She released him from the captivity of her mouth. And straddling him, she sank slowly down to recapture him within her sheath. "Is that better, my lord?" Alix purred.
He grinned up at her. "This is better," he told her, rolling her over onto her back. "Much, much better," he said as he began to thrust deep.
"Ahh, Colm, my love," Alix sighed happily, letting him sweep her away. She clung to him, her nails delicately scoring his back as they pleasured each other. Their mouths fused together, and one kiss melted into another and another and another until they were bruised and swollen. Her teeth caught at his lower lip, nibbling gently. Her tongue pushed into his mouth to dance with his while the rhythmic drive of his body against hers set her head spinning as she felt herself beginning to soar. "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" Alix cried out.
He smiled triumphantly. She always cried out in French when he particularly pleased her with his passion. He redoubled his efforts, his mighty cock flashing back and forth within the heated tightness of her womanly sheath.
"Colm! Mon Coeur! Je t'aime! Je t'aime! Ohh! Je meurs! Je meurs!" And Alix's slender body shuddered with lust fulfilled even as her husband flooded her with his love juices, his big frame shaking with pleasure.
He remembered through the haze of desire her condition, and rolled quickly to one side so he would not crush her or the bairn. "I love you, lambkin," he told her. "I have never loved any but you, nor will I ever love any but you."
"You are my life and my love, Colm Scott," Alix told him as she curled into his embrace and quickly fell asleep.
He drew the coverlet over them and lay quietly thinking. He didn't want to have to kill Sir Udolf Watteson. But if Yorkminster's dispensation turned out to be authentic then he would have no other choice. It wasn't that the Englishman loved Alix. The laird didn't believe he did. He considered Alix his by right of possession, like his sheep or his dogs or his horses. She had been his son's wife, and therefore belonged at Wulfborn. She would be the means of giving him an heir in exchange for the heir he had lost. The very thought of Sir Udolf touching his sweet lambkin, kissing her sweet lips, thrusting his cock into her, made his blood boil.
And then Malcolm Scott knew with a strong instinct that overcame him and filled his mind. In the end he would have no other choice but to kill Sir Udolf Watteson. If the dispensation was proved true, the Englishman would come for Alix, yet he would not, could not, let his wife, the mother of his children, go. But if York ruled the dispensation had been obtained by means of fraud, and was therefore not valid, the laird suspected Sir Udolf would ignore it and come for Alix anyway. Aye, he would have to kill the Englishman, for Sir Udolf would give him no other choice. He was a man obsessed by Alix Givet and could see no other woman but her.
And so they waited for word of what was to come.
The bishop of St. Andrew's was not on the best of terms with his English brethren, but one of his secretaries, a young Franciscan, had an English mother. Calling Brother George to his privy chamber, James Kennedy explained the situation to him.
"If the lady wed her laird knowing the dispensation was being sought, there may be fraud on her side," the young priest said. He was tall and slender with a tonsured head, pale skin, and line dark eyes.
"She was honest with the laird's priest. He vouched for my word in the matter," James Kennedy said.
" 'Twas bold of him to do so," Brother George remarked.
Bishop Kennedy laughed. "Aye, it was, but Father Donald was once my chief secretary and greatest confidant. He knew how I would feel about the matter. Even if the dispensation were genuine, I should not honor it. A man attempting to marry his late son's wife smacks of incest in my opinion. Disgusting!"
"Just what is it Your Grace requires of me, then?"
"Have you any contacts at Yorkminster, Brother George? We need to know if this Sir Udolf has a genuine claim on the Laird of Dunglais's wife. There are bairns involved in this muddled matter. The laird's son and heir chief among them. I would not have the wee lad declared bastard, nor the child the laird's wife now carries," the bishop said.
"I have a cousin who is a priest and serves at a church in York itself. He would surely know people within the cathedral precincts," Brother George replied.
"Go to York, then, for me and learn the truth of this. I do not think the archbishop would give such a dispensation. While Sir Udolf sent his own priest to disburse bribes where he could, he has not the kind of monies that would be necessary for such an enormous favor. There is some wickedness afoot here, Brother George. Root it out for me, and then return to St. Andrew's."
Brother George departed St. Andrew's and rode for Yorkminster. After several days he finally reached the walled city, entering it and seeking out St. Cuthbert's Church. There he found his cousin, Father Henry, who greeted his relation warmly.
"I had heard you were in the service of the bishop of St. Andrew's," Father Henry said. His father and Brother George's mother had been siblings.
"I am, and I have come discreetly for him in a matter that may involve Yorkminster. Queen Marie has requested of the bishop that he learn if a certain dispensation to wed had been issued by the archbishop or if said dispensation was fraudulent," Brother George explained.
"What makes you think the dispensation was fraudulent?" Father Henry asked.
"It is said to allow a minor baron to marry his son's widow," Brother George said.
"Is she rich?"
"Nay, far from it I am told" was the reply.
"I have heard rumors of bribery among the archbishop's minions," Father Henry said. "Such a thing is not unheard of. And those without means and influence are apt to fall victim to the less than honest in the minster."
"I'm certain the archbishop would not want a scandal, and the young woman involved is the goddaughter of Margaret of Anjou," Brother George murmured.
"And she has no fortune? Are you certain?" Father Henry was surprised. A goddaughter of an English queen surely was a woman of wealth.
"She was the daughter of the queen's physician. They were left behind at Wulfborn when the old king and his family fled north into Scotland. The physician died shortly after his daughter married the lord of Wulfborn's son. Then the groom died. There were no other children, and the lord took it into his head to wed his son's widow. She resisted and fled into Scotland. Her husband's people found her almost dead on the moors. Nursed back to health, she caught the laird's heart and they were wed. The laird had been a widower with one daughter. The child adores her stepmother, I have been told, and now there is a son and heir, and another child on the way."
"The archbishop would never countenance a match between a father-in-law and his son's widow," Father Henry said. "I will gladly help you, Cousin, to get to the bottom of this matter."
Brother George reached into his robes and drew out a small leather pouch. Taking a gold coin from it, he said, "My master would show his appreciation of your efforts with more than prayers. I can see your church needs certain repair, Cousin."
Father Henry did not demur. He took the gold coin. "This will repair the steps to the sanctuary and buy us a pair of silver candlesticks," he said. "I thank you, Cousin, and I thank your bishop. Come now and join me for supper."
The English priest was as good as his word. He went personally to the cathedral and began making discreet inquiries. A cousin on his mother's side was a nun and served as a housekeeper in the archbishop's household. She was a small, plump woman with a motherly face. He took Brother George to meet Sister Mary Agnes.