Twelve Kisses (4 page)

“
You're a nag,” he said amiably, “but I know a way to silence
you.”

He lowered his head, but she had a final snowball ready, and
she smeared his chin with it, laughing as he mock-roared and
fleeing when he set her onto the snowy ground to wipe his
face.

She raced back the cottage, slipping and slithering down the
fields in puffs of snow, but she did not bar the door. She
wanted
him to catch her,
after all.

* * *
*

“
Little madam!” He had forgotten how good it was to laugh out
loud, to jest and lark and play. Memories of war were far away now,
not hovering anymore, not invading his nights. She had done this
for him, his Alis, his wife.

He hurried back to their little house on the edge of the wood
and hammered on the door, not caring that more snow spilled onto
his head from the roof eaves.

“
You!” Standing in the door, he shook snow from his hair, hands
on hips. But where was she? He took a step inside.

At once a pair of warm hands covered his eyes. “I will take
another Christmas kiss now,” he heard her say. “Unless you want
your breakfast?”

“
Take or give?” he asked, recalling an
earlier conversation between them. She had said she would
not
give
him any
kisses.

She dimpled a grin at him, the little cat, clearly
remembering, too. “You shall guess which,” she answered, leaving
him to make what he would of that. “But in what order?”

“
Kiss, then breakfast.” He coiled an arm around Alis' middle
and kissed her slowly in the doorway, with her standing on
tiptoe.

* * *
*

She taught him how to make oat cakes, while huge fluffy white
flakes poured past the window shutters. They ate the cakes,
drizzled over with honey and washed down by warm blackberry tisane,
and then he suggested a game of merrils—his challenge for the
day.

“
With one more rule,” he added.

“
Each time I win a line, you take off a piece of clothing,” she
said, blushing even as she suggested it. “And the other way
about.”

He raised his eyebrows, but secretly he was pleased—he had
been about to go for more kisses. “I will build up the fire first,”
he said. “I would not have you cold when you are naked.”

She wagged a finger at him, looking fourteen again.

“
White or red?” He offered her the two pegs as he lifted the
board from a pannier.

“
Red. I must become accustomed, I suppose.” She gave a breathy
sigh and skipped away to break sticks for the fire.

* * *
*

Alis knew she was good at merrils. She may have been a poor
maker of snowmen, but with any puzzle, any maze, she could see the
shape of it. A skill she shared with David, she quickly realized,
as, time after time, he stopped her winning a line on the board by
a deftly placed peg.

“
Ah!” She slapped the table when he did it again, and he
flicked a glance at her and laughed.

“
Do not fight so hard, then,” he said. “You always did want to
win.”

“
Being brought up with Jerome, it was win, or listen to
constant gloating.” Alis stopped and stared at the red peg in her
fingers.

“
I am sorry,” David said after a space. “He was a good
brother.”

Alis nodded, wishing she did not feel comforted by his words,
or the gentle hand he placed on her shoulder. They were sitting
opposite from each other, and suddenly she longed to be closer, to
feel his arms about her. Yet he had fought on the other side from
Jerome....

“
You lost Thomas,” she said.

“
To fever, off the battle-field. Not a very glorious end, I
fear, not the kind talked about in stories. He was far older than
me, ten years. I did not know him, really.”

David was staring at the white peg in his hand, but it was the
longest he had spoken about the wars.

“
What was it like?” she ventured.

“
Ugly.” His broad shoulders hunched, and he would not look at
her. “Why do you want to know?”

“
To understand, if I can.” She surprised
herself by almost adding,
to
help.

“
Different from here.” He dropped the white peg into the board.
“I like here better and my own forge. A freshly shod horse is real.
Everyone needs horseshoes and knives sharpened and the like.” He
tapped the table and raised his head, looking straight into her
face. “I have a line.”

“
Indeed.” Alis hoped her expression would reveal nothing. She
had swapped a peg a moment ago, to make his win possible. “What
would you have me remove?”

* * *
*

Everything
, he longed to say, but he
said simply, “Your coif.”

She tugged off her new linen headdress, the one that showed
her status as a wife, and her hair tumbled out of its fastenings.
She scowled and moved to repin it, but he shook his head. “Leave
it.”

“
Why should Sir Roger think me a danger?”

She seemed surprised to have asked it, and certainly, her
question broke the mood. Putting that worry aside for the moment,
David leaned over the table and tweaked her tumble of black curls.
“He is curious, no more.”

“
Or had he a marriage in mind for you?”

She was quick and clever. His heart pounding within his chest,
David crossed his fingers against the lie and said steadily, “He
discussed the matter once. I refused.”

In truth, his lord had talked many times—he had wanted him to
wed another farrier's daughter. He had refused, many times, the
last most vehemently. He would be his own man, or nothing—and he
had wanted Alis.

“
He will not be angry with you?”

Bless her for worrying!
“Why should he
be? His horses never go lame with my shoes.”

To stop this, he unlaced his jerkin and drew it over his head.
“It's warm in here.” He felt her eyes on his bare chest and
rejoiced.

Surely she loves me, just a little? We have these days, and I
will tell her how I feel soon, very soon.

The wind whistled outside, and Alis peeped through the
shutters. “Should I go tend the horses? It is getting dark and
sleeting and snowing very fast.”

“
I shall do that, my girl.” David was already stalking for the
door as he spoke, seemingly oblivious to the fact he was
half-naked. He put his hand on the latch and turned. “Time for bed,
then, for we can do no more.”

Had he winked at her then?

“
Supper?” she ventured, wanting to delay him before he stepped
into the swirling murk.

“
Look in the panniers.”

After he had marched into the dark, Alis stood for a moment.
Should she move the merril board and set trenchers out on the
table? Or be bolder and move along with her plan?

She debated then did what she wanted.

* * *
*

Two costly wax candles were burning at either side of the bed
on each of the stools when he returned. Lit by them and the fire,
Alis was already in bed and the whole room was scented
with…

He sniffed. “Lavender?”

“
From my nosegay,” she said. Propped against pillows and draped
in her white furs, she looked beautiful. Enterprising, too, for she
had turned the merril board over and loaded it with cups and bowls.
She lifted a cup to him, and he caught a whiff of spiced wine.
“There are the cheese and apples you like, smoked meats, and some
pottage and frumenty is cooking over the fire.”

He said, as all new husbands must, “All of it smells
delicious.”

“
Tomorrow, if the weather is good, we should go out and cut
some holly and ivy for a Christmas Bush to hang from the
ceiling.”

“
And mistletoe,” he added mildly, stretching on the bed beside
her and stabbing a morsel of meat and apple with his knife. He
offered it to her, and she ate then speared cheese and slices of
apple and meat herself, feeding him.

The fire crackled and fell in on itself, and they fed each
other generously before David stretched his arms above his head,
ate a final piece of cheese and said, “This whole day has been a
kiss for me.”

The instant he admitted it, he felt foolish, but to his
horror, her eyes filled.

“
No, no,” she shook her head as he reached across the bed to
embrace her. “I am not sad. I feel the same, David, the very
same.”

Tell her you love her
, the cottage
whispered, and he opened his mouth to speak when Alis slid out of
her furs.

“
Warm, is it not?” she murmured, slanting a look at
him.

“
And will be warmer,” he answered, picking up her
half-challenge at once. At her start of alarm, he warned himself
again to go slowly—steady and tender would suit them both best, for
now.

He picked up the jug and poured them a refill of warmed,
spiced wine. “Wassail.”

She drank to honor his toast, and he swiftly lifted the merril
board and its array of dishes onto the table. Alis was still
drinking, and he admired her long white throat, the snowy paleness
of her breasts, the dark storm of her hair and intimate
curls.

“
May I give you my fifth kiss?” he asked.

She looked ready to dispute if it was the fifth, but he knew
she was ready at either number, because she pursed her
lips.

He kissed her and one handed, drew her down into the depths of
their bed. “The candles do you justice.”

“
I am glad you like them,” she said quickly. “I hoped you
would, though I know they are expensive.”

“
Sweeting, the house and its running are yours.” He smiled at
her—she was so easy to smile at—and watched the candle flame gild
the lissome outline of her breasts. Then he pretended to drain his
cup and encouraged her to do the same, rolling her empty vessel to
the foot of the bed. “In summer, we shall do this again, out of
doors, in full day.”

“
What of your work, or mine?” she quipped, gasping as he
trickled a drop of wine onto her left nipple and tongued it
off.

“
And the other.” He dipped his finger into his cup and touched
her right nipple with the wine.

She lay still as he suckled and kissed away the wine, though
he saw a pulse racing in her throat.

“
You also,” she whispered, stretching out her hand for his cup,
but he lifted it out of reach.

“
Tonight is for you, Alis.”

It was delicious, drizzling her with wine, smoothing it off
with his mouth. His lips tingled, and he became more and more
aroused. She was so nubile, so pearl-fleshed, so salty and minty
and sweet all together. Her nipples were pinker than roses, and the
gentle swell of her breasts filled the palms of his hands
perfectly.

“
David, David. “ Her hands were in his hair, rumpling his shorn
locks. Candle flame and firelight—she glowed more than both. He
licked her navel, and she kicked and moaned. “Please—”

She was ready, but he entered her slowly, looming above her
then half-turning, so he was partly on his side, and she was
cradled beneath him. Slow and sweet as warmed wine, he sipped her
and pleasured her until her hips began to jerk against his,
signaling her release, and he rode with her, swift and sure, to
their mutual end.

* * *
*

Five kisses
, Alis thought, lying on
her belly in bed, David draped over her like a heavy battle flag.
He never smothered her this way when awake, but she rather loved
his weight. She felt pleased with herself and proud of her
womanliness.

Mother never mentioned this in all her talks.

But Mother had said he should say he loved her, during or
after. “Love noises,” she had called them. David had called her
sweet, and he spoiled her, but he had not said he loved
her.

I do not care. I love him, and he wants me, and it is
enough
.

He had not spoken again of his lord, but she sensed it had not
been forgotten. She frowned in the dark, wishing he would tell her
more. But then, since when did a man tell everything?

Be content. Look for your sixth kiss
.
Which gave her an idea....

David stirred from a dream of flying, stretched and realized
he was already stretched—spread-eagled, in fact. Long ties of belts
fastened his wrists and ankles to each corner of the bed-frame. And
here came Alis, a pale shadow in the half-light, naughty as a
mermaid, sweeping light, hesitant hands up his legs.

“
You are so long, so strong,” she mumbled, flicking her hair
against his shoulders then his belly, teasing him.

“
Careful,” he warned.

“
Or else?” She tossed him a saucy look.