I can’t bear it!”

  But he gave her no mercy. He went on tasting her, his tongue delving deeper and deeper until she exploded.

  Only as the tremors of her climax slowly ebbed away did he rise above her on his knees. He watched her as she lay there, helpless, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she whispered.

  He grinned and stripped his shirt over his head. The candlelight played over his taut muscles, the smooth satin of his skin. The pale brown hair shimmered, tracing in an alluring line to the band of his breeches.

  “Untie me,” she said. “Please.”

  He said nothing, but did as she begged, releasing her from her bonds. Once freed, she knelt beside him on the bed, facing him with their bodies only an inch apart, their damp heat winding around each other. She swayed toward him and he kissed her, openmouthed, as hungry as she was. She tasted the salt of herself on his lips, his tongue, and it was unbearably exciting. She felt her desire, so thoroughly sated only moments ago, rising back up inside her like a bonfire.

  He grasped her hips, dragging her closer, but she twisted away from him. She slid down his body, reaching between them with trembling fingers to unlace his breeches and peel them away from his erect penis.

  He was hard as steel, hot, velvety skin throbbing. She lowered her head and captured him in her mouth, as he had with her.

  “Anne,” he groaned. She felt his hand twist in her hair, pushing her away even as he held her close. He had shown her no mercy, so she showed him none. She traced the hard length of him with her tongue, tasting musk and salt and leather. Her hands traced his tight backside, his lean hips, pulling him closer to her mouth.

  “No more,” he said tightly. He twisted his hips away from her lips and pushed her back down to the bed. He spread her legs wide and slid inside of her in one smooth motion, joining them together at last.

  Anne caressed his shoulders, her nails digging into his hot, damp skin as she urged him closer, faster. He drove into her again and again, his hips twisting. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Everything was pure sensation, pure feeling. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, sil
ently begging for more. For everything.

  She found her release again, a hot ocean wave that washed over her, bringing black, wondrous forgetfulness, burning pleasure.

  Above her, Robert’s head flung back, his whole body taut. He shouted out wordlessly with his own climax, his body pressed to hers so tightly there was nothing at all between them. They were as one.

  He collapsed beside her on the bed, their limbs still tangled together. The cold winter air of the chamber washed over her skin, making her tremble, but she could not move. She was thoroughly exhausted, sated with sweet pleasure such as she never could have imagined.

  She curled herself around him, and his arm wrapped over her waist to pull her close.

  “You win the game,” she whispered.

  He smiled without opening his eyes. “I would say we have both won, wouldn’t you?”

  “Tonight we have,” she said. She kissed his chest, feeling his heartbeat against her lips, the rise and fall of his breath. “But what happens next?”

  Robert untangled himself from her caress, sliding out of bed. As Anne watched, puzzled, he fastened his breeches again and knelt beside a carved clothes chest. He brought out a sealed scroll, and came back to the bed to place it gently on her bare stomach.

  “This is what happens next,” he said.

  Anne stared down at the scroll, half-afraid to touch it as if, serpentlike, it might bite her. “What is it?”

  Seeing she would not read it herself, he caught it up and broke the seals, holding it before her. “It is a marriage contract, sent from my father to be presented to your uncle and then to the Queen. A messenger brought it yesterday.”

  “A marriage contract?” She sat up straight in their tangled bed, snatching the parchment from his hand. Aye, there was her name, and his, too. There were also words of estates and dower rights, but she saw none of that. Only that this was indeed a marriage contract between her family and Robert’s. Something she thought never to see.

  “Is this some sort of jest?” she whispered, certain she must be dreaming.