his need for her. Yearning broke in long, exquisite waves over Micheline's body as she melted against him, her fingers traveling over each taut muscle in his back and shoulders, then down to the hard curves of his buttocks.
Soon they were lying amid the fragrant spring flowers. Micheline loved this extra gift of sight, for in the past they had made love in darkness. She basked in the warmth of Andrew's caramel-colored eyes and gazed euphorically on his candlelit face, the corded muscles that joined his neck and shoulders, the strength of his arms, and the lean beauty of his chest. Even as Micheline gloried in the scorching kisses he trailed over her body, she was watching him move. Never had she imagined such a combination of strength and elegant grace.
Sandhurst knew exactly where and how to touch her. His mouth found the sensitive nape of her neck, the bend of her arm, her inner wrist, then lingered over her breasts before blazing a trail down her belly to the insides of her thighs. His fingers slipped into the nest of curls between her legs and she throbbed, aching, as he touched her in ways more intimate than she had ever imagined.
"So, so beautiful," he murmured, kissing her there.
Micheline writhed against him until the waves of sensation drew her up higher still and carried her to a place she had never known existed. She lay gasping, pressing against him. Sheer passion had burned away all intruding thoughts. As much as she wanted to touch and kiss Andrew's body, the need to feel him inside of her overrode all else.
"Please!" she whispered. Her eyes were drawn helplessly to his erect manhood. How beautifully he is made! she thought, aching for him.
When Sandhurst finally rose to deeply kiss her mouth, Micheline reached to wrap her fingers around him. His member was hard as steel, yet warm, pulsating slightly against her palm.
"Oh, Andrew," she whispered, her voice breaking on a sob, "I love you."
He drew back to stare at her. "Michelle, you are more than my wife. You are my mate. For all our lives."
And then he came into her into her, filling her, moaning aloud at the sensation of her sweet, moist warmth tightening around him. They arched together, moving fervently, the sound of their gasps filling the room, until another wild surging climax shook Micheline's very soul. Sandhurst found his own shuddering release in the next instant. When his breathing slowed a bit, he lifted his face from the cloud of her hair and ran the backs of his fingertips over her damp brow. Their bodies were still united, and a slow smile spread over his face that said more than words ever could. Micheline felt as if she were floating on a cloud of utter bliss.
Later, after they had shared quiet caresses, Andrew poured one goblet of wine for them both and they lay against the pillows, sipping. She arranged flowers over his chest, then he went a step further and put primroses in the damp curls between her legs.
The sight of his flickering grin ignited a fresh fire of love inside of her.
"I have never been so pleased to be a woman," she exclaimed suddenly, "a woman mated to the most splendid of men..."
He laughed, basking in her radiance. "Life is sweet, indeed."
"I am so happy, Andrew. That's what frightens me. Does anyone deserve to be so happy?"
"Only you, my heart," Sandhurst assured her. He reached over to set the goblet of wine on the table by the bed, then returned to find Micheline's lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. Unable to help himself, he obliged, adding, "And me, of course!"
Chapter 31
April 25-26, 1533
Gloucestershire, England
To reach Sandhurst Manor, traveling as they were from the northeast, Andrew and Micheline had to pass through Stratford-upon-Avon, a quaint town of fewer than two hundred half-timbered houses. Accompanied as usual by Finchley, Mary, and two squires, they spent the night at a cozy inn on Chapel Lane.
Micheline slept little that night. Snuggled in the circle of Andrew's embrace, she thought about the first happy days of her marriage and wondered what life in her new home would be like. Three times she heard the watchman pass, calling out eventually, "Give ear to the clock, beware your lock, your fire, and your light, and God give you good night: three o'clock."
In the morning Micheline was radiant with energy and anticipation.
"Every day is an adventure," she told Andrew as they broke their fast, "because