The Heart of a Queen (A Historical Romance)

Chapter 17

Once Isobel tired of teaching her, usually by midday, and Brienna was free to do her daily walk in the meadow, which put her in a hearty appetite come dinnertime. Since Llewellyn was gone, mealtimes had become informal, and she and Isobel simply raided the kitchen at their whim, rarely at the same time.

Brienna was familiar with the kitchens and she headed to the larder, where she knew there would be a pitcher of rich fresh cream to sample. At the threshold of the pantry, however, she paused, stopped by the sound of voices inside and not wanting to barge in on the kitchen girls, who liked to gossip about the inhabitants of the castle when they thought no one was listening. She pressed up close to the door, curious to hear if they said anything about her.

"You haven't been to see me in so long," someone whispered.

"Have you been pining for me?"

Brienna held her breath. Even at a low whisper, she recognized the second voice as Isobel's. Carefully, she inched forward so she could peek into the room through a crack in the open door.

Isobel rested on the workbench pushed up against one wall, her hands spread to either side supporting her casual pose, head thrown back as usual as she spoke to one of the kitchen girls It was Moira, who Brienna had always known as irrepressibly bold, almost baudy, tossing remarks at the kitchen boys that made them red-faced. Now, she had taken on the manner of a supplicant, her attitude almost shy, like she was in awe of Isobel.

"No," she whispered in response to Isobel's question, blushing and looking away.

"Not at all? Perhaps I overestimated our friendship," Isobel said, carelessly. "I'll leave you to your chores."

"No!" Moira blurted. "I mean, what I meant to say was, is that I've been keeping a supply of fresh cream for you and I was hoping you would get to try it, that's all. It always tastes so sweet in spring."

Isobel smiled; she hadn't moved from the bench, despite her threat.

"I'd like to try it," she said.

"It's the clover, I believe, the cows eat it," Moira babbled as she picked up a heavy clay jug from a shelf and folded back the cloth that covered the top. She held it out to Isobel, who didn't reach for it.

"I don't want to dirty my hands," she said, "will you pour it for me?"

"Of course," Moira got flustered and searched around for a vessel to pour it into.

"Not into a cup," Isobel clarified, her gaze trained on Moira.

When Moira realized what she meant, she lowered her eyes so that her eyelashes grazed pinked cheeks, but she pliantly came to Isobel and stood in front of her, eager to do as she asked.

Isobel tilted her head back and parted her soft lips. For a moment, Moira was frozen, staring at Isobel's bared white throat. Then she lifted the jug and tipped it, pouring luscious thick cream into Isobel's mouth. Brienna watched her throat ripple as she swallowed, mesmerized.

After a minute, Moira pulled the jug back, but not carefully enough; a trickle of cream escaped its spout and dripped onto Isobel's chin and down her neck.

"Oh no," Moira exclaimed, in a mixture of surprise and dismay.

The cream was about to run into Isobel's dress, where it would ruin the fabric. Acting quickly, Moira put down the jug and used the back of her index finger to catch the drip, tracing it back to its place of origin and leaving Isobel's skin clean.

When the spill had been righted, Moira seemed to became aware of the boundary she'd overstepped by touching her mistress without her permission, and she paused as Isobel met her eyes, Moira's finger held up between them. Just as Moira was about to pull away, Isobel caught her hand in her own and brought Moira's fingers to her lips, sucking them into her mouth.

A little sigh came out of Moira, and as if she was sinking into a field of clover, she sank into Isobel, kissing her lips around her own fingers, reaching up and holding her neck, then burying her face in Isobel's neckline, finding the place where the cream had nearly disappeared and running her tongue along that arc of skin.

Isobel had her eyes closed, and Brienna was stirred from her entrancement. She wanted to continue watching, but felt it would be mean of her to do so, catching Isobel unknowing in what was clearly a rare moment of pure abandon. She backed away as quietly as she could, returning to the meadow where she could walk for a while and think about what she'd seen—that was all she could think about.

She thought she finally understood what Isobel had been trying to communicate to her in her lessons about seduction. Isobel hadn't really done anything forward. She let Moira fall all over herself making her happy, allowed herself to be touched, kissed, taken; but she'd been the one in control the whole time. Brienna wasn't sure she could achieve such a thing, but at least now she had an example of how it was done.

She also had some idea now of why Isobel wasn't married, why all talk of marriage made her look like she was grieving for a lost loved one. Brienna heart ached for her; she would be married, eventually, whether she wanted to be or not. That was their destiny, as women, and especially as royal daughters whose marriages brought allegiances between kingdoms. The best she could hope for was that her husband would be blind enough to permit her to carry on her clandestine affairs, eking out the love she needed in secret.