How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel

by Stella Marie Alden

  “I’ll say when this is done.” Nicholas dug a heel further into the unworthy spine. “Tell me how it happened.”

  “I was squire. Barely ten and four. I heard the women screaming. Our commander had no love of the Danes or the Manx. If it happened, and I’m not saying it did, he’s the one that you should call to account. Tell me, monk, did you breach her? Could she be with your child?”

  Refusing to answer, Nicholas frowned, moved his foot, and hopped onto the drawbridge.

  “Next time I will kill you,” the coward shouted at his back.

  Nicholas turned and pointed to the moat. “Next time, I will let you drown.”

  Chapter 16

  Pacing, Fay opened her chamber’s shutter, and paused at the cushioned seat where her mother had oft sat. If only they’d had more time, mayhap she’d know what to do. Her eyes watered.

  As if summoned, the-day-that-should-not-be-spoken flared up from her mind’s eye.

  With bare feet, she backed onto slippery blood while her stepbrother approached with an evil smile. She’d never liked him.

  His blade was covered with her mother’s hair and flesh. He lowered his weapon, tucked his tunic into his belt, and let loose his cock.

  “Och, no!” She shook her head to dispel the image.

  She’d die as warrior queen before allowing such a thing to happen again. She would not marry The Ax. Her resolve weakened when shouting outside indicated Alexander’s choice was near. Trying to ignore her shaking hands, she grabbed her bow and quiver and hid behind the bed curtains. Setting her arrow, she pulled the string taut with a calloused fingertip, and waited.

  “Woman! Unbar the door. Now.” The unknown Scottish brogue thundered and her door’s wood cracked.

  She adjusted her stance and stood firm. At first sight of him, she’d let go and pierce him between the eyes.

  Using her best singsong voice laced with honey, she said, “Just a moment. I would make myself presentable. Surely you can understand?”

  Her arms ached while she waited. Muted conversation filled the small landing just outside her door. Thank the gods. She recognized Sean’s voice. Her knights had come to her aide.

  Suddenly Huntercombe roared, “She is not pure?”

  Fay moaned. How did Sean find out? Surely this was the end.

  Wood shattered. An iron ax head poked through a giant gap in her door.

  She readied.

  More footsteps. What now?

  Brother James muttered.

  A grunt came forth from the monster.

  More footsteps, this time growing softer.

  Angry voices sounded from the lowest level of the keep, and outside her door, all went quiet.

  Moments later, trestle tables scraped against the bare stone floors as they were assembled in the main hall. She ran to the window when a rolling barrel banged across the courtyard. Aiden and Ollie carried loaves of bread from the bakery, and a slab of pork. Loki barked and nipped at their heels, hoping for a handout.

  She cursed and paced with bow in hand, and considered her next moves. There would be no wedding banquet. Not while she still lived and breathed.

  “Fay?” In the courtyard, Sean pointed up toward her outside door, and ran up the stairs.

  She slid back a block of iron to let him enter.

  His face was pale and showed his worry. “Nay. Stay put. Brother James is attempting to explain your … uh … the day that you don’t mention. Although not fully convinced, Huntercombe has agreed to push back consummating your marriage until after you’ve had your monthly flow.”

  She gasped. What if I am with child? Up to this moment, she’d never considered that possibility. However, that did not change her mind.

  With a bare foot, she stomped into the planks. “I will not marry that monster. You should’ve let me kill him from the parapets when I had a chance.”

  His temper snapped and his cheeks turned red above his blond beard. “You little idiot. And have Alexander send forces, thinking Man has yet another rebellion from the seed of Magnus?”

  “He loves me like a daughter. He would never …” She held back a sob at the simple truth. She’d lost the love of the king, her laird, the man who’d been like a father. And the love of her monk. And now Sean.

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Fay, but a king sometimes has no choice when defied so openly. I warned you. Stay calm. I am certain The Ax will be a reasonable husband.”

  Reasonable? Had he gone daft? She needed to speak to Brother Nicodemus. He would understand. “Will you send my monk to hear my last confession?”

  “God’s blood. I will not.” His piercing blue eyes held a menace she’d never seen before.

  “Then go. You vex me.” She pushed him out the door, slammed it, and slid across the iron bar.

  After his boots stomped down the iron staircase, heaviness filled her chest as her room grew cool and dark. She paced. Outside, the ocean crashed against the shore, thunder rumbled, and a thick mist sat offshore, rolling toward the keep. No doubt, she’d angered both Christian and ancient gods. If so, she truly was bound for eternal fires of hell if she fell upon her dagger.

  She wrapped up in hare’s fur and tried to pray to all of them, but found no adequate words. Finally, exhaustion overtook her, and she slept uneasy with dark dreams waking her often.

  In the morning, she woke to the clank of the drawbridge lowering. The Ax, accompanied by Sean and several unknown knights rode out toward the village in the fog. Other Scottish knights barked out orders in her courtyard. When Loki barked fiercely and growled, she threw open the shutters. One of The Ax’s black-hearted knights cuffed little Ollie aside the head so hard that the boy lay unmoving upon the courtyard. Then he kicked at her dog.

  Fuming with gritted teeth, she picked up her bow, aimed out the slit, and let an arrow fly. The evil man cursed as he dislodged the point from his mail. She waved back and stuck out her tongue when he spotted her at the window.

  The rest in the courtyard disappeared.

  When Aiden came into view, she shouted and pointed. “See to Ollie.”

  The eldest of her orphans picked up the younger and brought him into the keep, out of sight. As expected, it was not long before someone pounded at her door.

  Her monk shouted, “Christ’s wounds, Fay! What are you thinking? Why do you shoot at your intended’s knights?”

  Intended? She kicked at the wall. That pain was solid and real. So much better than the one that gripped her chest. What did he care? He was not going to end up in the wicked bed of The Ax.

  “Let it be known that when my intended returns he will have no willing cunt. I am going to end my miserable days with my own knife. I just wanted to say farewell.”

  Her monk’s voice shook and cracked when he banged on the damaged wood. “Christ’s bones. No! Wait. Give me a moment. Unbar the door when I call out.”

  After a scuffle, and upon his command, she pushed open the door. Her monk dragged an unconscious guard into her chambers. She closed and latched the door behind them.

  His eyebrows creased with worry as he cupped her cheek with a rough palm. “I told you to do nothing untoward.”

  “His man hurt one of my charges, little Ollie. That behavior will not be tolerated.” She reached for him and kissed him on the lips, perhaps for the last time. Suddenly, she was certain that no life was better than the one that loomed.

  “The Ax will flay your skin raw, if you’re lucky.” He tried to hold her tightly but she pushed his chest away and handed him her knife. Her mind was made up.

  “Prithee. Send my sorry soul to your God or to hell. I care not which. If you cannot be man enough, I will do it myself.”

  His eyes softened, he shook his head, and stole her weapon. “Dearest heart. I would needs follow you and I’m not ready to surrender. Stay put. Let no one enter. Speak to no one. And by all the holy saints in heaven, let no more arrows fly. Let me handle this. Give me your word?”

  Sh
e nodded.

  “You’ve made a muck of things.” He escaped out the door before she could say her denials.

  I made a muck of it? For the first time in many years, she shouted at the Christian God, thrust her fist in the air, and stomped her feet. “I tell you what. We will barter here and now for my eternal soul. You get me out of this nest of hornets and I will believe in you forever. Deal?”

  Thunder outside crashed, lightning pierced the dark sky, and barrels of rain commenced to fall all at once. “Verra well. I believe we have an understanding.”

  More sandals slapped on the iron stairs outside. A hand knocked on her door and her monk said, “I brought Brother James and Brother Eaton. Let us in.”

  She unbarred the door and pushed it open. “How fares little Ollie?”

  Brother James tsk-tsked, brushed the rain off his wool robe, and shook his tonsured head back and forth. “He’ll fare better than you, once The Ax returns.”

  “He and his men are brutes of the worst kind. Even if I could endure the marriage, the poor Manx will suffer. I cannot allow that to happen.” Searching through her trunk, she found a linen and handed it to him.

  Glowering, he dried his face, then passed the cloth off to the brother called Eaton. “It’s not your decision to make, lass. You’ve no choice.”

  Fay patted his hand. “You’ve been slave to your God for too long. There’s always a choice. I’ll fight until my last breath and die with honor. Gather my knights.”

  Her monk’s eyes went dark and his mouth grim, reminding her too much of his half-brother in Scarborough. “We’ll nay start another war. Nor a rebellion. Tie her up, gag her. Get that wall hanging. We’ll roll her up.”

  Chapter 17

  God’s Blood, we’ll never get her out. Huntercombe’s guards are everywhere. Nicholas shook his head at the writhing rug on the floor.

  “We must get her down to the stables.” Heart thumping madly, he stepped onto the second floor landing where wind and rain tore at his meager robe.

  Eaton and James helped him carry her down the stairs. When they stopped by the door to the great hall, a Huntercombe knight stepped forward from under the arch with sword held high.

  “What goes on here?” He glared suspiciously at the rug roll.

  “We thought this wool might be better used to warm the poor. And it depicts the valor of the Manx.” Nicholas lifted her, swallowed hard, and prayed she was holding her breath. Otherwise, the blade’s sharp edge would surely cleave her in half.

  The guard studied their faces while the rain soaked them all. Finally, with a glance up into the sky, the man lowered his weapon and waved them on.

  Nicholas exhaled. Then thunder rumbled in the distance, the rain turned to a wet mist, and a blessed fog cloaked the courtyard. Below, the angry sea crashed against the cliffs, masking all other sounds.

  When they reached the outer staircase, Eaton hissed from behind. “The Ax will search everywhere when he finds her missing.”

  Nicholas wished they were back drinking in Carlisle, telling jokes instead of escaping certain death. At the lowest level, they rushed to the stables. The dog. He groaned as Loki barked and jumped at the Fay-rug-roll. Hell’s balls.

  Another angry guard rushed out from where he stood near the gate. Thinking quickly, Brother James indicated that the man should kneel and bow his head. How convenient for a priest that no one ever questioned an extra blessing. While holiness ensued, Nicholas muzzled the dog in a tight hug, and tied it deep within the cave.

  When he returned, James finished with a sign of the cross on the confused man’s forehead. “God bless you, my son. Now. We have need of a horse to take this to the poor.” He pointed at the wool.

  Damnation. She moved.

  “The fog grows thicker, no?” Pointing up at the sky, Nicholas rushed over and put a foot upon what he assumed was her arse.

  The guard’s gaze followed his hand and he frowned.“Aye. Mayhap you should wait for it to cease?”

  “Come now, Brother Nicodemus,” James scolded. “No matter the weather, we do as our heavenly Father bids.” He turned to the guard with palms raised to God, and shrugged. “Prithee, a beast of burden? We shall return it by the morrow.”

  Once so gifted, they crossed the square, clomped over the drawbridge, and entered the woods. There, Nicholas paused and poked his face into the roll.

  “We’re free of the keep and in the hills. Stay quiet for a while longer.”

  “Out. Monk. Now.” She glowered.

  “Shush. Almost,” he said and tucked her furious face back under the folds. She would never forgive him.

  Now that they’d survived the worst, by God, he needed a piss. He walked into the trees, and Eaton followed.

  His best friend found similar relief at a nearby tree. “I heard Ferguson has sided with the Scots. What do you intend to do now with the whole of the island against us?”

  “I’ve decided we will give the island a case of the pox.” Nicholas smirked at his friend, who snorted out his disgust, and stormed ahead. His sense of humor, no doubt, all used up.

  James, however, chuckled from where he stood by the small pony.

  Around the next bend, a familiar stone cottage with sunk-in roof appeared. This was the place where they’d hidden their clothes and weapons almost a week ago. Nicholas gently lifted Fay off the horse, ducked under the lintel, and unrolled her onto the floor.

  She stood, staggered a mite, and stared with green eyes blazing. One fist pounded his chest. “I heard what you said. The Manx will never agree to such falderal.”

  Brother James entered the small house and frowned at her. “Given a choice between war and peace, the Manx will chose the latter. Would you have it any other way?”

  Her face reddened, and she muttered, “Nay, but the pox is not easily mimicked.”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll send for you when all is clear. Are you with us?” He raised his eyebrows, crossed wide sleeves over his chest, and waited.

  Outside, pellets of rain plopped in puddles and the wind whistled through the trees. Thunder grumbled in the offing. For a moment, Nicholas thought she might not agree.

  Then she toed a root in the floor. “Aye.”

  “Nay!” Eaton shouted from behind the building, “I say we get our weapons and take her to Carlisle.”

  “We will not,” said Nicholas, firmly. His friend had grown completely disagreeable as of late.

  Brother James held up a hand. “Quiet. All of you. Eaton? Come along. We will talk.”

  “Not without my weapon.” Tucking sword under his robe, he grumbled and followed James down the hill.

  Fay stared for some time at the empty path, glanced up at the black clouds, and stepped back into the cottage. “What did Eaton mean when he spoke of your grandsire and weapons?”

  “Find wood. I’ll be right back and try to explain.” Nicholas banged a palm to his forehead and unburied his sword. How to explain?

  Upon returning into what was left of the cottage, he set his weapon down, and took a deep breath. It was time to confess all. “You’re shivering. Sit close. ’Tis a long tale.”

  Legs bent, she scooted her soft arse next to his and placed her small hand on his thigh as he sat cross-legged.

  The center of her eyes blackened, her nostrils flared, and her tongue flicked over perfectly shaped lips. “First, tell me just this. Will you un-marry your Christ for me?”

  A fierce hunger grabbed his innards that had nothing to do with food. Hands shaking, he pinched her heart-shaped chin, and placed a soft kiss on her mouth. “I swear it.”

  She responded with the sweetest of smiles and eyes that spoke of bedding.

  He moaned, thoughts addled by an all-consuming lust. Her taste of honey and sea air added to his desire. He touched the tip of his tongue to her teeth, asking for entrance.

  Mayhap if we bed just one more time, she’ll understand the depths of my feelings.

  Cat-like eyes popped open as he made love wit
h his tongue. Shyly, she sparred back. His ears pounded when he pulled her onto his lap and cupped the tight globes of her arse in his hands. Then the last of his sane thoughts flew away when her sharp nails dug into his back and she squirmed in his lap.

  Unlocking from her lips, he got lost in the endless green fields of her eyes.

  “Fay.” At his hungry growl, her eyes grew wide, and she gasped. He placed her onto her knees, threw off his tunic, and dropped his braies.

  “Raise your arms for me.”

  She did as directed and he tugged off her clothes. Naked, this time she blushed at his inspection and a hand crossed shyly over her breasts.

  “Nay,” he growled in a voice he hardly recognized, “I need to see all of you.” He pushed her hands down and put them to his chest so she could feel his heart race.

  “Oh.” Her brows lifted and mouth dropped open. Sweet, sweet Fay. She had no idea of what she did to him.

  Her small hand grasped the back of his head, and forced his lips back to hers. The intensity of their kisses warmed the room and all was forgotten except the feel of her.

  She paused, breathing hard. “Nico.”

  “My Love.” He kissed the tip of her perfect nose, her lovely lips, and her chin. His tongue found the hollow of her shoulder. She moaned and arched as he continued on his journey to cherish her body.

  Two perfect mounds with pointed nipples stood erect in front of his face. He flicked a tongue over one and suckled. She made a tiny moan, and her pelvis nudged at his ever-swelling want.

  Dear God. The torture was exquisite.

  One hand behind her head, he laid her down, and straddled her. Her half-lidded eyes stared up at his mouth and her squirming body told him what he needed to know.

  “My queen.” He leaned over, kissed her honey lips, and lowered onto his elbows.

  “Now, Nico. Now.” When her legs opened wide, he feared he might burst before he could please her.

  Sliding one finger down into the curls, he found her nub and rubbed. Her low moan hit him in the groin as she arched into him.

  Never had a woman responded so passionately. Higher she climbed as he caressed faster until she shouted, convulsed, and creamed into his hand. Her ecstasy excited him as nothing else ever would again.