Now she had placed her cheek dangerously close to his, and her breath was ticklish on his skin. Arthen realized he was so aroused he could weep, and now his bold wife had taken this opportunity to taunt him.
“Desist. I wish to sleep,” he told her frostily.
“But can’t you hear the poor woman? Surely, what is now happening right next to us could be a vile thing.”
Arthen’s hand itched to spank her right there and then, but he controlled himself.
“Vileis a word you have become uncommonly fond of lately, wife mine,” he muttered. “Stop thinking upon it. And go to sleep.”
An even more wanton moan from the woman immediately followed his words, and Arthen had to own up to himself the woman must be somewhat exaggerating her rapture, undoubtedly aware of others and far too pleased all and sundry could hear her joy.
“You heard this, didn’t you? What if she is in pain?” Rowena now muttered, and, if Arthen hadn’t upon occasion heard her cry out just as loud as this, he would have truly believed her voice was sincere and not trying to mock him.
“Aye, true pain. Just as much pain as I recall you were in whenever I thrust inside your heated quim,” he couldn’t help saying viciously, beginning to wonder what his treacherous wife would do if he were to press his hard cock against her body and let her know how much he craved his own release right now.
His wife was silent. And, blissfully, she drew further away from him, although Arthen found himself soon craving back the heat of her plump body against his. At last, he was able to dozeoff, thinking of heated lovemaking and naughty spankings, and cross with himself for desiring so much a woman who’d broken faith with him.
Emma attemptedto drift into sleep, and fiercely hated Arthen when she was able to perceive his even breathing, which proclaimed he’d already dozed off. Blissfully, the couple next to their pallet soon seemed to also drift into sleep, undoubtedly exhausted by their amorous exertions. Emma was still somewhat stunned lovemaking could be so loud. At first she’d been indeed afraid for the woman, but Arthen’s indifference and his mocking words had now persuaded her this was a usual occurrence in commoner sleeping quarters. Was lusty lovemaking a thing all commoners rejoiced in? She suppressed a bitter sigh as she recalled the distasteful times her lawful husband had taken possession of her body. He’d not ever cared to hear sounds of rapture from her lips. And there’d certainly been no rapture. At first only pain and then, once she’d gotten used to the act, only a sense of disgust.
Emma tried vainly to drift into sleep, aware that Master Archer’s lean hard body was now dangerously close to her own. After a while, he shifted in his sleep and one of his arms possessively encircled her while he pressed his aroused manhood against her body. For a moment, Emma thought he meant to claim her, but soon she understood, with a strange sense of regret, that he was indeed sound asleep.
She frowned to herself. Arthen was the first man she’d truly wished inside her. And she could not understand why she was so foolish as to believe he would bring her pleasure by thrusting his hard rod inside her quim. His clever fingers had made herexperience bliss the night he'd deigned to touch her ardently. However, that hadn't been full coupling. Emma was well aware coupling had not ever brought her pleasure. His treacherous hand though, spanking her and then mischievously caressing her, had brought her to sheer rapture. But what if this kind of fulfilment could be indeed also had from a man thrusting inside you? Emma did not know what to think. Instead, she recalled that her true mother, Lady Edith, was at Severborough now and she recalled that time before her wedding night when her mother had glanced upon her with pursed lips.
“Here, daughter. Let me look at you,” her mother had said, and Emma, who, at her tender age was still very much afraid of her mother’s wrath, had straightened her spine and strived to appear calm and composed.
“Good.” Lady Edith had muttered, casting her a dispassionate glance. “You’re ready for your wedding night.”
Emma had nodded, thankful her nurse was still by her side and had schooled her upon what went on between a man and a woman. She had attempted to look calm, yet, as she often did, her mother had suddenly frowned upon her in displeasure, and slapped her cheek hard. Emma had glanced upon her mother in wonder, rubbing her reddened cheek. What had she done to displease Lady Edith?
“Don’t look as eager as a whore. Your husband will think you’re common,” her mother had barked.
Emma smiled to herself bitterly in the dark now, perceiving she was now in the commoners’ sleeping quarters, sharing her pallet with a commoner whom she now desired above all men. Did that make her a commoner and a whore, just as her mother had viciously branded her? Perchance. But Emma had long decided she would be a commoner rather than a nobleman’s possession. And while she still felt somewhat uneasy of her unseemly desire for the archer's touch, even when he spankedher, she reasoned it was better still to live as an archer's brazen whore rather than as a lord's cowering wife.
Sleep came at last, and when she woke up the next morning, she understood she had been sleeping in a commoner’s arms. Whether it was her who had sought Master Archer in his sleep, or he who had done so, it did not matter much. They'd slept in each other's arms. And Emma found indeed she could no longer conjure up any kind of shame for liking to be in a commoner's arms.
“Good morrow, husband,” she muttered, no longer able to blush, as Arthen opened his sleepy eyes to look upon her.
The man who was not her husband in truth frowned at her, and drew away, muttering a stiltedgood morrowin return. After they’d broken their fast and reprised their journey, they rode side by side in utter silence, and Emma plainly recalled that on their journey from London to Nottingham she’d ridden pillion and she’d had occasion to press her breasts against this man’s hard back. And she conjured up how his hard cock had prodded against her body this morning while they’d been sleeping in each other’s arms.
“Not long now,” Master Archer said tersely, pointing to the faraway form of the priory which could be glimpsed in the distance.
Emma’s heart started to beat frantically. She’d brought a cloak and an ample hood with her, which she’d borrowed from Maggie, as she hadn’t been able to find a heavy hood among the possessions Rowena had left at home. She’d hated to lie to Maggie, but she had claimed her own hood needed mending and that she feared cold rain during their journey. Generous as ever, Maggie had offered to lend her own sturdy hood, as she also possessed a spare, lighter one. Emma hoped she would be able to wear the hood to conceal her features if need arose and her own mother might glimpse her at Severborough.
“Soon you shall glance upon your mother,” Arthen spoke, as if in echo of her own thoughts.
Emma bit back a sigh. She could not truly tell Master Archer she’d always feared her own mother greatly and hoped not to set eyes on her ever again. Whereas for Rowena’s mother, Emma did not know what to think. Would Rowena’s mother be taken in by the uncanny resemblance between Emma and her own daughter just as all others had been? Or would she know right away? Emma hated to deceive a woman who feared for her daughter’s safety. And she’d resolved within herself this was in God’s hands. If Rowena’s mother were to recognize her, she would not seek to deceive. She would tell her tale and be glad to be free of the burden. The only thing she feared was that, once the truth became known, they would not let her be Robin’s mother. Yet, from Master Archer she’d understood Rowena’s mother was a kind, pious woman. Surely, a woman such as this would not seek to cause both Emma and her own daughter harm by revealing the deception to others.
After they’d finally reached the priory gates, both Emma and Arthen waited for quite a while to be received and granted the right to sit and talk to Rowena’s mother. Pulling her cloak and heavy hood about her, Emma clasped her hands in silent prayer when at last, a nun came to tell them Sister Hild had received permission to see them.
“Why the cloak and hood?” Arthen asked her softly as they were walking in the cloister. "It is quite warm.”
“Nay, I feel chilly,” Emma replied, casting anxious glances at the nuns who were passing by them, attending at their various chores or with their head bowed in prayer.
It was not a full lie. Emma's blood had gone cold, as she thought of the peril that awaited both her and Rowena, should she come upon Lady Edith. Yet none of the holy or lay sisters they passed by resembled Lady Edith. When they came atlast upon the place ordained for meeting visitors, Emma had occasion to glance upon a woman, dressed in a nun’s habit, who was about Emma’s own height. She looked younger than Emma had thought she would be, perhaps no more than some fifteen years older than Emma herself was, with bright blue eyes that were a mirror of Robin’s. She had been smiling at them as they strode to her, but then, as she cast her wide blue eyes upon Emma who pulled off her hood, her smile vanished and a look of sheer, stricken amazement appeared upon her countenance. And at that moment Emma understood Rowena’s mother knew she was not her daughter.
She braced herself for what was to come, glancing around, and hoping she would be able to entreat Rowena’s mother to forgive her and not betray her to the nuns, yet Rowena’s mother gave a strained smile.
“Arthen,” she said, and as she looked upon Master Archer her strained smile became warm. “You’ve brought my daughter to me, just as you promised. I thank you humbly.”