Free The Spitfire by Bertrice Small

this betrayal of Arabella that was so heavenly. She had no right to enjoy his lascivious attentions so greatly, but she was enjoying them. Enjoying them more than she had ever enjoyed making love with Henry, and she had always enjoyed making love with her late husband. Jasper Keane, however, was a master of passion, and if she must protect her dearest child from him, Rowena considered, what was wrong with enjoying this pleasure? She had not initiated this erotic bout. She was not to blame. Why should she be punished for it? Her nails dug into the muscles of his shoulders, and he thrust almost brutally.
    “Aye, my little pet,” he growled softly, “claw me, for I do not mind your marks upon me.”
    She barely heard his words, nor did she remember very clearly the rest of that night of fiery and tumultuous desire. In the early minutes before the dawn she awoke to find herself alone amid the tremendous tangle of bedclothes. Though replete with satisfaction, her body ached, particularly her woman’s passage, which had been so long denied a mate. Jasper’s manhood was larger than Henry’s had been, but she had seemed to have no trouble accommodating him.
    Rowena longed to remain abed, for she was drained of energy. He had used her vigorously throughout the night, his great lance never seeming to flag or grow tired, and now as she lay exhausted, he was already up and gone. Reluctantly she arose from her bed and straightened the bedclothes so that Elsbeth and the other maids would not be suspicious. Then she took the two shredded halves of her shift and laid them on the barely glowing coals of her fire, watching as the fire sprang to life, adding a log that any evidence of her shameful behavior be fully eradicated. She would indeed sleep naked from now on, for she could not afford to lose any more of her undergarments.
    Taking an earthenware pitcher of water from a corner of the little fireplace, she poured the warmed liquid into her basin and scrubbed herself clean with a small cloth. Then taking a clean shift from her storage trunk, she quickly dressed herself and sat down to do her hair, brushing the floor-length wheaten-blonde hair free of tangles, braiding it and winding the braids atop her head to be pinned securely. She had just finished when Elsbeth entered the room.
    “M’lady! Forgive me for being tardy, but I fear I overslept,” the woman said.
    “Is it late?” Rowena asked.
    “Nay, m’lady, not the hour,” came the reply.
    “I awoke early,” Rowena said, “and so I decided not to await you. There is no harm done, Elsbeth. Is anyone else up and in the hall, girl?”
    “Sir Jasper and his man, Seger,” Elsbeth said, avoiding her mistress’s gaze, but Rowena did not notice, for she was hoping her own guilt did not show upon her face.
    “I must first go to see how my daughter does,” she said almost to herself, and hurried from the chamber.
    Arabella was, of course, fine, rarely being ill and having little toleration for the state. She was already up, and Lona was helping her to braid her own hair.
    “I want Lona for my servant, Mama,” she said by way of a greeting. Her light green eyes challenged her mother to refuse.
    “I think that would be an excellent idea,” Rowena agreed. “I am certain that Rosamund can spare one of her daughters from the laundry, and I must agree you will need someone other than old Nurse Ora to look after your needs. After all, you are to be married in two years, but Ora, I know, persists in treating you like a child. We shall retire her to her cottage until you have your own children for her to look after. Lona can learn from her aunt Elsbeth what she must know to care for a lady properly.”
    “Ohh, thank you, m’lady Rowena!” Lona cried, delighted, and even Arabella smiled, pleased with her victory.
    In late April there came word that little Prince Edward had died at Middleham on the ninth day of the month. Rowena longed to go to her cousin Anne and comfort her,