“Ye God! What the devil have you been rolling in?” One of Rory’s men inquired. He pinched his nose tight and waved a hand before him taking a hasty step back. The stench of Lord Christopher’s men was engulfing.
Poor Philip was literally tossed on top of his mount as the men sought to escape the foul smell of him. Rory’s knights were suddenly grateful they would not be engaging in battle. They would be tested heavily not to retreat from the powerful odor. Hopefully this was not just some skillful tactical move. Entice them off their mounts then grab them in a bear hug to asphyxiate them.
“Come, Constantine. My little one, you have been gone from my side far too long,” Rory said. He had been right about her inability to stay out of trouble. Lord Christopher was just lucky she had not been injured by her ploy. He would have been sorely vexed not to run the man through. Though taking in Lord Christopher’s haggard expression it would be but a mercy killing. Rory felt positive if someone were to place a sword in his hand he would topple over as his squire had.
“Yes, by the Saints go, my lady. Take your vocal cords and be off,” Nicholas said, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm.
“You seek to mock my wife?” Rory growled.
“No Broc, I seek my bed,” Nicholas said pitifully. Dear Lord now I’m whiny. Was there to be no end to his humiliation?
“I will send word of Lady Juliette,” Rory promised.
“Take your time. I will understand most assuredly,” Nicholas replied. By the Saints why would the man not just go? He needed to go himself. Now.
“In due time,” Rory replied. He gathered Constantine from her mount, wanting her close.
Nicholas had to admire him for his bravery. Only a command from King Edward himself would take him that close to Lady Constantine and her mouth.
Rory’s precession moved away. Nicholas did not know whether he was feeling happy or sad at the encounter. His army was indeed greater. If he could just get them well. He might need them ready for battle if Broc sought to return Juliette.
Nicholas turned his mount and they proceeded home. But not before again righting poor Philip atop his horse again.
* * * *
“You are looking very satisfied with yourself,” Rory said gazing down into Constantine’s complaisant smile.
“I am happy to be home,” she said and tightened her grip about him.
“We will arrive there soon enough,” Rory said, kissing her temple.
“Nay, you misunderstand me, dearest husband. I am home when wrapped within your arms. Wherever we may be,” Constantine told him. She had missed him desperately. If only she could see her dear Juliette again everything would be perfect.
“I was saddened without you as well, my love,” Rory admitted. He cuddled her tighter to his chest. His grip possessive.
“Rory, must we return Juliette?” Constantine asked.
Rory remained quiet. Pensive. He wanted not for their reunion to turn to tears...and howls. “We will discuss this later dearest. For now just let me enjoy having you back again.”
For some time the procession walked on until Rory detoured down a narrow path. With a sly look to his head knight Rory separated from the rest of his men. The wise older knight only smiled and offered a quick wave of his hand while leading the men home.
“Where do we go, Rory? I am anxious to see my sister,” Constantine said, a bit disappointed.
“Your dearest Juliette is safe in the hands of my brother. She can wait. Your lord husband cannot.”
The path was familiar and Constantine felt her pulse quicken. “What are you about?” she asked on an expelled breath. The thatched hut came into view where she and Juliette had first taken Rory.
Rory swung down from the saddle keeping her in his arms. He gave her an amused steamy look. “I intend to return the favor my sweet. ’Tis my turn to initiate coupling.”
Chapter Eight
Rory strode within the enclosure. He spun about only to lift a booted heel and kick the dilapidated door closed. He then gazed into Constantine’s wide eyes. Her lip trembled, yet Rory knew it was with excitement not concern. He moved to the small bed and set her atop it. Before she could mutter any noise his lips captured hers in a hungry dance. Her breath escaped in a small sigh when he finally released her mouth and tongue.
“Oh, please do not stop,” Constantine whimpered.
“You are a most willing victim,” Rory commented.
“I will but show you how willing if you unclothe yourself.”
“I would require your aid dearest. Battle gear is most difficult to remove alone,” Rory informed her.
“’Tis a good thing I prove to be a willing victim. I cannot imagine another’s response to, “I am going to initiate coupling but require your aid to unclothe me first,” Constantine complained.
Rory chuckled then dropped his gauntlets to the floor. His sword was laid near the bed. One by one his adornments hit the hard dirt as more of his tanned body showed. Constantine decided she liked undressing him. She had sorely missed the feel of his powerful body while away. She ran her hands over his solid muscular chest letting her fingers tug gently at his fur. Rory grabbed roughly at the back of her neck, his eyes hot with passion delved deeply into her own. She would almost have been fearful of their intensity if she did not love him so.
“I have told you little one, ’tis my turn,” Rory demanded.
Rory held her with firm hands, she found herself to be unclothed at a greater speed than ever before. He seemed as though possessed with the need of her. She heard the tear of a strip of fabric and shied back surprised when seeing his intent.
Rory captured her mouth with his own and seeing her hesitance, thought to entice her in his play. Never did he want his beloved’s fear. Only her passion would do.
Constantine rubbed at his chest and arms rejoicing in their power and warmth. His heavy weight upon her was the security blanket she had wept for at night while alone at Lord Christopher’s. She only let out a soft complaint when he gathered her wrists together. She wanted to touch him yet sensed his mood. She had been stolen from him. She was his as he was hers. His possession was great. She was his again and he would keep her. She would be bound to him forever. Constantine offered no resistance as her wrists were tied, as his had once been, to a post atop the bed. She trusted him, she wanted him.
Rory whispered gentle words into her ear as his large hands roamed and explored her body everywhere. He trailed sweet hot kisses down her raised arms to her breasts, drawing first one dusty rose colored bud into his mouth then suckling greedily. She moaned louder as he switched to her other bared breast. Fiery hot kisses trailed their way to her belly. He moved his tongue with exaggerated slowness down one slender white thigh and took one lovely shaped foot into his hands and sucked upon each toe, his eyes never breaking contact.
Constantine writhed beneath him. She realized even if not bound she would be his helpless victim. Her want of him was too overpowering. She craved the feel of him.
“Please, Rory,” she begged.
Her softly whimpered plea drove Rory into a frenzied heated state. He lowered himself atop her and plunged deeply. Constantine accepted him, her hips rising to meet his eager thrusts. She moved with him as best she could, yet Rory’s need was far too great for her to keep pace. She gave herself up to him, trusting he would take her to where she wanted to be. She was not disappointed. Rory’s released cry of victory bellowed out and seemed to vibrate upon the walls. He continued to lay atop her slight form not wanting to move away as yet. One large hand curled tangled in her long tresses and he brought a fistful to his nose to breath in her sweet scent. Her breathing remained ragged as she tried to calm from his near frantic pace. Never had he been thus wild, primitive.
“I am at your mercy,” Constantine whispered up to him.
Rory’s hand tightened in her hair possessively as her eyes were a liquid delight with deep passion. His eyes bore into hers with new hunger. His head dipped and Constantine’s
now quiet breath quickened. His exploration of her mouth was leisurely as if searching for something he might have once missed. She moaned as his hands began a new quest of her trembling body.
“Do you beg my mercy?” he enquired his tone dipped with headiness.
“Aye, my lord. I beg you take me again,” Constantine whimpered as she near danced beneath him from want.
“Fret not little one. I will indeed be merciful.” Rory claimed her lips, then settled his large body over her.
* * * *
The village was in an uproar. A few homes had been set to flames and the peasants raced madly for buckets of water. One of the hay fields ablaze had been Devon’s first indication serious trouble was at hand. He had been swift to mount his horse, after giving Juliette a stern warning to stay put and raced to offer aid along with any and all remaining people. Shortly after Devon’s departure Juliette sought out a pony and spying a quiet mare she hurried to saddle her. Mary appeared at her side.
“Nay, my lady. ’Tis too dangerous,” Mary cried out, fearful of her intent.
“I must help. There could be women or children who require aid,” Juliette replied, her breath coming fast. Deftly she climbed aboard her mount, her hands twisting in the reins to urge the mount forward adding a squeeze to the mare’s sides with soft slippered feet, and was off before Mary could offer more resistance. Mary watched with mounting terror as Juliette raced toward the fiasco.
When Juliette arrived upon the scene she was horrified as the village seemed engulfed in flames. Devon, she saw, was in the midst of it all and worked as hard as his people to extinguish the fires. It was slow tedious work as their only water supply came from a small lake. Though not overly far it still seemed a great distance as the smoke billowed around them. People were hacking and choking yet continued to move as steadily as was able. Livestock raced about pell-mell . Suddenly a terrifying scream rent the air. Juliette could see a crazed woman being held back as she tried to race into a burning home. The roofs flames danced wildly as though tempting her, taunting, teasing. Juliette was convinced the poor woman had gone mad from fear.
“My baby, my son,” the woman screamed. She continued her assault upon the man who held her, arms outstretched as though reaching in desperation.
Horrified, Juliette realized the reason for the woman’s crazed actions. Her child was trapped inside the structure. A man shot out from the crowd and raced toward the hut, his intentions clear. Juliette screamed crazily. It was Devon. God have mercy, Devon was going to die! Juliette leaped from her mount and raced after him not even knowing what her intent was, only consumed with the thought she must stop him—aid him. A man grabbed her up from behind and Juliette swiftly sent her elbow into his belly. Devon disappeared. Juliette was dropped to the ground at the man’s surprise, she jumped to her feet. Another man captured her arm. Juliette grabbed a hold of his hand and bit down. She must get to Devon before he perished. The man released her on a loud howl. Another man tried to bar her way, his arms up stretched. One solid blow betwixt his thighs had him on the ground and out of her way. Juliette leaped over him. She could now feel the heat of the flames as they intensified. Oh God, where was Devon?
Nearing the inflamed hut Juliette was knocked soundly off her feet in a tackle. The man knew he would likely be punished if he harmed the slight lady, yet he had seen her go through three other men. By God, she really was a berserker! Though he could not in good conscience allow her to die. They hit the ground and rolled as one with Juliette landing beneath him.
“Forgive me, my lady, but...” he never finished his sentence. Two small feet caught him high and hard to his midriff. The man was sent sprawling backward in a tumbling heap.
Up again, Juliette gasped in greedy air, ready to again search for Devon. As she prepared to continue Devon exited the hut with a small bundle clutched to his chest. Soot covered, hair singed, he dropped to his knees and Juliette fled to him fearing the worst. Devon removed the bedding from around the babe.
Remembering his brother’s humorous tale of what had transpired between Constantine and himself upon their wedding’s eve Devon placed his mouth atop the babe’s mouth and nose and puffed. He did this once, twice. The whole while the mother cried tearfully now locked in her husband’s embrace.
Juliette sat beside Devon as she watched amazed as he gave the babe his own life’s breath. A small mewling sound could then be heard. It increased in tempo until triumphantly Devon held the crying babe up for all to see. His mother took her son to her breast. The look she bestowed upon Devon filled with adoration told all she would offer him anything she had so grateful was she. Though she had nothing left to give it mattered not. All who had witnessed the miracle of Devon returning life would be indebted to their lord’s brother forever. They gazed upon him filled with awe.
“Are you all right?” Juliette asked Devon with concern.
Surprised, Devon shot her a look that had her realizing he finally noticed she was there.
“Juliette, what do you here? ’Tis not safe,” he cried. His tremendous concern was apparent and Juliette was momentarily flustered.
“I came to help,” Juliette informed him.
“You will return to the castle at once. You there,” Devon shouted to a man indicating he wanted his aid. The man approached eagerly enough. “Accompany Lady Juliette back to the castle.”
The man looked at him horrified and backed away. “Please, my lord, not that,” he whimpered.
“Come now man, what ails you?” Devon said, quite surprised.
“She has downed four already,” the man said, his fear apparent.
Devon shot a surprised look around him. Sure enough four men looked injured yet not from burns. “Juliette, doest thou battle again?” Devon asked sternly, hands on hips.
Before she could respond a great thundering could be heard in the distance. Dust from the ground could be seen as powerful men approached on horseback. “’Tis his lordship.” Came a cry of relief.
Their army raced into the village and dismounted quickly taking in the seen. The knights raced for buckets and sodden blankets to aid the villagers. The many new strong hands were gratefully accepted and welcomed.
“Lord Devon, what has transpired?” the seasoned knight asked. He watched as all scurried about. With the help of many they quickly had the fire now under control.
“We battle a fire. I have yet to determine how it started. I seek your aid, Desmond. I wish to return Lady Juliette to the castle, will you take charge here?” Devon inquired.
“Of course, my lord,” the man replied with some surprise. He need only command. He took in Devon’s flustered appearance and blamed it on the fire.
“Where is my brother?” Devon asked.
The knight gave a sly smile. “Never fear, my lord. He and the Lady Constantine but tarry. They will arrive—eventually,”
Those who now milled about chuckled. The flames now having burnt down their stress lowered. Devon also chuckled, relieved. He looked to Juliette then with determination and a destination in mind, in one swift motion he had her thrown over one broad shoulder. A cheer went up as he raced with her to his mount. Once astride the powerful destrier with Juliette tucked safely in his embrace Devon spun his horse about and they made for the castle.
“I thought I had made it clear to you that you were to remain behind,” Devon said angrily. “I am also positive you were asked not to terrorize these good people.”
“They would not release me, they kept me away from...” Juliette began, then stopped with embarrassment. What had she thought to do? Save Devon? It was not as though she would have been able to throw him over her shoulder as easily.
“Kept you from whom?” Devon asked, eyes narrowed. Had she been seeking escape to Lord Christopher seeing he was kept occupied elsewhere? Angered, Devon grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. His furious gaze frightened Juliette and elicited a shaky reply.
“From you,” Juliette whispered. Devon’s angered look
turned to a shocked expression.
“You sought to come to my aid whilst I ran into a burning home?” Devon asked incredulous.
“Yes, my lord,” Juliette said.
Still keeping his hold on her chin Devon gentled his touch. “You could have been injured, or killed. Why would you attempt such a foolish thing?”
“I am unsure,” Juliette whispered while her emotions raged in turmoil. ’Twas no lie. She had no idea why thoughts of his demise would render her daft. The thought of burning shot terror through her very soul, so why on earth...
Devon released her chin and they rode in silence. Juliette was confused. Why had she raced to save him? She found him to be annoying and a bully. Certainly he tried at every encounter to anger her. Yet he was handsome and strong. He feared not that she would swing at him. In fact he found it quite amusing and entertaining. Uncle Emit had warned her men liked not a forceful female. Though Devon discouraged the behavior he seemed to accept it, if grudgingly.
Devon’s own thoughts raced. He would never have imagined anyone besides his brother seeking to save him. Certainly not a tiny wisp of a lass. Why would she even bother? It was not as though she even liked him. She tried desperately to avoid him. On numerous occasions had tried to render him daft. She sought to bleed him with her teeth and his manhood cringed on its own when she became angry. Still, he admitted he enjoyed her company when she was not in a frenzy.
“Are you angry, Devon?” Juliette asked with a quiet voice.
“I am unsure,” he replied. Most certainly he should be. She deliberately disobeyed him. She injured four of his people. His mind returned to the one thought, she had thought to save him.
“What will you do when we return home?” Juliette asked.
“I need to return to the village. Repairs will need to be made, damages assessed. Winter is nipping on our backdoor. ’Tis not a good time to be without shelter,” Devon answered.
Battle Cry and The Berserker Page 14