Wyndmaster 1 - The Wyndmaster's Lady

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Thank you for getting us safely through the storm, Captain,” Celeste said, feeling very strange lying in the bunk as the massive man towered over them.

  “My request is concerning Lady Celeste,” Sierran stated.

  Petros tilted his head to one side in query.

  Sierran took a deep breath then said, “I want you to marry us.”

  Chapter Seven

  Celeste sat up so quickly she nearly passed out. Her mouth had dropped open and her eyes flared wide with disbelief. She stared down at the man lying beside her, unable to make a sound.

  “We’ll need two witnesses,” Petros said. “I’ll get Vargas and Mac.”

  “What are you doing?” Celeste managed to squeak.

  “Effectively killing at least two birds with one stone,” he replied. With effort, he pushed himself up on his elbows. “I’m giving you your freedom to have a normal life―plus I’ll drive your father insane when he learns he’s not only lost you to another man but one he fully intended to torture to death.” He grinned. “There are other benefits involved here as well.”

  She could do nothing but stare at him, arching a brow in question for him to continue.

  “Well,” he said, forcing himself to a sitting position beside her. “You get a man who’s fairly well off and who has an estate not unlike the one from which you gained your freedom and in the doing, I get a lovely woman to grace my home.” He shrugged. “I’d say those are two pluses to the solution.”

  “How can you marry a woman you don’t even know?” she countered.

  “It’s time I married and settled down,” Sierran said. “I’m tired of living alone and I fully intend to resign my commission so there will be no more need to disobey a direct order to slaughter innocent people. I’m sick of war and I’m due retirement.”

  “But you don’t know me!” she protested. “I could make a terrible wife!”

  “I doubt that,” he said.

  “You don’t know, though, do you?” she asked and brushed at tears that had suddenly formed in her eyes.

  “I know all I need to just by your touch,” he said. “You are a kind and gentle woman with a capacity for great compassion. I saw the hurt in your eyes when you took a look at what your father had done to me.”

  “I didn’t know what he was doing,” she said, shame filling her. “He told me he was a physician and I believed him.”

  “I believe you,” he said.

  “My father owes you a debt I could never repay,” she whispered.

  “Pay it by marrying me,” he said.

  Celeste nibbled at her lower lip.

  “I swear to you that I will do my damnedest to be a good husband to you,” he said. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you and I will provide well for you should something happen to me. You won’t ever need to worry about having money or a roof over your head or having to live with a group of hateful nuns.”

  Petros rapped lightly at the door and came into the cabin with Vargas and Mac, both of who were frowning sharply.

  “What ails you, Vargas?” Sierran inquired.

  “You know,” the soldier mumbled.

  “I’m making an honest woman of her,” Sierran said. “What more could you want?”

  Vargas lifted his chin. “You make it sound like you’ve compromised her already, Commander, and we know you ain’t done that.”

  “Yet,” Sierran said and saw Celeste’s face turn bright red. “I’m waiting for the ravishment to be legal.”

  “Milord!” Celeste protested, hiding her face in her hands.

  “You ought not to be forcing her to…” Mac began but his commander held his hand up.

  “Milady?” he asked. “Am I forcing you?”

  She shook her head, unable to lower her hands.

  “Did I threaten you in some way?”

  “No,” she was able to whisper.

  “Did I threaten to peel the flesh off your father piece by evil piece―though it would give me the greatest of pleasures to do so―if you refused my suit?”

  Celeste sighed. “No, you did not.”

  Sierran looked away from her and locked gazes with Vargas. “What else do you men think I should ask her so your sense of propriety will be satisfied?”

  “Do you want to marry him, milady?” Vargas demanded. “That’s the only decent thing to ask.”

  Celeste was looking at the handsome profile of the man sitting beside her. She might be making a devil’s bargain but if she was, she’d endure it to be with Sierran Morgan. “Well,” she said. “It beats a sharp stick to the eye. I could do worse, I’m thinking.”

  “Indeed you could,” Sierran agreed with a grin.

  “Think well on it, milady,” Vargas insisted. “This being your first time out and all.” He was staring at his commander. “And there are many a fish in the sea. You don’t have to reel in the first one what nips at your bait.”

  Celeste smiled. “I appreciate your advice, Vargas, but I am satisfied with what I’m doing.” She looked into Sierran's eyes. "Quite satisfied."

  “Then let’s be at it,” Petros said with a grin.

  Chapter Eight

  As rough as the seas had been during the storm, they were now becalmed and the Austru’s sails were hanging limp against the masts. Not a breath of a breeze stirred.

  Alone in the captain’s cabin, Sierran and his new wife were lying—he under the covers and she outside them—with their fingers entwined as he told of her of his life before joining the Army of the Federation.

  “Despite having a family when growing up, you sound as though you were nearly as lonesome as I,” Celeste commented.

  “It was a tough childhood,” he admitted. “I was the youngest and I always felt I had been an afterthought.”

  “A what?”

  "The last child of my parents before my mother could have no more," he explained. "A sort of oops."

  She smiled. "An oops," she repeated. "You have such a flare for description, milord."

  "Sierran," he corrected.

  "Sierran," she stated.

  They were quiet for awhile, listening to the activity on deck above them.

  "Are you going to do it now?" she asked softly.

  Sierran frowned. "Do what, sweeting?"

  Her face flamed. "You know." She fanned her free hand. "It."

  A moment passed before he realized what she meant. "Oh," he said, his cheeks turning red. "That."

  "Aye, that," she whispered and turned so she was looking at him. "Are you?"

  "Do you want me to?" he countered. "We could wait until we reach my home."

  She tucked her lower lip between her teeth. "Shouldn't we consummate the matter as soon as possible?"

  Sierran blinked. "Are you in a rush of some sort?"

  Celeste wanted to blurt out that, aye, she was, and that she was nearly jumping out of her skin with wanting him to touch her as she'd seen the maid's lover pleasuring the maid. She wanted to know what it was like to be the object of a man's desire but she thought, perhaps, that would be a bit brazen to tell him so and—more to the point—shameful on her part.

  "Well, we are man and wife," she reminded him. "And it is your right."

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he was in no condition to exercise that right but one portion of his anatomy seemed to be having a mind of its own and was hardening at a prodigious rate.

  "Just tell me what to do and I will," she was quick to say.

  He swallowed hard for suddenly making love to her seemed to be the most important thing on his agenda, never mind the pain lancing through his body with every move he made.

  "Well, ah, you have to be…" He winced as his voice broke like an untried youth's. "You should be…"

  "Naked?" she suggested with an eagerness that left him staring at her.

  "Aye, but…" He stopped for she was already unbuttoning the bodice of her gown. All he could do was watch her while every inch of his flesh tingled and other parts of him throbbed.

  Ce
leste swung her legs off the bed and stepped out of her gown, kicking off her slippers as she neatly folded the gown and laid it aside. Clad only in her chemise, stockings, and garter belt, she turned to look down at him. "Completely naked, milord?" she wanted clarified.

  Sierran nodded, unable to utter a sound. His eyes flared when she pushed the chemise over her shoulders and wriggled out of it, her back to him. As his gaze settled on the wispy garter belt and the opaque white stockings—the only things she wore—he had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning.

  Her bare back looked as soft as silk and the rounded mounds of her buttocks made his mouth water. When she unhooked each stocking and peeled it down her legs—presenting him with a delectable view of her sweet rump—he drew in a harsh breath.

  "Are you naked beneath the covers, milord?" she asked, turning around to face him. One slender arm was arched over her breasts to cover them while her hand was splayed out over the wiry curls at the juncture of her thighs.

  "Aye," he said and had he had the ability to do so would have kicked himself for the way his voice sounded like that of an adolescent boy.

  "All right, then," she said and reached out for the covers.

  Before he could do or say anything, she was climbing into the bed and settling beneath the covers with him, her satiny leg pressed close to his.

  "I've never lain naked in the bed before," she said then giggled. "Or anywhere else for that matter." Her eyebrows drew together. “I rather like the way it feels.”

  Sierran had to snap his mouth shut for he was damned well drooling! Not inexperienced with women, he nevertheless felt bumbling as she turned to her side to face him.

  "Am I being shameless, Sierran?" she asked, her lovely face crinkling.

  "No," he said then had to repeat the word for he had nearly choked on it. "No, milady, you aren't being shameless. Just…" He shrugged helplessly. "Curious, I suppose."

  She put her thumbnail to her lips for a moment. "I don't think my father ever meant for me to get married," she said.

  "So I've been told," he said, aching to touch her. He wanted to run his fingers over her pretty face.

  "He's going to be so angry," she said.

  "Let him," he said and shifted so he could lie facing her. He held his breath for the pain was worse than he expected.

  "No," she said and sat up, gently putting her hand to his shoulder to press him down flat again. "That puts too much strain on your wounds."

  The sheet slid down to his hips—barely covering the thick hair at his thighs. He was unaware the material had tented up around his erection until he saw her gaze drifting downward.

  "May I look?" she asked, color flooding her cheeks.

  He couldn't have answered had his very life depended on it. All he did was nod.

  Hesitantly, she picked up the edge of the cover between her thumb and index finger and carefully lifted it. He saw her eyes widen. "Oh, my," she said, letting the sheet drop. She slowly swiveled her gaze to his. "Is it supposed to look like that? I mean be stiff and hard looking like that?"

  Sierran groaned. "Milady…" he began.

  She lifted the sheet again and took a longer look. "And it seems to be leaking something from the tip. Should it be doing that?"

  "Milady!" he hissed, snatching the sheet from her. "You shouldn't…you can't…." He felt his face burning.

  Celeste frowned. "Well, how am I to know these things if you don't tell me?" she asked. "You are my husband, after all. You should be instructing me, shouldn't you?"

  Sierran was grinding his teeth together. His cock was as rigid as a steel bar and aching so fiercely he forgot about the other pains plaguing his body. He was clutching the covers as though he were a virgin, himself, and hiding from the lecherous view of a young woman intent on seducing him. That she was seducing him with every look, every whiff of her sweet body, every movement she made as she lay there turned toward him, her gaze wandering over his chest like a velvet glove, was evident to him if not to her.

  "Milady, please don't look at me like that," he whined.

  "Like what?" she asked.

  "Like you're about to make a meal of me," he complained.

  "Well, pooh, Sierran," she exclaimed. "How am I supposed to look at you, then?" She flopped to her back, folding her arms over her chest. "Would you prefer me to be a simpering miss afraid of her own shadow as well as your dangly?"

  "Dangly?" He nearly choked on the word.

  "That's what it's called, isn't it?" she asked. "I once heard the scullery maids discussing a man's parts and she called them danglies and droopies. Once I watched the scullery maid and her lover when they were making love." A crease formed on her forehead. "Are droopies those things hanging down beneath the dangly?"

  That was simply all he could take. He was staring at her with his mouth open, his eyebrows lifted. She was staring up at the ceiling and some wild, savage little imp made him toss the covers back.

  "Look all you like, wench," he said around a clenched jaw.

  Celeste grinned and sat up.

  Sierran thought he would come from just seeing her lush breasts. Pert and full, they drew his eye like a magnet and he had to tear himself away from ogling her when he realized she was looking down at his cock.

  She stared unabashedly at him—taking in everything from the mat of dark curls at his thighs to the dangly standing at attention before his two soft-looking—though wrinkled—droopies. Her eyes went down his long legs then snapped back to that which interested her the most. She glanced up at him.

  "May I touch it? Please?"

  "By all means," he said, his teeth locked together, his hands gripping the sheet beneath his hips. His gaze had gone back to the coral nipples that were beckoning him like a siren's song.

  Tentatively pointing a finger to his manhood, she just poked it—once, twice—pushing it to one side.

  "Oh, for the love of Alel. It isn't a dead snake, madame!" he snapped. He reached out and took her wrist. "Wrap your fingers around it!"

  A pout on her pretty lips at his rude tone, Celeste did as he said. A strange look came over her face and she looked up at him. "It is soft," she said, "but hard at the same time." She cocked her head to one side. "How can that be?"

  "He is engorged," Sierran said, hating talking about his cock as though it had an identity of its own.

  "Engorged with what?" she asked innocently.

  He didn't have an answer for that—or at least something he could say to an innocent woman like his wife. "Stuff," was the best he could come up with on such short notice.

  "Stuff," she said and when he let go of her wrist, she ran her hand lightly up and down the rigid length. "And that stuff comes out when you…" She cocked a shoulder. "You know."

  "Aye, wench, I do know," he said. "But do you?"

  She slid her thumb up to the moist droplet that clung to the tip of his cock. "This is the stuff. It's what makes babies, isn't it?" She unhanded him and brought her hand up to look at the moisture clinging to her thumb. When she sniffed at it, that was his undoing.

  "For the love of Alel, Celeste!" he said. "You are killing me here!"

  She met his gaze. "How am I killing you, milord?"

  "Look at it!' he said. “He wants you and you're sitting there with your beautiful tits teasing me and your lips all full and…" He whimpered. "I want you, Celeste!"

  "You want to put your dangly inside me?" she asked.

  "Oh, gods, do I want to put my dangly inside you!" he replied fiercely.

  "All right," she said brightly, completely unafraid of what might come. She lay down and spread her legs for him. "I am to wrap my legs around you when you climb atop me, aren't I?" she asked.

  Sierran didn't think his face could turn any redder but at her words, he thought the flesh would slough off from the heat infusing it. "How the hell did you…?" He shook his head. "Never mind," he said, remembering that she had told him about her father’s servants. "The scullery maid."

  She giggl
ed. "I watched from my window."

  "And she and her lover were a veritable font of information, eh?" he snapped.

  "They seemed to be enjoying themselves," she said with a comical hitch of her shoulders.

  He realized he was quivering from head to toe and it wasn't merely from the wild lust that was driving him. He was acutely afraid of lying atop her and pressing the cuts that her father had sliced into him. When he hesitated, she seemed to read his mind.

  "Oh, Sierran," she said, sitting up again, her breast jiggling in such a way he thought he'd explode wanting to suckle the rosy tips. "You can't lay on me!"

  "Why not?" he demanded. If it killed him, he was going to have this tantalizing chit—one way or another!

  "I'll have to climb atop you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone and before he could stop her, she'd raised up and straddled him, giving him enough of a view of the crisp curls between her legs to make his balls feel as though they'd explode. "Can't I stuff it in me like this?"

  He never got a chance to answer for she grabbed hold of him and impaled herself upon him. His eyes went as wide as hers did.

  "Ouch!" she cried out. "Ouch, ouch, ouch! That hurt!" She would have peeled off him but his hands slammed down to her hips to hold her still.

  "It's supposed to hurt a bit, wench," he said, grinding his teeth. "It won't ever hurt again."

  She wriggled on him, her face showing both her displeasure and her uncertainty. "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "Oh, gods, I am so sure," he said, groaning as her sheath clamped around his rigid rod. "It will only feel good from now on."

  She lifted herself just a little—seemed to be testing what he said—then settled down on him again. She smiled tentatively. "If you say so, Sierran."

  Her hips beneath his palms were like warm silk and he caressed her, looking up at her beautiful breasts and aching to run his hands over them.

  She cocked her head to one side. "What do I do now?"

  "Just sit there," he said in a husky voice as he slid his hands up her ribcage and onto the lush mounds that beckoned him.

  "Oh, yes," she said, nodding. "I remember he touched her like that. Are you going to suckle me, too?"

  He could not have imagined his cock could get any harder but at her innocent question his shaft leapt inside her.