by K. A. M'Lady
Lost in her thoughts, it took a moment to realize that a sudden silence had surrounded the once chatty room. She felt her stomach drop, thinking they all could read the thoughts that were plain on her face. Looking up, bean snapping between her fingers, she noticed that Damon had entered the kitchen, and the kitchen girls stood frozen in what appeared to be fear.
“Leave us,” his deep baritone ordered.
The staff all but ran from the room. All but Rosalynn.
“That includes you, Rosalynn,” he ordered, his jaw tight with command.
She looked at him with marked chagrin. “Really, milord,” she scowled. She walked past him and out the kitchen door.
Turning behind her, he closed and locked the door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Damon sauntered into the kitchen like a man on a mission, his deep, penetrating silver eyes not once leaving Gabriella’s. He was once again dressed in black, black hose and tunic with a black leather vest over it. His hair was damp as if he had just washed it, and he smelled of earth, wind and man. Gabriella’s heart began to race where she sat, hands still poised over the dish of beans she’d been snapping when he’d entered the room.
She wore a pale lilac gown with a darker tunic over it. Her hair was coming loose from its binding and the domestic picture she showed stirred something in Damon that he had never felt before. He’d thought of nothing else all day but her. The lithe form of her body. The succulent sway of her hips when she walked. The fire of her hair. Her soft form beneath his.
Damon grew harder than he already was just thinking of the things he wanted to do to her. He had tried to stay away from her all day. He’d stayed in the lists with his men, practicing their swordplay. He’d gone over plans with Tanak on issues of the rebels. Sent a missive to his King updating him on the situation surrounding the region and his continued hunt.
But he could not keep her from his mind, even as the morning progressed into afternoon. So he’d gone to the lists again. This time practicing with Tanak. Hours passed before he felt he had finally gotten himself under control. But as soon as he’d washed the sweat and grime from him and entered his keep, his feet moved of their own accord to the kitchens, where he knew she would be, helping Rosalynn and his staff to prepare the evening meal.
Her scent clung to him even though he had washed her from his body. His hands ached to hold her even when he’d tried to ward off thoughts of her while he held his sword. That is why he was in the kitchen now. His body ached for her just as much as his mind. She stirred him. Cast a spell and kept him enthralled. And he wanted her.
Now.
He stalked around the table like a sleek black panther on the scent of its prey. All of their touches and kisses and hungers of the night before rolled over her in a crashing wave. Her pulse was a torrent, slamming itself against her chest. Damon reached for her and every last vestige of thought left her.
He pulled her from the chair, bringing her body against his. She felt soft and supple in his arms. Her svelte form fit perfectly against his stronger one. She was the perfect height, coming just below his chin. Leaning down, he took her lips with his.
He meant it to be a soft kiss. One of longing and sensuality. But hunger overcame him as he pulled her even closer, letting her body feel the hardness she had stirred. He plunged his tongue and then nipped her lips, sipping each kiss from her. Causing a moan to escape her sweet, luscious lips.
Gabriella was drowning in his kisses. The scent of him drove her mad with need as his maleness grew harder with each delicious kiss. She wanted him. Wanted him to take her here in the kitchen, now.
Twisting her around abruptly, Damon bent her over, placing her hands on the table as he reached for her dress. “I have wanted you all day,” he whispered as he leaned over her.
Gabriella felt the warm air of the kitchen on her legs as Damon lifted the hem of her dress. His calloused hands on the backs of her thighs made her moan and rub against him.
Spreading her legs, Damon reached between them and found her wet as she rubbed herself against his fingers.
Gabriella reached around and stroked his cock, wanting it buried deep within her. “I can’t wait,” she told him bluntly. “I must have you inside me,” she said.
He loosened his hose and the soft, yet rigid mast of his cock sprang to even greater life in her hand.
Pushing her hand back to the tabletop, Damon spread the soft folds of her nether lips and drove deeply in one hard thrust.
Gabriella instantly saw stars as an orgasm quickly overtook her.
“Not so soon, Cherie,” he told her, grabbing her hips tightly in his hands. “We’ve a bit more of a ride to go.”
He thrust into her. Strong, hard strokes that seemed to last what felt an eternity. Then he would enter slowly and pull out to the tip, only to enter in deeper, harder. Gabriella could feel her muscles clenching. Her body was awash in a million dancing sensations. She knew she was close to the edge again. The amazing edge that she only wanted to walk with him.
Damon was drowning in her tight, hot sheath. He milked the wetness from her, and it only spurred him on more. He couldn’t get enough of her body beneath him. He wanted to take her everywhere. In every way possible.
Reaching up her body, he pulled open the front of her dress, spilling her breasts into his hands. He squeezed them, rubbing his palms over her nipples.
Gabriella groaned.
Pinching them between his fingers, he slammed harder into her, rocking her body against the table.
Gabriella clenched the table edge with white knuckles. She thought she would die of sexual bliss as each thrust became harder, deeper than the one before, until she could feel him at the top of her womb. Her orgasm struck like a lightning bolt, tearing a cry from her throat.
Damon felt her every muscle clench around him and as she wailed her orgasm, his followed in its wake. Jaw clenched with strain, he poured his seed deep within her body.
They both lay crumpled over the table, huffing from the strain. Their desire slaked, for the moment.
“Cherie, you will drive me mad with need,” he told her softly. “Your burning fire has called to me all day and still I could take you again,” he said, rubbing against her, proving his truth.
“I think you’ll kill us both if you take me again,” she said. “Besides,” she chuckled, “your household will grow very hungry if we remain in the kitchen when there is a meal to be finished.”
“Alas, milady, speaks true.” Pulling her skirt back down over her and placing himself back in his clothes, he pulled her against him. “But there are so many other places. Mayhap we should find them,” he told her, taking her by the hand and pulling her to the door.
When they reached the door, he found half his staff mulling around and Rosalynn tapping her foot, arms crossed beneath her breasts.
“‘Tis about time, milord,” she said angrily. “Think your men wish to be waiting for their meal?”
Damon glared at her and Gabriella flushed in embarrassment, knowing that the whole staff had probably heard them.
Shuffling her workers back to their jobs, Rosalynn walked by Gabriella and whispered, “‘Tis good to yell at them every chance one gets. Keeps them on their toes.” Rosalynn winked, then walked past and into the kitchens.
“Come,” Damon told her, pulling her through the great hall.
Halfway up the stairs, he stopped and leaned her against the wall, kissing her deeply, stirring Gabriella all over again with a lust that was growing to a consuming flame. She reached up and sank her fingers in the thick waves of his glorious hair. She burned for him. “Damon,” she whispered as his lips moved along her jaw line, nipping at her ear.
In the muffled haze of lust, a voice gruffly rumbled. “Your pardon, milord.”
Reluctantly leaving her soft neck, Damon turned to look down the stairs. John, his captain of the guards, was at the foot of the stairs, trying not to look beyond his master to the maiden in his arms.
�
��I am sorry to interrupt, milord,” he said sheepishly. “But riders approach.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Damn,” Damon swore as he looked into Gabriella’s desire-filled eyes. Her bodice had been pulled open to allow his hands to touch their bounty. He had her skirt lifted and her leg wrapped around his hip, allowing him to press the hardness of his staff against her. With a deep sigh, he put her leg back firmly on the stair and pulled her bodice into its rightful state. “Aye, John,” he replied. “Meet me on the ramparts.”
“Aye, milord.”
Turning back to Gabriella, he took her into his arms and stole one more kiss. “Go back to my room and ready yourself for dinner. I’ll send for you when I’m ready.”
“I am not your dog to be ordered around, milord,” she replied sarcastically, turning to walk away from him.
He grabbed her arm, stopping her before she could climb the remainder of the stairs. “No,” he growled. “But mine nonetheless. Now go.”
Go here. Go there. Do this. Do that. Next thing I know, he’ll be ordering me to sit up and beg. Or fetch his slippers. Stupid, barbaric man! Gabriella grumbled, heading towards his room. How could I ever even consider staying with him?
Because he makes me burn, she reminded herself. Because he stirs my senses as no other man has before. Because I’m a lonely idiot who’s stuck in this stupid century with an egomaniac that I can’t seem to get enough of. What a sad, sorry state you’ve gotten yourself into, Gabriella. And where the hell did you get the idea of staying? She entered Damon’s room in a huff and slammed the door behind her for good measure.
* * * * * *
Damon heard the door slam as he reached the great hall. Shaking his head at the moodiness of women and never being able to understand them, he continued out the hall doors and headed towards the bailey and the stairs to the ramparts.
His thoughts were filled once again with what ifs. What if she is in league with these rebels? What if she is somehow relaying information to them? What if…what if I’m falling for more than mere lust for the wench? Damon slammed the door on his final thought and sprinted up the remaining stairs to reach John’s side.
“It appears to be an envoy from the King, milord,” John told him.
“Just what I need,” Damon groused. “It appears to include an envoy with my cousin’s standard. I should have killed the arrogant bastard in Normandy,” Damon said as an aside.
“Aye,” Tanak replied as he came to stand next to Damon. “Or at least cut out his tongue for the falsehoods he started about you killing Therese.”
“Do not speak her name in my presence,” Damon growled, his fist clenching in remembered anger. “Besides, there was no proof that he had started the rumors,” Damon said, glaring at the approaching riders.
“What of the rumors that he was her lover?” Tanak questioned.
“‘Tis lucky for him there is no proof to that tale as well. Else he would have long had his head severed and his entrails burned in oil. Come,” Damon said. “The snake is slithering into our household. Best we keep a close eye on him.”
Damon and Tanak reached the inner bailey as the riders entered the gates. His cousin, Pasquel DeArgent, was the son of his mother’s sister, Marcel, and the Viscount Roget DeArgent. In Normandy, their family name was quite old and their lineage long. They owned more land on either side of the pond than most. And, for reasons Damon did not understand, Pasquel hated Damon from the moment they had met.
Damon was quite young then, a mere five and ten. He could still picture the dust from the previous runners as it drifted in a haze like a sand storm throughout the field, recalling the tension thrumming from his steed beneath him as he gripped the reigns. It was his second or third tourney, he could not recall which, and they had met in the lists, each preparing their horses for their run.
Pasquel had greeted him harshly, spitting at his feet as he and his men laughed at the bastard cousin who had hoped to win his gold and buy a title. “You will never be a lord, you know. Despite your girth, or your ability on the field,” he told Damon. “And you will never win enough money to purchase what you were never born into.”
Pasquel had left him, he and his followers laughing at Damon’s expense. When they met on the field, Damon knew what he had to do. Pasquel was five years older, and was thought to be an excellent warrior. He was someone who would rise in the ranks amongst other men. Someone who would become a leader of men. And yet Damon had bested him each run of the field. Pasquel swore he would one day return the favor.
Pasquel was an evil man with a cold heart and an evil disposition. He stood about five feet five and what he lacked in stature, he made up for in pure cruelty. He was not fat around the middle, but was heading there at an alarming rate. As his girth would grow, so would his vileness.
Unlike Damon’s large, dark stature, Pasquel was small, fattish, and had thinning brown hair. His eyes reminded Damon of a lizard’s. He was generally insulting, belligerent and entirely obnoxious. Damon had no idea why, if it were true, Therese would ever consider having an affair with him. He was revolting at best.
Damon also wondered how the man maintained the followers he had. At least twenty men rode with him at all times. He either paid them very well or they were as demented and cruel as their master. Damon had heard on several occasions that he beat most of his household into subservience and raped the majority of his female staff. All of them were most likely too afraid to cross him.
Looking up from his disgruntled reverie, he watched his cousin ride to a halt in the inner bailey. “To what do I owe this odious visit?” Damon asked, his voice dark with menace.
“Now, now, Cousin. Is that any way to treat family who has ridden many miles with a missive from our King?” Pasquel asked, his nasally voice as high as most women’s.
“State your business and be gone, Pasquel. The sight of you sickens me.”
“We are tired and in need of sustenance. I would expect better treatment of the King’s men. Especially when we are family, and you, the King’s champion.”
“We may be family by blood, but do not think for a minute that I wouldn’t relish seeing yours pooling across the ground beneath you.”
“Still vengeful, I see,” he chided. “Apparently having a woman in your bed has done little for your disposition.”
“And how, pray tell, have you heard this bit of information?” Damon asked.
“Oh, news does travel, my cousin. News does travel,” he replied, climbing down from the back of his horse. “One day, ‘tis all I require of your time. Then I and my men shall be on our way,” he advised, holding up his hand in mock oath.
“Fine,” Damon growled. “But I expect you gone by dawn.”
“As you wish,” he replied.
His response was too quick and too oily for Damon’s liking. He questioned the man’s motives, knowing that whenever Pasquel was about, trouble followed. Glaring at his cousin, Damon bellowed for his captain of the guard. “John.”
“Aye, milord.”
“Take Pasquel’s men to the soldier’s barracks and see that their needs are met.”
“Aye, milord.”
“Come, if you must,” he told his cousin. “I’ll have Rosalynn prepare you a room.”
“So the old crone is still around, is she? Has she cast any spells lately?”
“Be careful, Pasquel, or I shall make sure she starts with you.”
Pasquel laughed a sharp snort. “Your witch does not scare me, Cousin,” he stated, brushing past Damon to enter the great hall.
Damn man thinks he owns whatever place he enters, Damon thought sourly. “Best keep our eyes on him,” he whispered to Tanak as they strode into the great hall. “The snake is up to something.”
“Aye. Would you like me to keep an eye on him personally for you?” Tanak asked
“It would be less obvious if we set someone else after the task. I’ll have Sedrick do so. The pup is in need of a mission.”
“A good
thought.”
Entering the hall, Damon saw that the evening meal preparations were about complete. “Rosalynn,” he yelled.
“I am here, milord,” she stated. “There’s no need to bellow.”
Tanak snickered.
Pasquel jumped as if he’d been bit.
Damon only glared at the old woman.
“Stop sneaking about, woman. You’ll give our guest the failure of his heart.” He winked at Rosalynn.
Rosalynn tilted her head in response. “This way, milord,” she said to Pasquel. “A room has been prepared.” Rosalynn led him off towards the other end of the hall where rooms were made ready for any guests.
Damon did not allow them on the same floor with him as a precaution. Being the King’s champion, there were many that would love to sneak up on him in the night and slit his throat where he slept. With the constant unrest of the country as a whole, one could not be too careful. Therefore, guests stayed on the main floor off the hall.
* * * * * *
Pasquel glared at Rosalynn as she walked past him, giving him the evil eye just for good measure. She, as much as her lord, detested the man. He reeked of malevolence, if such a thing were possible. He was cruel to the servants wherever it was he stayed, and Rosalynn would not abide such treatment of her staff.
Pasquel simply followed, an aroma of arrogance traveling in his passing.
“The evening meal is about to begin.” Rosalynn showed him to the room that had been prepared.
“And will Damon’s woman be joining us?” he questioned, his eyes a bit too calculating for Rosalynn’s peace of mind.
“She sits at milord’s side.”
“Good.” He shut the door in Rosalynn’s face.
“Arrogant cur,” Rosalynn muttered, stalking off to complete her evening duties. I must remember to be sure to spill something on him during his evening meal. She knew he would never dare raise a hand to her in her lord’s house. And if that doesn’t suit, maybe I’ll ask the gods to put a small hex on the dung heap. Smiling to herself, she returned to the kitchen to order about the completion of the meal.