#volo is my comfort character i do not care what others say he is my beloved baby | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fennelwrites · 2 years

Note

I've seen your Volo fics and love them~ 👀 this may be a bit specific, so feel free to ignore if it's too specific

Volo being on a sort of "probation" to stay in the village, in return for his assistance to the professor (w/ myths possibly relating to Pokemon) and obviously everyone is distrustful of him, hard to deal with even if he knows it's justified. He goes to Akari for a bit of comfort about this

anon arceus bless you for this prompt because it's been living in my mind for a week

(one thing has changed tho, and that's that the reader isn't akari! they're the main character, just. as an adult. as stated in my rules i don't write romantic things involving minors)

second chances and gentle smiles (volo/reader)

volo is apprehended, and despite everything, you defend him. now, you have to deal with the fallout of that decision...but at least you're dealing with it together.

(cw: none. contains postgame spoilers.)

read on ao3

Your feet pounded against the dirt on the path towards Galaxy Hall as you ran through Jubilife Village. Your lungs burned from the exertion; you’d run all the way from the Obsidian Fieldlands, and you were running low on stamina. But you wouldn’t stop now. You couldn’t stop now.

You had been out on an expedition when Rei and Akari had approached you in a rush, scaring away a Starly you were observing. You were halfway through chastising the younger surveyors when they said something that made your blood run cold:

“Volo’s been captured.”

You barely heard them mention that he was being held in Kamado’s office before you took off running.

You flung open the doors to Galaxy Hall, dashing past Bagin without a word. You knew that people were looking at you strangely, but you didn’t care. As you ran up the flights of stairs, your thoughts moved a mile a minute with potential outcomes and scenarios that could play out before you. What would this mean for him? For you? For both of you?

Well, you supposed as you scrambled up the stairs to the third floor, you would soon find out.

You burst into Kamado’s office to see the commander standing over Volo, whose wrists were bound behind him. Kamado was incensed, staring at Volo with a fury you’d only seen a few times before, once when you were exiled. Volo, on the other hand, looked terrified; he had a few superficial scratches, but nothing major, suggesting he hadn’t put up much of a fight.

As you made your way inside, your eyes met Volo’s, and something inside you snapped.

You rushed forward, placing yourself between Volo and Kamado. The fury on the commander’s face changed to confusion as you met his gaze with a glare. “What is the meaning of this?” Kamado demanded, folding his arms over his chest.

You panted as you caught your breath, placing a hand on Kamado’s desk to stabilize yourself. Up until now, you’d been acting on pure instinct; as your thoughts caught up with you, you realized that you didn’t know what Kamado even intended to do with Volo. “Please,” you finally managed to say, your tone breathy from exhaustion. “Give him a second chance.”

Kamado’s eyes widened before his frown deepened. “A second chance?” he repeated. “Need I remind you of Volo’s actions that led him to this point?”

“No, you don’t need to remind me,” you answered, standing up straight. “But he–”

“He has caused incalculable pain and suffering to the people of this land,” Kamado interrupted. “Tearing a hole in the fabric of reality is hardly the kind of thing one gives second chances for!”

“And how can he atone for that if we don’t give him the chance to?” Your voice had increased in volume to match Kamado’s, and you clenched your fist at your side.

Kamado glowered at you, his eyes narrowing. “If he is given a second chance–which I’m still convinced he shouldn’t be–then how can any of us be certain he won’t use that to stab us in the back again?”

His words stung, and you shuddered under his harsh gaze. What stung most was that he had a fair point; he had strung you and the entire village along for so long before the incident at the temple. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do the same thing again? Could he be manipulating you right now?

You turned to look at Volo over your shoulder; he wasn’t looking at you and Kamado, and his hair had fallen into his face. As if sensing your gaze on him, he looked up at you; when your eyes met, you felt a surge of emotion rush through you.

He looked at you like you held his life in the palm of your hand.

You steeled your nerves, turning back towards Kamado. “It’s true. I can’t be certain that he won’t betray me…us…again,” you began, trying your best to keep your voice even. “But by casting him out, we perpetuate the cycle of pain and anguish that led him to this point in the first place. If there’s a chance that I can help him love this world as we do, no matter how small, I want to take it.”

Kamado stared at you, saying nothing, and an uneasy silence settled over the room. Your heart pounded; the commander’s face was unreadable, and you had no way of knowing whether your words had any impact.

The sound of someone clearing their throat awkwardly caught your attention; you and Kamado looked to the doorway to see Professor Laventon meekly leaning past the doorframe. “If I may offer a suggestion,” the professor said, adjusting his lab coat as he stepped into the room, “Volo’s knowledge of Pokemon and the mythology of this region far exceeds our own. He could be a considerable asset towards the completion of the Pokedex.” Laventon turned to face you with a sympathetic smile on his face. “Perhaps he could accompany our friend here on their expeditions. And in return, they could keep a close eye on him. A chaperone, of sorts.”

You returned Laventon’s smile, hoping that your silent thank you came across loud and clear, before turning back to face Kamado. “Please, Commander,” you said softly, looking at Kamado with determination.

Kamado closed his eyes, deep in thought. “Are you prepared to accept responsibility if he betrays us again?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitating. You would have time to think on your reservations–or lack thereof–later.

Kamado sighed through his nose, then opened his eyes once more. “For the sake of the professor’s research,” he stated, “I will allow it.”

You felt the tension evaporate from your body as a smile formed on your face. “Thank you–”

“But understand this,” Kamado interrupted, his stern frown returning in full. “If he shows any sign of foul intent, both of you will be exiled from this village. It is your responsibility to watch him carefully and ensure that this does not come to pass. Am I clear?”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Then you are dismissed.”

You nodded again, then turned to Volo and knelt down to undo his bindings. He was silent as you helped him to stand, but you could tell he’d relaxed since the beginning of your conversation with the commander. As you left Kamado’s office together, your eyes met, and he flashed you a tired smile as he took your hand gently.

---

You sighed and stretched as you sat up in your bed, warm sunlight filtering through the window. You glanced to the bed next to yours; Volo had left already, as he often did, to get the two of you some breakfast. You didn’t have to stay with him so long as he stayed in the village; the other villagers did a fine job of keeping an eye on him while you were here.

It wasn’t so bad when you were out doing survey work; out in the wilds, you were by yourselves, and the only stares you had to contend with were those of curious Pokemon. Volo felt the most like himself then, smiling in that charming way you’d come to adore. Back in the village, however, almost everyone gave you a wide berth, and hushed whispers followed you wherever you went.

You’d experienced something similar when you first arrived here, but you couldn’t imagine how Volo felt. The occupants of the village had always liked him to your knowledge, even if they thought he was a little strange. Now, though, they treated him even worse than they’d ever treated you.

The sound of the door opening broke you out of your thoughts; you looked up to see Volo entering quietly, a basket of food in his hands. He had put his hair back in the bun he’d worn before, but since he was no longer in the Gingko Guild, he’d swapped the old uniform out for a simple kimono and trousers. His eyes were tired, but when they met yours, they lit up as he smiled.

“Good morning,” you greeted, standing to meet him in the middle of the small room.

“Same to you,” Volo replied, slipping off his shoes and placing the basket of food down by the hearth. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded, taking a seat by the hearth and rolling your shoulders. “You?”

“Alright, all things considered.” Volo sat next to you and opened the basket; the scent of potato mochi met your nose, and you heard your stomach rumble faintly.

The two of you ate in silence, comfortable with each other’s presence. You glanced at Volo out of the corner of your eye; he ate slowly, appearing deep in thought about something. You inched closer to him, placing a hand over his gently. “Everything okay?”

Volo sighed, putting down his plate without meeting your gaze. “They were whispering again.”

You nodded in understanding, squeezing his hand gently. “Oh.”

“Not…just about me,” he continued, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “About you, too.”

You blinked in surprise. “What are they saying?”

“I don’t…think you want to know.”

You sighed, not meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Volo was silent; you felt him tremble under your hand, and you saw his bottom lip quiver ever so slightly. “Why?” he asked quietly, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Why what?” you replied, turning to face him fully.

“Why would you help me like this?” Volo met your gaze, and his eyes were filled with an uncharacteristic desperation and fear. “The commander was right. I’ve caused so much pain to the people of this world. Not only that, but I’m directly responsible for much of your suffering here.” He squeezed your hand a little too tightly, and you held back a wince. “You had every right to turn your back on me; you could have kept that same life you had here. People wouldn’t be treating you like this if you’d abandoned me. But you didn’t. Why?”

Your breath caught in your throat; you had never seen Volo like this before. There was no deception, no sarcasm, no double entendre; his heart was laid bare in front of you, and you could tell that this terrified him more than anything Kamado could do. Right now, he wasn’t the happy-go-lucky merchant or the devotee of a silent god; he was just a man who desperately needed someone to lean on.

Almighty Sinnoh, you were in deep.

You gently placed your free hand on Volo’s cheek, and he flinched slightly. “There’s a lot of reasons why I’m doing this,” you said softly, smiling at him. “I meant what I said in Kamado’s office. I love this world, and I want you to love it, too. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see that through, because…”

You trailed off, blushing as you realized where you were headed with that sentence. Volo frowned, placing his other hand over the one you had on his cheek. “Because what?”

Well. No turning back now.

You steeled your nerves and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Volo’s lips. You felt him stiffen as you lingered for just a moment before pulling back. “Because I love you,” you whispered; despite the pounding of your heart in your eardrums, it felt like the most normal thing in the world to say.

“Oh,” Volo replied, his face flushing.

Your blush grew to match his as reality settled in around you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable–”

Suddenly, Volo tugged you forward and crashed his lips into yours, making you squeak in surprise. You quickly adjusted, however, draping your arms over his shoulders as your eyelids fluttered closed. His hands found their way to your waist, and he held you close, almost as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You stayed like that for what felt like a small eternity before Volo pulled back slightly, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “I think I get it now,” he whispered, meeting your eyes. “I love you too. In case you, um, couldn’t tell.”

You laughed softly. “I figured after that, but it’s nice to hear.”

Volo pulled you back into an embrace, and you nuzzled into his shoulder. He began rubbing small circles into your back with his thumb, and you hummed in contentment. “I think our breakfast is getting cold,” you mused, your gaze falling on a forgotten plate of mochi.

“I know,” Volo replied; you didn’t miss the way his grip tightened ever so slightly.

“Beni would be pissed if he learned we let them cool this much,” you joked, not moving from your place in Volo’s arms.

Volo laughed softly; to you, it was a sound more precious than diamonds. “He’ll get over it. I want to stay like this for a while.”

You smiled against his shoulder, closing your eyes.

“Me too.”

#volo #volo x reader #pokemon legends arceus #pla spoilers #legends spoilers #pokemon volo #writing #requests #been a fanfic author for 10+ years but will i ever learn how to properly write a kiss? absolutely not

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knittastically · 4 years

Text

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 28

POSS/PROB NSFW, Depends on your POV. THE DECISION IS YOURS

This is a looooong Chapter be warned.

Thank you all for your patience this chapter has been a long time coming but serious Family issues took precedence, as indeed they should. It is likely that this will be the last chapter for a little while. However I am not abandoning the idiots just yet and have several ideas for future chapters. By way of a change I might have a dalliance with the rather lovely John Porter.

Raymond de Merville did not die on a beach in Ireland, of course he didn’t. He made it back to Rouen and has decided to marry a feisty little baggage called Isabé.

A fiction, based hardly at all on a fiction, with the addition of some other fictional characters and one or two real ones

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26

Part 27

You can also find all chapters here on AO3

If you want in or out of the Tag List (at the bottom of the page) just let me know via message and it’ll be done in a flash.

Squinting against the first vicious rays of sunlight, my head pounds. Not for a moment did I think I would spend my wedding night sleeping in a hard chair. My back and neck are stiff. Ribs and chest ache from the effort of screaming, yelling and crying, and each time I swallow my throat burns. Raymond was right, I did not close my eyes that night but not in the way he insinuated. I need something to drink, to slake my thirst and ease my throat but there’s nothing to hand, more fool me! The water ewer and basin are in pieces on the floor, the cups are God knows where; as for wine all that’s left is a dark stain on the wall ending in a sticky puddle glueing potsherds to the floor.

The bedchamber looks like a battlefield and most things that could be used as a missile have been. The footstool is upended in the corner, food is scattered on the floor, and along with my shift, my wedding gown is a crumpled, wine stained, rag flung under the table. Turning stiffly, I look across to where Raymond is sprawled face down across the mattress, his head is turned away from me and one of my shoes lies next to him on the pillow. It was the last thing I threw at him but I missed; it bounced off the wall, and all night it has laid where it fell, bastard I hate him! Raymond mumbles in his sleep but barely moves, and the distance between chair and bed might as well be a chasm between us.

My eyes prick with tears as I remember him speaking the words that bound us together. His beautiful eyes sparkling as starting with my thumb, he placed the ring over it and then each finger as he declared. “In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Finally, he placed it over my ring finger with the words; *Lo te esposy, Molher* and slid it gently down over the knuckles. Then drawing me towards him he whispered. “Mon amour, Mon coeur, Ma Vie." "The words are inscribed inside the ring Isabé, never forget them.” Despite his large, calloused, soldiers’ hands, his touch was gentle as he cupped my face, his lips soft and warm as he brushed them against mine, but his eyes, oh God, his eye sparkled and flashed, speaking silently of things to come.”

I pull my cloak tightly round me; not for warmth, just the comfort of it. My eyes are gritty, and with a sigh I lean back in the chair praying for sleep. I am in that drowsy half world between sleeping and waking, and I feel as if I am floating.

“Mon Amour, Mon Coeur, Ma Vie:” The soothing words slide into my ears as I feel the gentle brush of lips and beard against my forehead. “Raymond?” “Shhh my love, hush. He settles me down into softness and slides in beside me.

“Fuck” I feel him jolt, then something hits the floor...the shoe

Earlier

Raymonds fingers snag a little on the delicate fabric of my gown as he slides his hand oh so slowly up the inside of my leg and as he presses a kiss to my knee, I feel the heat of his mouth through the silk of my wedding gown. A slow, easy, confident smile settles on his lips as he hesitates for a moment before brushing the tips of his long fingers up along the crease of my hip and hidden from view cups his hand gently over the mound of soft flesh between my thighs. It was the lightest touch, but my breath catches, and my eyes widen as I hold his look hoping to stare him down and conceal the fact that I burn for him. He is so sure of himself I swat his hand away and hiss at him “You are too forward My Lord, are you trying to claim a husbands rights before you are my husband, be I careful I don’t say no to you and leave you on the Cathedral steps.”

“Mon Coeur, we both know that I have already claimed a husbands rights in part, and I don’t recall any complaints from you.” The slight breeze ruffles his unfashionably short hair, Raymond is ever the soldier and doesn’t subscribe to the longer, sleek styles favoured by the courtiers. His broad smile reaches his eyes and settles into creases around them; eyes full of mischief. “Chérie, be careful” He warns me with a low growl that it’s a mistake to dare him, because where I am concerned, he will always take up the challenge.

“I said nothing.” “Perhaps not in words my darling, but your eyes, they say a great deal” He smirks at me. “Now we should go, it would not do to keep His Grace waiting.” And as he mounts up on Diable, Mattieu barks out the order to the escort and we make our way into the city and towards the Cathedral.

“Raymond why couldn’t we have married in the family Chapel?”

“I should have preferred that Chérie, all this overblown nonsense just for show but protocol demands that the Baron de Merville marries in the Cathedral, in full view of everyone. Perhaps I should have eloped with you that would have been easier still.”

“Pfft, eloping is a young man’s game, I wouldn’t have wished to put such a strain on an old soldier” His eyebrows fly almost to his fringe, then he raises just the left one. “Most considerate of you.” He drawls, “I shall ask you in the morning whether you still believe me to be an old man or not.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile, and heat rising in my cheeks isn’t entirely due to the sun beating down. It is only as we are being greeted by His Grace that I realise Raymond has called himself Baron.

Archbishop Robert III Poulain waits before the great West Doorway of what is no more than a glorified building site. A raging fire 9 years ago saw to that and not much remains of the once magnificent Cathedral; a few stones here and there, some of the columns and the Tour Saint Romain. I catch sight of Henri and he blows me a kiss it’s the sign we agreed and I heave a sigh of relief.

We stand before His Grace as he blesses us with Holy water and begins the ceremony. **“Raymond Christophe de Merville vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Pelletier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?”**

Now is my moment, and taking a deep breath, I draw myself to my full height, which is to say the top of my head is somewhere near Raymonds shoulder and I speak out in as firm a voice as I can manage. “Your Grace, Pelletier is not my name.” Surprise registers on his face and he gapes a little as he looks from me, to Raymond, to The King and back again to me. I hear the gasps and muttering of the congregation nearest to us.

“Isabé, what are you up to.?” Raymond hisses. “Don’t worry.” I slip my hand into his, gently squeezing his fingers, it gives me courage and I continue.

“My name was created to protect me.” Archbishop Poulain regards me through narrowed eyes, I hesitate and wonder if I am doing right but it is too late now, and I plough on. “The name I wish to have recorded is Isabé Aaliz Fournier – Bouvier” Those nearest to us gasp, the significance of birth and ancestry is not lost on them, and both men are well known. Blanche, Henri and of course Sebastien are the focus of everyone’s attention; Sebastien Fournier smiles at me whith such a look of pride and joy on his face. Henri nods, Blanche presses her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss, she is the one who will have to bear the gossip and tittle-tattle, yet she has agreed to this.

“I love you, my beautiful, fearless Lioness.” Raymond raises my hand to his lips.

The sun beats down hot and unrelenting and my heart is pounding so much I can hear it.

“What are you waiting for Poulain?” The King’s words ring out above the commotion. “Record the name and continue with the ceremony.” and with his voice only a little shaky the Archbishop begins again.

“Raymond Christophe de Merville, vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?” It’s credit to Raymond than when he answers his voice carries only the faintest hint of a laugh

“Volo”

His Grace still glowering asks in a sharp voice. Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier, vis accípere Raymond Christophe de Merville hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?

“Volo”

I smile up at Raymond as he removes the small gold ring from the little finger of his right hand, it is blessed by the Archbishop, returned, and Raymond speaks the words which make me his wife.

We are married in law and all I want is for us to leave now, to escape from the clamour of the guests and the heat of the day but the Nuptial Mass must be endured, and it is interminable. At last we kneel as the canopy is lowered over us, a pristine white veil the size of a bed sheet; sheilding us from everyone but God, and as we prostrate ourselves on the cool newly swept floor, it is held only inches above us. We are now one body, one flesh and protected by the Almighty. I’d rather be protected by Raymond; he is a far more ruthless bodyguard. As we wait for the final blessing, he shuffles closer to me and not caring whether anyone sees him strokes his hand down over my back, though the whole congregation must surely have heard my squeak of surprise as he squeezes my arse. I glare across at him, his face is a picture of innocence as he whispers. “Soon, Mon Coeur, Soon.” “You are shameless My Lord” I hiss back at him, but my feigned annoyance doesn’t stop the heat I feel.

The moment we stand to make our way to the great door, a blur of dark hair and blue gown speeds towards Raymond. “Papa,” With a squeal, Nicolette launches herself at her father and he sweeps her straight up into his arms, beaming at her. “Papa, can I ride home with you on Diable?” he kisses her cheek. “Oh, little sparrow I don’t think that is a good idea.” The corners of her mouth turn down as she frowns at him, then wheedles. “Please Papa, please.” “Sweetheart, you know he is an ill-tempered brute and with these crowds he might not behave.”

From the corner of my eye I see Eleanor pushing her way towards us, ignoring the contemptuous, disapproving looks of her “Betters”. “Nicolette, that is not the way to behave in church child.” Her boisterous daughter flashes her a mutinous look then settles herself against Raymond, then twines her arms around his neck as she nuzzles her nose into his beard and kisses him “But he likes me Papa and I’m not scared of him, I feed him apples.” I hear the slightly strangled noise in his throat as he croaks. “Eleanor?”

“Don’t look to me on this Raymond.”

“What have you been up to you little imp, the truth now hein.” She drops her head and pouts; Raymond catches my eye and I press my lips together in an effort not to laugh. “I just go to the stables and hide until the boys go away, then give them to him, it’s alright I do it just the way you showed me with my pony, and he doesn’t hurt me, it tickles my hand when he takes them.” She giggles. “He puts his head down and lets me stroke him.”

“Christ and all his saints, I’ll have the hides of those idiot stable lads.”

“No Papa, I go in and hide until they’ve gone away.”

“Oh, she is definitely her father’s daughter Raymond.” I grin at him he gives me “That” look, rolling his eyes at me

“Sweetheart, he’s dangerous.” He kisses the tip of Nicolette’s nose. “Not with me.” Nicolette sets her mouth in a tight little line and juts her chin out.

“Nor me.” I remind him quietly as I rest my hand lightly on his arm. “Now stop trying to frighten her and let her ride with you.” I wink at Eleanor; her smile is warm and genuine.

“Before you go Madame.” Eleanor steps towards me. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“For God’s sake then ask me Eleanor, there is no need of formality, it is Isabé to you” I drop a sisterly kiss to her cheek. The wife acknowledges the "Sometime Mistress," she and Nicolette have my friendship and protection.” let the hypocrites think what they like.

“Isabé, when his Majesty leaves here, I am ordered travel with him to Paris and then I go South. I have no idea how long my commission will take me away from home and from Nicolette; would you be willing to care for her whilst I’m away?” “Of course Eleanor, don’t worry on that score. Besides, I think she would run rings around her Grandfather in a very short time” “Between you and me, Isabé she already does.” I lay a hand on her arm. “We shall take great care of her;" Raymond is standing beside me and I smile up at him in time to catch the look that passes between them and it unsettles me.

By the time we reach the Chateau, I fell hot, sticky and more than a little crabby; people have been crowding around us pressing and shoving and I am glad the Hall is cooler, sweet with the scent of herbs and decked out in as much finery as could be gathered together. The colourful banners sway in what little breeze comes through the doors. Every table is covered with a linen cloth, cleaned and bleached until it is pristine white and the best of the household table ware is set on it, heaven knows where it was dug it out from, but I suspect most of it hasn’t been used in years.

Fournier strides over, and I move to embrace him, I know that all eyes are on us, but he catches hold of my right hand and bows to me. His voice is solemn but his eyes twinkle. “Welcome, Madame de Merville.” Quietly he adds, “Daughter” Protocol has been preserved,

“Forgive me for yesterday…. Father, I…” He cuts me off quietly, “Daughter, there is nothing to forgive.” And with a broad smile he steps back, turns to face the high table and slams the point of his staff to the floor to bring everyone to order as Philip Augustus King of France takes his place as guest of honour.

Du Four has surpassed himself, and my Father has likely bankrupted the household. A wedding feast is a costly business but when The King is guest of honour, then you had best be ready to ignore the expense and simply raid the coffers. Imported wines and the best Ales flow freely, attentive pages make sure that cups are never drained. Dish after dish of food is served all bathed in rich sauces thickened with almonds or cream and flavoured with herbs or expensive spices, dried fruits, lemons and bitter oranges. When you feed a king, then there is no budget.

But I have little appetite, excitement and nerves have seen to that and so I only manage to pick at one or two mouthfuls. A stream of guests keeps me occupied as they offer gifts and congratulations and my face aches from smiling politely. Raymond coaxes me to eat, offering me choice morsels speared from his own platter. “Isabé” he strokes my leg “I wish you would eat something, because I can promise that you will need your strength, you won’t close your eyes before daybreak.” His voice is husky and seductive as he offers me another titbit, this time from his fingers, brushing them gently against my lips, coaxing me to part them.

I see the wolfish glint in his eyes, he is playing me the bastard. Too little food and a little too much wine, makes me reckless and two can play at those games. I keep my own eyes firmly fixed on his as he pops the morsel into my mouth. Closing my lips around the tips of his fingers, I gently suck the rich sauce from them. Does anyone notice? I don’t care if they do. Even bolder now, I slide my hand up the inside of his leg, barely ghosting over the fabric, but he feels it. Up and up to the join of hip and thigh until I can go no further, still our gaze is locked, still he is daring me, and I take the challenge, rippling my fingers over his groin. There it is, that soft rumble in the back of his throat, as his eyes widen, then flutter closed for a moment: suddenly he slaps his large hand over mine. From beneath his heavy-lidded eyes he watches me for a moment and catches his lower lip between his teeth biting hard. Then he leans across to me. “Mon Coeur, you had best be careful what games you choose to play, because if you keep teasing I’ll not wait to get you into bed, I’ll haul you behind the screens passage and fuck you where we stand no matter who sees.”

Oh, and he would do it, I know he wood and though his voice is no more than a whisper, it is as hot as hellfire, I turn away and reach for my wine, the cup shakes in my hand as I take a mouthful. I am served right; I should know better than to dare him. There are times when I can barely withstand Raymond’s powerful heat, it makes me wary and wanton in equal measure, as I glance back at him, he is grinning, I still can’t hold his look so I bury my face in my wine cup once more, and thank God I am rescued by His Majesty.

“You know Madame, not once did I imagine I should ever see Raymond married, except of course to his chosen profession”

“Not even when the redoubtable Eleanor Forrestier crossed his path Sire?

“Not even then, nor even after the birth of their daughter, despite scandalising everyone by living as man and wife. Somehow the thought of marriage didn’t seem to appeal to either of them.” He smiles reassuringly at me; does he sense, I wonder, that deep down I still have fears and misgivings concerning them?

“Well Sire I can see how a life in your service that is dedicated to diplomacy, espionage, and assassination wouldn’t easily lend itself to marriage, particularly if both husband and wife are employed in the same profession.” My voice is sharper than I’d intended, but Philip choses to ignore it, other than to raise a brow. He steeples his fingers, pressing them against his lips as he watches me closely. His smile broadens.

“But then, he came across you Isabé, and…” A string of foul oaths to my right interrupts the conversation, and I turn in time to see Raymond trying to get out of his seat. I hadn’t realised he was so drunk, though no doubt he’s had years of practice hiding the effects when it was necessary to do so; but tonight he has failed and has managed not only to entangle himself in his cloak but has somehow caught the hem of it firmly around chair. I snigger as he tries to free himself; glowering at me, he wobbles, trips and lands flat on his arse with chair on top of him. I try not to laugh, but it’s impossible, the shock on his face is comical. I hold my breath waiting for the tirade, but he just blinks, clearly confused as to how he ended up on the floor. Then starts to giggle like an idiot, whilst an unfortunate page tries to haul him back onto his feet. No easy task as the lad is slight, no taller than I am, and Raymond is flailing around like a cat on ice. Finally, he is upright.

Swaying, he points at me, leers and pokes me on the breast. “Soft” he slurs, then adds in a whisper, which is anything but. “Need to piss, will come back and we’ll dance.” He turns away too quickly, sweeps around in a full circle and looks mightily confused when he sees me still in front of him, rather than the exit to the kitchen. With careful, over deliberate steps he shuffles himself about then lurches through into the screens passage, presumably heading for the courtyard. I shudder, God help him trying to negotiate his layers of clothing.

“Your husband seems to have a liking for the wine tonight Madame de Merville.” I hesitate for a moment; the sound of my new name is still very strange to my ears.

“Indeed, sire too much of a liking it seems, and forgive me, but I think what you really mean is that he’s as drunk as a fiddlers bitch, if he drinks any more I should think he will have difficulty in raising a smile let alone much else this night; though at the moment Majesty I am more concerned that he will stamp my feet to a bloody pulp whilst we are dancing. I look away, oh God my tongue has run away with me and I will no doubt be disgraced by my over familiarity.

Even over the racket, anyone close by, hears me. Conversation tails away, Gaultier presses his lips into a tight thin line fighting a laugh. His Grace the Archbishop splutters into his wine cup, then frowns at me clearly shocked by my impertinence. “Isabé Aaliz”, Maman gives me my full name; a clear sign she is displeased, and Philip Augustus just stares at me. Then I see the twinkle in his eyes: his lips twitch, curl, then widen into a smile as he throws his head back, and he slaps both hands down flat on the table as he roars with laughter. “God and all his saints, but Raymond will have his work cut out with you Madame.” Then he whispers, “Now I know why the hard-bitten bastard fell for you Isabé; you are definitely the woman for him.”

He takes my left hand and raises it to his lips; then plucks the exquisite brooch from his own cloak and pins it to mine; the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed it marks me out as being in the King’s favour. Philip’s smile is broad and genuine, it’s clear that he has a real affection for Raymond. “Oh, and what a wife, quick, clever and beautiful: He is my Wolf Isabé, my eyes and ears, the guardian of my peace and dispenser of my justice. I appoint you "Keeper of my Wolf," keep him well, I wish you both long life, great happiness and God willing an heir.”

Before I can reply a page sidles up to me.” Madame, a message for you from the Seneschal, he regrets the intrusion, but he requests your assistance with an urgent matter” Frowning I scan his face. “Urgent?” “Yes Madame, it something he insists only you can resolve.”

Raymond, it can only be Raymond, blind drunk, and belligerent or slumped in a heap somewhere, sleeping it off and snoring like a hog, well he can damned well wait.

“You may tell the Seneschal I shall be there as soon as I can.” The lad is flustered. “Madame I am to say the Seneschal begs your pardon, but it is something that must be done straight away.” With shrug I turn to Philip.

“Majesty, I beg you to excuse me, it seems….”

Go, Isabé and when you return, then honour me with a dance.” He waves me away with a broad grin. I drop him an untidy curtesy, I have never really mastered that art, then follow the page towards the kitchens. The heat, smell and noise is enough to almost knock me flat and I stand in the doorway, peering through the smoke and steam, Fournier is not in the kitchen, nor is he in his makeshift office, I can’t see him amongst swearing, sweating pot boys and kitchen maids. Du Four is bellowing at the top of his voice, but he catches sight of me and jerks his head towards the door, yelling “Outside Madame.” I push my way over to the door, but Fournier is nowhere to be seen.

A strong arm snakes firmly around my waist, as a large hand is clamped firmly over my mouth, stifling my strangled scream, and in a panic I thrash and squirm to free myself “Hush my love, hush, be still.” The voice, the familiar chuckle, it’s Raymond, my first thought had been Théo. He presses his lips to my temple and as he sets me set down wrapping his arms more gently around me, I am conscious of the hard-muscled chest rising and falling against my back. It dawns on me that he isn’t slurring his words and relief gives way to anger as I twist around. “You aren’t drunk at all you bastard” I confront him punctuating the words with smacks to his chest. Raymond laughs “Forgive me my darling, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just needed to get you out from the hall and this seemed the best way.”

He lowers his voice, to a seductive growl and it washes over me. “This is our wedding night Chérie and I’m not fool enough to render myself drunk and incapable; you see I intend to give you my absolute attention and nothing is going to hinder me in that.” His mouth is a feather touch on mine, he flicks his tongue against my lips, and I can’t help the mewl that escapes me. I know well what that tongue can do and can already feel heat flaring in my belly. “As for the other question, there is no way on this earth that we will spend our first night together to the accompaniment of a drunken rabble, prancing around outside our chamber, singing filthy songs and yelling even filthier jokes to encourage us.” Another kiss, his tongue flickers against mine. “Nor do we have need of the Archbishop, sprinkling Holy water and muttering incantations over the bed.” The third kiss and he scrapes his teeth over my lower lip and whispers against my mouth. “Because I am sure we can devise a suitable benediction of our own.” There is no mistaking the desire I his voice, but we have been missed, and the rowdy guests are already spilling out into the courtyard, and are dammed if they are going to be denied the traditional wedding night revels. “To bed, to bed, to bed.” The chanting grows louder, and the cry goes up. We have been seen Raymond is ready to fly.

“Chérie, hold tight to my hand, stay close by and when I say run, then run like hell.”

I catch sight of His Grace, walking towards us Philip is beside him, the guests are getting closer yelling and singing, Raymond grips my hand and growls, “Now, Isabé, move, now!” turning quickly he drags me along with him. I gather my skirts up out of the way and even though he shortens his stride, I struggle to keep pace with him as we dash across the courtyard; Raymond slows, dips and lifts me up slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Before I even have chance to settle, he quickens his pace and with his arms wrapped around my thighs to keep me steady, runs towards the exercise yard as I bounce up and down on his shoulder. My veil and hair hang down and as I grip his belt with my right hand, I wriggle to get more comfortable’ “You have a very nice arse Raymond.” I yell up at him “very nice not an old man’s arse at all nice and firm.” I can’t help but giggle as I stroke my other hand over his backside then squeeze, hard. He missteps slightly and growls. “Behave woman, else I shall wallop yours and you’ll not sit down for a week.”

The laugh bubbles up in me. “Pfft I doubt I shall be doing much sitting My Lord.” Without answering he sets me down beside the massive gates leading to the exercise yard, shoves open the wicket and pushes me inside. I hear the door being slammed and barred shut behind us as we head for the tower in the far corner and I wonder what the hell we are doing going into a storeroom; when my eyes become accustomed to the dim light, I realise it’s not a storeroom, it’s a sally port. Guillaume is waiting inside for us with his own horse and Diable, who is snickering and pawing at the ground. The floor slopes downwards to another doorway directly opposite; it’s as high and wide as the one we have just entered, large enough for a mounted horse to pass straight through from one side to the other without the rider even lowering his head.

“All is ready as you ordered Monseigneur, Matthieu is out there and waiting.

“Thank you, Guillaume” Raymond heads through the second door to speak to Matthieu and has soon as he is gone, Guillaume whispers to me.

“Isabé I beg you if you can’t love him, then for my sake be kind to him, he deserves that at least, but I hope you can love him and love him well.” Before I can answer Raymond has returned and without a word lifts me up onto the stallions back and springs up behind me, as soon as he has gathered the reins up in his right hand, he clamps his left arm around me and with the slightest kick to the horse we are off. “Are you happy Mon Coeur?” His lips are soft against my temple and I purr a “Hmmm” in reply, as I lean back against him and close my eyes, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s gait and the sway of our bodies. But as we pass through the city and finally through Western gate, I realise that this must have been well planned, we are not challenged by any of the watch or the guard despite it being long past curfew. And I know that for protection we are being followed by Guillaume and Matthieu, because occasionally, I hear other horses behind us, not too far distant.

It seems Blanche and Henri have given over the Manor to us and in turn they will occupy our chamber at the Chateau. The guest chamber is newly decorated, the bed is piled with pillows and draped with the best of the household linens and coverlets, the walls have been freshly lime washed. Lanterns with beeswax candles are placed around the room casting patches of soft light on the walls and floor; trays of food and wine have been set out and the well-wishers from the household have left, all that is except for Jehanne. She busies herself pouring scented water for me to wash, then sets too detaching the necklace she has used as a jewelled fillet to secure my veil. Raymond lounges against the far wall and glances out of the window, not that there is much to see in the dusk.

“Jehanne you may leave that; my wife has no need of you now.” There is a tenderness in his voice as he says, “my wife”, but Jehanne only looks up sharply and stares at him, from her expression, you’d think Raymond had asked her to strip naked and juggle candle spikes.

“M’amselle Mercier I am asking you to leave, I am perfectly capable and more than willing to help Madame disrobe, I’m sure you understand.” He winks at her; she sets her jaw and squares up to him feet planted slightly apart, hands on hips

“Raymond forgive me, but Jehanne is not your servant to dismiss, even though she is now part of your household.” “My love.” He smiles indulgently. “We have no need of Jehanne, these rough hands will do just as well. He strokes his fingers down my cheek.

“Monseigneur, tonight most of all, it is right and proper that I am here to help Madame.” Jehanne is on her high horse, her tone is cool, polite, and completely lacking in any respect whatsoever.

“Jehanne.” Raymond steps towards her. “Tonight, of all nights I have no mind to allow anyone other than myself to help my Bride disrobe. The choice is yours, go now, else I shall sling you over my shoulder and dump you on your backside out in the corridor.” Raymond growls at her, but it is not very. The time for curfew has passed, but no one stops us as we make our way through the city threatening, and she will not give.

“I have my duties. Monseigneur” and as she steps towards me again, Raymond hefts her up off her feet and shrieks like a doused cat; he strides towards the door and as promised carries her out: her face is purple with fury. “Descoteaux, to me now!” he bellows and immediately I hear the Captain thudding up the stairs, just in time to see his Lord setting Jehanne down on her backside. “Take this baggage away man, and tell whoever is to bring our food in the morning to knock then leave it outside the door.” Stifling his laughter, Mathieu helps Jehanne to her feet, and before he can answer Raymond, the chamber door is slammed shut.

He sees me struggling to unpin the necklace Jehanne used as a fillet, it is fixed so securely to my veil and the band beneath, that if I continue to worry at it, I’ll likely tear the delicate fabric. “Isabé let me.” He is careful, deft and practiced, of course he is; I wonder how many times he has done the same for Eleanor, he lays the necklace on the table, then unpins the veil from the band. “Chérie,” He draws me towards him, and threads his fingers through my hair, his lips are warm and soft against mine. “Mon Coeur,” he whispers. “I have some news that you should hear, though I doubt you will like it; I had planned to tell you this tomorrow but there is no easy way and I suppose sooner is better than later.” He smiles at the anxious look on my face. “Sweetheart, I have an assignment from His Majesty, a week from tomorrow I must leave Rouen and travel to Paris, where I shall take command of the Kings forces and then travel South.” He flashes me a rueful smile as he pours two cups of wine handing one to me.

I can only stare at him and feel a knot forming in my stomach. “Be calm Isabé.” I tell myself, “Be calm you are not a silly girl you are the bride, if not yet the wife of Raymond De Merville.” But it seems my heart is hell bent on ignoring my head.

“You must think I’m an idiot Raymond. Now I understand the look that passed between you and Eleanor, when she asked me to take care of Nicolette.” I had meant my words to be cool and calm, but I sound like a petulant child.

“What?” Cocking his head on one side his face smooths and slides into a benign mask.

“There.” I poke him in the chest and step back. “There, is the, inoffensive, calm expression of the King’s Ambassador, I see what the two of you are about now, conniving and scheming. You promised, me, the pair of you that you would not fuck each other in your bed Raymond, but I grant there was no mention made of any other.” As I raise my hand to wallop his face, he grabs my wrist stalling the blow; his fingers digging hard into my flesh. When he speaks, he is considered and careful, as if he is trying to make Nicolette understand something. “No, Isabé, you do not see; you do not see at all.”

“Then forgive me for being stupid and help me to grasp what you mean, My Lord; what stamp of man waits until his wedding night to tell his Bride that he is leaving in a week to travel South, and with his bloody Mistress.” I wrench my arm free and as I step back, he steps forward, his eyes burning like blue fire, we are almost toe to toe, he towers over me, but he lets go a breathy grunt as I slam my balled fists into his chest.

“Don’t you dare tell me that you hadn’t planned all along to keep her as your Mistress you scheming bastard. No, you have taken great pains pretending to put her aside, just to mollify little Isabé.” I aim my fists at his chest again, but this time he grabs at both my wrists.

“Shut up Isabé, I made a promise and so did Eleanor, as I stand by mine, so she will stand by hers.”

“You can’t tell me that your paths won’t cross Raymond, if you do, I shan’t believe you.”

“Mother of God, listen to yourself woman!”

“Let go of me you arse.” Twisting and turning, I try to wrench myself free of him, but he tightens his grip on my wrists. “I said let go, if you think I’m spending my wedding night with you, then you had best think again, you are lying, conniving shit.”

I’m in no mood to play the Lady, I scream and curse him with every barrack room oath I have ever heard Hénri use. He loosens his grip slightly and as I yank my arm away, I aim a kick at his shins for good measure; he shifts smartly to one side so I miss, of course.

His eyes are even darker now, I know that look, he is fiercely angry, and though his voice is low it sends a shiver down my spine; calm, angry Raymond is enough to chill my blood, and I step back quickly.

“There is no plan between us Madame. “I have my assignment, Eleanor will have hers, our paths may cross but it is unlikely and that is an end to it, she will be well on her way before I even leave Rouen.

“So, you say. His Majesty says jump and you ask, “How High” then run off South to fuck Eleanor up, down and sideways. Well do it and get a bastard son on her and name him heir into the bargain. It will save me the trouble of it all. You should have married her she would make you a far better wife than I will.” I will not let the tears fall no matter how much they sting and burn; I refuse to let him see me weep because of her. Suddenly he lunges at me and grabs at my shoulders hauling me forward until I slam into his chest. Pressing his forehead to mine, he is so close that I can’t see his features only the furrows and frown lines on his brow. His eyes glitter, but not with anger, with sadness and I feel the heat of him through my gown.

“I have no need to get a son on Eleanor, nor even on you Isabé, I already have a son.” He breathes out the words like the last whisper of a dying man, nonetheless, they are as solid as a punch to my stomach. I can’t speak, my heart is pounding and as he steps away the words slowly seep into my brain. Raymond’s face is so pale in the soft light, that his scar seems even more livid against his ashen skin, and realise from his shocked expression that he had not intended to tell me about his son; at least not yet.

The keening starts deep in my chest, rises and when it escapes, the howl of a wounded animal echoes around the room. I lurch towards the table, grab anything within easy reach and launch it at him, apples, chunks of bread, platters. Few of them connect as I hurl them, but I need to smash, break and destroy something, anything to help release the anger and pain. “My God you bastard, you conniving, scheming, lying bastard.” The words drop from my mouth like venom.

“I did not lie to you Isabé”

“Bollocks!” I step toe to toe with him. I swear I see the slightest grin ghosting across his lips, but when I blink it’s gone. “So you did not lie, but were you ever going to tell me I wonder?” I have to tilt my head back a little to stare him in the eyes. Or were you just going to keep quiet, until the day a strapping young man strides into the Chateau, demanding his right of inheritance. Strutting around while I smile graciously, forced accept that any son, I may bear you is disinherited. Am I to sit there like some silly, obedient little fool as the bastard is made heir while the household looks on in pity?” There is no answer from him.

“Where is he Raymond” I growl at him. “Is he in Rouen with his whore of a mother or have you hidden the bastard elsewhere, Paris perhaps? “Answer me Raymond. You miserable prick, damn you ANSWER ME!” I snatch up the ewer then send it crashing to the floor, sprays of water and shards of pot spatter over Raymond’s boots. The wine jug is next and as I grab for it, Raymond lunges across, but I snatch it out of his reach, slopping some of the contents down my wedding gown. An arc of wine shimmers in the candlelight as the pot sails past him and smashes to pieces against the wall, staining the new plaster.

In a flash, he has me whirled around and pinned against the table, knocking the breath from me. “A warning Isabé, I beg of you, for your own sake, never, never speak of them in that way again, you know nothing of it” His voice is breathy and cracked, his eyes full of such pain, and sadness as he blinks furiously, and I realise he is blinking back tears, but my heart won’t soften “They have names, they are Theodora and Christophe and I have neither seen, nor heard of them for over five years.” With a deep shuddering sigh, he scrubs the palms of his hands up and down over his face and back up through his hair making it stick out at wild angles, and he looks every one of his forty-eight battered, hard fought, years.

“I am going to bed Isabé.” His voice is barely a whisper, he seems broken as he stretches out his hand to me. I answer him so quietly I doubt he hears, “If you think I’m going to lie with you, wedding night or no, then you had best think again Raymond; you would have no joy of it, and you would be as well to shove your pizzle into a knot hole than force me.” Oh, he hears me, and grabs arms digging into the flesh above my elbows. “You are my wife Isabé, mine in body and soul; my property to do with as I wish, and no one would condemn me if took you against your will. But think on this; whether drunk, sober or crazed, I have never, in my life forced a woman against her will and never shall.

He is hurting, I can see it in his eyes, but for a second, there is such tenderness there as he strokes his fingers down my cheek, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before he turns away. I watch him for a moment as he starts to undress, then turn my back. The bed creaks as he slides beneath the covers and I sneak a glance and he is laying on his side with his back to me. In a last act of pettiness, I fling my shoe at him, it bounces off the wall and lands beside him; he doesn’t even flinch. Arsehole.

NOW

The sun has moved, and a soft light filters into the room. With a loud, unladylike yawn, I stretch to ease my aches, my headache has gone, and I feel better than I had expected to. As I lay back against the pillows, I remember strong arms, soft kisses and gentle words. Raymond! at least he cared enough to rescue me from the chair. I catch sight of him, arms folded legs crossed at the ankle, he is leaning against the wall by the window; and my breath stalls in my throat as I stare wide eyed. Except for his bandage, he is naked and I can’t stop myself looking him over from head to foot and back again, then down once more following that narrow line of hair that tracks a path down his belly, to the dark thatch below. Though I am still furious with him, it doesn’t keep me from staring with more than a little lust. Oh, there is no mistake, he is impressive even at rest. I catch him as he watches me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, a gentle smile lifting one corner of his mouth; Soft light plays on the curves and planes of his broad shoulders and chest, and the lean, hard muscled limbs of a fit, fighting man. Gods saints, he is much more than handsome, he is beautiful.

Shifting his stance, Raymond holds his arms a little away from his body, palms towards me. The gesture of a supplicant seeking absolution for his sin of omission, and I am the only one who can grant him forgiveness. We need to settle this or live in a bitter sham of a marriage without love or respect, and barely enough politeness for appearances sake. Flinging the covers aside, I slip from the bed and start to cross the room to him.

“No, let me speak Isabé.” He holds his hands up as a barrier. “Can you forgive this stupid old fool, I had not meant to hurt you, but I have lived too long using secrets as my protection.” He inhales a deep breath, and I wait.

“I will not lie, there is a place in my heart which is held secure for Theodora and Christophe, it is locked to everyone else, even to you Mon Coeur, and, I will never give up trying to discover what became of them. This time when I step forward, he doesn’t stop me.

“Raymond, I should know better, you are not some idiot youth still wet behind the ears, you have had a hard, dangerous life, you have a past. It was naïve of me to think otherwise. There is room in everyone’s heart for any number of people Raymond, but you must promise that whatever space is left in yours, belongs to me.”I settle my right hand gently against his chest twisting my fingers gently amongst the hairs.

Stretching up on tiptoe, I slide my hands over his cheeks up into the longer hair on his head. Threading my fingers through it I draw his face towards me. My kiss is not tender, it’s fierce and needy as I push myself hard against him and as he groans into my mouth I unlace one hand from his hair and I slide it between us a, laying it almost along the length of him. It would take a hand much larger than mine to cover “La Bite.”

“Have I married a shameless baggage?”

“It will be your good fortune if you have, My Lord” With a deep, rumbling laugh he lifts me up, bracing his arms beneath my backside as I wrap my legs around him, I am greedy for him; Raymond knows it and picks his way carefully through the potsherds and missiles of the battlefield that is our chamber to carry me to bed; or so I think. The bed may be close, the table is closer, and he sets me down on the very edge, and shoving aside those things I didn’t hurl at him, he sends them clattering to the floor as I wrap my legs even more tightly around him. “Raymond!” Laughing and wriggling against him, I pretend to push him away in indignation, but he holds me firm. “You could at least have carried me to the bed.”

“Well it’s a step up from a stable my darling, and at least you won’t get straw stuck in your hair.” he kisses the soft skin beneath my ear then nips it for good measure. I smack his head. “No, but I’ll likely get splinters in my arse.”

His voice is a low murmur, washing over me. “Then my penance shall be to pick them out for you and kiss each wound to soothe it” “Oh that voice, I'm certain he could simply talk me to ecstasy.” I shiver as he skims his hands down over the curve of my hips, over my thighs and he frowns a little as his fingers gently track the long scar.

“Does it still give you pain Chéri?” he clips at my lips with soft kisses.

“Not so much, just sometimes when I have walked too far, or have stood for too long.”

Head on one side, he grins like a naughty little boy as he strokes his hands back up the insides of my thighs, barely touching the skin as he eases them apart slightly; and when he brushes his fingers oh so gently against those dark curls, I shudder and his name bubbles out of my mouth in a curious little squeak. “Christ Jesus, but you are beautiful, Isabé”

I’m sure he means it; I hear the desire in his growl; but still I must fight down my fears and uncertainties about Theodora and Eleanor. Those fears fade a little when he kisses me, and I realise from his feral look that he is hungry for me. But he is a master of control, and in his own sweet time, he tracks a path down my body, searching out those sweet. sensitive places as he peppers my skin with gentle kisses, nips and sweeps of his tongue. Chuckling with the simple joy of hearing me mewl, sigh and purr out his name. My nipples are tight and aching before he even sets his mouth to one, tracing lazy circles with his tongue raking it with his teeth, caressing and nipping the other with his fingers, lavishing attention on both and as I thread my fingers into his hair, he bites harder, strong teeth leaving marks of love and possession, I can barely think straight, the ache and heat between my thighs is raging and I feel the wetness there.

“Raymond” Whimpering his name, I unhitch my legs completely from around his waist parting them, inviting him. I know where I want that clever mouth and talented tongue to be, I know what it can do, and that thought alone sends that sweet ache searing through me again.

“Tell me what you need my beautiful isabé.” His hands flutter over my body, his touch sends fire through me.

“Your mouth, I need your mouth” I stutter and sob out the words. Eyes sparkling he shoots me a wicked grin. He understands, though he pretends not to. Stroking back my hair he drawls into my ear. “My Mouth, then tell me hein; where is the ache you need me to ease?” he kisses the soft skin between ear and jaw, “Is it here, my sweet?” He slides his lips down my neck. “ Or here?” A nip to my collarbone, “Perhaps this is the place.” Lowering his head further he licks at my left breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. I am wriggling against the table keening in desperation as he laces the fingers of one hand into my hair, twisting it tight as he pulls my face towards him. I open my mouth to his and then a sweet shock almost lifts me from the table as he gently trails one finger down between my thighs and slowly slides it inside me. I can hear how wet I am, and he sets a slow, easy, rhythm that matches the dance of his tongue against mine. A second finger follows, then a third stretching, stroking, coaxing.

“Is this what you need Isabé, is this what you want my sweet wife, does it please you my love, or do you need more from me?” he whispers against my lips. Incapable of speech, I dig my fingers into his shoulders, then rake them hard down his chest, over his nipples, stroking down to his cock, trailing my fingers over the velvety skin. Sweet retalliation as swears, shudders and groans his head lolling back a little. But he snatches my hand away.

“No Isabé, there will be time enough for you to discover my needs and desires but for now.” He drops to knees and looks up at me his eyes burning. “For now, you are everything.” I see the smile on his lips before he dips his head and at that first soft breath, that first teasing kiss my, back arches and my hips snap forwards, but nothing stalls him. Delicate teasing kisses, his beard rasping against tender flesh, as he sucks, laps and scrapes with his teeth; growling out his pleasure. He holds me steady and I whine his name, as again he slides one finger then another inside me setting up that sweet aching rhythm matching the teasing of his tongue. I am burning, but not in hell, though the heat of me is enough to set fire to the air, I am certain of that.

As the tightness settles deep in me, I clench myself; Raymond is relentless with his tongue and fingers. I claw at his scalp, grabbing at his hair as if doing so will stop me flying away, my thighs tense and begin to shake, I am gasping as if there is no air in the room.

“Come for me my darling, break your chains, fly, show me passion, show me your soul.”

I scream oaths, words of love of love and Raymonds name, they bounce from the walls, as I fracture and fall, but not just once. He shatters me again and again before he puts me back together with soothing words. I cling to him as he gentles me with soft caresses, if he leaves go of me I know I shall float away. My shoulders heave as I gasp for breath, sweat trickles between my breasts and long strands of hair stick to my damp skin. Wrapping his arms more tightly around me Raymond holds me steady and whispers; “I am not finished with you yet.” I taste myself on his lips as he kisses me; I barely have strength to wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me and carries me to bed. For certain my own legs would not hold me, they tremble too much.

“We are in no way finished my sweetheart” he settles me among the pillows, Languor has settled in my bones and I watch him from beneath half closed lids, as he slips his arms beneath my thighs, lifting them over his own, and as he settles himself, I catch him licking his lips. Raymond is so tender, and with gentle movements he presses little by little, pause by pause until he is deep within me. I push my hips upwards wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper still. A long rough sigh of pleasure swirls around and he stills for a moment searching my face. “What’s wrong old man have you tired so quickly?” His eyes fly wide open “You, my darling wife may come to regret those words.” I stop his mouth with my fingers, and wiggle my hips. “Oh, I do hope so, Raymond I do hope so.”

He hovers over me, his forearms either side of my head as a broad smile lights his face. The lines of sorrow and pain have disappeared, replaced by love in the deep, blue fire of his eyes. He is giving me time; my husband is in no way lacking and I remember overhearing a kitchen maid whispering to her friends, she had it on good authority that. “Sieur Raymond is hung better than his stallion.” and I bite my lip trying not to snort. Raymond frowns a little mistaking the sound for one of pain. “Isabé, Mon Coeur, for God’s sake, say if I am hurting you” I reach a hand up to his face, laying my palm against his cheek. “Raymond, my love I won’t break, though I might bend a little.” There, I’ve said it. “ My Love." I have said it, and meant it.

I hear a clatter and thud somewhere in the distance as our breakfast is set down in the passage and Raymond bellows towards the door. “Take it away, it will be long past breakfast before we are done.” I hear a girlish giggle as the housemaid picks up the tray and scuttles off, no doubt to give a lurid account that “Monseigneur and his Lady are “Putting the devil into hell.”

In the shadows of the Chateau stables two figures stand close together, for all the world they look like lovers embracing, but one mistake, one unwary move and the embrace will prove fatal for one of them.

“Be still Fontaine, the knife is exceedingly sharp, a sudden move and it will easily pierce your skin, and should you try to harm me, you would get no further than the courtyard; there are bows trained on you. Her words ghost against his cheek as low and soft as a lover’s. He holds his breath, shifts slightly and feels the point of the dagger press hard against him, it has pierced his clothes, now it pricks against the skin of his groin and he winces. “This is a warning to you Théo, when you travel South, I shall be there watching you every step of the way though you will be hard pressed to see me.

“Do you think I'm frightened by threats from de Merville’s Whore, I am not travelling South bitch.” The point of the double-edged dagger is pushed a little farther and he hisses in his breath.

“Oh’ but you are Fontaine, less chance for you to conspire against the King, with that bastard John Lackland and if you even look sidewise at Monseigner Raymond or Isabé beefore we leave I will slice you into ribbons and feed you to the pigs. Now be a good boy and run back to your Maman” Eleanor stands aside to let him pass and as he walks by she adds. “You might want to tell her, His Majesty knows her trade and recommends she retires, she'll understand. I suggest she takes his advice for if she persists, then one day they'll be fishing her body out of the Seine.” As he turns to look back at her, Eleanor has the pleasure of seeing his face grow pale.

“I’ll see you dead before I’m done, Fontaine you bastard!”

When I wake, Raymond is sprawled on his back still sleeping, the fingers of his left hand are tangled in my hair; I am curled against him, my left arm is draped over him and my left thigh pins his legs to the bed. Taut and firm beneath my cheek his stomach rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breathing. If Raymond is asleep then a certain part of him most certainly is not. I giggle to myself as I shift a little and trail a finger down the thick vein along the back of his cock and press my lips together to hide a snort as it twitches upwards. Very gently I curl my hand around him, caressing the velvety softness to set up a gentle rhythm, pulling the skin a little further back each time I stroke my hand up and down him. “You witch Isabé.” His voice is a sleepy, guttural, whisper, and as I brush my lips against the tip of him, his hips snap upwards and he curls his fingers even more tightly in my hair.

Now, it is my turn; and my revenge will be so very sweet.

*I marry you wife* this is later medieval French from the region of Bordeaux, taken from a record held in the cathedral there. It is from a much later date, but I just wanted to create the sense of a service which would have been conducted in a mixture of Latin and Old French

**Do you take (bride's name), here present, for your legal wife according to the rite of our holy mother, the Church?**

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