Until You by Bertrice Small

news.” One hand moved to cup a breast, and he caressed it tenderly.
    “What news?” she asked him softly, and she ground her hips into his body suggestively.
    “You’re a bad lass,” he teased her, his lust being aroused at a fierce pace. What was this sorcery she possessed to do that to him, and at his age?
    “Because I want to fuck?” she queried, turning about to face him, pulling off her chemise as she did. Her arms slipped about his neck, and her round, full breasts pressed against his broad chest.
    He yanked her against him by her buttocks. “Because your delicious little body and your eagerness set me aflame as no other woman ever has, my Rosamund,” he told her. “Because now that you have caught my fancy in this manner, I shall have to satisfy us both before I share my news with you, you wicked wench!” His mouth found hers in a hot kiss, demanding, insisting, and she returned his ardor. “You know I love you, sweetheart, don’t you?” he said breaking off their kiss.
    “Aye, my lord, I do. And you will not be surprised to learn that I return your lordship’s passion. I am mad for you, Patrick! I feel as if my whole life has been leading up to this moment in time. How in the name of God is that possible? I loved Hugh, for he was a father to me. I loved Owein, for he loved me and Friarsgate. But this is different. This lunacy has naught to do with Friarsgate. It is only us! I could stay in this chamber with you forever!”
    He lay her back against their pillows and covered her small body with his big one, the fingers of their hands intertwined as had become their custom. Their eyes met as he entered her, and she sighed deeply. He stopped all motion for a brief time, enjoying her as she absorbed his size with such pleasure it almost brought him to tears. Then he began to move upon her again, and finally her eyes closed and she sighed once more as he brought them to passionate perfection.
    “Oh, Patrick, I love you so very much! Perhaps too much,” she admitted when she once again came to herself, her head upon his chest.
    “I wonder,” he replied, “if we can ever love enough, let alone too much.” His big hand stroked her auburn tresses. “Your hair is so soft.”
    “Annie thinks me mad, for I insist it be washed weekly.
    She says it is a wonder I have not caught my death of cold, putting my head in water so much,” Rosamund said.
    “Is she very angry at being banished?” Patrick asked.
    “I think she actually likes the company of the other servingwomen,” Rosamund replied.
    “Do you think she would like to travel, my love?” he queried casually.
    “I don’t know,” Rosamund responded. “Why?”
    “I am of a mind to spend the winter in a warmer climate. I want you to go with me, Rosamund,” the Earl of Glenkirk said quietly.
    “Which means crossing the sea in the worst weather,” she noted. Then she said, “Do not treat me as you would some foolish lass, Patrick.”
    He understood at once and told her, “It is for the king, lovey. I can say no more now, which I know you will comprehend. Even saying that much, I put my fate in your two little hands, Rosamund.”
    “Why would you say that?” she wondered.
    “Because you were once King Henry’s mistress,” he answered bluntly.
    “How on earth did you learn that? Only Tom and Annie know. It had to be a servant. Not mine I hope! Nay. It is not Annie, or you would not have asked me if she liked to travel, since you expect her to come with me. And having learned this fact, your king fears that I will betray you. Please tell me that Meg does not know.”
    “Nay. Nor Queen Katherine, either,” he reassured her.
    “I did not seek to attract Hal,” Rosamund began. “But he would have me, willing or nay. For my family’s sake I acquiesced as graciously as I could, Patrick. There was no real love between us, and while I am loyal to England, I do not believe whatever you do in your king’s service will harm my country. King