February 1391, Guildford

Isabel was sitting in front of the fire of the great hall, sewing and listening to the musician play a tune from the West Country on his lute. There was a hustle outside the hall and the servant girl Ida came dashing into the hall.

‘Sir Giles is here damoiselle,’ said Ida. Isabel smiled from ear to ear and set her sewing aside, yet she didn’t rise. She watched as he strode confidently into the hall, his eyes scanning everything before finally they rested on Isabel. She wanted so much to be angry and upset with him still, but she couldn’t help herself from standing up almost straightaway and rushing towards him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Giles placed each of his hands on her bottom and pulled her in closer to him, returning the kiss fully.

Such an open and brazen display of affection between the knight and his mistress would certainly set the servants tongues wagging, especially at such a time as this, it being close to the date of Sir Giles’ marriage, but neither of them cared at this stage. They had been separated from each other for more than a month. They needed each other.

‘Who is that?’ Giles asked after pulling away from the kiss and motioning to the musician, who had kept up his tune despite the distraction of the visit from the Lord of the manor.

‘His name is Jace. I heard of him in the market place so ventured into town to see if the rumours were true, which they are. He has been here a week and already everyone’s spirits have lifted. He is a very good singer and he has the funniest tales to tell,’ Isabel explained.

Giles was unconvinced. ‘Do you plan to patronize him and have him be a permanent member of your household?’

‘Oh no,’ said Isabel. ‘He is a travelling minstrel. He never stays for longer than a month in one location. Did you know that he played for Queen Anne and her Bohemian ladies once?’ Isabel said excitedly. She looked into Giles’ face and saw his discomfort with the situation. ‘If you like not having him here then I can terminate his stay with us early, but it is nice to have someone to speak to. It is often lonely here, and some of the servants despise me and the fact that they were moved off the estate. Jace has a sweet voice and a pretty face, he makes me laugh,’ she said, running her fingers across the rough skin on the back of Giles’ hand.

‘Keep him,’ Giles said, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of her soft fingers on his skin. ‘If he makes you happy.’ Isabel reached up to kiss him again, her hands in his dark gold hair. The couple then disappeared upstairs to the bedchamber. It was warm in Isabel’s chamber, the fire having not long been stoked and a new log of Applewood thrown on, which was perfuming the room with its subtle scent. Clothing was quickly discarded of and the two of them stood there nude, scanning each other. Giles removed the pins from Isabel’s hair and watched as the long auburn tendrils fell down her back in a red/gold wave, the smell of saffron mixing in with the Applewood and filling his nostrils.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Isabel sighed and melted against him. As she leaned against him, her hardened nipples brushed against his chest and Giles exhaled deeply. He placed his hands under her buttocks and lifted her, with Isabel wrapping her legs around her lover’s waist. She had her hands on the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair, kissing him with longing and desire.

Giles took her to bed, placing her gently on the soft fur coverlet. He leaned over her and admired her body; the long and slender waist, the gently rounded hips and buttocks, the dark red triangle of her between her pale, milky thighs, the long legs and adorable little toes. His eyes scanned back up her body to her belly and breasts. Her breasts were round and full and her belly, while still flat also possessed a slight curve to it that had not been there before the birth of the baby. Giles admired this change in her body. She had transitioned from girl to woman, and he liked to think he had played a part in that change, which gave him an odd, fierce sort of pride when he thought about it.

He wanted to remember Isabel as she now was. She wanted this image to imprint itself on his mind before he was forced to leave and spend nearly a full month alone with his new wife. A month alone in Herefordshire with his new bride Eleanor Hobbes, and the only other people to offer him any company were his mother the Lady Joan and his squire Roger Bowcott. He was in for a long and tiresome stay at the estate, and he was dreading having to leave in less than a week’s time, but he planned to relish every moment he spent here with his lover and daughter, so as not to forget the good times while he was with the Hobbes girl.

Giles kissed down Isabel’s body, and when he got to her breasts and the two erect rosy nipples he sucked on them. First the left and then the right. He took each of them into his hot mouth and circled the areola with the tip of his tongue, nibbling and gently biting each little nub. Isabel moaned, her arousal and need for him growing with each second. He was teasing her, and she knew this, but she didn’t protest. She too wanted this to last forever before he had to leave again. He kissed back up to her mouth, and as he did so he positioned himself and entered her slowly, relishing the feeling of sliding into her and being sheathed in her moist warmth.

Giles moaned when he had his whole length inside her. He didn’t move and neither did she; he wanted to remember the feeling of being inside her. He looked deeply into her exquisite, virginal face, becoming lost in her clear green eyes. She was so very beautiful. Her colour was heightened with pleasure, her pupils dilated and her breathing was rapid and steady with arousal. He wanted to remember this moment forever and use it during the cold nights he would spend on the Anglo-Welsh border. Isabel clenched and squeezed her muscles to remind her chevalier of the task at hand. He took long, slow and steady strokes, his hands either side of her shoulders, bracing himself.

He looked down at Isabel and saw that she too was watching him. Every now and then he heard her breathing catch and her sweet little sighs. Giles was being deliberate with his strokes- he had no intention of this being a quick affair or finishing just yet. He wanted to drag this out for as long as possible. His gaze never left hers, and hers never left his as Giles took long, patient and slow strokes. Isabel held on his forearms and moved with him, her breasts rising and falling with the motion.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him deeper into her- they both moaned loudly. Giles leaned down and kissed Isabel, and she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her. An orgasm rippled through her body and she rolled her hips with the motion, meeting his thrusts. A minute or so later and Giles was having an orgasm of his own, finishing with a series of loud moans, groans and heavy breathing.

He kissed her as he finished, but he stayed within her. They held each other close, too scared to let the other go. And when finally Giles did withdraw himself from Isabel, she felt an emptiness, and not just down there, in her special place, but in her heart also.

‘I hate that you have to leave me,’ she said. She wasn’t angry with him or upset anymore. She was sad. She was in mourning because she knew that things between them could never be the same again. She was in mourning for what they had had before now and because she would lose a part of Giles to the Hobbes girl forever.

‘I know,’ Giles replied. ‘But I have to.’

‘Do you really? Do you really have to?’ she asked, rolling over and leaning on one arm. Giles was still on his back, staring up at the coffered ceiling, not facing Isabel.

‘You know that I do. I must do my duty to my family and to hers. If it’s any consolation, my mother is not best pleased with the match either.’

‘Purely for her own selfish reasons,’ mumbled Isabel. Joan was unhappy with the match because on her son’s marriage, she would no longer be Lady de Grey, that title would go Eleanor Hobbes as the wife of Sir Giles de Grey. Joan would simply be the widow of Sir William de Grey. She had been a widow for near a decade and still held the title of Lady de Grey, which had pleased her because no longer was she reliant upon a man for her place in the world. She was her own woman. But now, with her son’s marriage, she would be dependent on her son and her son’s new wife.

‘And your reasons aren’t purely selfish?’ Giles questioned, turning his head to look at his lover. ‘Look, Isabel,’ he sighed angrily. ‘I’m not happy with the situation either, but I have to marry her, which means that you must shut your eyes and endure,’ he said. He leaned over, planted a kiss on her lips and left the bed. He faced away from her as he dressed again.

He picked up his embroidered surcoat from it had been casually thrown on the rush strewn floor. He held it up and examined it. Isabel saw the de Grey family crest with the rampant gold leopard. She owed her whole life to the proud, gold leopard. She was reminded of the de Grey family motto- Anchor fast anchor. Giles had told her of it on the journey from Calais to Dover, when they had first become lovers.

‘Anchor fast anchor,’ he had told her proudly, a gleam in his grey/blue gaze. ‘It means steadfast, never changing. Hold steady and protect, like the anchor does.’

Steadfast and never changing was certainly what Giles was, though he was also a good protector. Isabel had smiled as they lay side-by-side and curled up together on the narrow bed, the rough seas rolling underneath them.

Giles had been explaining the de Grey family history to her, telling her that they had come over with the Norman hoards in support of William of Normandy’s claim to the throne.

‘Our star has slowly ascended through the years,’ he had told her. ‘But it will rise further still.’ Of that, Giles de Grey was certain.

The next morning Giles and Isabel bathed together. Isabel had watched as ewer after ewer of steaming water had been brought up from the kitchen and poured into the large tub that sat in Giles’ chamber in front of the fire. Sprigs of lavender and rosemary had been thrown in there to scent the water and relax the muscles.

Giles had slipped into the hot water first, the scent and water relaxing him. He held out his hand and Isabel took it and joined him, leaning up against him. They spoke of trivial matters as they soaped each other up and helped the other wash. Their daughter was the main topic of choice, and Isabel told Giles that Gisèle was grizzly and grumpy because her first teeth were starting to come through.

After bathing they helped each other dress. Isabel stood there, her damp hair hanging down her back and a drying sheet wrapped around her, handing articles of clothing to Giles. She smiled at him lovingly and with such devotion. She had never been happier in her life. From downstairs they heard the loud barks of Ajax and Cadmus, and a few moments later the squire Roger Bowcott was knocking on the chamber door. A shirtless Giles held Isabel to him to protect her nudity and modesty from the squire.

‘Well?’ demanded Giles. ‘What is it? I am busy, cannot you see that?’

‘Sir, a gentleman has arrived,’ Roger said, doing his best to not look at his master’s nude lover.

‘Who is it?’

‘Your brother Hamon, Sir,’ answered Roger.

Hamon? Giles thought questioningly. ‘Tell him to wait in the hall for us. We can break our fast together.’

‘Yes Sir,’ Roger nodded, quickly leaving the room and dashing back downstairs. Giles and Isabel finished dressing, with Giles brushing out Isabel’s auburn hair, admiring the softness as he ran his fingers through it, and liking how it shone a brilliant red/gold in the light. He then watched as Isabel braided her hair with deft fingers and pinned it in place on top of her head, a gauze veil to cover it. He smiled at her and kissed her on the lips before they went together to greet Hamon and break their fast.

‘Ah brother,’ Hamon said when Giles entered the hall, his arm looped through Isabel’s. Hamon stood up and outstretched his arms and embraced his brother, both of them clapping each other on the back. They stood at arm’s length and smiled at each other in familial acknowledgement. Hamon then turned to Isabel. ‘Mademoiselle la Badeau,’ he said. ‘Bonjour, mon cher.’ He hugged her and kissed her once on each cheek, in a gesture that was more foreign than English, which instantly put her at ease.

‘Shall we?’ Giles asked, motioning to the table not far behind Hamon where food and drink had been laid out. The three of them sat and ate, with Giles filling Hamon in on family matters of the last few years and the goings on at court. King Richard had been in good spirits recently, and by all accounts seemed prepared to keep the fragile peace set with both France and Scotland, though only time would tell whether his word would prove to be good.

‘I had not expected you to be in residence brother, this being your summer home,’ Hamon said. He leaned back in his chair and raked his fingers through his sporadic facial hair. The gesture reminded Isabel of Giles’ mannerisms, and indeed she had to do a double-take when she saw Hamon do this. They are not so different, she supposed. They were both tall and lean, though Hamon was the shorter of the two, and they had the same square-set jawline. It was as if Hamon had been fashioned from Giles’ leftover tints. Where Giles’ hair was a lustrous dark gold, Hamon’s hair was pale blond and silvery, and his blue eyes were lighter than Giles’ blue/grey gaze.

‘The King granted me leave of the court the day before last. I am due to leave for Herefordshire in two days’ time. I thought I would stay here before I left,’ he replied. Isabel was seated to the right of Giles, and he held her hand as they ate and chatted with Hamon.

‘You have been away from the court, monsieur?’ Isabel asked Hamon.

‘Aye,’ answered Hamon. ‘I’ve not long returned from up North ad being near the Border. I was there with Harry Percy and some of the other King’s men, keeping the peace after the Scottish incursion. They are a blood-thirsty lot, the Scots.’ Both Hamon and Giles laughed and then took deep swigs of their drinks. It were almost as if Isabel was seeing double- the two brother’s mirrored each other.

Hamon continued. ‘Before that I was in Ireland, making a name for myself. I am due to return in the summer.’

‘How go things in Ireland?’ Giles asked. He pulled a hunk of bread off the small loaf on his plate and bit into it enthusiastically.

‘Fine for now,’ answered Hamon. ‘I think it to be the calm before the storm in all honesty. Pleas to the King for help with the Irish Lords seem to go unnoticed. Every day there are new hostilities and grievances erupting. England may have stability for now but everywhere else it is fragile.’

‘I agree, though I sometimes wonder how long this stability in the realm shall last. The Queen still has not produced any children after nearly ten years of marriage and people are questioning her fertility. And people have not forgotten the crisis from a few years ago, lest of all the King. He is still upset about the Merciless Parliament and the executions and forced exiles of his favourites. And Richard is not the type of man to forgive or forget.’ Giles leaned back in his chair, sighed with frustration and scratched at his beard.

‘Well then brother,’ said Hamon, pushing his chair back and standing up. ‘You had best be very careful, if what you think ever proves to be true. Now, shall we hunt?’

Hamon and Giles returned later that day in good spirits. They walked into the house with their arms around each other’s shoulders, laughing at some private joke. Despite the cold weather the hunt had been good and eventful and the brother’s bragged to Isabel about their hunting prowess. This new side of Giles fascinated Isabel. Here, in the presence of his younger half-brother, he was carefree, joking and laughing, retelling tales from his time in France and Antioch, reciting adventures from his days on crusade and the tourney circuit.

His whole face lit up, his blue/grey eyes were alight and there was a permanent grin on his face as he sat talking to Hamon. Giles was so relaxed and easy-going and in such a good mood that he wasn’t fully paying attention to how much drink he was consuming. His upcoming marriage had put him in a foul temper, but he had cast aside all thoughts of the Hobbes girl and was enjoying himself and having a good time. And Isabel was glad. There weren’t that many opportunities these days for Giles to just sit back and relax. If he was happy then she was happy.

After Hamon had retired for the night, Giles was still feeling happy and frisky. He pulled Isabel onto his lap and kissed her, a sloppy, wet kiss. Isabel could taste the English cider and ale on his breath, a drink which she didn’t particularly like. Giles kissed her hungrily, suddenly feeling very amorous, and as he kissed her his hand found the hem of her gown and started pulling it up, tracing cool fingertips up her legs.

Feeling frisky and daring herself, Isabel pulled Giles’ surcoat up and away slightly, untucked his undershirt, of which she had stitched herself, and unlaced his breeches. She wrapped her hands around him and rubbed him up and down, feeling him harden in her soft grip. She looked up and Giles and smiled playfully. She changed her position and knelt on his thighs, still rubbing him. Isabel looked into her lover’s eyes and saw her own desire mirrored in his gaze. She knew what she wanted to do.

Her skirts were hitched up and pulled out of the way as best as they could, and she lowered herself onto him, taking him all in at once. Her arms were casually crossed on the back of the seat, behind Giles head, her hands in his dark blond hair and her cheek resting against his. She slowly started gyrating her hips back and forth on him, both of them moaning at the motion.

But Giles didn’t want this slow and steady, he wanted to have his mistress here and now. Placing his hands on her hips, he started moving her up and down rougher and quicker on him. In no time at all they managed to find a rhythm, each of them thrusting to meet the other, the muffled sound of Isabel’s bare thighs slapping against the fabric of Giles’ breeches. Her quick breath tickled his ear every time she let out a moan or a sigh. Isabel leaned back, increasing the depth and holding onto the back of the chair for stability.

In one almighty moment, Giles let out a loud groan, of which he was sure the whole household had heard as he spilled himself inside her. Both of them were breathing heavily and panting as Isabel stood up on shaky legs and re-adjusted herself. She smiled at her drunk and spent lover, leaned in, kissed him on the mouth and then retired to her chamber. Giles followed on behind her a short while later.

* * * * *

Author’s Note: Mademoiselle is the polite French greeting for a woman, as monsieur is for a man. Mon cher translates to my dear. La prisonnier Francais and Maîtresse en titre are the predecessors to this story. Check out my other stories, the Jeff and Brianne series, Lesbifriends, Lesbinaughty, The Holiday, Revenge Affair, Another Revenge Affair, Our Little Secret, Love Nest, Paradise lost & found, Misfit Love, After-hours Antics, The Bachelor Party, Mrs Malcolm, Just What I Needed and Study Break.