She thought his eyes glittered, the lids lowered, narrowing his gaze. Each line of his face intensified as his body moved again, steadying into slow hard strokes. When the rhythm of her breathing quickened, so he thrust deeper. When she gasped, he responded, his arms quickly pushing under her, grasping and lifting her tighter against him.
But his voice remained soft and lazy. ‘You have your own fires, little one. Flames of another kind.’
He explored her mouth, forcing his tongue between her lips. When she could breathe again, she whispered, ‘I didn’t know I had places so – deep.’
He grinned. ‘You want me deeper?’
No more than a breath. ‘I haven’t anything deeper.’
‘I’ll find it.’
He held her afterwards as she shuddered, uncontrolled, her head to his shoulder as her body convulsed. He was still on top of her, still inside, but he reached behind and tugged up the bedcover, tucking it around her, again enclosing them both in caverns of shadow. Waiting until she calmed, he began to smooth back her hair, and the strands of pale curls from her eyes and mouth. Then he bent and kissed her briefly. His lips brushed her forehead and his tongue moistened and warmed each eyelid, like a cat waking her newborn. He murmured, ‘If you do not pause, little one, and throw me off, and tell me how tired you feel, I shall be impelled to take you again.’
She opened her eyes, the lashes glistening wet. ‘It should be you feeling too tired,’ she whispered.
He shook his head slightly so that all the thick black length of his hair tumbled forwards as he wedged himself up on his elbows, removing the full force of his weight from her body. ‘Bedding you exhilarates me.’
She mumbled, ‘You never seem tired. You’re still so hard, and that feels so – tantalizing. Everything about you is so – different.’
‘I’ve one mouth, two arms, two legs and a prick.’
‘But some men – they have different reasons for making love to their wives, and they want different things.’ She held her breath a moment, waiting for him to understand but he frowned and seemed not to understand at all. Finally she said, ‘You remember, don’t you, my love, that I’m barren? Now you’re a lord, you will want an heir.’
He gazed down at her, bemused. ‘I thought it was me who liked to talk nonsense while I bed you.’
‘I’ve caught the habit.’
He pressed himself deeper once more, slow and careful, savouring the press of her breasts beneath him and the moist tightness around him. ‘I’ve small experience of good fatherhood,’ he said. ‘Let what happens, happen. What we lack matters not one jot in comparison to what we’ve gained. We have a good king again, my love, and great hopes for a safe future. This is your home now, and where we both belong. There’ll be neither war nor famine nor pestilence, just peace and prosperity. We face a golden age. The man I admire sits England’s throne, and the woman I adore lies in my arms. There’s no one will spoil that for many a long year, you’ll see, my love.’
She was losing her voice and her breath. ‘No need for spying? You’ll be bored and restless.’
‘I shall discover contentment.’
‘Unless the king sends you to Brittany, after all.’
‘To spy on Henry Tudor?’ Andrew smiled, quickening the rhythm once more. His strokes thrust deep and his voice rasped, concentration on her body, and his own. ‘I doubt it,’ he murmured. ‘That miserable wretch has neither rightful claim, nor good reputation. All he has in his favour is a determined mother. His highness considers that threat insignificant.’ Andrew paused, lying a moment against her, catching his breath, savouring the familiar cushion of her body. One hand behind her, the other travelled her body. Pushing between his belly and hers. Then he kissed her breast, pulling at the nipple, making her grunt in delight. ‘Life,’ he said finally, his voice no more than a little warm breeze against her cheek, ‘is about to prove itself sweet as marchpane, little one.’
THE FLAME EATER
Dear Reader
Were you disappointed to turn the last page and find yourself back in the modern world? Are you ready for your next Medieval escape?
Then there’s more medieval perplexities waiting for you in THE FLAME EATER
Emeline is young and hot-headed but counts herself fortunate when her betrothed turns out to be the charming, handsome son of an Earl… that is until his violent death forces her to marry his monstrous brother instead.
If you thought ‘Blessop’s Wife’ had twists and turns, then ‘The Flame Eater’ will have you reeling and reading through the night!
And do remember that when a reader leaves a review, an Author Angel gets their wings!
History our Humbug? Authors Note
In the late 15th century at the time during which this book is set, events in England were moving fast. This is one of the most explosive periods in history, but sadly much contemporary documentation is lacking. There are verified facts – often overlooked even by historians – especially those with their own bias to promote – but much of the turmoil can be understood only via assumption and rumour.
Naturally this book is fictional. Most of my characters are fictional, and so is the plot. However, where real historical characters have been introduced, I have endeavoured to replicate those actions which would seem most probable under the circumstances, fitting what we know of their real aims and personalities. I must therefore point out that the theory concerning the death of King Edward IV by poison does not follow general historical opinion. There is no proof of this whatsoever. On the other hand, the puzzles and anomalies surrounding the king’s surprising death are there for all to study, and in particular Earl Rivers’ curious behaviour shortly prior to the king’s death is all absolutely accurate. This means there are some serious questions which have never yet been even remotely explained, and therefore the idea that King Edward IV might have been poisoned is not my own. The theory has existed for centuries.
The king’s death in 1483 was entirely unexpected. He was a fairly young man, dying just days before his forty-first birthday, and although there are definite indications that he was no longer a fit and active man, being possibly obese, he suffered from no specific known complaint. Nor was any medical diagnosis publicly acknowledged at the time. Those contemporaries who documented the situation came to varying conclusions, such as ‘a surfeit of –’, a ‘chill caught during inclement weather’, and ‘general gluttony’. It appears there were rumours of poison at the time but in the medieval era the rumour of poison accompanied the sudden and unexpected death of many powerful figures. However, it is strange that the king himself, the man most watched and cosseted in the entire country, should have died so unexpectedly and from causes unexplained. Medieval medicinal practice is generally supposed to have been ignorant and sometimes even dangerous, but doctors were not all as stupid as we sometimes now imagine, and the diagnosis (if not the treatment) for tumours, stroke, pneumonia, TB and many other fatal illnesses was thoroughly understood.
The suggestion that arsenic could well have been the cause has since been explored by Richard E. Collins, and presented in the book The Death of Edward IV, Part II by J. Dening and R. E. Collins, published in 1996.
For introducing me to this interesting theory, along with a huge amount of other insights and documented information on Richard III and his era, I would particularly like to thank Annette Carson for her fascinating and informative book RICHARD III: THE MALIGNED KING which is based on exemplary research principally using primary sources.