As the day wore on, the canopy of trees grew less dense, and the huge, mossy oaks started to give way to birch and bracken. It was then that Aimery stopped at last, breathing hard. Elena swayed for support against a tree, almost sobbing with fatigue.
He said, ‘We’re almost at the boundary of the forest. You can go back now. I don’t need a hostage any more.’
‘You know I can never go back.’ Elena forced her voice to be steady. ‘You know they’d kill me. For helping you to escape.’
His mouth thinned, pulling at his scar. ‘I’m sure you can find some way to redeem yourself. Why did you do it?’
Her dark, fathomless blue eyes met his cold grey ones. ‘Because I didn’t want you to die,’ she said in a low voice.
His lips curled in scorn. He gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him again as she trembled at the touch of his lean brown fingers. ‘You’re full of tricks, little Elena, aren’t you? Such fine excuses. How you enjoyed humiliating me with your friends!’
She shuddered, remembering the bone phallus and her own fierce, shameful excitement at this proud man’s degradation. ‘I had to do it - don’t you see? Or they’d have suspected me, and then I wouldn’t have been able to free you!’
‘So clever,’ he murmured coldly. ‘So subtle, so ingenious …’
Slowly he ran his fingertips through her hair, lifting it and letting it fall like golden silk. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely, the stubble of his jaw rasping at her soft cheek. The tears burned in her eyes.
He let her go, so suddenly that she almost fell. ‘Someone’s coming,’ he said.
It was the soldiers, led by Hamet, who’d been scouring the forest ever since Aimery’s capture.
Now she was back at Thoresfield, a forgotten serf. And she’d just heard from the other serfs that Aimery was leaving for the south, to join his king.
Isobel was in the hall, attending to a visitor - Godric, a Saxon thane who lived on a small neighbouring estate. He’d managed to hold on to his property by feigning illness when King Harold’s summons to battle arrived, and then by vowing immediate allegiance to the victorious William. He was well aware that the lord Aimery utterly despised him, and he was glad to have audience with the lady Isobel instead.
‘I need more workers, my lady,’ he was explaining. ‘The summer fever took so many of my serfs, and I’ve still half the harvest to get in and the threshing to be done. I heard that the lord Aimery was leaving shortly, and I thought maybe you’d be wanting rid of a few workers, before the winter sets in.’
Isobel was thinking hard. Aimery was out riding, inspecting his lands for a final inventory before he left. Now - now was her chance.
She hadn’t been able to conceal her dismay when the little Saxon slut was brought back to Thoresfield on the back of Hamet’s horse. And Aimery hadn’t even punished her for running away! When Isobel had suggested that the girl be flogged, he told her curtly to mind her own business. The girl was still at large, even if she was out in the fields; still a threat to her, until she and Aimery were safely away from Thoresfield.
‘Do you want women as well?’ she asked Godric thoughtfully.
He grinned. ‘If they’re willing wenches, yes. If they’re pretty, and will satisfy a few of the male slaves, then that’s even better.’
‘I know one who’s just right for you,’ said Isobel, her eyes gleaming. ‘She’s young, and extremely pretty -and she knows a lot of tricks. You’ll probably want to try her out yourself before you hand her over to your men for their sport. You can have her for five pieces of gold.’
The man licked his fleshy lips. ‘My lady. How can I thank you?’
‘Just take her. Quickly.’ Before Aimery gets back, she added silently to herself.
When Aimery and Hamet finally rode into the courtyard, the rain was falling steadily from an overcast sky. They’d been talking of the long journey to London, then perhaps to Normandy where William was again involved in defending his lands against the troublesome Fulk of Anjou. When they got to the stables, Aimery dismounted quickly and led his big black horse inside, dismissing the groom and starting to unfasten the girth himself, as the rain pounded on the rye straw thatch overhead. Hamet followed him into the hay-scented warmth, checked that they were alone, and said hesitantly,
‘About the girl, my lord. Be careful that you don’t judge her too harshly.’
Aimery carried on unbuckling the saddle, his expression forbidding. ‘Of whom, friend Hamet, are you talking?’
Hamet stood his ground. ‘Elena, my lord.’
Aimery turned round to face him. ‘She came here as a rebel spy. She set the rebel leader free, then ran off to join him and lived with him in the forest. And you think I judged her harshly? She’s alive, isn’t she?’
‘You told me that it was the girl who freed you.’
Aimery turned to stroke his horse’s thick black mane. He remembered the forest, remembered the three Saxon witches who’d degraded him until he broke. He remembered how he’d felt when he realised that one of them was Elena. He said, There are other things I’ve not told you, Hamet. Believe me, the girl’s escaped lightly.’
Hamet bowed his dark head and said no more.
Aimery pushed past him into the wet courtyard. ‘I’ve decided I’m leaving tonight. Prepare an escort, will you?’
Alys crouched in the shadows by the steps that led up to the hall. The heavy rain streamed down from the eaves, turning her mousy hair into straggling rats’ tails and soaking her clothes. But she didn’t care. She had to see the lord Aimery! She had to!
This afternoon, while he was out, they’d made sport of her again - the lady Isobel, with her minions, Morwith and Pierre. Isobel had called her up to her room, and told her that she had a new beauty salve that would make a woman wildly desirable to any man if she rubbed it into her most private parts. She’d given Alys a phial of it; Alys had rushed away and smeared it carefully where Isobel had suggested, on her nipples, between her legs.
Then, the ointment had started to tingle and burn, driving her into a frenzy of desire. The lady Isobel had called Alys back into her room, and made her watch while Morwith was serviced crudely on the floor by the virile Pierre. Alys was driven mad by lust as she watched, longing to feel Pierre’s great thick penis cooling her own burning flesh; while Isobel had laughed at her. Laughed at her!
Alys had rushed off to wash away the tormenting salve in icy cold water, her heart burning with rage. And then, she’d seen the girl, Elena, roped and driven away with some other serfs by that brute Godric. She’d heard Isobel tell him to take them quickly, before Aimery returned.
Now, Alys waited in the pouring rain, her heart pounding, as Aimery’s tall, familiar figure emerged from the stables and came towards the steps. If Isobel knew what Alys was about to tell him, that it was the lady de Morency who had freed the dangerous Saxon rebel, then hidden the key to the dungeons under the girl’s pillow, then Isobel would kill her.
‘My lord Aimery.’
‘Yes?’ He stopped mid-stride, his scarred face dangerous as the bedraggled woman stepped in front of him. ‘My lord - I have something that I must tell you! Please - can we go somewhere private?’
Godric cursed as the rain poured down and turned the track to muddy sludge. Damn it, he’d be lucky to get home before nightfall with these sullen slaves. And the girl that Isobel had been so anxious for him to take -the pretty blonde one with the big blue eyes - she was giving him more trouble than the rest put together! While his surly reeve kept an eye on the rest of his purchases, he’d roped the blonde girl to his saddle, so she had to almost run to keep up, and he could keep an eye on her just by turning his head. But she was still a damned nuisance, arguing and complaining.
He reined in his horse, swearing vividly, and turned round in the saddle. She’d stopped yet again, her feet planted firmly in the mud, her head raised proudly even though he could see that she was white with tiredness.
&nbs
p; ‘I won’t go any further! You can’t make me!’
‘Can’t I indeed!’ He unfurled the vicious plaited whip he carried. ‘We’ll soon see about that, you stubborn wench.’
He broke off in surprise as he heard the thunder of a galloping horse’s hooves pounding down the muddy track towards them. He squinted through the rain impatiently, and gasped in surprise.
Aimery. Aimery the Breton. Looking as black as thunder …
Godric watched stupefied as the big Breton soldier, his cloak dripping wet, pulled up his huge black horse beside the girl. Then he drew a knife from his belt, and started to cut her free.
‘Hey!’ Godric called out. ‘My lord, I paid good money for that girl! Gave it to the lady Isobel, before witnesses. Ten pieces of gold.’
‘Five’ replied the Breton curtly, and flung the money towards him so that it landed in the mud. Then he carried on slicing through the rope. The girl, Godric noted, looked dazed.
‘My lord!’ said Godric fussily. 1 don’t, as it happens, choose to sell her back to you! I particularly singled her out - after all, she’ll be no use to you once you’ve left Thoresfield! The lady Isobel told me she was very skilled, with lots of tricks. A clever little whore, she said -’
Aimery stopped then. He came up to the man, Godric, in three powerful strides; pulled him off his horse, and hit him so hard on the chin that he landed on his back in the squelching mud.
Then he picked up the girl in his arms and set her on his big horse. Swinging up in the saddle behind her, he held her tightly in his arms and swung his horse back towards Thoresfield.
Aimery the Breton carried her through the courtyard, where his men, preparing for the imminent journey south, looked on in silent amazement; then through the hall and up to his room, where he slammed the door shut.
He laid his burden carefully on the thick wolfskin pelts that covered his big bed, then went to put more logs on the fire, kicking at the embers with his booted foot to get the flames leaping higher.
Elena struggled to sit up, her soaking tunic clinging to her skin. Her teeth were chattering with the cold. ‘W - why did you come after me?’ she whispered.
‘Because I didn’t damn well know you’d gone!’ He stood with his back to the flames, towering over her, his face dangerously angry. But, she realised with a little thud of her heart, not with her … When he looked down at her, his grey eyes burned not with anger, but with tenderness.
She swallowed hard, fighting down the painful hope, and pushed the soaked tendril of hair from her pale cheeks. Then she began to shiver, uncontrollably.
Aimery le Sabrenn cursed under his breath, and strode towards her. Swiftly he peeled her soaked garments from her chilled skin; then he fetched a warm woollen cloak from the coffer by the bed and wrapped her in it. He pulled the luxurious wolfskin cover from the bed and laid it on the floor before the fire. Then he picked her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather, and laid her down on it.
Elena shivered more than ever, but not just with the cold. It was the way he looked at her - the way those hard, steely grey eyes burned into her.
She lay curled on the thick fur, wrapped in his cloak, the flames leaping and dancing in the darkening room, the rain pounding down outside the window. The cloak he’d wrapped her in slid apart; he bent to kiss her exposed breasts, his mouth burning hot against her cold skin. The fierce pleasure knifed through her.
He stood up, his face darkly intent, and started to remove his own clothes. She gazed up at him silently, drinking in his wide-shouldered, masculine beauty; his long, heavily-muscled legs covered with silky dark hair; his proud, mysterious phallus, which stirred already with life against his inner thigh.
He knelt to lie beside her, naked, and took her in his arms. His body was gloriously strong and warm against her own cold, trembling flesh. He pressed her close to him, silently covering her face with kisses; she wondered if she was dreaming. This must be a dream. And he was leaving tonight.
His hands roved across her back and her hips, warming her, melting her. When he knelt to kiss her secret flesh, she shuddered with desire, tangling her fingers wantonly in his thick damp hair; his tongue was hot and wonderful as it slid languorously between her lips, driving her into a frenzy of molten desire. She reached out to clutch at his massively erect penis, stroking its silken length with silent rapture, tenderly caressing the velvety sac of his scrotum, feeling him pulse and quicken beneath her fingers.
He entered her quickly, his own desire burning hard at his loins; but then he pleasured her slowly, withdrawing almost to the brink and then sliding in again, filling her, caressing her, until she writhed her hips deliriously against the fur-covered floor and wrapped her ankles tightly around his strong thighs. He held her wrists to the ground on either side of her head, pinioning her gently, and bent to kiss her breasts, teasing and drawing out her rosy teats until she gasped with longing, her hips thrusting blindly towards him, her face flushed.
He smiled softly, and began to plunge his massive shaft deep within her, faster and faster, every powerful stroke driving her quivering bud of pleasure into a rapturous orgy of need, until she exploded in a shimmering frenzy, clutching blindly with her moist inner flesh at the wonderful phallus that filled her so exquisitely. Then he drove himself to his own powerful climax, jerking strongly within her still-pulsing flesh, and collapsed beside her, damp with perspiration.
Elena lay sated in his arms, her eyes closed. She didn’t want this moment, this languorous, perfect peace, ever to end.
But reality pressed in. Outside the window, below in the great hall, she could hear the sounds of Aimery’s knights, preparing to leave.
The pain sliced through her. He was leaving, and taking Isobel with him. Oh, why hadn’t he just let her go with that man Godric, instead of bringing her back to remind her that there could never, ever be another man to compare with him?
She twisted her head away; he leaned up on one elbow, the firelight warm on his face, and touched her eyelashes gently. ‘Elena. Why are you crying, Elena?’
His voice was husky and tender, and it twisted her heart. She fought back her tears furiously and sat up, clutching his warm cloak around her naked shoulders and staring blindly into the fire. ‘Why did you bring me back, Aimery?’
‘Isn’t that obvious, caran?’
Car an. Beloved … Her heart thumped wildly, making her dizzy. She whispered, ‘No, it isn’t obvious. I don’t understand.’
He sat up beside her and clasped her in his arms so that her cheek was against his shoulder. ‘I’ve been wrong, Elena - about a lot of things. Chiefly, I failed to realise just how much Isobel hated you.’
Elena, hardly daring to breathe, whispered, ‘I thought it was you who hated me.’
‘Never. Oh, never.’ He drew her towards him, and tenderly kissed her hair. ‘Elena - if the rebels had caught you, they would have killed you for helping me to escape. Why did you do it?’
‘I - I couldn’t bear it. They were going to kill you, Aimery.’
‘I’m a soldier. I’ve faced death - and worse - many times.’
Her voice was low. ‘I’ve told you - I couldn’t bear it.’
He was silent; she read it as coldness. Someone, one of his men, thumped on the door outside and called out, ‘My lord! The men are ready, and your horse is saddled up!’
‘I’ll be with you shortly.’ But still, he didn’t move.
He was leaving her - any minute, he was leaving her. Elena swallowed down the agonising ache in her throat and forced her voice to be clear and cool. ‘What will happen to me when you go to join the king?’
His hands tightened round her shoulders. ‘Caran. You’re going to join me, of course.’
The blood pounded dizzily in her head. ‘But - Isobel?’
‘Isobel’ he said softly, ‘leaves at dawn tomorrow - by herself. Where she goes, I don’t particularly care.’
He stood up slowly, still holding her, and she clung t
o him, unable to stop trembling now.
‘I’ll send for you, caran. Hamet is staying here for a while - he’ll take care of you. As soon as I know where the king is posting me, I’ll send for you.’
‘Are you going to fight? In France?’
‘Most likely. The king has need of me there.’
‘But you might be killed.’
‘It’s my occupation, Elena. My life.’ He smiled down at her anxious face. There was another, harsher knock on the door. ‘My lord Aimery! Your men await you!’
Aimery said, T must go.’ She lifted her face to him proudly, her eyes shining for him. ‘At least, now’ she said softly, ‘I know what love is.’
He kissed her with infinite tenderness, a promise of future passion; then he left the room.
She went to the window, in a trance, and gazed out into the sullen grey drizzle of the courtyard. She watched him mount his black horse, pull its strong head round towards the open gates, and set off at the head of his men.
He turned round once and looked up at the window where she stood. He raised his hand in silent salute, and rode out of the gates, heading south to fight for his king.
254
Black Lace
NO LADY
Saskia Hope
30-year-old Kate dumps her boyfriend, walks out of her job and sets off in search of sexual adventure. Set against the rugged terrain of the Pyrenees, the lovemaking is as rough as the landscape. Only a sense of danger can satisfy her longing for erode encounters beyond the boundaries of ordinary experience.
ISBN 0 352 32857 6
WEB OF DESIRE
Sophie Danson
High-flying executive Marcie is gradually drawn away from the normality of her married life. Strange messages begin to appear on her computer, summoning her to sinister and fetishistic sexual liaisons with strangers whose identity remains secret. She’s given glimpses of the world of The Omega Network, where her every desire is known and fulfilled.
Elena's Conquest Page 24