Chapter 8
Marcus saw in Jess’ eyes that she knew what was coming. A moment later, his lips brushed against hers. He didn’t know the last time he’d kissed a woman who’d never been kissed. Mayhap never.
Marcus planned to take his time. The mummers were all at the play, including Agatha, getting ready for their first performance of the day. No one would miss them.
And no one would interrupt.
His fingers lightly held her in place as he continued to softly move his lips against hers, setting a languid pace that would be hard to keep. Already, her scent drove him wild. She smelled of vanilla and warm sunshine, a delicious combination.
Jess hadn’t moved beneath his fingers. For a moment, the look of panic in her eyes had made him believe she might flee. She’d stayed, though.
Now, he wanted to show her why that decision was wise.
Slowly, he took small nips at her full, bottom lip, the one which had tempted him beyond measure. Marcus heard each quick intake of breath every time he did so, followed by a tiny whimper. He ran his tongue along that sweet, lower lip, gaining a small taste of the woman who had haunted his dreams.
But when it came to Jess, he was a greedy man.
His tongue found the seam of her mouth and teased her lips apart. He dipped inside, still holding her steady, and tasted the honey of her mouth. An unexpected ripple of pleasure ran through him.
It made him want more. Much more.
Marcus drew her to him now, needing the feel of her body next to his. Her full breasts pressed against his chest. His hands slid down her slender back. He spread his fingers wide, keeping her against him even as he sampled her again and again.
He became aware of two things at once. One, Jess’ arms had wrapped around him, letting him know she wasn’t going anywhere. The outline of her hands branded his back. The second surprised him, though it shouldn’t have.
She began kissing him back.
At first, she was tentative as she felt her way, her inexperience showing. But Jess Gilpin was a clever woman. Within minutes of being kissed for the first time, she imitated—and then improved—on what he did. As her hands roamed his back, she kissed him eagerly, with passion, stroking his tongue with hers until he groaned into her mouth.
A war now ensued between them, one for domination and control. His hands moved past her waist and cupped her rounded buttocks, kneading the tender flesh. She clutched him more tightly, her breasts swelling against him.
Marcus longed for more but knew they must stop. Gradually, he went from deepening each kiss to slowly withdrawing, until finally he forced himself to totally break the kiss.
Still, he held her close, reluctant to part from her, his lips traveling up her delicate nose and landing on her brow. He pressed one last, tender kiss there and then studied her face.
Jess’ lips were bruised from their love play. Her eyes appeared dazed. Clouded. Finally, they cleared and focused on him. Slowly, the corners of her mouth turned up.
“I rather like kissing,” she informed him, her smile growing.
Jess brought her hands from his back and moved them along Marcus’ chest, hard as a stone wall. They rose higher until her fingers locked behind his neck and pulled him toward her. Marcus might think they were finished but Jess was only starting. She yanked down hard and his mouth crashed against hers, his fingers tightening on her bottom, digging into her flesh.
She teased him as he had teased her, nipping and licking her way until she slipped her tongue inside his mouth.
Oh, praise the Virgin Mary! This. Was. Heaven.
Jessimond remembered every little trick Marcus had taught her and then added a few of her own. She knew they worked their magic. Not only did the fever within her grow, but she felt the pounding of his heart against her breast increase until it drummed out of control. His hold on her tightened. His mouth took command once more and, this time, she let him, giving in to the soaring feelings within her.
They kissed until she thought their lips might fall away, scorched until the fire ignited between them had consumed them whole, the flames burning high into the sky.
Then suddenly, Marcus released her, pushing her away, confusing her. Jessimond’s entire body trembled. She found it hard to stand on her own. Tears threatened to fall when she realized she had disappointed him.
“What . . . did I . . . am I doing something wrong?” she asked.
Marcus stood panting, raw need written across his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can do better.”
He jerked her toward him, enfolding her in his massive arms, his lips brushing her hair. “Nay, sweetheart, you did nothing wrong. In fact, you did everything right. Too right, I’m afraid.”
Jessimond wriggled in his arms and then discovered something stiff and uncompromising between them. She realized his member had grown as hard as a rock. Glancing up, his brilliant blue eyes had darkened in passion and desire.
“We must stop, Jess,” Marcus said softly. Giving her a wry smile, he added, “You can feel why.”
“You want me?” she asked breathlessly, secretly delighted at the notion.
His hand cupped her cheek. “Aye. More than I have ever wanted another woman.”
“I doubt that,” she said, unable to believe she could have that great an effect upon him. “You are a very physical man, Marcus. I’m sure you’ve coupled with dozens of women. Ones far more experienced than I. Ones who have brought you pleasure.”
He smoothed her eyebrows and then traced his finger down the slope of her nose until he placed it against her lips.
“I’m no saint, Jess. I don’t claim to be. But your kiss has kindled something within me that I’ve never felt.”
She started to speak but he pressed his finger against her lips to silence her.
“I want to kiss you again, Jess Gilpin. I want to do more than that. I want to bury my face in that glorious mane of golden hair. Press it between your breasts. I want to feel those breasts. Lick them. Suck them. My cock wants to bury itself deep inside you and never leave.”
Jessimond shivered at not only the words but the passion behind them.
“Those are things for you to do with a husband, sweetheart. Not me.”
He gave her a hard, swift kiss and released her. Jessimond felt woozy, as if she’d had too much wine to drink.
“Stay in your tent for a while,” he warned. “Your lips are swollen and your face is flushed.”
Marcus stepped to the tent’s flap, his eyes still burning. “I will see you later.”
With that, he was gone.
Jessimond sank to her knees, knowing her feet could no longer hold her up.
She had wanted to leave Kinwick to find adventure and experience love.
Was this the start?
She touched the tips of her fingers to her lips in wonder. Marcus’ mouth had been there just moments ago. Already, she craved his kiss again. His touch. Never had she felt safer and yet more exhilarated than in the circle of his arms.
Gradually, her breathing came under her control and she once more was the master of her body. She looked at the various materials they’d bought and fingered the ruby wool that he had purchased for her. With a knowing smile, she decided she would keep it and sew something spectacular for her to wear.
Jessimond pushed herself to her feet and decided it was time to attend the mummers’ show. Stepping outside, she immediately became aware of a buzz vibrating in the air. She rounded the corner, the tents no longer blocking her view.
People were everywhere.
The stalls she had visited early this morning now held throngs of buyers in front of them. Voices called out as prices were negotiated. Jessimond cut through one of the long rows where booths faced one another, weaving her way in and out of the crowds. She waved to a few vendors that she had come to know, caught up in the excitement that filled the air.
Leaving the merchants’ area, she heard the strains of music over the din and hurried toward it. Bartholomew had already begun, his voice soaring as he sang. As she drew closer, she noticed the mass of people gathered around the stage that had been set up the day before after the mummers’ arrival. Jessimond moved as near as she could and then got no further, so she stayed in place and listened.
Bartholomew finished his song and sang three more. Sometimes, he closed his eyes, lost in the music. At other times, his eyes roamed the crowd and settled upon a person to sing to. Knowing the troubadour, his gaze always settled upon a woman—and a pretty one at that. He had a roving eye and several of the mummers had warned Jessimond to be wary around the musician.
He finished his last song and bowed, the crowd clapping loudly in appreciation of his talent. Bartholomew exited the stage and a hush fell over the assembled group. Hamlyn stepped out from the left of the curtain and began painting a picture for the audience, taking them back to a time long ago and very far away. His melodious tone set a perfect stage for the action that followed.
The play incorporated most of the members of the troupe. As Elias had noted, it was about the age-old struggle between good and evil. Hamlyn kept the narrative going between the scenes. Jessimond thought some of the mummers excellent in their roles, though a few could have said their lines with more feeling.
Then a final scene occurred with a long fight between the personified Good and Evil. Ralph, naturally, was cast as Good. Gylbart played the role of Evil, as a devil who’d tried to tempt Good away from what he knew to be right and true. Jessimond assumed the moves of their swordplay had been planned in advance, just as their lines had been learned and rehearsed. Gylbart wasn’t the most talented swordsman, but he did an adequate job. She would have found the ending more believable if Ralph had been forced to work for his triumph a bit harder. Knowing swordplay as she did, thanks to Raynor’s tradition of gifting each de Montfort child with a sword and then Nan working with her until she was more than competent, Jessimond thought to offer some help to Gylbart.
Gylbart fell as Ralph struck the deathblow, then hovered over him, waving his sword high.
“This is what it means to defeat your foes,” Ralph extoled in a deep voice. “For Evil—for Death—to lie at your doorstep. I have vanquished my enemy. He will haunt me no longer. I will go forth now, seeking truth and justice for all.”
With that, Ralph threw his arms to the sky in victory.
The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. Ralph bowed several times and then Gylbart leapt to his feet and did the same. The other mummers came out as a group and bowed together and then individually. Ralph, as the lead, once more stepped front and center and bowed graciously as the audience chanted his name. He must be familiar to them after the Vawdrys coming to Fullminster several years.
Finally, the actors left the stage and the audience began to disperse. Jessimond fought against the flow in order to make her way to the stage and beyond. She finally climbed onto the raised platform and then exited from the back, seeing Agatha and waving at her.
“I thought you were going to watch the play with me,” the young woman said, disappointment evident in her tone.
To assuage her, Jessimond said, “I thought I would first view it from the front, as an audience member would, in order to see how it went. For the next performance, I plan to stay with you and see how things unfold backstage. I’m sure there’ll be a great contrast in what goes on.”
Agatha seemed placated by her explanation. “Here. You can help me put these props away.”
As Jessimond helped sort and put away the props, the actors stepped out of their costumes, dressing quickly in their own clothes, which Agatha had laid out atop wooden crates. Some had on clothes beneath their costumes but a few were as bare as a newborn babe once they shed their costume. Jessimond tried not to look—and tried not to think of what Marcus de Harte would look like with nothing on. She’d already seen him stripped to the waist that first day at Kinwick. Now that her body had been next to his, she wondered what it would be like to run her hands along his skin, feeling the ridges of muscles.
“Jess?”
She turned and saw Agatha looking oddly at her. “What?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“Nay. I was thinking about the play.” Or rather playing with a bare-chested Marcus. “What do you need, Agatha?”
“Never mind.”
She finished setting the props aside, knowing Agatha would merely reorganize them again, based upon the next play the mummers would perform and which ones would be in use. Jessimond folded the garments worn during the play, checking to see if any new holes were present or if a hem needed to be re-stitched. Satisfied that no repairs needed to be done, she decided to seek out Gylbart.
Jessimond found the mummer at a stall selling soap, flirting with a woman old enough to be his mother—and then some.
“Come with me,” she told him, linking her arm through his and pulling him away.
“Jess, I was making progress with her,” Gylbart complained good-naturedly.
She gave him a stern look. “We’ll be here two weeks. If you feel the need to couple with someone who looks like she could be your mother, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to do so.”
“You think I can do better?” he asked earnestly.
She stopped. “Don’t fish for compliments, Gylbart. You are a fine-looking man.”
He shrugged. “I don’t seem to have much luck with the ladies.”
Jessimond clucked her tongue. “Instead of immediately trying to get under their skirts, you might wish to talk with them first.”
“Talk? What good is talk when there’s pleasure to be had?”
She narrowed her eyes. In a stern voice, she said, “Most women would rather talk with a man first, especially if he’s a stranger. If bedding a female is your goal, Gylbart, I would suggest getting to know her first. Woo her a little. Treat her with some respect. Then you can see if the both of you are interested in . . . mutual pleasure.”
The mummer shook his head. “You have some peculiar ideas, Jess.”
“I have an even better one. Come along.”
She led him back to the stage area, where Agatha bustled about moving items. Jessimond had seen where several swords lay, so she plucked two from the group of weapons and brought them to where she’d left Gylbart.
“We’re going to practice,” she told him as she breezed by.
As she expected, he followed her, catching up and full of questions.
“You have swords, Jess. Why do you have swords? What do you mean, practice? Be careful there. Those can be dangerous. Oh, I know the tips have been blunted but you could injure yourself all the same. Women don’t hold swords. Slow down, Jess. Why are you in such a hurry? Why do we need swords? And what do you mean to practice?”
She weaved through the crowds again situated at the vendors’ booths and continued, not answering his questions until they arrived back at the tents.
“I’m going to help you learn true swordplay,” she said, continuing past the tents and going further away until they were alone, not an easy thing with so many people roaming Fullminster lands.
Finally, she came to a halt and handed Gylbart a sword.
“I have a few things I can teach you that will make you markedly better,” she promised. “Ralph’s defeat of you in the play seemed much too easy.”
“He’s very skilled with a sword,” whined Gylbart.
“You say you want better roles? That you could replace Ralph?” Jessimond paused. “Then you need to learn to be better than Ralph. In every way. Prove to the Vawdrys that you are an actor to be reckoned with.
“Starting now.”