Knowing well their liege’s fondness for sports and betting, Richmond found himself coerced into placing wagers on the wrestling matches and was pleased when his chosen contender emerged the victor in the majority of the contests. In spite of any reservations about the skinny, dirty, happy children, Richmond was forced to agree that inviting them to dine with his men had been a wise decision.
He relaxed against a rotted stump with Arissa in one hand and a tankard of bland ale in the other. All in all, a most delightful night appeared to have descended and he listened to the sounds of laughter and revelry with satisfaction. When a few of the soldiers broke out their lutes and began to play, Arissa and Emma found themselves swarmed with children demanding them to participate in a communal dance. With a delighted glance to Richmond, Arissa joined the children in the campfire frolics.
Richmond observed her beautiful form with pleasure and would have been completely content to gaze at her all night had Gavan not moved up beside him, chewing loudly on a knuckle of mutton.
“Most of those children are bigger than Arissa,” he commented with a grin. “If you could harness their energy and focus the cumulative power, you would have a hell of a fighting company.”
Richmond’s smile faded as he watched Arissa dance, listening to his friend prattle as if he did not have a care in the world. Certainly he could not, in good conscience, delay Gavan’s message any longer. While Arissa and Emma and the rest of the soldiers were occupied was the perfect opportunity to relay the contents of the second missive, and he took a deep breath for courage as he set his pewter cup to the ground.
“I have a need to speak with you, Gavan,” he said as evenly as he could. “In private.”
Gavan swallowed his bite, tossing the stripped bone aside. “Certainly. Where shall we go?”
Richmond rose to his feet. “Near the tents, I suppose, wherever there aren’t a thousand wild children dancing about.” The two knights moved toward the trees as Richmond struggled to keep his manner unhurried. Already, he was breaking out in a cold sweat in anticipation of Gavan’s reaction as they meandered to the edge of the clearing, watching the festivities in the distance.
Richmond turned to Gavan, knowing it would be easier if he simply spit out his purpose. The longer he delayed, the more painful it would be for the both of them and he found himself swallowing hard, twice, before he was able to find his voice.
“Gavan,” he began softly. “There is simply no easy way to broach this subject, so you will forgive me if I seem insensitive or careless in manner; certainly, I am neither of those things.”
Gavan’s brow furrowed. Richmond almost seemed ill at ease and he smiled encouragingly, slapping his friend on the arm. “I am well aware of your unpolished characteristics. Come out with it, man, and say your peace.”
Richmond gazed into the brown eyes of the man he had known over half his life. He remembered a very young page by the name of Gavan Hage from a very old and powerful Saxon family, a big boy with a good deal of intelligence and grace. Even as he squired, being several years older than the young Hage lad, he remembered an eager boy more than willing to learn from those older and more experienced. He remembered requesting Gavan as his squire when he first became a knight, and how they worked together until Gavan was knighted eight years later.
Gavan had been the best squire England had ever seen as far as Richmond was concerned. And he had been his best friend for seventeen years. Staring into Gavan’s trusting eyes, he struggled against his natural instinct to protect the man from pain both physical and spiritual.
He sighed heavily. “A missive came today from London, Gavan.”
Gavan looked perplexed. “I know. I was there when you read it.”
Richmond shook his head. “Nay, not that missive. Another one,” when Gavan scratched his head in confusion, Richmond sought to clarify the mystery. “There were two missives in the pouch, if you recall. The second one was meant for my eyes only.”
Gavan’s confusion cleared and Richmond observed a glimmer of apprehension ignite in the depths of the rich brown eyes. He crossed his big arms.
“What did it say?” he asked.
Richmond swallowed, an unconscious gesture. He could tell by the countenance in Gavan’s eyes that he already possessed an inkling of what was coming and Richmond struggled to soften the blow as best he could. But there was simply no delicate way to phrase the unmerciful truth.
“It’s Kathryn, Gavan,” he said softly. “She went into labor on the third of December and struggled to bring forth your son for three days. In spite of the best efforts of the physics, the child was unable to come forth. Your wife passed away on the sixth of December and your son died with her.”
Gavan stared at him as if he hadn’t understood what he had been told. Richmond met his gaze as steadily as he could, attempting to anticipate his reaction and wondering if he would be able to control him in the midst of his agonized rage. But after several long, brutally painful moments, Gavan’s only reaction was to swallow.
“My Kathryn is dead?”
“Aye.”
“My son is dead?”
“Aye, Gavan. Your son, too.”
Gavan blinked as if digesting the information. “She died with the child still inside her?”
Richmond nodded slowly and Gavan uncrossed his arms. Before Richmond could say anything further, words of comfort or sympathy or encouragement, Gavan abruptly turned for the trees and disappeared into the darkened bramble. Richmond watched him go with tears in his eyes.
There was nothing left to say. Blinking back the moisture flooding his eyes, Richmond decided not to follow Gavan into the forest to allow the man to sort through his grief alone. As much as he wanted to offer what condolences he could, there were times when even well-meaning intrusions were unwanted. Gavan had lost his wife and child to a common enough occurrence and he alone would have to come to grips with his tragedy.
Richmond’s job as the Messenger of Death was complete and he took a deep breath to compose himself as he turned for the bonfires burning brightly into the cloudy night sky. Struggling to refocus his attention on something other than Gavan’s shattering grief, he caught sight of Arissa as the great fire silhouetted her exquisite figure, watching as she danced a lively folkdance with a young boy in her arms. As she bounced and twirled gaily, his thoughts shifted from Gavan to Arissa.
Hearing the echo of Mossy’s warning in his head, Richmond couldn’t escape the apprehension. Arissa had refused to use the pessaries and Richmond, naturally, had given in to her refusal. Watching her frolic about the bonfire, he cursed himself for being so weak-willed; clearly, he needed to be more firm where her health was concerned and he pledged at that moment that he would never again allow her to persuade him differently when her very life was at stake. If the same thing happened to Arissa that had happened to Kathryn, he knew for a fact he would not survive it. The mere thought made him sick.
He continued to watch her as he approached, focused on her flowing hair and fabulous figure. Richmond was half-way to the campfire when a piercing howl filled the air. Loud and mournful and completely horrifying, he came to an unsteady halt, returning his attention to the direction from whence he had come. It took him little time to deduce that Gavan was expending his grief.
The entire festive camp came to a grinding halt at the sound of the sorrowful groan. The harrowing cry echoed off the trees, filling the December sky with sounds of pain. Upon the heels of the first shout was another, and still another. In rapid succession, cries of pure agony filled the air until they slowly died away.
As the bonfires died during the progression of the night, Gavan’s grief maintained its searing intensity, hot enough to ignite a hundred bonfires. On his knees in the midst of the damp, moldering forest, he wondered if a man could survive the torrents of grief and sorrow that threatened to drown him. He wondered if there was a life after Kathryn. He wondered if he was at all interested in living it.
*
Arissa was sobbing when Richmond directed her into the tent he had pitched for them both. Gavan was still in the trees, dealing with his consuming grief and Richmond found himself comforting two very distraught young ladies. Since it was only natural that the women be concerned for Gavan’s mental state, as he had taken to howling like a wolf, Richmond had taken it upon himself to inform them of Kathryn’s demise. Sorrow-stricken, Arissa and Emma had sobbed into each other’s arms before Richmond separated them, gently demanding they retire for the night.
But it was a grief not easily forgotten. Although Arissa wept for the lovely woman with light brown hair and beautiful blue-green eyes, Emma wept for an entirely different reason; she had wished this misery upon Gavan with her shameless pursuit and wicked thoughts. How often had she prayed for Kathryn’s non-existence, as if being rid of the woman would allow the reality of her dreams. As if the dashingly handsome knight would pay her any mind without the hindrance of his beautiful wife.
She had brought his misery upon him, of that she was certain. Her stomach churned and her head swam to think that he would blame her for his wife’s death, wishing her away with evil prayers. Surely, he would never love her now. Not when he realized what she had done.
Emma continued to weep pitifully for the pain she had caused her dearest love even as Richmond gently directed her to her small tent. Practically forcing her down on the furs and tucking the covers about her, Emma could do naught to thank Richmond for his kindness. Her heart, her soul, her spirit, was lodged with the great man on his knees in the middle of the forest, vomiting emotions so strong they threatened to tear him apart.
After settling Emma for the night, Richmond retired to his own tent to find Arissa still weeping with sorrow. Forcing her to drink a large cup of wine, he managed to calm her somewhat with a combination of tender manner and relaxing alcohol. Stripping off her garments as she stood unsteadily in the center of their tent, he swept her into the warm furs of their bed.
Enfolded in Richmond’s naked embrace, the wine filled Arissa’s veins, making her sleepy and languid. Gradually forcing herself to come to terms with Gavan’s pain, she was aware of her own repressed anguish. She and Richmond were spending their last night together for some time to come and she was distressed at the fact that she had been distracted with another’s grief. Certainly, she was facing grief of her own.
Brushing the stray hair from her face, she lifted her eyes to find blue eyes gazing at her. She smiled bravely. “So we arrive at Whitby come the morrow, do we? I do not think I am ready. I have more places to visit, more money to squander.”
He returned her smile, adding a weak chuckle as he kissed the tip of her nose. “We have already been overlong on this journey. Besides, I do not have any more money. You have wasted it all on currant buns and fancy trinkets.”
Her expression was indignant. “How dare you accuse me of devastating your financial resources. If that is the case, then I do believe I shall marry someone else. I shall not be saddled with a poor knight who cannot maintain my living habits.”
“Please, please,” he shushed her softly, with humor. “I must take you to Whitby in order to secure enough time to regain my lost wealth. Mayhap a length of time spent with the nuns will cool your expensive habits.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “As I recall, the only habits I shall be wearing will be those made of coarse gray wool. Dreadful, really. Coarse wool always gives me a rash on my bum.”
They giggled together for a moment as he stroked her face, her hair, memorizing every feature to sustain him in the days and weeks they would be separated. He struggled to suppress the anguish that threatened to burst like an over-filled dam, knowing that once the tide burst forth there would be no stopping his agony. Although Gavan’s grief was no less important, he found himself focused on his own sorrow at the moment. The longer he gazed into her eyes, the harder it was for him to maintain his composure. God’s Teeth, it was killing him already.
“The rash will fade against the silk of your wedding surcoat,” his humor faded as he cupped her beautiful face in his great hands. “I saw a wedding surcoat of ivory silk, once. It was the most beautiful surcoat I had ever seen. I do believe I shall commission one made for you while I am in London.”
“Ivory silk is terribly expensive,” Arissa returned softly. “You said not a moment ago that your coffers were drained.”
“Then I shall steal the money,” his hands began to quiver as he kissed her tenderly, savoring her. A gentle kiss proved to be the final blow against the barrier of Richmond’s thinly-held control; he heard Arissa gasp as his mouth descended on her with aching force, suckling the life from her. Small white hands wound themselves within the rich brown strands of his hair, clutching his scalp with sharp nails, and he pulled her more closely against him than he ever had before.
He was not going to elongate their passion; he intended to make love to her all night and he was determined to start immediately. His hot lips moved from her mouth to her delicious torso, taking in a rosy nipple and sucking fiercely. He wanted her instantly hot, ready for his demanding entry. Moreover, it would make it easier to insert the pessary without her knowledge if she was as slick as rain and eager for his touch.
Secretly, his hand slipped between the folds of the furs behind him. Fingering the small pebble containing the ingredients that would mayhap preserve Arissa’s life, his left hand moved to the curve of her torso, trailing to the dark thatch of hair between her legs. Stroking her gently with his long middle finger as he pinched the pessary between his thumb and forefinger, he growled seductively when she pressed against him in eager anticipation.
Arissa was already wet for him, begging for his heated member, and he groaned again when she wrapped her thighs about his hips urgently. Inserting his middle finger into her tight passage, he thrust long and hard, listening to her gasps of pleasure. When her hips began to gyrate in a frenzied manner, he quickly removed his finger and placed the pessary at her searing threshold. Just as he moved to insert it as far as it could go, Arissa suddenly stopped her delirium.
“What is that? What are you doing?” she demanded, her face flushed with passion and her green eyes wide.
He moved to kiss her, anything to distract her from his covert purpose. “Nothing, kitten. Come to me now.”
She averted her lips, moving away from him so that she could see what he had been attempting to lodge within her. She had felt the slightly coarse composition of the little pessel, far different from Richmond’s smooth skin texture, and had immediately suspected what he was planning.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw the dark pessary Richmond had been unsuccessful in delivering and she pulled away from him sharply, her expression accusing. “I told you that I would not use those…. those things. You must have a dozen sons, Richmond, and I shall not use Mossy’s silly concoction!”
He sighed heavily, aware that he had been caught in his deceit. But his motives had been true and he hastened to defend himself. “Riss, you cannot conceive a child. I do not want to end up like Gavan Hage, mourning the death of my wife in childbirth,” his massive hand cupped her beautiful face, his eyes suddenly filled with tremendous pain. “Mossy was correct when he speculated that I would consider your life over the desire for an heir. You are my world, Riss, and I shall do anything in my power to keep you safe.”
She stared at him, struggling between her rage and her understanding of his fear. But a powerful, motherly urge to fight against the unnatural prevention of a life that was meant to be consumed her, the need to provide Richmond with his legacy a most powerful force.
As much as she sympathized with his terror of losing her in childbirth, the desire to bear him a worthy son far outweighed her own natural fear. As much as she wanted to live a long existence with Richmond by her side, she would gladly relinquish her life if she could grant the man she loved the gift of immorality. A son to carry his name.
She knew if she became angry with him, refusing to use his pess
aries, he would most likely not make love to her this night out of anxiety and stubbornness. And she was desperate to touch him, to be touched, to experience their love again and again. She did not want to delay their ecstasy with a silly quarrel.
Richmond suddenly found himself underneath a writhing little body, supple and warm and wonderful. Arissa’s full breasts grazed his chest and shoulders as she pressed herself against him tightly.
“Make love to me, Richmond,” she rasped into his ear, her hot breath driving bolts of erotic passion through his big body. “Make love to me all night.”
She was dangerously close to distracting him from the issue at hand. He put up his hands, attempting to dislodge her somewhat, but she simply wrapped her arms about his neck tightly and refused to let go. Straddling his flat abdomen, she ground her pelvis against him and he could feel her wet heat dampening his flesh.
“Riss…,” he grunted, fighting both her and himself.
“Now, Richmond. Take me now.”
“Do not do this. You must listen to reason, kitten. You must not conceive….”
Her ripe lips fastened to his neck, alternately suckling his skin and stroking it with her tongue. He opened his mouth in a last attempt to lodge a stern protest when her delicious mouth descended upon him, kissing the very life from his bones. The feeble objections died in his throat.
The pessary fell to the ground as his big hands lost themselves in the silken web of her hair, gripping it so tightly that he nearly pulled it from her scalp. Arissa whimpered in response to his demanding onslaught, fierce and powerful as he turned her onto her back. Trapped beneath his big body, she gasped with desire as his tongue invaded the honeyed recesses of her mouth, devouring her until there was nothing left to give.
His mouth left her lips, moving to the rosy-tipped breasts he took such delight in. Firm and full and delightfully soft, he lost himself within the mounds of flesh as Arissa cradled his head, encouraging him to suckle her harder, faster, better than before. He answered her pleas with silent obedience, suckling and licking until the moist heat between her legs became raging. She parted her legs for him, grasping at his buttocks in an attempt to direct him toward her searing target. But he pulled away from her, gently, as his mouth moved to her naked belly, trailing to the curve of her torso in lingering delight.