Captive

by Louisa Trent

  “I shall soon see if you speak the truth."

  When he stroked her bared teats, she welcomed his man's hunger, gave herself over to it, knowing that this was the one thing not tied up in his mind with death and hatred and revenge.

  Or was it? Was there an element of all those dark things in his lovemaking?

  A small cry escaped her lips that had naught to do with him pinching her nipples.

  “Are these tender?” he asked.

  “A bit. My flux is due."

  “If you think a little blood will put me off, you are mistaken. I am not squeamish about such matters. Crying your woman's time will not keep me away from you now or in the future."

  “Milord, a woman is unclean during her time,” she said primly. “For the common good, she is put aside. Crops in the field wilt and die, the field itself becomes barren. Wine goes sour, if exposed to a woman during her time of the moon..."

  “Nonsense! Your flux is natural. ‘Tis what makes you female, and intercourse is always beneficial to a female, especially to a young female. You, in particular, need frequent copulation. You are full of moisture, full of carnal desire; you must have your joy or you will grow bitter, not the wine."

  “But Ellen says a woman during her bleeding time repulses a man."

  “Not this man."

  “Well, ‘tis not my time yet, so you have nothing to worry about in that regard.” She tossed her head.

  His palm moved between her legs, to where her woman's core met clammy horseflesh.

  His steed was sweaty from a long gallop. This could only mean that upon finding her missing, the warlord had remounted the exhausted beast. He was never negligent of his animals, never rode his stead into the ground. This was proof that she must mean something to him!

  “Lift up,” he ordered.

  When she did, one long finger slipped inside her.

  “Christ Jesus, you are wet. Hot too."

  She whimpered in need as he probed her.

  “I can detect no semen..."

  “There is no need for you to torture yourself this way, milord. I was yours in the cave and I am yours now. ‘Tis only you I welcome with my body. Make love to me. Please?"

  “You make me jealous of even my own destrier,” he muttered. “Intolerable to have anything between your legs, save me."

  Her interior muscles clenched around the digit invading her body. She ached so for him! “I am yours, milord. Your property. To do with as you will."

  Raw with that ache, she lifted her hinny higher up off the animal to give him greater access, uncaring of their surroundings or who might see. Shameless in her love, she surrendered her all to him, allowing him to ruck her gown up around her waist and openly fondle her.

  At the front entrance of what looked to be a crofter's hut, Sage pulled up short on the reins. Removing his touch, he jumped to the ground. Her gown more off than on, she followed suit. Had he told her to strip naked there, she would have complied without a protest. Instead, he pulled her after him into the small dwelling and shut the portal behind them.

  Immediately she placed her hands on the padded leather vest he wore in place of heavier mail. “Let me make you comfortable. After your accoutrements of battle are removed you will not be such a grouch."

  “Wishful thinking,” he grumbled, and shooed her off. “The armor is filthy. The metal will dirty you."

  “What frightens you so?” she asked, not taken in by the ploy.

  “You."

  “Me? I am no threat to you."

  “Much you know!"

  While he put aside his warrior's garb, unaided, she looked around the quarters. “Whose place is this?"

  “Yours. ‘Tis nothing grand but a shepherdess needs a hut..."

  “You called me a shepherdess!” She touched her heart. “But how is that possible, milord, when I have no sheep?"

  “You do now. The bloody beasts are in the stables, ready for naming."

  “I do not name sheep. They are not pets to me; they are an occupation."

  “Call them what you will. The sheep and hut are payment for service rendered. ‘Twas our bargain,” he said sternly. “A bargain you made and I agreed to. I owed you for the rutting and I always pay my debts. I selected each and every one of the sheep with smallness of size in mind. If you wish to breed miniatures, this flock is a good place to start."

  He had handpicked the sheep? For her? The warlord believed in her abilities!

  “You are the first person who has ever had faith me.” She squared her shoulders. “Fear not, your confidence in me will not go unrewarded. I shall breed the best miniature sheep in all of Cheviot Hills. You will see!"

  “I trust you will."

  Sheep, a hut, now trust. She felt blessed indeed.

  “You may come here and tend your flock, let them graze on whatever stubs of grass they may find. You will have a guard with you at all times, of course."

  “A guard. Of course.” The warlord was always so concerned for her safety. His worry warmed her heart.

  “This place is humble, but there is a good thatched roof, four stout walls, and a portal to close,” he tersely offered.

  Twirling in place, arms spread wide to embrace the happiness that filled her to the brim, she grinned from ear to ear. She would have the man she loved all to herself here.

  “ ‘Tis our own little world,” she cried in wonder over her good fortune. “Just like the cave."

  “Be forewarned, Aeschine, if your guards report you have brought lovers here, you will lose both the sheep and the hut."

  Her twirling stopped. As the remaining light of day spilled into the sparsely furnished hut, her happiness died, killed by Sage's words. His trust was but an illusion, taken back as easily as the hut and sheep. Had the same road brought them to different places?

  Nay! She refused to believe that. The destination was love; she had simply arrived there first. He would catch up; she knew that he would!

  “No man will enter this hut, save you,” she patiently assured him.

  “Would that I could believe you.” He gave a heavy sigh.

  Gliding to her captor, she wrapped herself around his body like a cat in need of stroking. She would make him believe! “The sheep. This wonderful hut. You are too generous. What might I give you in return?” She smiled seductively. “What do you wish, hmm?"

  “I have much work to attend to. I have no time for wishes..."

  She cupped his heavy testicles through his hose as Ellen had instructed; this gave a man pleasure, her maid had said. “I mean, what exactly do you wish?"

  She closed her hand over his stones; the two sacs felt like heated coals in the hollows of her palms.

  “Shall I be your houri this night, Captor? Just tell me what it is you desire and I shall comply,” she purred, her mouth against his ear, her hand stroking the length of his pulsating erection. “What do you wish, milord? Hmm? What is your most secret desire?"

  She squeezed him, milking her hand down him from base to head. When he took her lips in a bruising kiss, she increased the pressure of her fingers.

  He tore his mouth away. “Christ..."

  Now that her mouth was free, she moved her lips down his chest. Using her teeth, she pulled at his flat nipples and then tongued them, just the way he tortured her. He groaned aloud as she kissed each one of his battle scars, tonguing them too. Knees bent, she nipped at his belly, giving him small love bites. She smiled to herself as his hands tightened on her shoulders. No need for further encouragement, she sank to her knees before him.

  “I think I know what you would have me do,” she said flirtatiously.

  Ellen and she had talked much about what men liked, and how they liked it. She had a fairly specific idea of what the warlord might enjoy.

  Pushing aside his tunic, she released him from hose and loincloth, and took him in hand.

  She fell back on her heels. “Oh, my. I had forgotten the amount of territory that must be ... covered."

  “S
tart something you cannot finish, puss?” He sounded bored, but she knew he was not bored; he was excited, as excited as she.

  “I always finish what I start, Captor. Though I best remove the gown before I begin."

  “I do not stay long. There are many pressing concerns awaiting my judgment back at the keep,” he told her.

  “Of course, milord. I realize that many seek out your council,” she said agreeably and slipped the red gown down her shoulders while he watched in pretended ennui.

  His black eyes narrowed on her jutting teats. “As long as you understand that I leave soon."

  “I shall do my utmost to make whatever time you spend with me well worth your while."

  The cause of his vexation pooled red and wrinkled on the dirt floor. She kicked the splendid silk out of both of their sights, leaving her clad in only her white linen undergarment.

  “Everything must go,” he said with a practiced disinterest. “I ... er ... need a full account of my holdings."

  “As you wish,” she said, quietly, and pushed the white linen down over her hips.

  Raising her arms, she swayed a little, so that her teats shifted, and undid what remained of her windblown plait. She shook her head, done deliberately so that her teats would bob as her tresses fell free.

  “Will I do?” she asked, sweetly.

  He nodded. “You will do very well."

  “I promise you, never again will I roam the countryside without you or a guard at my side. Allow me to make the inconvenience of my search up to you.” Leaning forward, she kissed his erect member.

  He trembled. Over a chaste kiss. She could do better than that. Much better. She could make him explode in delight. Because she loved him. Love was the secret to sensual enticement.

  “Forgive me?” she whispered.

  The hand that tunneled under her hair was none too steady; she had done that to him!

  “You will still need to be disciplined,” he grumbled. “This—what you are doing—will not interfere with my duty."

  Confinement. For a week. In the solar. Sewing. Seven more days without him.

  She hated the punishment but loved the man. And because she loved him, she would not try to dissuade him from the course he saw fit to take. If the warlord neglected his duties, his responsibilities, he would be someone else entirely, a different man. Would she love him as much then?

  Looking up at him contritely from under her lashes, she blew out a whispery breath across his enormous shaft, as if his cock was a lit candle whose flame she would put out.

  His fingers closed upon the crown of her head. “You are quite experienced at this."

  She had no experience at all; love gave her insight, which in turn made her appear skilled. Love, not practice, gave her confidence.

  Pre-come bubbled from the head his cock. She touched the droplet with a finger, and then poised that finger to her mouth. “Shall I?” she asked, demurely.

  “ ‘Tis entirely up to you."

  She tasted his juices. “Mmm."

  “You like that, do you?” he asked, indifferently, while all the while his eyes begged, pleaded, implored her to take him in her mouth.

  “Aye. I like it very much.” Sure of herself as she had never been sure of herself before, she asked, “Milord, is there some command you would give me now?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “You little witch! You know damned well know what I would have. Take me,” Sage growled.

  Just to torture him, his leman licked him first, a long lazy stroke from base to crown and back again. Then, her little pink tongue lapped at him, the ladylike flicks sparking hitherto unknown sensations. No lips had ever gone where Aeschine's lips adventured now; no lover had ever dared to fill her mouth with him.

  He pushed in. Gracelessly. Against her throat. Like he would die without it. Flexing his hips, he pumped with mindless abandon. When oblivion loomed, he surged into forgetfulness, finishing on a harsh shout.

  Disengaging, he stumbled back a few steps. “Well?” he said, curtly, shamed by his lack of control, wary of her power over him, and so awe-struck by what she had given him that he knew he would carry the memory of what had just happened to his grave. “Spit or swallow. ‘Tis milady's choice."

  Her throat convulsed.

  “I told you, I always finish what I start.” She wiped her swollen lips with the back of her hand.

  Dizzy with rapture, humble with gratitude, pleased beyond every expectation, he helped his captive to her feet. “Well...” he managed to say with some effort.

  The imp gave him a saucy look, and mimicking his tone, said, “You liked that, did you?"

  “You know I did."

  Aeschine was not only accomplished, she was also, without a doubt, the most uninhibited and giving of ladies. Had he been a poet, he would have composed a sonnet to her lush mouth; a troubadour and he would have burst into song. Alas, he was a warrior, a man more familiar with killing than courtly love.

  He picked up her hand, palm up, and placed a kiss in the center. “That was exactly what I needed.” He kissed her bruised lips too, which by necessity tasted of him. “Your turn now."

  “Pardon?"

  “You think me a selfish lover?"

  “Nay. I simply assumed every turn was the man's turn."

  “Not at all,” he said, and chuckled at her jibe. “In fact, I have decided the trick to taming you is keeping you satiated. You are far more malleable after you climax.” He eyed her bald pelvis. “Still shorn, I see."

  “A daily reminder that I am a fallen woman.” Her cheek now rested on his chest. “Oh, Captor. I missed you so. I longed for you during your absence. All the time I need you."

  “Where do you need me, darling? Show me."

  Her fingers dipped shyly to the center of her body. “Here."

  “Good thing I have brought you something to play with."

  Putting her aside, he went to retrieve his gift. “Whilst I recover my strength, you may amuse yourself with this.” He placed the carved box in her hands.

  “ ‘Tis a c-cock,” she sputtered upon raising the box's lid.

  “ ‘Tis a finely tooled leather phallus which a talented artisan created especially for you."

  After examining it inside the box for a very long time, she finally lifted it out. She shook it. Squeezed it. Frowned at it, then at him. “I fail to see the merit of owning a leather cock..."

  “The size and proportions are the same as mine,” he explained, hoping she would take the hint.

  Alas, the hint took flight over her head.

  “So?” she scoffed. “'Tis not attached to you. What would I do with such an oddity?"

  “When I am not with you, you will use this rather than seek out other men for satisfaction."

  “Use it? Use it how?"

  “The phallus goes inside you."

  Her nose wrinkled. “Why would I put it inside me?"

  “For self-gratification. You move it as a man moves. When you are in dire need of your joy."

  “Idiot! ‘Tis not joy I am in dire need of. ‘Tis you. I am in dire need of you!"

  “This is a substitute for me."

  “A hide cock...?"

  “Humor me,” he said.

  After pitching the treasure back inside, she pushed the box into his chest. “Give this thing to some poor eunuch who might make some use of it. As for me, I have no use for a detached phallus. There is no substitute for the man I love."

  He snapped the lid on the box shut. “At least no leather substitute,” he growled, backing her up, leading her like a shepherd, his erection acting as staff, to the nearest wall.

  Her eyes danced merrily. “I see you have recovered your stamina, milord. Might I play with you now? I much prefer the genuine article to leather.” She giggled. “Even though your cock does not come in a fancy wooden box."

  “You think to tease me, witch?

  “No tease.” Her legs drifted languidly apart; her head fell back against the wall. “Do not
stay apart from me any longer. I cannot endure further separation."

  Neither could he. Without further delay, he slid up into her, and immediately began to thrust, fighting for control, waiting for her to catch up, spiraling, spiraling towards the small death. Every stroke was ecstasy, and soon, too soon, he tottered at the precipice of climax, about to plummet over the edge...

  “Milord!” a vassal called from outside. “I have a message for you from Lady Yseult."

  Impossible to stop! A few more thrusts and paradise would be his...

  He gave a low curse, not caring if one guard or a whole army converged at the portal. He would have this!

  “Stand to and deliver the message,” he called, still driving up into Aeschine.

  The portal swung in.

  One more stroke. Just one. That's all he needed...

  Stroke made, he pulled out, his climax exploding against Aeschine's lower belly.

  After putting his wet cock away, he turned to the guard. “Well ... what is the message?"

  Too busy trying to look past Sage to his leman, who stood against the wall naked save for the thin leather tether around her waist, the guard did not answer. Sage was about to issue the guard a reprimand when he thought better of it. This husband-like instinct to protect Aeschine from another male's prying eyes would never do. She was his leman, not his espoused!

  Shaking off a territorial urge to shield her, he deliberately stepped away from the wall, affording the guard an unobstructed view of his naked leman, who, understanding what her positioning allowed the guard to see, modestly began to close up her splayed thighs.

  Sage called out to her, “You have not been given permission to move. Remain like so."

  Aeschine's legs remained open.

  She was his whore, not his espoused, and he must make her understand that he would allow her no secrets, not of her body, not of her mind, not even from a lowly messenger at the portal. As for himself, he must rid himself of these absurd feelings he had developed toward Aeschine and remember that she was his only because he had paid for her. Any man with a purse fat enough could have done the same. Is that not what his cousin, LaTourne, had done?