by Sandra Hill
How could he have been so blind?
Breanne…the princess, the witch, the wench, the lady, the for God’s sake carpenter, or whatever she chose to be at any given time…was every man’s dream of a bedmate. When he first met her, he had thought she was naught more than a shrewish, irksome, plain woman of no particular attraction. She was just the opposite. Oh, she was still irksome and shrewish on occasion, but her attributes were beyond beautiful. To him, if no one else.
Leaning back against the closed door, he stared at her as she fidgeted behind a table in the center. Then she began to arrange in neat piles a Far East abacus, several sheets of vellum, an ink pot, a thick candle, wax, and a seal. There were also beaded sticks of different colors, which he used to keep a tally on the number of sheep, cattle, hogs, goats, and other animals in his possession.
“I could help you with your accounts.”
“Gerard does that for me.”
“Pfff! Look at this mess.”
He shrugged. “And when would you have time for this? Before or after you build me a new keep, take care of the household and kitchens, arrange the butchering, and what else? Oh, I know…share my bed.”
“Well, I am thinking about teaching the children their numbers and letters until a new God-man comes for your chapel and tutoring, or until I leave here, whichever comes first.”
He stiffened. “You overstep your bounds. I did not ask you to do all these things.”
“They needed doing. I am only trying to help.”
“And yet you fail to complete the one duty I ask of you.”
“What would that be?”
He waved a hand toward his crotch. “You cannot tease a man to enthusiasm, then leave him hard and wanting.”
Her laughter was a big mistake.
He moved toward the table.
She moved to the other side.
He moved again, and took the ink pot off the table, setting it on a shelf. That is all he would need, to return to the shire court covered in ink.
She feinted right, then left.
Hah! He was an expert swordsman. He could parry any move she made. But then he tired of the game and lunged over the table, taking her with him, up against the wall.
“Ooomph! You big oaf! You knocked the wind out of me.”
“I intend to knock more than wind out of you afore I am done.” While she had been talking, he was busy unlacing the neckline of her gown. He shrugged the gown and its sleeveless surcoat off her shoulders and down to her elbows, thus confining her arms at her side.
“You brute! ’Tis daylight and there are folks about, waiting for your return.”
He was nibbling a line along her jaw, from ear to chin, and up the other side. “They can wait. As for daylight, take another hour off the tail end of our bargain.”
“An hour!” she squealed, whether at the amount of time, or the fact he was rubbing his rock-hard cock against her cleft. If not for her gown and his breeches, he would be swiving her by now. But then he noticed her breasts. “Breanne! What is this grease?”
A blush started on her face and moved downward over her neck and chest and, yea, said breasts. “’Tis an ointment for soothing raw skin.”
“I hurt you?” He used his fingertips to rub the ointment into the skin, everywhere except the rosy nipples.
She moaned.
“That hurts, too?”
“It hurts good.”
He smiled. “I know what you mean. I hurt good, too, but my hurt is down lower.” He tugged her sleeves down and off so that her arms were free. Then, taking her hand, he encouraged her to explore his “hurt.” When she obliged, using the movement he had taught her, he closed his eyes, lest she see that they were crossed. He closed his mouth as well, lest he yell out his pleasure.
Even though she had been a virgin just days ago, she was a bold and brazen lover. A prize any man would cherish. Not that he cherished her, precisely. Nay, but he did appreciate her.
“This is impossible, you know.”
His eyes shot open. “Why?”
“There is no bed, and it is daylight, and—”
He laughed. Bold and brazen, she may be, but she was still innocent in so many ways. “Lift your gown up to your waist.”
“Wha—”
He was already doing it for her. When she was bare to the waist, and he had unlaced and dropped his breeches, he instructed, “Put your arms around my shoulders.” Then he lifted her by the buttocks and showed her how to lock her legs behind his waist.
“Oh.” That was all she said, but it was enough.
In one fell swoop, without foresport or even a kiss, he entered her. And she was ready for him, thank the saints!
“Gaaaaaaaaa!” Breanne looked stunned, even as her inner muscles gave him welcome with throbbing, repetitive clasps. “What you do to me, knave!”
“You do not like it?”
She slapped him playfully on the chest. “You know I do.” Then she leaned her face down toward him and licked a line around the edges of his lips.
“Witch!” he choked out. “You ensorcell me, I swear you do.”
Her first peaking was about to hit, as evidenced by her eyes glazing over. She made little panting sounds of escalating passion.
“I never knew. I. Never. Knew.”
Hey, I have done this about a thousand times, and I never knew, either.
He turned them so that her back was against the wall. Glancing downward, he saw her short curls intermixed with his, like black and red fleece, spun together. Cradling her face in trembling hands, he whispered against her open mouth, “You make me breathless with need.”
“Any ready female would do, I warrant.”
I wish that were so. “Nay. Just you. This is naught like anything I have ever experienced afore. Believe that, if naught else.”
“What does it mean?” she asked.
It means I am sinking fast in quicksand…and loving it. He could not answer because his lower body had taken over. Long, slow thrusts that quickly became short and hard, pummeling her against the door.
“Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh…” she keened with each stroke.
Passion licked through his body. His senses reeled. He was consumed with his want of her.
She was equally abandoned. He could see by her eyes, which were large and liquid, by her wails of pleasure, and by the way she arched her hips forward against his belly, then matched his rhythm, undulation for undulation.
’Twas a wonder that he was able to pull out at the last moment before spilling his seed inside her womb. It was a wonder, as well, that he really, really wanted to stay, to throw caution to the wind, to be fulfilled totally as men were meant to be.
He helped her to stand on wobbly legs, then leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips. Next he pulled up and laced his breeches. She still stared at him, stunned. He loved that he could stun her. Adjusting her gown, he kept kissing her, unable to stop. Finally, when he was about to drop the hem of her gunna back down, he heard a crackling sound.
“What is that?”
“Hmmmm?” she said dreamily.
He chuckled. “Breanne! You must get control of yourself afore you go back into the hall. In truth, I heard one of the children knocking on the door, looking for you.” More like all the children, but she does not need to know that.
“Oh, my gods! What must everyone think?”
That I have been swiving you silly? “No one will have noticed your absence, except mayhap one of the children, and they are too young to know what we were about.” Hah! My children were born knowing all the things they should not.
She pulled a small cloth sack out of a side placket in her gown, squeezing it to indicate that this was the source of the crackling noise. “Amicia gave it to me. Rashid gave it to her.”
“And?”
“It prevents conception.”
“What? Oh, this is too much, even for you. Dost mean it kills the babe in the womb? Toss it away.”
“Nay. Mixed in hot
water with a dollop of honey to mask its taste, it prevents a man’s seed from fertilizing a woman’s egg, or so Rashid told Amicia.”
Caedmon smiled.
“’Tis no laughing matter.” She moved to the other side of the small room, trying her best to smooth her gown and finger comb her hair.
“I agree, but ’tis a joyous matter if the powder works. Just think, I could engage in sex the way God intended.” And no more babies, thank you, God!
“I do not think God intended people to prevent birthing babies.”
How like a woman! Give a man a gift, then take it back. “Why would God have invented such herbs if not to be used?”
“You have a point, I suppose. And, leastways, it is not some lackwit idea about apples.”
God’s toenails! She knows about THAT? “Hey, ’twas not my idea, and I ne’er tried it, either. Geoff told the men of that practice. In any case, I must needs get back to the shire court afore they bring me up for neglect of duty,” he told her. Opening the door, he let her go through first, then smacked her on her bottom.
“What was that for?”
“Just to remind you. Drink a cup of that brew this afternoon. In fact, drink five cups. One for each time I will be—”
“Impossible man!” She laughed. Then she was the one to smack his rump.
He liked it.
Lick that, bozo!…
Breanne was trying her bloody damn best not to fall in love with the loathsome lout. She feared it was a losing battle.
As she lay on his bed, waiting for him like a sheep with no mind of its own, Breanne had much to consider. It was day five of their bargain. At the end of the next five days, what would their relationship be? Would he release her, or expect her to continue as his mistress? Would she want to? Or would he offer more?
Everything was turned upside down in her life, starting with the murder, the escape and hiding out, the departure of her sisters, and now her lewd activities with the loathsome lout.
And he was a loathsome lout. That had not changed. With ease, she could tick off the list of his faults on her fingers.
He ruled his keep, especially his children, with a lax hand. Thus the mess they had encountered on first arriving here.
He made jest of her constantly. What was wrong with a woman having talents outside the bedchamber or sewing solar? And carpentry was a time-honored skill, good enough even for God’s son. Not that she was comparing herself to Jesus.
He begat babies like a randy rabbit. Ten at last count.
He was lustsome all the time, ready to engage in sex at a moment’s notice, in the most outrageous ways and places. She had drawn the line at his taking her in a wheelbarrow position, her being the wheelbarrow.
He left Larkspur sparsely armed on too many occasions when he went off to fight in the king’s army.
On the other hand, she had to admit that:
He had taken a passel of children under his wing, many of whom were not of his blood.
Even as he teased her, he had a great capacity for laughing at his own foibles, as well.
He was a great lover, always ready to try something new. And, to her dismay, she was enjoying that virility very much.
Much as he loathed King Edgar, he served him well in order to preserve his heritage.
He offered protection for her and her sisters, albeit at a price, but a price she was finding increasingly easy to pay.
But wait. Here he was now.
Without knocking, Caedmon walked into his bedchamber and locked the door behind him. He had forgotten to engage the lock yesterday and therefore given the twins Alfred and Aidan more than an eyeful when they barged in just after dawn. Fortunately, they were both too young to understand what it meant when a naked woman knelt on all fours on the bed with a naked man taking her from behind. They had accepted Caedmon’s explanation that they were playing “horsey.” And, nay, they were not permitted to join in the game.
“You are smiling,” Caedmon said.
I am happy to see you. Oh, nay! I cannot say that. ’Tis too soon. He will use it against me. “I am counting the days till my punishment ends.”
A flash of hurt in his eyes was quickly masked over. “Punishment? You consider our bedplay punishment?”
Of the most painfully delicious kind. “What would you call it?”
“Pleasure.”
“That, too,” she conceded.
And just like that the vulnerability turned into arrogance. “Ah, well, then, I am about to punish you with so much pleasure you will beg me never to stop.”
Please do. “You are little inclined toward meekness, m’lord.”
He was already shucking off his braies and tunic, his blue eyes glinting with approval as he noticed her enjoying his unclothing. “Did you drink any of the powders today?”
“I did.”
“How much?”
“So much I had to go to the privy five times to relieve my bladder.”
“Good.” He leaped onto the bed, causing the ropes to creak.
“You will land us on the floor, fool.” She laughed.
He pinched her bottom.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“For telling me that our lovemaking is punishment.”
“Well, it is.”
“Liar!” He rolled over on his back, folded his hands behind his neck, and grinned over at her, not at all embarrassed by his nudity or his rising enthusiasm. “Take off your clothes for me, dearling.”
She was wearing only a thin bed rail, but she balked nonetheless. It was part of the game they played behind doors.
“What will you give me if I do?”
He glanced downward.
“That goes without saying.”
“I do have another gift for you, but you must be naked for me to give it to you.”
“I cannot imagine—”
“No guessing. Just do it.”
She slid off the bed and prepared to do so. Even though she wore only the one garment, she took a long time removing it. First, baring one shoulder, then the other. Holding the loose garment to her breasts, she turned and flashed him a saucy smile over her shoulder. Then she let loose the fabric and wriggled it down to her ankles, giving him a tempting view of her swaying bottom on the way down.
“Come here, witch.” He held his arms out to her.
She meant to jump on top of him on the bed, but he caught her about the waist and turned her over on her back. “Do not move.” Slipping off the bed, he went over to a table near the door where he had placed a small pottery jar.
“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Something to heal your abraded breasts and to soothe my hunger.”
“Huh?” She leaned forward and sniffed. “Honey?”
He nodded, then ran a thin stream over her lips. “Have you ever had a honey kiss?”
“You know I have not. Have you?”
He shook his head. “A first for me, too. In truth, you bring the creativity out in me.”
She did not believe that for one moment, but she liked hearing it. And she liked even more his honey kisses, which he bestowed with expertise, bending over the bed, his one hand braced over her, the other on the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat.
“You want me,” he declared, with satisfaction.
“You want me,” she declared right back, equally satisfied.
They smiled at each other.
“For a woman with such a sour tongue, you do taste sweet.” To prove his point, he lapped at her honeyed lips. Then he kissed the honey and nipped it with his teeth. He laved her lips and the surrounding skin.
The need to touch him was overpowering. She ran her hands over his back, delighting in every knob of his spine, every supple, bunching muscle in his shoulders and upper arms, even the strong tendons in his straining neck. When his tongue pressed into her mouth, she drew on him and would not let go.
“Bre-anne! You will be the death of me.” He ground the words out between
his teeth.
And myself, as well. “A good death, or a bad death?”
“A very good death, as you well know. Now, behave.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her still slick bottom lip, then kissed it off. It was not a neat kiss. How could it be, with both of them so sticky?
A sennight ago, Breanne never would have imagined all the different kinds of kisses there were, or how a mere kiss could turn her weak and wanting. “I can taste the honey on you,” she remarked when he came up for air. “And your lust.”
“Honey lust? I like it.”
“I never knew the mating could be so fun,” she told him. “I thought it was a serious, sometimes distasteful business.”
“It is for some women, and, nay, before you get the wrong idea, enjoying sex does not make you a harlot. In truth, a woman who enjoys bedplay is man’s greatest gift.”
The things this man does say! He wields charm like an erotic sword. “You are just saying that so I will not feel guilty.”
“Do you feel guilty?”
She shook her head. “Not now, but I probably will later.”
“Do not,” he urged. “We are hurting no one by being together.”
That was debatable because she sensed sure as sin that she was going to be hurt in the end.
When he stood once again, moving away from her, she sighed her disappointment.
“Miss me already, do you?” he asked.
Nothing escapes this man, I swear. “Lout!”
“But a loveable lout, am I not?”
She got no chance to answer because he was using a wooden spoon to put a dollop of honey on each nipple. They both watched as the honey spread in all directions till the areolas were covered. “Beautiful!” he murmured. “Absolutely beautiful! Do you have any idea what you do to me, Breanne?”
She surveyed his body. He was aroused. She could tell by his erection, of course, but also by the murkiness of his blue eyes and by his shortness of breath.