Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

by Jill Elaine Hughes

  She felt a cool cloth pressed onto her forehead. “You fainted, milady,” Robert whispered. His face was close now, ever so close. “I know that tasting the spices of the East for the first time can be quite an experience, but I never saw anyone actually faint from it before. Methinks that’s a tale for the bards and troubadours to sing about.”

  “That’s not the only thing for the bards’ and troubadours’ songs,” was Sabina’s breathless reply. And without even thinking, she reached up, pulled Robert down to her, and kissed him full on the lips.

  It was the first time Sabina had ever kissed anyone, but it came as naturally to her as breathing. Robert was stunned at first, but soon he was kissing her back with just as much passion as she gave him. Their lips met, their tongues touched and danced. Robert pressed his whole body hard against her, pulling her tighter and tighter into his arms. Sabina felt the growing bulge of his manhood hard against her thigh. She knew nothing of what happened intimately between men and women—like most women of her station, she had never been taught anything of the sort—and yet when she felt Robert hard against her body, she instantly knew what it meant, and what was about to happen.

  Or what might not happen after all.

  All at once, Robert pulled himself away from her. He got up, walked to the far side of the rock outcropping, and turned his back on her. “We cannot do this, Your Ladyship.”

  Your Ladyship. So they were back to titles, back to formalities. It cut Sabina to the bone. “But why?”

  He glanced back over his shoulder at her, and shook his head. “Surely you understand why, Your Ladyship. You are not mine to have. Indeed, I risk my very life and yours if we ever touch. Lord Reginald is a jealous man with a very short temper.”

  “I don’t care,” Sabina said. “I’d rather die than marry him anyway.”

  Robert sighed and stared down at the ground. “You say that now, milady. But you are but a naïve and ignorant girl. What do you know of what really happens between men and women?Nothing, I am sure. And I have nothing at all to offer you. I have but a poor estate in Normandy with rocky soil and half-dead vineyards that brings in almost nothing in income. My mercenary wages go to support my mother and sisters, and what little is left maintains me, though not at all in style. With me you would have nothing but poverty and heartbreak—if we escaped with our lives at all. At least with Lord Reginald you would have safety and security.”

  “With Lord Reginald I would have misery and hell,” Sabina retorted. “I’d rather have a few moments of bliss with you than a lifetime of misery with him.”

  “You know not what you say, Your Ladyship. What you ask is impossible. And it makes no sense. I am your captor, after all, and you my prisoner. And even if you weren’t already betrothed elsewhere, we are ill-suited to one another. We cannot even have a conversation without it turning into an argument.”

  “Then we shall spend our time doing something other than making conversation,” was Sabina’s sultry reply. With that, she shocked even herself.

  Robert’s face reddened. “You are a little devil, Your Ladyship. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “I never did before now.”

  “Your Ladyship, if we go forward with this, we must both understand the consequences. We might have a few moments of bliss, ‘tis true, but it will surely end with both our deaths, unless we manage to flee England for foreign shores. And even then, my employer’s wealth and influence knows no bounds. He could send his other mercenaries and bounty hunters after us—I am but one of many that serve him. We wouldn’t be safe anywhere.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Robert shook his head. “That’s not even the worst part, Your Ladyship. I fear you would never see your father or beloved Angwyld again. Are you prepared to take that risk too, milady?”

  Sabina pondered this a moment. Could she make such a great sacrifice for just a few short days—or even hours—of Robert’s touch? She wasn’t even sure what lying with him, touching him intimately would be like, after all. Would it be worth it? She had no knowledge of such things, even if the growing urges rising in her body seemed to indicate otherwise. And what of her father? At one level Sabina felt betrayed by her beloved sole surviving parent, who had effectively sold her in exchange for his own lands and title, after all. But at another level, Sabina understood that her father had been left with no choice. Still, that didn’t mean she always had to keep herself shackled to other men’s plans for her life. Sabina knew in her heart that she had the right to shape her own destiny, even if the laws of England didn’t recognize it.

  She could choose to be chattel, or she could choose to be a woman. Once she put it in those terms, it was an easy choice to make.

  “I choose to be with you, Robert. Whatever the consequences may be.”

  Robert smiled, lighting up his whole face. “So be it, milady. I only hope you won’t live to regret your decision. With any luck, we’ll both be dead by morning.”

  Chapter 8

  Robert took Sabina by the hand and led her over to his bedroll. The fire had died down to coals. The stewpot sat upon them, its remaining contents simmering slowly, filling the air with more of the exotic scent of spices. Robert lit a tallow candle and placed it in a metal bowl. Its flickering light reflected on the stone outcroppings, making the whole campsite into a magical, otherworldly place. The candlelight also reflected in Robert’s gray eyes, turning them into deep whirlpools that drew her ever inward. The evening song of a nightingale rang out somewhere in the distance as a soft rain fell onto the leaves of the forest, both sounds mixing into perfect music for them to love by. They were safe and warm by the dying fire in their open cave shelter, the sounds of the night growing around them, enveloping the both of them with their perfect peace.

  Sabina could think of no better time or place for her to lay down her virtue.

  Robert softly caressed Sabina’s cheek. “You’re absolutely sure about this, milady? You need only say the word, and we will stop.”

  “Never stop,” she whispered. “I want this. I don’t know exactly why, just that I do. It doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense.”

  “Matters of the heart never do,” Robert whispered back. “Love is something not of this world, milady, guided only by God Himself. Mere mortals shall never understand it. Which is why the bards and poets spend their lives trying to explain it to us.” With that, he kissed her softly. It took her a moment to kiss him back, such were the many thoughts that raced through her mind. What was she doing? Had she gone mad? Was she really willing to risk everything she had—land, title, her good name, her father’s good name, Robert’s life—even her own—just for this?

  Yes, she was. The only thing that mattered was feeling Robert’s touch, his kiss, every part of what he and his body had to offer her. Nothing else.

  Sabina kissed Robert back hard. She opened her mouth upon his, pushed her tongue deep into his mouth, explored and probed. Her hands instinctively fell to the lacings of her tunic and shift, loosened them, ripped her bodice open so her breasts were bare for Robert to place his mouth upon. He followed her lead, covering her bosom with kisses. He took first her left globe into his hand and gently squeezed it, then her right. He murmured something in French against her cleavage, then covered it in kisses. He pressed her downward and back until she was on her knees, leaning towards the ground. She let her instincts take over and soon she was flat on her back, her legs splayed wide, her hips raised slightly off the mossy ground.

  Robert joined her on the cave floor, pressing his body into the space between her legs. The bulge in his breeches pressed against Sabina’s most sensitive spot, urging her to open herself up even further. Just as she was about to reach down and lift her skirts, Robert did the favor for her. He eased up her surcoat and overgown first, then her shift. Like most pure, unmarried women, she wore nothing underneath—and her spicy feminine scent filled the air as she exposed herself to the world for the first time.

  Sabina only had an in
kling of what might come next. But Robert gave her the answer before she even had a chance to ask the question. He reached between her legs and found her secret softness, and began to softly fondle her there. She was as soft and velvety as a wet rose, and as Robert’s nimble fingers passed over her most delicate and sensitive parts, her whole being began to tense and vibrate—as if to sing like a lyre string plucked by a bard’s skilled hand. Instinctively she opened herself up to him even further, drew him downward and ever closer, just as her own body raised itself up to meet him.

  Tension began to spread throughout Sabina’s body, harder and thicker and deeper until her toes curled, her fists clenched, and her head craned backward on her neck until her crown met the stone floor of the cave. Little animal sounds began to escape her mouth—she heard them as if from far away. She knew that as blissful as what her body felt now was, there was still something more to come—something that would complete her in a way that nothing ever had before. She didn’t exactly know what that something was, only that she needed it to happen, happen right now.

  Again, Robert read her mind, gave her the answer before she could even ask the question. He moaned and grunted against her neck, his lips and mouth still sucking and biting her neck, her chest, her bosom. His hands strayed away from her damp petals for the briefest of moments, and she heard a frantic rearranging of rough wool and thick linen as he pulled his manhood from his breeches and loincloth. And then, in an instant that shattered both of their worlds, Robert plowed hard and fast inside Sabina’s depths.

  They rode a wave of ecstasy together, climbing an invisible mountain higher and higher until they both reached the pinnacle. Then, their bodies inextricably joined, they jumped off at the same time, their bodies in blissful freefall for what seemed like an eternity.

  The whole world went dark then. Whether they simply dozed for a few moments or slept hard for hours, Sabina never knew. But when she awoke, she felt as if she’d been gone from the world a thousand years, only to be born again as soft and innocent as a new babe in arms.

  Robert still lay atop her, and their bodies were still joined. She felt him hard and thick inside her; it was as if they’d only just begun. “Is it always like this?” she murmured into his ear.

  “No,” he whispered. “It never is. Except for once in a lifetime.”

  He began to move inside her again, and this time they rode on and on and on together, for hours or days, neither ever knew. Or cared.

  Chapter 9

  Angwyld Castle, five days later.

  Lord Reginald paced up and down Angwyld Castle’s great hall. He walked with a pronounced limp due to his deformity, and he stomped his steel-booted feet hard in anger with every step so every link in his chainmail shirt rang and rattled, sending metallic echoes up and down the vast stone chamber. He carried a razor-sharp Norman scrimisar axe on a twelve-foot pole, which he slammed into the ground at every other step. The Duke quavered at every impact.

  The Duke was a brave man much seasoned in battle, but Lord Reginald scared even him, especially today. The ruthless old Norman had lost all patience a day earlier, and it was only a matter of time before he started calling for peoples’ heads. Starting with the Duke’s.

  “Where the devil are they?” he boomed at his despairing host for the umpteenth time. “They were due in three days ago at the latest. The weather has not been severe enough for this kind of delay! Something has happened! Damn it Angwyld, why have you not sent out your garrison in search of them?”

  The Duke wrung his gauntleted hands. Since the Normans had invaded a generation ago he’d himself been in the habit of wearing a full suit of mail day in and day out himself, but seeing the fully armed, armored—and furious—Lord Reginald waving his twelve-foot polearm around inches from his head made him wonder if perhaps he also should have gotten into the habit of always wearing a helmet. “Forgive me, Your Lordship, but I thought it best to wait until you arrived. When I received the abbess’ message estimating the date of my daughter’s safe arrival, I merely thought of it as exactly that—an estimate. Travel can be treacherous through the West Country with the spring rains. They could be stuck in mud on the king’s highway, or a river or stream could have overflowed its banks, a ferry bridge could have washed out—any of those things can cause a delay of three days, sometimes longer.”

  Lord Reginald slammed his heavy polearm into the ground, and the entire great room shook. “Nonsense! My mercenary Robert de Tyre is an experienced cavalryman and footsoldier. He can ride through unpaved wilderness faster than the King’s own army can traipse upon the high road. Robert de Tyre does not delay travel by three days or more, ever. Unless he is dead.” He paused, and at that moment his humpback seemed to grow a foot. “Or if perhaps he has betrayed us.”

  The Duke’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  The deformed old Norman scoffed. “Shall I draw you a picture, Your Grace? Your daughter is a beautiful maiden, and my employee is a rugged, handsome man. Robert de Tyre is loyal to me to a fault—which is exactly why I chose him over all my other men to recover my bride for me. Even so, he is also a young man and a bachelor. And young male bachelors do have a tendency to lose their faculties around beautiful young women.”

  The Duke reddened, then choked. “You aren’t saying—“

  Lord Reginald collapsed into a waiting chair. “I am merely speculating. As you say, there could be a dozen reasons for the delay—weather, bandits, Saxon outlaws with an axe to grind, perhaps even a bear. But I know my mercenary well, and if he indeed has failed me in this endeavor, odds are a hundred to one it’s carnal in nature. Anything else, I know from experience he has both the brawn and brains to handle.”

  Now it was the Duke’s turn to pace. “If you knew the man had a weakness for women, then why the devil did you send him after my daughter in the first place?”

  “Your Grace, you misunderstand me. I chose Robert de Tyre precisely because I knew that he alone of my men does not have a weakness for women. That, and because he is by far my swiftest horseman, my most savvy traveler, and my most skilled soldier and henchman. If there ever was a better man for the job—not to mention a safer risk when it came to your daughter’s virtue—I didn’t know of one. But as I’m sure you know by now, Your Grace, as do I, nothing is ever safe or predictable where beautiful young women are concerned. We might hedge our bets as best we can, and still come up short.”

  The Duke slumped down into the chair opposite Lord Reginald. His face had gone gray, and he seemed to have aged ten years in the past ten minutes. “What do you propose we do now, Your Lordship? My best men shall be at your disposal. You need only give the word.”

  The old Norman smiled, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth. “That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. For I have more men at my disposal than King Henry himself. And they are far better soldiers than the King’s men. Mercenaries always are, you know. The best men always follow the money.”

  ****

  Robert and Sabina rode south-southeast, towards the Dover coast. They had been riding for days now. Sabina had lost track of exactly how long. Now they were approaching Sussex, and once there the cliffs of Dover would only be another day or so’s ride away.

  The provisions from the abbess had long ago run out, and now they depended mostly on wild game that Robert shot with his arrows for food. Sometimes they were able to buy bread and cheese from peasants and farmers they passed along the road.

  Three days earlier they had purchased new travelling clothes from a wandering peddler, who also happened to be a Scotsman. Instead of buying his regular wares they procured his personal family tartans in exchange for a handful of gold and spices. They wrapped themselves in the rough plaids in the highland fashion, knotting them at their shoulders the same way Sabina’s Scottish nursery maid had always worn her tartans. That way, any passerby would just assume they were a pair of Scottish nobles peaceably passing through the English countryside on their way to Calais.

  “Fr
om now on, we are Lord and Lady McDonough of Glasgow, travelling to visit our cousins in France,” Robert had instructed Sabina after they donned the tartans. “It won’t be long before Lord Reginald sends his bounty hunters after us, and then every sheriff in the land will post wanted signs with descriptions in hopes of collecting bounty themselves. We can’t risk being recognized.”

  Sabina chuckled then. “Well, with my West Country accent and fair hair I can probably pass for Scottish, but I’m not sure that many people will be willing to accept a Scotsman who speaks with a French accent and looks an awful lot like a Norman.”

  “If anyone asks, tell them I speak only Gaelic.”

  “That might backfire,” Sabina said. “Lots of people in England speak Gaelic fluently. They might try to talk to you in your supposed native tongue, and then what would we do?”

  “Then tell them I’m a deaf-mute,” Robert growled. “Come on. We can’t afford to dawdle. Even if we make it to Sussex tonight it’s another three days’ ride to Dover, and then once we’re there, we might have to lay low for a few days more until I can secure us passage across the Channel. Are you still willing to part with your mother’s jewels? We might have need of them at Dover, especially since we’ll have to keep our departure a secret.”

  Sabina reached inside the secret pocket on Arthur’s saddlebag and withdrew the small box of her mother’s jewels. Now that she knew she’d never see her beloved Angwyld again, the ancient Celtic jewelry was the only tangible thing she had to remember her mother by. It was said to date from before the time of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, had been passed down in her mother’s family for countless generations, from eldest daughter to eldest daughter. There were gold brooches set with pearls and diamonds, necklaces made of gold, silver and lapis lazuli, even a pair of earrings that were said to have come all the way from Rome in the times of the Caesars. And now the whole collection would likely be handed over to a mercenary ship’s captain—a greasy, immoral class of people if there ever was one. Who knew what would happen to them then? At least Sabina had known that they would have been put to use serving God and the poor had she given the collection to the abbey.