by Sandra Hill
“You anticipate trouble?” Geoff asked.
Caedmon nodded. “My bones tell me to be on the alert. This is a situation ripe for trouble.”
“Why not just send the princesses on their way, as you had planned?” Wulf asked.
“Chivalry?”
Geoff snorted, and Wulf gave his opinion in one coarse word.
“I must needs scatter the prey. If they are all here in one place, it will be easier for Edgar to pounce.”
An idea seemed to come to Geoff of a sudden. His face lit up as he asked, “And what of Lady Breanne?”
“She stays here.”
Two sets of eyebrows rose before they all burst out laughing.
A deal’s a deal…
Breanne was livid by the time she located the lout outside at the exercise field.
At first, she was jarred by the sight of him, bare chested, glistening with sweat, as he finished up the day’s sword play. Ne’er had Breanne been inflamed at the sight of a man’s chest afore, but she was now.
“You!” she exclaimed, storming up to him, shoving him in the chest.
Caedmon finished giving directions to the two men he had been speaking to, then took her by the upper arm, nigh dragging her off to the side. “Dost want everyone to hear your latest tirade?”
“I do not…tirade.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Stop looking at my breasts.”
He grinned.
“What do you mean by sending my sisters away, without discussing it with me first?”
“You asked for my protection. I am giving it.”
“By shrugging them off on others.”
He explained his plan, grudgingly, “By spreading you princesses about to defray the suspicion of Edgar’s hounds which will soon be sniffing about.”
“That is all well and good, but you should have gotten my consent first.”
“I do not need your consent.” Before she knew what he was about, he ran the backs of his fingers over both of her breasts.
“You beast! Why did you do that?”
“Just checking something Amicia said.”
“Oh, nay, please do not tell me that she spoke of the female sucking business.”
Caedmon’s jaw dropped for a moment, and he appeared to have gone speechless. “Nay, she did not mention female sucking. But you can tell me yourself. Later. When my reaction will not be so noticeable to one and all.”
She considered asking what reaction he referred to, but by the continuing grin on his face, she reconsidered. “All right, mayhap it is best that my sisters scatter. Where will you send me?”
“Ah, that is the best part, m’lady. You will stay here. With me.”
If her face had not been flushed with embarrassment before, it would be now. “You do not mean…”
He nodded.
“I thought you were teasing.”
He shook his head.
Before she could say any more, he leaned down, brushed his lips quickly over hers, and whispered. “Tomorrow. Night one. I cannot wait.”
And Breanne, chagrined as she was, tingled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Partings are such sweet sorrow…
Caedmon stood out in the bailey, giving last-minute instructions to Wulf and Geoff.
Breanne and her sisters were in a huddle, weeping and hugging as if the world were coming to an end. Vana was unrecognizable, dressed as a boyling, with her white blonde hair plaited up under a cap. Her role would be as pig herder for some of the hogs being led to market, a role that Vana found amusing but elicited scathing commentary from Breanne. The other two sisters were actually looking forward to their trip to Heatherby. Ingrith could not wait to plan a wedding feast, and Drifa was hoping to find fresh flowers to decorate the bridal head wreath, as well as all the tables. Geoff was having great fun over the prospect of riding up to Heatherby with two beautiful women and seeing his betrothed’s reaction.
Rashid was going to Heatherby, as well, it being thought he would draw too much attention to Vana if he accompanied her and Wulf. The two Viking bears, Ivan and Ivar, would accompany Wulf and Vana, against Wulf’s wishes (he would have preferred a smaller party to avoid detection), insisting that they had been sent by King Thorvald to protect the sisters, and since Vana was the one in trouble, would be remiss in their duties if they stayed behind. The two Vikings were pretending to be slaves that Wulf was taking to auction.
As the ladies started to mount, Rashid came up to Caedmon and said, “So, you have developed an affection for one of the princesses.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” he lied.
“Are you saying that any water in a desert will do? That any woman would suffice in the bed furs, princess or not?”
“Personally I have never taken an ugly woman to bed,” Geoff interjected.
“But you have awakened next to a few,” Wulf countered with a laugh.
Idiots, both of them!
“Do not missay me, Rashid,” Caedmon asserted. “You go too far betimes.”
The Arab shrugged and said, “On occasion, God sends almonds to those with no teeth.”
“What does that mean?”
“Good things sometimes go to the undeserving.”
“Breanne is a good thing?”
“A very good thing.” Rashid patted Caedmon on the shoulder and mounted his horse.
Breanne was bawling like a banshee as her sisters left. When she caught Caedmon watching her, however, she straightened and raised her chin high. The glower she cast his way said, unfairly, that it was his fault she was so miserable.
Ah, well, in for a saint as well as a sinner.
“Tonight, m’lady. I will be waiting.”
You could say it was their first dinner date…
Caedmon had gone about his regular business throughout the day, but always at the back of his mind was this thought: Tonight! And: Big nipples.
He had bathed and shaved before coming to dinner, and he noticed that Breanne, at his side, must have bathed, too. Her hair, even though plaited into one long braid, was lustrous and redolent of roses from her sister’s soap. Her face was shiny from being well scrubbed.
Before they left, Wulf and Geoff had handed him gifts. Since they were not wont to exchange presents, he had to assume there was some jest involved. There was.
Wulf’s “gift” had been a sack of small apples.
On the other hand, Geoff’s “gift” might have been given with humor, but Caedmon would damn sure make use of it. It was a small vial of clove-scented body oil from the Eastern lands, the kind harem houris were proficient in using on their sheikr masters.
Breanne sat next to him, bundled head to ankle in some Viking attire that involved a long-sleeved gunna overlaid with a full-length open-sided apron. If she thought that would deter him, she was sadly mistaken.
Pushing food about her trencher with a spoon, she had such a woeful face that he would have pitied her if he had not been convinced it was a ruse.
“You have no appetite, m’lady?”
She raised her eyes to look at him.
“I know the food is not as fine as that prepared by your sister, but it is better than usual fare here, believe you me.” He lifted a piece of honey-oat cake in his fingers and put it to her mouth.
She glared at him, but had no choice but to open, and then lick the honey residue off her lips.
He felt each lick in his hardening staff. His loins were already tense and preparing for the feast to come.
“The food is fine,” she said.
“You are peckish, then?” Or just getting aroused, as I am? Hah! I should be so lucky!
“Would it make any difference?”
“Not a bit.” Actually, there was that unfortunate time a wench deep in the ale-joy hurled the contents of her stomach onto my raging erection. Yecch!
“You really are going through with this?”
He straightened. “Are you about to renege…already?”
<
br /> “Nay, but I thought you would say it was all a jest.”
“You thought I would be chivalrous?” Not a chance, m’lady.
“Yea.”
“Nay. Until I sent your sisters away, you thought I would not take you to my bed whilst they were about. Am I right?” The twists and whorls of a devious woman’s mind are not all that hard to figure out.
She shrugged. In other words, that is exactly what she had hoped.
“If it is your virginity that bothers you, have no fear. I will be gentle.” Not that I have had all that many virgins. “But do not think to make me feel guilty over taking your maidenhood.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “That matters not to me.”
This woman is at cross-wills to me at every turn. No matter what I say, she argues the opposite. “It would to your husband.”
“Since I do not plan to wed, ’tis a moot point. Although I would care if you got me with child.”
“That will not happen. I promise.” Believe you me, the last thing I want is another whelp shadowing me.
He could tell she wanted to ask how, but dared not. Even in such a brazen lass as her, modesty still reigned. “I do not like that I have no choice, that I am being forced to do this.”
“Oh, nay! Do not dare to claim such. You had a choice, all right. To make a bargain, or not. To leave with your sisters, or not.”
“Do you think they will be safe?”
“For now, yea, but it will be a tightrope we walk once the king’s men arrive.”
“Your hold on Larkspur truly is in peril by aiding us?”
“That it is.”
“Then, I owe you,” she said, standing, and holding her hand out to him.
Caedmon stood, as well. It bothered him that a woman was coming to his bed out of obligation. But not enough to call it off.
One side of his brain said, Release her from the bargain.
The other side said, Why should I?
The good side said, Mayhap if I let her go, she will come to me willingly.
The baser side said, Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Wet and wild, medieval style…
Breanne had thought she had a fairly good idea what happened during the sex act. Holy Thor, how had she been so misguided?
Once she walked into Caedmon’s bedchamber and saw the dozen candles blazing, the cozy fire in the small hearth, and clean linens on the bedstead, she knew this would not be a quick, emotionless swiving. The lout had plans, and they did not call for her lying as stiff as a board, letting him do what he will.
“What is all this?” she snapped.
The door shut behind him, followed by the ominous click of the lock. “A setting.”
“For what?” She hated that her voice came out as a squeak.
He smiled. “Love play.”
She hated when he smiled. “Play? What kind of rutting involves play?”
“The best kind,” he said, chucking her under the chin as he walked past her and over to a large armed chair by the hearth. He toed off both boots, then sat back, legs extended casually.
“I was hoping we could get this over with quickly so I could go back to my bedchamber and get some sleep. I have been up since dawn preparing for my sisters’ departure. And, by the by, when exactly is…” Her words trailed off as she realized she was rambling, and he was just grinning at her obvious nervousness.
“Getting this over with is far removed from what I plan. I doubt either of us will sleep this night, but if you please me, I give you permission to sleep in the morn.”
“Permission? You lout! I do not need your permission to do anything.”
He shrugged and wagged his fingertips, beckoning her to come closer.
She balked.
“You come here, or I come there, and since you are closer to the bed—”
She moved to stand before him so fast that the fire flickered from the wind she created.
“Take off your clothes, Breanne. Slowly.”
She gasped. No preamble. No darkened room. No romantic words. “Dost mean to humiliate me?”
He shook his head. “I mean to make love to you, and that starts with you and I being naked. There is naught humiliating in two people enjoying each other’s bodies.”
Refusing would be futile. She had agreed to this bargain, and her word was bond. But, oh, she wished she could just fly away.
Despite her heated face, she removed her apron and gunna, standing before him in naught but her woolen hose.
“Beautiful,” he said in a sex-husky voice. “You are very beautiful, Breanne.”
She did not think so. “’Tis lust speaking.”
“Mayhap a little. Nay, I thought the same when I saw you naked afore.”
Oh, that was loathsome of him to remind her of that. She raised her chin haughtily, not about to beg him for mercy.
“Unbraid your hair and finger comb it out.”
Cheeks burning, she felt a strange vulnerability raising her arms and thus her breasts for his perusal. Once the braid was undone, she shook her hair off her face.
The stunned expression on his face was priceless. You would have thought she had handed him his heart’s desire.
“Turn around now, sweetling. I would see all sides of you.”
Sweetling? Hah! There is naught sweet about what he would do with me.
“Remove your hose.”
She was about to sit on the opposite chair to do so, but he quickly added, “Bend to take them off.”
This was truly the most embarrassing thing she had ever done. When she was done, she looked up, only to be surprised that he had already removed his tunic and short hose and sat wearing naught but low-riding braises. His chest hair was dark and curly leading down to a narrow waist and then his navel. His bare feet were long and high arched and oddly attractive. Her eyes shot up to see him gazing at her hotly.
“Come here, Breanne.” He spread his legs for her to stand between them.
She dragged her feet, curling her toes to fight the irksome tingles. But then she stood before him, so close she felt his body heat and more.
He performed an excruciatingly detailed examination of her body, his calloused fingertips tracing the outsides of her arms down to her wrists, her collarbones, her sides from armpits to waist, hips to thighs. When his knuckles grazed lightly over her nether hair, she jumped.
“Easy, easy,” he said, as if he was gentling a horse.
Which was what she felt like, an animal being inspected for market. But she could not think on that, as his wicked fingers had moved to her breasts. He lifted them from underneath, massaged them in wide circles of his palms, then strummed the nipples with his thumbs.
She groaned, so intense was the pleasure. “This is torture,” she whispered.
“Good torture, I hope. You do have big nipples,” he added enigmatically.
Immediately she put her hands over her breasts to hide them. Did he have to call attention to her deficiencies?
“Nay, do not cover such sweet assets,” he said.
“Do not attempt to sway me with false praise. I am perfectly aware that my breasts are too small, and the nipples too big.”
“Bre-anne!” he chided her. “Do you not see how much your breasts please me? All of you, in truth.”
As he moved her hands back to her side, she looked at his face. His blue eyes seemed lit by a sensuous flame, the long, sweeping lashes at half-mast. His nostrils flared, and his mouth parted, as if he was breathless.
Before she had a chance to anticipate his next move, he lifted her about the waist and set her on his lap, astraddle, her rump on his thighs, her female parts exposed to his scrutiny. She had to grasp his shoulders to keep from falling backward as he spread his thighs wider.
“Oh, this is so crude,” she complained, trying to escape.
He held her tight. “Love play is crude. And the best love play is hot and wet and loud and, yea, crude.”
She had no idea what he meant.
&nbs
p; “Tell me true, Breanne, how do you feel?” His palms were stroking her thighs, from knee to groin, lightly, over and over.
“I tingle,” she confessed.
“Where?”
“My breasts and…and below.”
He nodded as if she had given the correct answer. “I tingle, too.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“Where?”
He took her hand and placed it over his manpart, which was hard and thick. When she jerked her hand back, she noticed that he had momentarily closed his eyes and was shuddering, as if in pain.
“Do you tingle with all women?”
He laughed. “I ne’er have before.”
She slanted him a skeptical look.
“’Tis true.”
“Would I tingle with any man?” She already knew the answer to that because she never had before, even when she had been kissed a time or two.
“I hope not,” he said.
Why would he care? I would not care if he kissed other women. Would I? “What are we going to do now?”
“Everything.”
He cupped her buttocks and tugged her closer so that her bottom now rode the hard ridge of his erection, and her breasts nestled in his chest hairs. Breanne felt light-headed and tense, waiting for…something.
“What do you want, Breanne?” He was kissing her ear. Nay, he was licking the whorls of her ear, stabbing the inner channel with his tongue, then blowing the wetness dry, just as he had done on the roof.
It was a revelation to Breanne that there seemed to be a direct connection between her ear channel and her female channel, which not only tingled now, but throbbed, as well. “I do not know,” she answered. “Everything?”
He put a hand to her nape and drew her mouth down for a kiss, openmouthed and devouring. Without thinking, her lips became pliant and clung to his as if for sustenance. Even as he kissed her mindless, his hands were playing with her breasts. At one point, he stopped kissing her and put his mouth to her breasts. Licking. Fluttering his tongue against the nipples, then sucking deeply.
Instinctively, Breanne was undulating her hips against the hard rod beneath his braies.
“Slow down, sweetling. Slow down.”