by Fox, Georgia
In the next breath he was gone. Wulf heard him shouting merrily to the soldiers as he strode across the yard and the dogs resumed their usual ruckus.
He threw his rag down and rested his knuckles on the edge of the workbench.
So Amias of York was her cousin. In which case, Emma must have known almost from the beginning, when his sister called her Amias and they all talked of York. Why would she continue the pretense?
There was nothing in it for her. Except him. But why would a woman go to such lengths to keep him?
It seemed incredible that she could be in love with him. Perhaps, he thought wryly, it was merely his tackle she fell in love with.
Yet he was in love with her, wasn’t he? He’d felt hollow inside since he heard she was leaving him. He couldn’t even keep his mind on his work and usually that was his savior whenever the outside world tried to intrude on his peaceful, uncluttered life.
Now he’d let her go.
Don’t you fight for anything, Raedwulf?
* * * *
The Mother Superior showed her to a small chamber with a narrow, barred window. A grey sky tried to peek in, but only a few thin shafts of light managed to permeate the dim interior. The only furniture was a narrow pallet and a tall, iron candle holder. The stone walls were cold and thick. Just touching them with her hand as she passed, made Emma feel as if she was being lowered into a dark grave.
“Any personal possessions will be taken from you and distributed to the poor and sick. You won’t need them here.”
“Of course.” She looked around, trying to find something to cheer her spirits. “You may take the two coffers I brought with me.”
The Mother Superior glowered at her. “Clothing too. You won’t need any fine gowns here. It is important to shed all material trappings.”
She stripped down to her shift, handing her garments to the two nuns who stood patiently and silently waiting.
“You are now a novice nun and you will dress as one. Someone will bring you the appropriate robe shortly—I don’t know what has become of Sister Adela, but I am assured she is on her way with it. She will take you to prayer.”
Standing barefoot, shivering slightly in her thin shift, Emma watched them leave with her things and close the door with a solid thunk. Silence.
She sat on the pallet, arms wrapped around herself, her heart heavy as lead. The mold and damp already crept into her bones. Soon she would be one with this place. Emma would vanish completely.
Fighting the urge to weep, she closed her eyes tight. For some reason she pictured a sunny day and sparks of light dancing playfully over a stream. She could feel and smell the long grass surrounding her as she sat on the bank and threaded daisies for a chain. Birds chirped and the water bubbled lushly over rocks near her bare toes. The sun warmed her face and a timid breeze lifted a curl of hair on her shoulder.
“Emma!”
It was Wulf calling her. Ah. He must be fishing there again. Or trying. She smiled and looked for him.
“Emma!”
Where was he? She turned her head, looking left and then right. But he was not standing in the stream showing off for her.
It was definitely his voice though.
“Emma! Damn you, woman. Get down here at once!”
Her eyes flew open.
“Come out here and face the trouble you caused.”
Now she heard horse’s hooves too and doors opening. She stood slowly, still thinking she must be imagining it.
“Emma! Don’t make me come in there and fetch you out, woman!”
As if sleep-walking, she moved to that small window, clutched the bars and peered out. Nothing but sky. The angle of the window did not allow for a view of the ground below.
Panic stirred in her breast, but something else soon raced ahead of it.
She spun a round, flung open her door and ran, pushing aside the startled nun who had come to bring her the “proper” robe. Never had she run so fast in her life—or barefoot.
“I am Raedwulf of Wexford,” she heard him bellowing. “And I am here to take my wife back where she belongs.”
As Emma came out through the main door, she saw him arguing with the Mother Superior, who had bravely approached his steaming, snorting stallion and tried to make him leave the premises.
“Raedwulf! Stop this foolishness.”
His head turned. He steered his fidgeting horse around to face her, almost trampling the indignant Mother Superior into the dust.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Emma shouted from the safety of the stone steps. “Please go away.”
His eyes were hot, pinned to her, unblinking. Suddenly remembering she was in her shift, she quickly crossed her arms and backed up into the shadow of the great arched door.
“You’re coming with me, woman,” he growled.
“Certainly not. Go away.” In alarm she watched him dismount and move purposefully toward her. “Don’t you dare come any closer.”
He ignored her. Naturally. Thick-headed, obstinate Saxon.
Emma took off running, but his heavy steps followed close on her heels and his legs were longer.
Breathless, she ducked away from him behind a stone pillar and he cursed as he stubbed his toe. “Go home and marry Amias,” she gasped, hands bunched in her shift. “She can give you children. I can’t. I’m barren.”
“Did I ever once tell you that mattered to me, wench?”
It was true. He hadn’t. “But it should matter,” she yelled, desperate.
Suddenly he stopped chasing her around the pillar and leaned one arm against it, apparently getting his breath back. “I don’t care if you can’t give me a son. I only want you,” he muttered.
She didn’t know what to say to that. The panic had gone, but goose-bumps pricked all over her body and when he raised his dark gaze to her face again it only got worse—every inch of her on pins and needles.
“In any case.” He grinned slowly. “There’s no proof you can’t. We’ll have to keep trying.”
Emma found her eyes misting. Irritated, she brushed them dry again with her sleeve. “You’ll regret it. Fool Saxon.”
“You’d best make it up to me and my cock then, Norman Nuisance.”
“Hush! Have you no discretion?”
Without warning he lunged, grabbed her around the waist and lifted her over his shoulder. Kicking and cursing at the indignity, she was carried out to his horse, while all the nuns, in uproar, tried to beat at him with sticks, hands, shoes—anything they had near.
Raedwulf of Wexford was unstoppable, however, and bore their attack as if it was no more than a few gnat bites. He swung her up onto his horse and then mounted behind her.
They galloped through the convent gates in a cloud of dust.
“Did you think I’d let you leave me?” he demanded, as she clutched at him to save herself from falling and being crushed beneath the horse’s hooves.
“I didn’t think you’d fight for me,” she replied, looking up at his strong, rugged face, longing to kiss him again.
“Because I didn’t fight Devaux for my father’s land?”
“Yes.”
He slowed his horse, lowered his mouth and kissed her. “Some things are worth fighting for Emma.”
Her heart beat was still charging recklessly forward, taking her breath away. “I’m glad you came for me. Even if you’ll be sorry later.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Is that the best you can do, surly ingrate?”
“What do you mean?”
With the fingers of one hand he grabbed her chin and lifted it, making her look into her eyes. “I didn’t know Normans were such cowards that they couldn’t admit their feelings.”
She bristled at that. “How dare you?”
He tightened his hold on her chin and kissed her again, his tongue sweeping over her lips and then between. “I love you, Emma. I loved you the first time I watched you eat cherries. I’d never envied a piece of fruit in my life until then.�
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Astonished by this ardent declaration, she felt quite limp in his arms. Men weren’t supposed to say soppy things like that.
Henry, of course, had shown her in many small ways that he loved her. But he’d never said it. He’d never had to say it, because he’d never feared she might leave. Henry had never doubted that she knew her place.
But Raedwulf had no such expectations of his wife. He made no demands on her, even from the beginning. He had no rules for her.
“I only want to go on loving you as long as I live,” he said softly, looking down at her with so much smoldering heat in his gaze that she thought he’d melt her shift.
Raedwulf of Wexford had just kidnapped her like a barbarian, carrying her off—half-undressed—on his horse. Henry would never have done that either.
She struggled, gathering her words, forcing herself to keep her eyes open and let him explore. “Good.” But it was terrible. This was exactly what she never wanted to happen to her again after loving Henry and having her heart torn apart when he died.
He waited, a shy little smile tugging on his lips.
There was nothing else for it. She was lost.
“Because I love you.” At last she managed to say it aloud.
He swallowed; his smile grew bolder, even a little cocky. “How long have you loved me then?”
“From the moment I saw your splendid craftsman’s tool, of course.”
He looked as if he didn’t know whether she meant it.
“Are all Saxon’s built like you?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.
He pursed his lips.
“I wouldn’t want to think I might be missing something,” she added.
“Oh you won’t be.”
And then Emma laughed, her head back, the sun beaming on her face.
Slowly he joined in, holding her tighter against his body so that she already felt the subject of their discussion rising up to greet her.
She stroked him through his breeches and then began untying the leather laces.
“What are you doing to me now, hussy?” he muttered.
She hitched her shift up over her thighs and moved carefully around to straddle his lap. “I want to ride you all the way home.” She clung to his shoulders. “I want to feel you in me.”
He needed no further encouragement, but shifted in the saddle, pushing his erect cock up into her moist haven. She lowered her body all the way until he was sheathed fully within her and then she laid her head to his shoulder. The horse trotted onward and with every bump, Wulf’s shaft thrust hard up into her pussy, making her gasp with delight. Oh yes, this riding she liked.
His breathing deepened as he fought to control himself. She felt his thick manhood filling her, possessing her, throbbing deep within her body. Her conqueror held the reins now with one hand, the other cupped around her bare buttocks, under her shift, his rough leather riding glove warm on her skin.
Needless to say, they rode the long way home.
* * * *
As they crested the peak of a hill and he brought his horse to a halt beneath the rustling branches of an ancient oak, Wulf looked into the distance and saw Thierry riding away with a small group of soldiers, off on his mysterious mission for the king. He rode at speed and into the breeze, his knight’s pennant fluttering overhead.
Wherever the man went, Wulf hoped he met with good fortune. Although he was a Norman, it was impossible to wish him any ill-will. Thierry Bonnenfant had an effortless charm, a pleasant-natured sort of carelessness that made him at home wherever he went. It would also take him into any danger without fear or second thought. An incautious fool, whose handsome face and fine physique had probably won him more lives than a cat.
The Norman got away with a great deal. But it wouldn’t be like that forever. He could be nearing his ninth life by now.
Sooner or later, every man met his match.
The End
Other Books by Georgia Fox:
The Ever Knight
The Virgin Proxy
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com