Page 12 of The Raven and the Rose
Tristan went down on one knee and gently rolled out the silken tapestry. Whistles and shouts broke out as the naked maid was revealed. Only her dark mane of hair provided cover from the men’s avid eyes.
The smile was instantly wiped from Roger’s face. “Who is she?” he demanded.
“A peasant girl,” said Tristan, feeling the back of his neck prickle because his brother was not pleased.
Roger stood up and swore. “Jesus Christ, you’ll get us all hanged before you’re finished! These peasants are not ours, Tristan. They belong to the King. You young fool— sometimes I think your brains must be in your arse! Is it not enough for you that I brought along Madame Cassandra and these young ladies from her riding academy?” he asked with cutting sarcasm.
It always annoyed Roger that although Tristan had a lovely young wife and child, that didn’t keep him from whoring. He took up his cloak and stepped down from the dais. He bent and wrapped the maid in his mantle, picked up her limp form, and handed her back to Tristan. His dark eyes bored into his brother’s and he said firmly, “Put her in my chamber until she recovers. Lock it!” Tristan left without a word, but he wondered what the hell was up with Roger that he spoiled all the fun. He must be getting old, Tristan decided.
Cassandra soon coaxed Roger’s sense of humor to return by regaling him with the details of an evening’s entertainment in honor of the Archbishop of York that she and her girls had attended. She had dressed her girls as nuns, and the romp that ensued had almost caused a scandal when the Archbishop’s brother, the great Warwick, heard of it.
Roger laughed. “No wonder the King took away the Archbishop’s office of Lord Chancellor and gave it to young Richard.”
Cassandra wrinkled her nose at the mention of the King’s youngest brother, Richard. She was about to relate an eyebrow-raising tale about him, but Roger touched her nose with his finger. “Don’t gossip about young Richard to me. I know he isn’t popular, but Ned gives him all his dirty work to attend to. At least he’s loyal, and that’s more than can be said for the King’s other brother, George.”
“Brothers can be a sore trial, can they not, my darling?” she purred, and she ran her hand along his thigh, which was as hard as steel. “Come, your men can manage without you, but I cannot.”
They went up to her chamber, taking with them a full flagon of malmsey. He had indulged her by allowing her to pick the most lavish chamber for herself, and now he noted with a jaded eye that the room was already in wild disarray. When she stripped off her gown, he saw that her nipples were gilded to match her eyelids and that her pubic hair was dusted with gold powder. He cocked an eyebrow. “The latest fashion?”
“Not really,” she drawled, touching herself suggestively with long, slim fingers. “The very latest fad is to shave off the hair completely, but I didn’t think that would please you, somehow.”
“Damned right,” Ravenspur grinned. He picked her up and deposited her onto the bed to complete the act they both desired. Between bouts, sated for the moment, he lay on his back and half listened to Cassandra’s con versation. With one finger she traced his lips; then she tried to insert it into his mouth so that he would suck on it. Instead, he bit her, and she quickly withdrew it and traced the deep cleft in his chin. Then with the same scarlet-tipped finger, she traced the black line of hair that ran from his chest, directly over his navel, and down into the heavy black mat of hair that covered his groin.
By the time she had reached her goal, he was rigid again, and she licked her lips in anticipation. Cassandra wished she had more power over him. By this time she would have had the King mindless and young Tristan positively groveling, but not Ravenspur. She thrilled to the stories that were whispered about him, about the things he’d done to his wife because of her infidelity. Cassandra knew that if a man was dangerous, he was attractive—and by God, this man was dangerous!
She shut her eyes as her hot mouth closed over him, unable to wait a moment longer. He lay back and allowed her to have her fill, thinking cynically that at least it kept her quiet for a while. He held back a long time to prolong his pleasure as well as the silence. She doubled her efforts, flicking and swirling her tongue, wanting to hear him moan, to watch his head arch back and the tendons stand out on his strong neck. At last he came, with such force that he was only dimly aware of Cassandra.
The moment she got her breath back, she was talking again. “Next week, my lord, why don’t I arrange for you to have two girls?”
A corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “Both making love to me at the same time?”
“No. The idea is that you make love to them at the same time. They say that if a man can bring two women to climax simultaneously, one with his shaft, the other with his tongue, it gives him a surge of power such as he has never experienced before.”
He drew away from her. “Cassandra, excess sickens me,” he said flatly.
“Nonsense,” she whispered.
“It’s titillating to speak of, perhaps, but in reality it’s disgusting.”
She laughed. “How old-fashioned you are!”
“I have nothing against more than one woman,” he said smoothly. “It is just that I prefer that the first one leave before the second arrives.” He threw back the covers and removed his long legs from the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked, alarmed.
“I think I’ll sleep better in my own chamber.” He said it with such finality that she dared not protest.
He cursed at his locked chamber door, then sorted through the bundle of clothes he carried under his arm until he found the keys. He threw his clothes onto a leather-topped coffer and lit the candles that stood about the room. His eye caught sight of the young girl asleep in his bed. “Hellfire, I forgot about you,” he muttered. He picked up the candelabra and strode naked to the bed. As the candle glow fell on her delicate features, his eyes dilated with pleasure. Carefully, he drew back the coverlet and let his eyes play up and down her exquisite body. He drew in his breath at the loveliness laid out before him. Her breasts swelled up temptingly—soft, white, round globes, gleaming like satin, tipped with pink rosebuds. They seemed to beckon him to touch them, to kiss them as they rose and fell with her gentle breathing. He resisted for a moment, savoring the opportunity to explore her with his eyes before she awoke. Her luxurious mane of glossy black hair reached all the way to her knees like a sable cloak, its rich darkness contrasting with her pale, smooth skin.
He knew he had never before beheld such a magnificent crown of glory. Unbidden, his fingers lifted a silken tress where it fell across one thigh. His physical response to touching her was immediate and pronounced.
“Splendor of God,” he muttered thickly, licking lips gone suddenly dry. He observed things about her that he had never noticed on women before. Her hands were small, as pale as new ivory freshly carved; her nails were a delicate pink. His eyes traveled over her breasts again, up the delicate column of her neck, and lingered on her full, soft mouth. He longed to taste that mouth—and in a moment he would! Her long lashes made dark crescent shadows upon her cheeks; her eyelids were so delicate, he could discern tiny blue veins.
Roger Montford had only one use for women; he had a theory that only whores and prostitutes were beautiful. Apparently he was wrong; peasant women could also be beautiful. At this moment common sense and caution— two qualities he usually had in abundance—deserted him. He had never quite felt like this before. A heady intoxication made him oblivious to everything but his need for her. Her body’s scent reached his nostrils, making them flare with lust.
He slipped into the bed and reached for her. The moment his hands came in contact with her velvet skin, his shaft lengthened another inch, so intense was his response. He cupped her delicate cheeks and lifted her mouth to his, but she slept on, unaware of his touch. Her limp helplessness excited him further. By all heavenly delight, he would be able to do anything to her, and she would not protest!
He dipped his head to her delicious breasts and touched the tip of his tongue to her nipples. They did not bud in response to him; a frown creased his brow. He took her mouth in a demanding kiss and was sorely disappointed when she did not open to him to allow his tongue entrance. No answering pressure met his lips; no arms entwined lovingly about his neck; no gasps or moans of pleasure met his ears. She was rapidly becoming a grave disappointment.
