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SOMETHING WAS LIGHTLY SCRATCHING HER STOMACH. It felt good. She sighed, stretched just a bit, then remembered the night before and opened her eyes.
She lifted the covers to see Trist curled next to her, his claws going up and down her belly. She petted him. “Where is your master?”
Trist opened his eyes, looked at her for a very long time, then stretched and slithered out from beneath the covers. He sniffed the air. Hastings sniffed the air too.
The air smelled of them. Of sex. She had smelled that before, but she hadn’t known, hadn’t really thought about it. She’d been a dunce. She’d been a blockhead.
She pushed back the covers and rose. She was sticky. His seed, she thought, as she bathed herself in the pewter basin of cool water.
Why had he left her? Why had he not awakened her so she could see to his morning meal? Perhaps this was the way men were supposed to behave after being with their wives for the night.
She saw the blue tunic she had made for him, laid out neatly on the end of the bed. There was a huge rent beneath the right arm. She remembered now that he’d ripped the tunic when he’d pulled it over his head the previous evening. She didn’t mind at all that it was ripped. She believed she could add some more material to make it large enough for him. Aye, she could do that.
She was humming when she came into the great hall a short time later. There was Severin, seated between Gwent and Beamis, the two men listening intently to what he was saying. It was still very early. She felt wonderful.
She could not believe what had happened.
At that moment, Severin looked up and saw her. His face went very still. Then, slowly, he smiled. He raised his hand and called out, “Come here, Hastings. This almond bun is difficult to eat. I wish you to feed it to me.”
She laughed and skipped toward him. She was filled with energy, filled with a lightness she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She realized suddenly that she was happy.
He pulled her down onto his lap. “Now, this fool Gwent here has been instructing me on how to eat the bun but he does not do it well. My brain is weak from all your demands last night. Feed me, Hastings.”
She pulled off part of the bun and eased it into his mouth. She was staring at his mouth as he chewed. She was staring at his throat as he swallowed.
“Now, kiss me.”
“In front of Beamis and Gwent? In front of everyone? Everyone is watching us.”
“Aye, I know it. Kiss me.”
She did, a shy kiss, her lips closed, but he didn’t care. It was a symbol, nay, more than a symbol, it was a vow, a promise, and all saw it. She was now his wife. There would be no more strife. She had bent to him. He let her feed him the rest of the bun. Then he lifted her off his lap, saying as he did so, “If you remain there, I will have to send my hand up your leg and pleasure you and that would shock our people for they believe you to be modest and bashful.” He patted her buttocks.
“Now, I understand from Gwent that Eloise has returned to Sedgewick in the company of her new guardian and Sir Robert Burnell. I trust you treated the king’s messenger properly?”
“Nay,” Hastings said. “I kicked him in the shin, wept on his shirt when he said he was taking Eloise, and fed him a potion to make him fall in love with Edgar the wolfhound.”
He laughed. Perhaps before he would not have laughed. Perhaps before he would have drawn up tight as a bow, but not now. “I am sorry if you will miss the child. What did you think of her guardian? Gwent said she was the widow of a Sir Mark Outbraith, a man to whom the king owed a favor. Her name is Lady Marjorie?”
“Aye, that’s the long and short of it. I was jealous, Severin. Eloise went to her immediately, left me as if I were naught but a slug to crawl along the ground.” Hastings sighed.
“Aye, I can see that, but you will have your own babe soon, Hastings. In nine months.”
She thought of his seed, deep within her. She turned red. He laughed. She cleared her throat and said, “That is what Sir Robert Burnell said, but I do miss her, Severin. She was still thin. Lady Marjorie acted as though I had starved her.”
He rose from the trestle table, reached down so that Trist could easily climb up his arm, then said close to her ear, “I must practice with my men now, then Gwent wants me to go over the steward’s records. That is why I left you this morning. If I had stayed, naught of anything would have been accomplished. Ah, but Hastings, after our meal, I can teach you something more about pleasure. There are many ways to reach the goal. Would you like that?”
She lowered her head. “Perhaps, but I might be too tired, Severin. Perhaps my legs are so sore that I cannot move them, perhaps—”
He touched his fingers to her mouth even as he lightly stroked his other hand down her back. “So soft,” he said, leaned down, and kissed her. “Not so very ordinary after all.” She felt his tongue slide over her bottom lip. “That feels very nice. But my tongue still wants to stay in my own mouth.”
“A shy tongue, but that will change, you will see. Be about your duties, Hastings. Think of me and what I will do to you. Ah, be quiet, Trist, else I’ll believe you some sort of magician.” The marten was mewling so loudly that even Edgar the wolfhound heard him and was walking slowly toward them.
He hugged her to him, then, whistling, he strode out of the great hall, Gwent and Beamis on either side. He looked splendid. Hastings found that she didn’t look away until he was gone from her sight.
“Well, I had believed you too stubborn, but you have proved me wrong, Hastings. I am pleased.”
Hastings turned, grinning, to say to Dame Agnes, “You are pleased? You don’t know what being pleased is.” Then she too turned away, whistling as loudly as her husband, and made her way to her herb garden.
