The Maiden and the Mercenary

by Nicole Locke

  His hands hovered. There was no turbulent touch, but she felt the heat none the less. It was there in every light shudder his body couldn’t hold back. In the way his lips parted to take in a breath that seemed harder to reach. In the way his lids lowered as his gaze raked across her mouth and dipped lower. He couldn’t see much, not with her hands holding out the chemise from her body. But he was imagining it. She liked that most of all.

  ‘I know what this is,’ he said.

  ‘Frustration?’ she quipped.

  He flashed one exceedingly wicked smile. ‘Ah, no. This... You... It’s called provocation.’

  A hard grip at her hip and he spun her around, ripped the chemise from her body, fisted his hands at her back and kissed her. Until she could barely stand, until there were no kitchens again, only Louve. He stretched her gown with a sweep of his foot and ordered, ‘Lie down.’

  She did and he followed, with his hands, with his mouth. None of her escaped his touch. Nothing. When he peppered kisses between her breasts, she fisted her hands in his tunic, desperate to take it off, and he helped her.

  When he folded it under her head, she scraped her nails along his sides. He growled, kissed the large orb of one breast and then the other, his mouth as greedy as his touch.

  ‘You know the words I’m thinking now?’ he said.

  She hadn’t imagined his growing impatience. It was there as he gripped her thigh to widen the place where he pressed one leg.

  ‘Ache.’ He pressed down. Just where she needed it, the tips of her breasts brushing against the smattering of hairs that was the only softness on a torso etched by years of hard work, of dedication.

  Too much pleasure. She cupped the outside of her breasts and pressed them together; he jerked his head up, his heated gaze assessing what she silently told him. To take, to kiss and grip and be as hungry as he wanted. To end this little game he continued to play.

  ‘Ah, no, you won’t have me that easily.’ He blew cool air around one nipple, then the other. Curled his tongue around one breast, then the other. Cupped her knee and pressed it outward to adjust himself fully between her legs. To give weight and heat where his breath and kiss cooled. She couldn’t still her hips.

  Urgent touch, greedy kisses missing no dip and swell across her belly, down one plump thigh and up the other. His breath as much a caress, as needed as any of the words he spoke, any of the insistent touches he made.

  ‘Need,’ he growled. Both hands against her knees, pressing them wider yet, revealing her to his hungry gaze.

  ‘So much desire.’ His hips thrust once hard against the air between them as if helpless to his thoughts as much as she was helpless to his touch.

  Hands sliding down the back of her thighs as he laid between, his nostrils flaring as he dropped his head. A light breath, a soft kiss, a knowing tongue. Flicking it along her folds, switching from one side to the other, opening her up to more of his kisses.

  She wanted more. She wanted him. She wanted this. ‘Louve, please...give.’

  ‘Yes,’ he promised. His lips following his tongue. Teeth nipping thereafter, a hint of the brutal force he held back.

  ‘What else, Bied? What else do you feel?’ he murmured against her damp flesh.

  ‘Louve,’ she panted, sinking her fingers into his hair. Feeling the crispness against her palm, the cool air against bared skin, the hot weight of his body against hers. The familiar tightening in her core.

  ‘Tell me,’ he rasped against her wet folds.

  ‘Pleasure.’ She broke, while he growled in satisfaction and she answered him in all ways.

  When the last shudder released her from its grip and Louve didn’t get up, she laughed and pushed against his head. ‘No more. No more.’

  A hum of protest, a last attentive touch that had her body releasing one more spasm before he kissed her inner thigh. Then he kissed the other until she was nothing but another puddle in the kitchen. Louve seemed to come to the same awareness.

  ‘Who cleans these floors?’ he groaned. ‘Please don’t tell me that wine sop is still here.’

  She giggled and curled into him.

  ‘It’s your fault for ordering such a strange meal. If I didn’t know better—’

  ‘What...you must finish that sentence.’

  His cock pressed against her damp curls, as he held her tight, rubbed his chin along the top of her head.

  She felt the vibrating need within him echoing in her own body. But for now, what they’d shared was more than she had with anyone. Knowing it wouldn’t last, she revelled in it. This couldn’t mean anything past right now and she wanted to prolong the joy that it was, as he rasped more kisses along her jaw and nuzzled into her neck. As her hands caressed and stretched to feel everything she could reach.

  ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you played a jest with that ridiculous meal,’ she said.

  He laughed low. ‘Didn’t you find the English serving amusing?’

  She smacked him, the slap of her hand echoing as his laughter and kisses increased. She wanted to laugh again only for the joy of how he felt, how he smelled. She wanted it to never end, as his hands continued their exploration. She arched her neck, twisted her body. His fingers swirling traces along her spine, his mouth tasting the crook of her elbow, the dense bone at her wrist, the fleshy bit of her palm. And then reversing the path to repeat it all again.

  ‘How do you like the kitchens now?’ he murmured between her breasts. ‘Still hate them?’

  If there was laughter in them and not just the urgency of where the next meal was, she would. If he kept touching her like he did... ‘I think I might see some point to parts of them.’

  ‘Perhaps you want some of your own?’ He nipped along her breast’s swell, against her ribcage where she was most sensitive.

  She was certain he wanted another play at words and meanings because they weren’t truly talking of kitchens, but she only had enough thought left for the truth. He’d taken most of her ability to think at all.

  ‘No, no kitchens.’ She shifted again so he could gain access to the other side of her breast, and he hummed in approval. Then stopped.

  Lifting his head, he peered down at her. ‘You’re not...playing.’

  The cool air hitting the damp spots upon her breasts pebbled her skin. It chilled her without his continued kisses. ‘Why would I want kitchens?’ she said. ‘You do all this labour and you simply have to do it again the next day.’

  He gave her a quick kiss to silence her. ‘It’s called eating. Most of us like it.’

  The sweep of his hand indicated the conversation could continue as they were, but she knew enough to know some matters needed to be understood. What they had between them was temporary and anything of kitchens was something dark from her past.

  ‘I’m in earnest, Louve. If you have a family, the amount doubles, triples. In my case I had four siblings. What do you think happens then? You never leave the kitchens.’

  ‘Is that why you don’t season the food? It’s faster to prepare then?’

  That earned him a quick shove against a shoulder. ‘That had to do with the keys and nothing to do with my hatred of kitchens.’

  ‘Ah, yes, no kitchens, then. But you don’t like the outside either.’

  ‘It’s too cold to wander the gardens.’

  ‘Bied.’ He dipped his chin. A shock of black fell across his eye and she held it back. Kept her hand there as he kissed her inner wrist.

  ‘No, I don’t like the outside either,’ she said. ‘There’s work there, too. Fields of wheat, or barley. Turnips and cabbage, onions.’

  He brushed his hand through her hair, his gaze wandering there as if fascinated by the tangled strands. ‘You’re not idle, Bied. If you don’t like the inside and don’t like the out, what, besides me, do you like?’

  ‘You think I like you?�
� she retorted, which earned her a true smile and dimple which she quickly kissed. ‘I like the people I meet from one town to the next as I find work.’

  He untangled his fingers. ‘You like Tess. You treasure your friendship with her. I’ve seen it.’

  Her friendship with Tess was unexpected. She’d made friends along the way in her life, but she never, except for her family, felt the closeness she did with the baker. ‘I do treasure her. She’s very dear...and demanding.’

  He chuckled low. ‘And you love your family.’

  ‘More than I like you,’ she replied. ‘My brothers and sisters are everything to me. Always have been.’

  ‘Tell me more about them.’

  ‘You do like meddling, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know all their names.’

  She was loath to bring her family into anything between her and Louve when all she wanted was him. They were different and for the first time in her life she wanted to tell someone about her family. But it made her all the more wary because she knew this couldn’t be more.

  ‘Servet came after me,’ she began. ‘He was an old man even before he was weaned. Married, no children. Isnard was less than a year after that and when he reached two years that was all the maturity God ever granted him. Mabile married a village man, they have a pack of nieces and I don’t think I’ll ever see a nephew. But I wouldn’t change them for anything.’

  ‘You left out Margery.’

  ‘From the moment she opened her eyes, she was more a worry than any sibling should be. There were times when I’d thought someone had stolen her. Neighbours would take her simply to stare at her. Even if I didn’t indulge her, everyone else always did.’

  ‘And your parents?’

  She’d talked enough of her family. Talking of her parents, of her mother’s heartbreak and her father’s abandonment. No. That had no place here.

  He made some wondering sound. ‘You care for your siblings, and family, yet you don’t have one of your own.’

  And there. There was the bit she did not want to bring between them. She’d lain with men with some caution, though it wasn’t a certainty. She could be barren, but she always felt relief each month that she didn’t conceive. After her mother’s marriage, she couldn’t imagine one of her own.

  Louve, the way he searched her eyes, the way he tenderly touched her. The way he immediately offered help with her sister, deserved the truth.

  She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want a husband.’

  His brows lowered. ‘Nor a house, or a plot of land to till.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘But—’

  She pressed her palm upon his lips and silenced him. ‘I’ve known myself longer than these few precious days with you. I’ve never wanted a husband.’

  He dropped the hand touching her. The side of his body was still pressed to her bared skin, but the beginnings of cool air fanned in as he disengaged himself from her.

  ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted,’ he said. ‘Land of my own, a wife, peace.’

  Peace, something that was ripping up between them as the conversation continued. She leaned up, grabbed her chemise and clenched it to her chest. ‘That’s what you’ve told me.’

  ‘You don’t believe me?’ He pulled at the chemise, spread it over her bared breasts and belly. It didn’t cover her completely because she refused to unclench her fist holding it, but she appreciated the warmth it gave. ‘I’ve known myself far longer than you.’

  It was true, but she didn’t believe him. He’d left a safe home to become a mercenary, he talked of danger and there was something in his voice that though he warned her against it, indicated he liked it. But she’d only known him mere days, and in the end, this was always going to be temporary.

  ‘You want land, a wife and peace and I don’t. It’s good you were only meant to borrow me.’

  A shift as if something she said made him uncomfortable. ‘If I’m to borrow you, I want it to be for an exceedingly long—’

  She slapped her hand over his mouth, shook her head.

  No dimples, no smiles. Just his eyes searching hers. He hadn’t said anything, but she knew, she felt it when he touched her, kissed her. Somehow in these few days when she needed to seize her sister and run far away, she’d found a man who wanted to marry her.

  She eased her hand away from his lips. But she didn’t want to marry him. It seemed he came to the same conclusion for he dropped on his back beside her.

  ‘What is on these floors?’ he asked. But it was no longer humorous.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Hunting. Are you mad?’ Louve demanded.

  Again, Louve had had little sleep, his thoughts plagued by Biedeluue and the impossible situation they were in. The fact he wanted the impossible with her. He thought...he thought the conflict with the Warstones would be all that separated them. He knew she’d had her trust broken, but he hoped if he proved himself, and after he explained all of these plots and schemes, these games, she’d see the possibility.

  But she had turned away from him and all he could think was: Had he fallen for another woman who would never accept him, who only wanted him to keep her bed linens warm?

  ‘I like hunting usually,’ Balthus said. ‘Not this time of year with the cold, but if I’m fortunate, I can release an arrow as the prey darts across an open field. It’s been too long since I had that freedom.’

  ‘That’s because the last time you went hunting with Ian, one of those arrows released was aimed towards your back.’

  He didn’t need any of this. Breaking fast went well and there were no incidents as they continued to chapel. But in that short distance, he overheard Balthus suggest to his family a hunt on the morrow. A. Hunt.

  It had stopped Louve in his tracks and he didn’t follow them into the small building. He did, however, dare to make eye contact with Balthus, who took the hint and somehow found him in the frost-filled gardens so they could have this discussion.

  Prayers would take time, but Balthus’s presence would still be required. Louve couldn’t believe he was using this precious moment to talk to Balthus about hunting versus finding the parchment.

  Balthus hummed. ‘It wasn’t my brother who released those arrows. Ian’s archery skills are abysmal. Further, if my sources are accurate, that particular archer can’t be found any more. Ian will have to struggle taking me down. If I’m truly fortunate, I’ll get to taunt him about it until the deed’s accomplished.’

  ‘Are they injuring you, is that it?’ Louve said. ‘Are you hurt somewhere and not telling me, and so you’ve decided to end everything? Or have they hurt your head when I wasn’t looking?’

  ‘There are ways they injure us that many cannot see,’ Balthus said. ‘You should know that by now.’

  Louve did, very much. After seeing them retire for the evening and then resume their activities this morning, he had some idea of the damage. The father, jovial words, cutting expressions. And no beguiling grin completely overshadowed the rapier eyes.

  But Balthus’s mother... Serenity encapsulated her. Always her hands were clasped in front of her, or in her lap when she was sitting. Her words were soft, her manners graceful.

  Yet she reminded Louve of a weever fish. Odd, he knew, when she was stunningly beautiful, but those dragon fish had venomous spines and buried themselves in the sand for their prey. She had that predatory patience about her, that calculating ability to wait and strike any vulnerable being that swam too close.

  Balthus’s tone when describing his parents was so matter of fact, so even, Louve mourned for whatever life he had had. ‘What I can’t understand is why any of you stay near.’

  ‘They are our parents. If you think we have damned our souls for the deeds we have done in their games, what do you think God would say if, instead of honouring, we killed our mother and our father?’ Balth
us shrugged. ‘Even if any of us decided to, and, in truth, I’m surprised Guy didn’t try, they guard themselves even against us.’

  ‘There are other ways to kill you. They’ll find a way.’ Louve walked farther into the garden. The orchard wasn’t big and there weren’t that many shrubs or plants to hide behind. Moving around was their best bet to not be seen or heard.

  ‘Most likely, on the second attempt, Ian won’t try to hide his murder of me,’ Balthus said. ‘However weak of me, I hope my mother hasn’t plotted in my upcoming murder. As...twisted as she is, I do like pretending I’m her favourite and she might be irked at my death.’

  ‘There will be no murder or your death.’

  Balthus ducked under a branch. ‘You’re not God.’

  ‘I don’t have to be God, I merely have to be there,’ Louve said. ‘If you are insisting on this hunt tomorrow, I’ll give you some time to get in front before I leave the stables to—’

  ‘You have to stay in the fortress,’ Balthus said. ‘All of us will be out of the house. All of the danger and those with prying eyes. This is your opportunity to find information or the parchment.’

  Louve hated the logic of Balthus’s plan. Hated that it also let his treacherous thoughts go to Bied. Because, yes, he had an opportunity to locate the parchment, but he also had an opportunity to free Margery. All at the expense of Balthus’s life and his friendship with Reynold. Nothing was without a sacrifice.

  ‘I’ve already talked to your brother. He knows Reynold sent me here for the parchment. Right now, I don’t know if he knows what it’s for, but he’s no fool.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’ve talked to my brother?’

  Louve clenched his eyes. How was he to keep track of all this? Despite his earlier thoughts, he had to believe that Balthus was good, Ian was not. Otherwise, everything was for naught. Everything, including those few treasured moments with Bied in the kitchen.

  ‘The conversation was mostly about friendship. Ian extended an offer of peace.’

  Balthus’s mien turned dark. ‘You’re now telling me this.’

  ‘Your parents were sleeping. Ian said you were gone... Where were you?’