very much liked the sound of being someone special. Pride teased at his lips, trying to make them lift into a smile, but he remembered the courtesy Mama had taught him to use. "My thanks," he said, borrowing Wilfred's solemn tones as he continued. "I will endeavor to serve Master Walter and Master Colin well."
"I'm certain you will," Helewise replied graciously. After a moment's silence, she added, "By the by, Rob, there are no tally sticks in our household. Instead, we figure the worth of our accounts by beads strung on wires and scribe those amounts onto parchment. Do you think you might like to learn how to do this?"
Beads on a wire? He frowned up at her. What sort of counting was this? Mayhap it was the way Wilfred did his accounts. Rob had watched the bailiff use dried pea pods on a string to calculate amounts. If so, then it was no different than how Rob used a twig to mark lines in the dirt as he counted the bushels of grain Papa took from their fields. There were many different methods of counting, but the counting, itself, was always the same. No matter how it was done, there was great joy for Rob in counting.
"I would like that very much," he replied, savoring his first happy moment at Stanrudde.
Stanrudde
Two and a half hours past None,
The eve of Saint Agnes's Day, 1197
Rob caught his breath as Johanna fitted herself to him, but it was more than this suggestive movement that sent him all the way to passion's edge. With every touch and kiss, she told him she loved him still. It was the need of his heart that rose to meet then match his body's lust. She was his wife, his to touch and love at his will.
Thrusting his fingers into her hair, he kissed her cheek, her ear, then nuzzled at her throat. Pleasure deepened into driving need. He dropped a hand to her hip, drawing her nearer still. Even with so much fabric between them, he could feel her thighs pressed to his.
She made a sound that was half sigh, half moan, then lifted herself in delicious parody of what he longed to do with her. It was a patent reminder that the whores he'd used these many years had offered him naught but the pretense of satisfaction. Only Johanna had ever made him ache in pleasure. He quaked, indulging himself in the full depth of his desire for her.
"Master Robert, where are you?" Will's frightened call pierced the quiet in the alley, shattering his master's lust.
Rob tore his mouth from Johanna's and stared at her in shock. "My God, my God, what am I doing?" he breathed. The answer came from deep within him: adultery in the eyes of the world.
Instantly, he released her and stepped back. Johanna murmured in complaint, extending a hand as she invited him to once again cradle himself against her womanly curves. Her body's heat flowed across the short distance between them, twining around him, a siren's song. His heart begged him to answer her. How could it be adultery to love his own wife? But, logic laughed that even if their secret exchange of vows had made a true marriage, no one would believe that now, not after so many years.
Swallowing, Rob took two more backward steps to assure temptation's death. She was safe now. It was time for him to go. He could send the guard to see her home. Even as he commanded himself to move, his feet rooted themselves to this spot. He stared at her, drinking in her image.
With her wimple gone, Johanna's hair hung loose and tangled around her. Time's passage had darkened its color to more red than gold, but it yet retained its willful wave. She was taller than he remembered, but just as slender, or so said her sodden and filthy gowns as they clung to her every curve. That was, save for where they hung agape, revealing the shadowy valley between her breasts. He forced his gaze to the safety of her face.
Her neck was scratched. Blood smeared her cheek, but it was not hers. Her passion for him set her fair skin afire beneath what would be the morrow's bruises. Under the graceful line of the nose
"I'm certain you will," Helewise replied graciously. After a moment's silence, she added, "By the by, Rob, there are no tally sticks in our household. Instead, we figure the worth of our accounts by beads strung on wires and scribe those amounts onto parchment. Do you think you might like to learn how to do this?"
Beads on a wire? He frowned up at her. What sort of counting was this? Mayhap it was the way Wilfred did his accounts. Rob had watched the bailiff use dried pea pods on a string to calculate amounts. If so, then it was no different than how Rob used a twig to mark lines in the dirt as he counted the bushels of grain Papa took from their fields. There were many different methods of counting, but the counting, itself, was always the same. No matter how it was done, there was great joy for Rob in counting.
"I would like that very much," he replied, savoring his first happy moment at Stanrudde.
Stanrudde
Two and a half hours past None,
The eve of Saint Agnes's Day, 1197
Rob caught his breath as Johanna fitted herself to him, but it was more than this suggestive movement that sent him all the way to passion's edge. With every touch and kiss, she told him she loved him still. It was the need of his heart that rose to meet then match his body's lust. She was his wife, his to touch and love at his will.
Thrusting his fingers into her hair, he kissed her cheek, her ear, then nuzzled at her throat. Pleasure deepened into driving need. He dropped a hand to her hip, drawing her nearer still. Even with so much fabric between them, he could feel her thighs pressed to his.
She made a sound that was half sigh, half moan, then lifted herself in delicious parody of what he longed to do with her. It was a patent reminder that the whores he'd used these many years had offered him naught but the pretense of satisfaction. Only Johanna had ever made him ache in pleasure. He quaked, indulging himself in the full depth of his desire for her.
"Master Robert, where are you?" Will's frightened call pierced the quiet in the alley, shattering his master's lust.
Rob tore his mouth from Johanna's and stared at her in shock. "My God, my God, what am I doing?" he breathed. The answer came from deep within him: adultery in the eyes of the world.
Instantly, he released her and stepped back. Johanna murmured in complaint, extending a hand as she invited him to once again cradle himself against her womanly curves. Her body's heat flowed across the short distance between them, twining around him, a siren's song. His heart begged him to answer her. How could it be adultery to love his own wife? But, logic laughed that even if their secret exchange of vows had made a true marriage, no one would believe that now, not after so many years.
Swallowing, Rob took two more backward steps to assure temptation's death. She was safe now. It was time for him to go. He could send the guard to see her home. Even as he commanded himself to move, his feet rooted themselves to this spot. He stared at her, drinking in her image.
With her wimple gone, Johanna's hair hung loose and tangled around her. Time's passage had darkened its color to more red than gold, but it yet retained its willful wave. She was taller than he remembered, but just as slender, or so said her sodden and filthy gowns as they clung to her every curve. That was, save for where they hung agape, revealing the shadowy valley between her breasts. He forced his gaze to the safety of her face.
Her neck was scratched. Blood smeared her cheek, but it was not hers. Her passion for him set her fair skin afire beneath what would be the morrow's bruises. Under the graceful line of the nose
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