by K. E. Saxon
Perth, The Highlands
Scone Abbey, March 1207
MORGANA CAMBEL SAT at one of the many trestle tables in the great hall of William, King of Scots’ royal court and, as she’d done every night this past fortnight, surreptitiously gazed at the object of her deepest desire: Robert MacVie, Highland laird and knight magnificent. He’d won yet another tournament that day on the lists, and the coin and prestige that went with it as well. Just as he’d done the three times she’d watched him on the tourney field these past days.
She’d heard he’d entered the contests as more of a necessity for quick coin than a bid for acclaim. He did a quick scan of the chamber and she straightened. His gaze lighted e’er so briefly on her before settling warmly on her cousin, Vika, who sat speaking to one of the many other warriors present in the hall. Morgana sighed softly. If only he could like one such as me. But, ‘twould ne’er be, she knew. For, she was quite certain that not he, nor any knight in fact, would e’er willingly take a lady like she with no power of speech, whom the priests were sure the devil himself had taken hold of, and who had little to offer for dowry, either—perhaps the biggest impediment of all.
Ah, but he was a handsome one, was he. Aye, handsome as the devil with whom she was accused of consorting. Sable hair and steel-gray eyes. Dark brows and a strong, square jaw. And bulk. Aye, what bulk the man had!
As she watched, he leaned to the side and said something to one of his comrades. Morgana’s eyes dipped longingly to his wide, masculine lips. What would it be like to have her own seized by them? To taste him on her tongue?
“You want him, do you not?” Vika said next to her ear. “I can arrange it, if you’d like. Would you like that, my pet? I’ve grown bored, but you might enjoy a bit of his style of possession.”
Possession. The word sent a thrill of excitement through her, making her womb throb, making the tips of her breasts harden. She didn’t hesitate. She nodded.
Vika’s laugh came from deep in her throat. “At the chimes of midnight, be settled on the third bench in the chapel. Wear the scarlet cloak I gave you, and keep that white hair of yours covered. We look enough alike otherwise, that he’s sure to think you are me.”
Morgana nodded again and gave her older cousin a grateful smile.
“Now off with you. ‘Tis nearing that time now. And wear a bit of my herbal tincture as well—you’ll find it on top of the table, next to my comb, in my chamber. Place some on the curls of your sex—do not ask me why, for ‘twill all become clear later.”
Morgana felt a heated blush bloom on her cheeks, but she gave her cousin a jerky nod before rising from the bench she’d been seated upon. After signaling her farewell with a dip of her head to each of the others at the table, she hurried out of the hall, quelling the guilt that immediately rose up inside her. She was eighteen summers, she told her conscience, with her nineteenth fast approaching. Well past marriageable age and with no prospects for husband. Or lover, for that matter. And she’d remained chaste for as long as she was willing.
Aye, ‘twas true that before, when she’d been in the nunnery, she’d had a different idea of what was proper. But since joining the court a moon past and seeing just how liberal the morality was here, her perspective had changed. Drastically. Now she saw the benefit in experimentation prior to wedding. Especially since it had become clear to her that her own chastity upon marriage would not be the sticking point she’d always believed ‘twould be.
In short, she wanted to begin living her life, as it no doubt would continue to be: Sans husband, sans bairns. It made her sad to give up that dream, but to molder on the shelf the rest of her life seemed pointless. And her cousin had just given her the most perfect way for her to be initiated into her carnal education: With the first man she’d e’er desired to mate with, Robert MacVie.
* * *
Vika nodded and gave Robert a conspiratorial smile when he caught her eye again. Aye, she thought, plan your little scheme, but you’ll soon find you’ve tested a much worthier opponent—and lost! She’d learned from one of her sources that day that her sometimes lover, Robert MacVie, with whom she’d made plans to play one of their little lovers’ games—this time, one of her favorites, ravishment by a stranger—was in fact planning an abduction and forced pregnancy on her, an heiress to a vast holding, in order to obtain an open assent to his troth. Which, she knew, he desperately needed in order to pay his clan’s debts.
This would get her cousin out of the way for a bit as well. Thus aiding her cause with the man she, herself, had set her eye upon, Guy de Burgh. Unfortunately, that man, thus far, could not be swayed. And had, these past days, been spending a bit too much time in Morgana’s company for Vika’s liking.
She watched Robert rise from his seat and stride out of the great hall. Ah, to be a fly on the wall and see his face when he at last discovered he’d taken the wrong lady! But would Morgana be taken before he discovered the switch? Vika chuckled. She truly did hope so, for ‘twas clear the lass was deeply enamoured of the knight.
And, in truth, she wished her cousin a better first time than she, herself, had endured nearly half her own age ago when she’d been forced to wed the old man to whom her father had given her. Vika’s brows drew together, her smile of a moment before disappearing, as she absently rubbed the pad of her thumb o’er the nail of her middle finger. Aye, ‘twould be a shame if Morgana didn’t at least get her first taste of the culmination of a woman’s desire. And from the one she so clearly wanted.
Vika sighed. She’d simply have to wait until they returned on the morrow to find out, she supposed.
* * *
‘Twas a long and bumpy ride to where e’er Robert was taking her. Morgana hadn’t known exactly what to expect when she’d settled on the bench in the chapel a few hours past. But she certainly hadn’t foreseen being gagged, blindfolded, and tied up. Nor, hefted like a sack of grain into the back of a wagon and taken to God knew where in the middle of the night. She would have been deeply afraid that she was the victim of some violent man’s scheme, had she not continued to hear Robert’s voice speaking in muted tones to what seemed to be at least three other men throughout the journey.
The cart began a long, rough ascent some three or more hours into their travel and she rolled and slid until she finally found purchase against one of its sides. The air was growing colder as they progressed, but she was well protected from the wind by the covering o’er the top of the cart.
‘Twas not long before she heard Robert call a halt and the conveyance came to a creaking, shivering stop. In the next moment, she was hauled up and o’er someone’s—Robert’s?—shoulder and bounced roughly as he moved up some steps and through a narrow doorway.
He set her on her feet, but only long enough to fling wide her cloak and slit the front of her gown and chemise down the front. ‘Twas done so quickly, she barely had time to realize what had happened before she was lifted in his arms and positioned on what she assumed was a narrow bed with tall posts at the end, because he spread her legs wide, wrapped her knees around the posts and then scooted her down to the edge. It made her thighs burn and quiver, to be spread in such a manner. Tears of strain leaked from her eyes, making the blind o’er them grow damp.
He still had said not a word to her and now she was beginning to be afraid. Was this how ‘twas done then? Somehow, she’d gotten the impression that ‘twas a gentler act than this. Her heart pounded so, that she could feel its pulse hammering in the side of her neck. She couldn’t catch her breath.
The same two beefy, long-fingered, warm hands that had dealt with her legs, now took hold of her bound wrists and lifted them o’er her head, tying them to a post on that end as well.
Oh God, what was he going to do to her? Why had she agreed to this? Would he kill her now? She was completely helpless—totally at his mercy. A dank smell of must filled her nostrils, the sound of a man’s rough grunts flashed in her memory. She began to quake.
But then something wonderf
ul began to happen. Those same huge, strong hands commenced a slow, sensual glide o’er her bare breasts, down her rib cage, and o’er her abdomen, then up again to tease the peaks of her breasts. A warm, suctioning feeling came next, along with the sensation of puffs of hot breath against her sensitive skin. A hot thrill ran through her as first one crest and then the other was caressed in this manner, followed again by gentle fingers as that humid suction traveled down and o’er her abdomen and settled with blindingly pleasurable accuracy o’er the apex of her sex.
Morgana’s back arched and every muscle in her frame went rigid with sheer delight. Her mouth opened wide under the gag and she felt a silent scream in her throat. His tongue began a magic dance and she started once again to quake and tremble—this time, with pleasure. He rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and pinched them, causing a slight pain. She saw pinpricks of light behind her lids just before her womb convulsed, and then she splintered apart.
As she was floating back down to earth and hearing her breathing, still harsh, but slowing to a bit more of a normal meter, he shocked her by starting the process all o’er again. This time, when she felt that ultimate bliss, she began to cry. The pleasure was more acute this time, almost painful in its scope. She prayed he would stop now, for she knew she wouldn’t be able to take another from him so soon.
Somehow, he must have known, because she felt him rise up between her thighs. Felt the wiry hair from his own muscular, hard thighs tickling and softly abrading the tender skin on the insides of her legs. She felt something warm, something long and thick, smooth, but with a blunt, rounded tip caressing the outer lips of her sex. Was this his manly yard? She’d ne’er seen one, but she’d heard the ladies speak of them. It certainly matched their descriptions.
She felt the blunt tip pressing into the center of her. She barely had time to get accustomed to the odd feeling before she was ripped asunder by his rough, rapid entry. She jerked and tried to pull herself back, but he had hold of her hips and rammed into her again. This cannot be the right way. Scalding tears burned her cheeks. Surely, I will die from this.
* * *
“God, Vika, you’ve been practicing,” Robert growled. “Loose your grip on me, else I’ll not last long enough to pleasure you.” He knew he wasn’t supposed to speak—this was one of the requisites she’d given him for this lovers’ game—but he couldn’t keep silent. Christ, she was squeezing him in a hot, moist vise along every inch of his cock. And it felt good. Too good.
But she didn’t comply. Instead, she tightened around him even more. He jerked and shuddered, grinding into her e’er harder as he lost the battle and, with a vociferous shout, erupted inside of her. Just as he began to slow, as the last eddies of visceral satisfaction were rippling up from his tarse, into his loins, and out into his being, she lifted her hips and started moving against him. When he felt the strong muscles of her canal begin to milk him, he rose up on that crest again with a ragged moan and this time he thought he’d die from the eviscerating pleasure it gave him.
When ‘twas over, when the only sound in the small chamber of the stone cot was the hiss of their breath as they struggled to fill their lungs, Robert slowly slid out of his lover and walked over to the wall sconce. Swiving Vika had ne’er been that bone-numbingly satiating before. Hell, his ears still rung from the explosive climaxes she’d given him. Which bode very well for their marriage, a thing he was determined to have with her.
And this night, and the nights following, with them having no means of preventing conception of a babe, would seal the bargain. For, he’d spend inside her how e’er many times it took to get her with child and force her to give him her hand. And the coin that came with it.
He’d not used the sheath on his cock, as she’d demanded he use in her note, but she’d told him before that she could ne’er tell when he used the thing in any case, and this game proved to be a perfect opportunity to begin as he meant to go on. ‘Twas a desperate plan—and one that could easily go awry—but ‘twas the only one he had at his disposal. In fact, he might just get hanged for such a reckless move, but he had no other choice open to him, not any longer, and he was determined to take complete advantage of it.
After lighting the end of the torch he strode over to gather up a taper from the trestle table by the hearth and lit it as well. He arched a brow, studying the hearth for a split second, but then decided he’d best light the thing after he’d made Vika more comfortable.
He turned back toward the bed, took a couple of steps, then stopped short. First shock, then unmitigated anger, filled him. “Was this your idea, or did Vika arrange it?” All at once he realized the lass—What was her name? Oh, yes, Morgana—still had the gag in her mouth.
With angry strides, he took the last few steps over to the bedside and loosed the ties that bound her. Tho’ ‘twould not give her a voice, he knew, for he’d heard the tale these past sennights that she’d not said a word since she was a wee bairn. And what e’er had caused her to lose her voice, had also turned her dark hair the color of the silver moon on the blackest, most starless night of the year.
His eye scanned down to her sex, to see how dark were the curls that covered her mound. ‘Twas then that he noticed the blood. On her sex, and on her thighs.
He lifted the hem of his shirt and looked beneath. His cock was red from it as well. He had a bit of it streaked on his right thigh and his groin hair was damp with the stuff. Blood of CHRIST! A virgin. He’d forgotten she was an innocent not long from the nunnery.
He turned his attention back to his newly initiated lover, at a bit of a loss as to what to do, as this was the first one he’d e’er taken. He was going to strangle Vika for this, he truly was. For, now that he’d had time to think on it, he was convinced that this was one of Vika’s amusing tricks she liked to play on her unsuspecting lovers. Or—had she learned of his own scheme and decided to confound the plot? Aye, knowing Vika and her court minions, ‘twas no doubt the case.
* * *
Morgana blinked and looked around. She was inside a very masculine chamber. There were hunting knives, bows for hunting, and other weapons hanging from the far stone wall. Her eye settled on Robert’s visage at last. She’d avoided it at first, feeling a bit too shy after what they’d just done, to look him fully in the face. Besides, he was angry now that he’d discovered the switch. She saw where his eye was settled and looked there herself. God in Heaven! Her pulse spiked. Is this punishment for my fleshly lust? She’d known there would be blood, but not this much. Had Robert torn her? Was her womb ruined? It had certainly hurt more than she’d been told it would.
In fact, she’d been sure she’d die from the searing pain of it. But then, when she’d heard his ground-out words, his moans of rapture, felt his body straining toward that ultimate joy as her own had done, she’d realized ‘twas because of the satisfaction he was receiving by being inside of her, and the feeling had changed to one of pleasure.
Oh, there had still been a terrible burning sensation, but that had been overtaken by the growing delight until, finally, she’d been able to ignore the hurt, and begun to enjoy the feeling of him stroking in and out of her. Enjoyed it to such a degree that she’d found that ultimate bliss once more, but this time with him deep inside her and finding his own bliss as well. She’d thought it wonderful. And incredibly satisfying. Her breathing calmed. Aye, wonderful. So, surely not a punishment then? But the gore of it must be why virginal ladies are ne’er told in detail about the carnal act, for they’d ne’er agree to it then.
She tried to bring her legs up o’er the posts, but she was too stiff, so she settled back. Mayhap ‘twas best, for now, not to move very much until she was sure that she was all right. She turned her head and looked at him again, motioning as best she could that she needed something with which to cleanse herself.
Thanks be to heaven, he understood her and turned toward one of two buckets and a ladle that sat in the corner. There was a trunk next to them, from which he
pulled a linen cloth. First, he washed himself. Then he brought one of the buckets of water and the cloth o’er to the end of the bed and settled on his knees between her thighs.
* * *
“ ‘Twill be cold. Ready yourself.” Robert bent to the task, ignoring Morgana’s sharp intake of breath at the first contact of frigid, damp cloth to hot, tender skin.
Black. The hair on her mons was as black as his own soul. And the flesh beneath, as red and succulent as the ripest winter berry. He felt his cock stir to life, but ignored that, too. He’d not chance another time with her. At least, not until they were back at the abbey and had access to the means to prevent conception.
He’d made sure there was naught like that here when he’d planned the adventure. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. Aye, he’d expected to stay here with Vika for at least a moon. Her father had left the King’s court two days past and would not return for quite a time, mayhap even two moons. It had been the best and only opportunity Robert had had to try to get Vika to agree to wed him, for no one would look for her during those sennights, understanding that she was with her current lover.
* * *
Morgana flinched when Robert pressed a bit too hard as he wiped away further remnants of her first carnal experience. He lightened his touch, but remained as mute as she. What was he thinking? Was he still angered by her and Vika’s duplicity? Had he enjoyed taking her? And, more importantly, would he do so again, now that he knew her identity?
That question plagued her more than she was willing to admit to herself. For, truth be told, his gentle cleansing of her was making her blood heat for him again. But, mayhap, ‘twas too soon to do the deed again? She knew not for certain.
How often could a man perform the act? Was it once a night? Once a sennight? Or once a moon? Mayhap that was the reason her cousin had taken so many lovers. If ladies could take a man more often than a man was capable of performing, then that would certainly make sense.