“Now hold out your hand.”
She opened her eyes. “This is a trick?”
“Nay. Go on. Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
Taking a deep breath, she complied.
The click of wood and something was dropped into her palm.
She blinked. An exquisitely carved wooden bracelet. She lifted it into the air.
It was made of a smoothly sanded ring of wood that was about an inch thick and had carved words in its surface. It had a small red rock embedded on one side. Squinting, she tried to make out the words.
“Her price”—she turned the bracelet to read the rest of it—“is far above”—cocking her head to one side, she sounded out the next word just as Jared had taught her—“r-r-ru-bies.” Amazed, she read it again. “Her price is far above rubies.”
“'Tis from the Bible,” Jared said. “The next part says, The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil, but there was not enough room for me to carve that.”
Trust? There had been naught but mistrust between them.
Clutching it to her chest, she blinked at him. “You carved this for me?”
“Aye.” He tugged his goatee. A gesture of nervousness? Was he afraid that she would reject the gift?
“It’s … lovely.” She slid it onto her wrist, spinning the wood round and round.
“It’s not a ruby.”
She ran her fingers over the wood. “It’s the eye from your dragon staff!”
“Aye.” The edge of vulnerability had crept into his voice again. His shoulders stiffened.
She touched his cheek, her fingers brushing against his goatee. Her heart felt as though it would burst in her chest. Men gave her jewels—diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. But no one had ever taken the time, had the patience, to make her something from his own hand.
“An amicable marriage would be nice,” she said at last. But the words were inadequate. He left her breathless.
“If you will let me, I can give you pleasure to erase the memory of our wedding night,” he offered. “I would like to have a real marriage.”
Warmth spread through her. Her body felt tight as a bowman’s string. “Are you so arrogant in your skills as a lover?”
He laughed. Laughed? “Skill with one woman in bed proves little on the next.” He traced his fingers down her arm. “Some women might find this pleasurable but some might not.”
Gooseflesh popped on her skin.
“Or perhaps it could be that you like this better.” He began kneading her arm from her shoulder to her wrist.
Little sparkles of delight followed his fingers.
“Or mayhap this.” Taking her hand in his, he encircled each of her fingers one by one from base to tip in a spiraling motion. The soft caress was so luxurious and unexpected that, unbidden, a mewl escaped her lips.
He smiled, and his eyes lit with interest. “So this then,” he said, retracing the path his fingers had taken.
Tingling filtered through her body and she stared at their intertwined fingers. In sharp contrast to hers, his hands were wide and tanned with long, blunt fingers. Rough calluses on the palms and tips proved that, unlike herself, he had done manual labor.
She tried to recall how he had flipped her on her stomach, dragged her to her knees, and prodded her roughly with his member, but the memory had faded. If she had not experienced it, she would not have even thought that such violence was possible for this impossibly patient man.
Over and over again his fingers traced up and down hers. Slowly. As if they had all the time in the world. As if there were no conflicts between them. As if Irma had not sent a desperate message.
For an instant, she wished it could truly be thus between them—that it was indeed possible for them to have an amicable relationship.
Not letting go of her hand, he sank back onto the mattress, a pillow propping up his head. “When you are ready, I would like you to climb atop me.”
Climb atop him?
Her eyes widened.
“I do not wish to climb atop you!” But the idea bounced around in her mind. What would it be like to take rather than be taken? She had enjoyed exploring his body.
He laughed gently and drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “When you are ready. I recall you enjoyed exploring my body very much when I was tied to the bed.”
Her cheeks heated that she had just been thinking of the same thing.
“I recall how you had been wet when I touched you.”
She wanted to jump from atop the bed and crawl beneath it.
“Mayhap first you could show me the techniques that Irma taught you concerning the seduction of men.”
She nearly choked. Without thinking, she placed her hand across his mouth to silence him.
He grinned. Grinned?
“You are smiling!” she accused.
“Is holding a man’s mouth shut part of the seduction plan?” he rumbled against her palm.
She snatched her hand back. “Of course not.”
His wide shoulders quaked.
“You find this humorous?”
“Of a truth,” he said, smiling unrepentantly. “Tying men to the bed, holding their mouths shut with your hands—perfect seduction technique, I think.”
Her brows drew together. “You’re teasing me.”
“Come, Gwyneth, admit it… I’m not completely an ogre.”
“Well.” She cocked her head to one side. “Not completely, perhaps.”
“So about those seduction techniques …”
Somehow the tension in the room had dissipated. Her shoulders relaxed and a tendril of excitement swirled into her belly.
Bending down, she kissed his neck. “Do you like this?” She kissed his cheek. “Or this?” she asked, echoing his earlier words.
Sparks blazed in his green eyes, igniting an echoing fire inside her core.
Reaching up, she ran her fingers into his hair. The place on his scalp where she had stitched him after the wedding snagged her palm. He winced.
Carefully, she inspected the wound, nearly completely healed. “Does it hurt?”
“You could kiss it,” he whispered.
She brushed her lips against his scalp, inhaling the musky scent of his skin. He was delicious. Intoxicating.
She gazed down at his long body. Scars crisscrossed his legs including a long, bumpy one that ran from his groin to his knee.
“What happened?” She ran her finger down its length.
He inhaled. “A story for another time. Come, girl, I want you. ”
Closing her eyes, she swung her leg over his body so that she straddled him. How magnificent to be riding atop a man!
She gazed down at him through lowered lashes. His manroot jutted into the air. Lightly, she ran the tip of her finger over it. A hiss of breath sounded from his parted lips. Unable to stop herself, she laughed, enjoying having him at her command.
“Careful, girl.”
But the warning in his voice did not stop her. Wrapping her palm around his member, she lifted on her knees and guided it toward her quim.
“Wait.” Jared stuck two fingers in his mouth, then pressed them between her thighs.
Gwyneth shivered and gasped. He made small, gentle circles around the folds of her sex. A trickle of sweat ran down her spine and her thighs quivered. Arching her back, she surrendered to sensation, to the feel of his fingers. Tension built inside her core.
“I want—”
He lifted his hips and guided himself inside her.
Startled, she gazed down at where their bodies were connected, at where his cock impaled her. Desire flooded her limbs.
Slowly she began to rock back and forth. Back and forth. She kneaded his shoulders and sank down upon him, then lifted and bounced up and down. Amazingly marvelous. Every shift of her body produced a new sensation and she wanted to explore them all. Fast, slow, back and forth, up and down.
Pressure built inside h
er quim. She closed her eyes, curled her toes—wanting, longing for something she did not understand. “Jared,” she whispered as the sensation of eruption burst inside her. She shivered and collapsed atop him, feeling shattered.
His eyes were closed and his hands fisted in the bedsheet. His hips thrust upward, pushing his manroot deep inside her. He cried out and she caught the sound in her mouth and pressed her tongue inside to tangle with his. She wanted him. All of him.
Gwyneth lay awake for long, languid hours feigning sleep. Moisture seeped between her legs and she felt pleasure. Pure pleasure.
His arm wrapped around her waist and a calm peace settled over them, as if their spirits had somehow melded together. The bracelet on her wrist made her smile as she spun it round and round.
Her price is far above rubies. No one had ever thought of her as being more precious than rubies. And he’d given her the red rock from the dragon’s eye.
She wanted to belong to him forever.
When she was assured that he slept, she lifted up slightly. She did not wish to leave the comfort of Jared’s arms, but she was determined to see about Irma. She had made friends with Aeliana so she would be able to leave without arousing the bird. After what had happened between them, if Jared awoke and she was gone, he would not suspect.
Assured by this thought, she quietly swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Chapter 26
A damp, cold cloak woven of fog and midnight bore down on Gwyneth’s shoulders as she made her way toward The Bald Cock.
Sneaking away from the keep had been easier than she’d expected but her heart still pounded. Aeliana hadn’t even ruffled her feathers when she left and true to form, Jared slept like the dead.
In her hand, she clutched a short knife she’d taken from the kitchen.
Swirls of white mist floated in the inky darkness as if ghoulish forms from the spirit world guided her way down the path into the city. She scurried from tree to bush to shrub, guided by the sparse rays coming from the quarter moon.
Her thoughts went to how Jared’s hands had felt on her skin just hours ago, how his manhood had felt buried inside her, how his legs had been entangled, bare buttocks on display, in the linens as she had stolen from the solar and set about on this mission. What would he do if he awoke and found her missing from the keep?
The newfound peace betwixt them would be shattered.
Mentally, she shook herself; she would concern herself with Jared later. She twisted the bracelet on her wrist. Her price is far above rubies.
Every few steps, she looked back over her shoulder and gazed this way and that. Naught but huts, shop buildings, empty wagons, and a few sleeping chickens. And the creepy feeling that someone, something was out there. Watching her.
The houses grew closer and closer together, some of them made of wood and stone, others constructed of mere sticks or even hay. Two chemises hung on a line, blowing like eerie ghosts. The road changed from dirt to cobble.
She breathed a hearty sigh of relief as she pushed open the back door of the brothel and stepped inside a short while later. The usual smells of sweat, grease, and copulation hung heavy in the air. Putting her hand to her nose, she took a few steps into the sloppy kitchen.
The door leading to the main hall of the whorehouse swung open with a loud bang and Irma rushed through. Her hair, always frizzy, looked even more frazzled than usual. Her chest heaved and her eyes looked wild. Red stains marred her cheeks.
“Irma! “ Gwyneth ran to her friend and embraced her. Clammy sweat poured through her dress. “What is wrong? ”
“M-m-my daughter! They have taken her.” Irma quivered as if an icy wind blew through her.
“Kiera?” Coldness seeped into Gwyneth’s bones.
“A-a-aye. ”
Gwyneth hugged Irma tightly, her alarm growing. Ne’er had she seen Irma so shaken.
“Taken her where?”
“The magistrate came. There was something about stolen buttons and then they took ‘er to the prison.” Tears leaked off Irma’s chin.
Buttons? The ones Kiera had given her when Jared and she were together?
Gwyneth willed her hands to not tremble.
“T-the boat leaves tonight!” Irma was panting hard, panicked. “They will not let me ‘ave ‘er. I do not know what to do. I thought you ‘ad abandoned me.”
“Oh, Irma!” Guilt rose like bile in her throat. “I could never abandon you. Jared would not allow me to leave his side.”
Kohl blended with tears. Black smears streamed down Irma’s cheeks.
Gwyneth steered her to the tankards and poured watery ale into one. She did not have time to worry over her own emotions. “Drink. Then talk. We will get Kiera free.” Somehow.
“Oh, Gwyneth,” Irma wailed, “what am I to do? I do not ‘ave the coin to see ‘er released. They are demanding a ‘igh ransom. I know not why.”
Worry furrowed Gwyneth’s brow. She had no coins and she could not return to the keep. “We need only to focus on a plan,” she said more calmly than she felt.
Irma dug into her bosom and pulled out a small, ragged pouch. “Take this, Gwyneth. I’ve been working as ‘ard on me back as I can.”
Sickness washed up inside Gwyneth’s throat. “Kiera said you had a fever.”
“I gots no time for fevers. I gots to get me daughter from the prison.”
“Heavens.” Gwyneth took the pouch with trembling fingers. The two pearl buttons on her sleeves twinkled. “Get me a knife and help me cut these off. Mayhap it will be enough to bribe the guard if I fancy myself up and distract him.” She yanked her mother’s sapphire ring from her hand. “I’ll offer this as well. I need to borrow one of your gowns.”
She fidgeted with the wooden bracelet, glad that it was made of wood and common rocks. She did not think she could bear to part with it.
They rushed to Irma’s bedchamber. Gwyneth changed garments and Irma quickly painted Gwyneth’s face with lead powder and kohl. She added a patch under her eye.
A knock sounded and one of the wenches opened the door a crack. “That man who comes for a bath is asking for you, Irma. ”
Irma’s rouged lips rounded into a silent “oh.”
Through the crack in the door, Gwyneth saw Jared standing in the midst of the brothel, staff in hand. Shock filtered through her body and for a moment she was frozen and unable to move. “Heavens, Irma! Jared’s here.”
Panic lurched into her throat as she frantically cast her gaze around the room, taking in the narrow bed, a chair, a table, a chest, and a small window. “I think he might have seen me. What should I do?”
Irma raced to the door and threw the bolt. “You must go. Quickly! ”
“How?” Gwyneth rushed to the window, scrambled onto the chair, and gazed down into the mud-and garbage-splattered alleyway.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. There was a small ledge outside and then from there it was a long ways to the ground. “I can’t jump. ‘Tis too far.”
“The bedsheets! Grab the bedsheets!”
Gwyneth jumped off the chair and hurried to the bed, pulling away the sheets. Yellowish stains dotted the linen, some still fresh. Bile rose in her throat. Somehow she had to straighten the matter with Kiera and then come back for Irma. Her friend could not remain a harlot for life.
Pounding sounded on the door. Mercy!
“Gwyneth!” Jared bellowed. His voice sounded like thunder—something that came from an angry pagan god rather than a mere man. “I know you are in there!”
She tied the sheet clumsily around the table’s leg and threw it out the window.
The pounding on the door increased. The shutters on the window rattled.
“Gwyneth!”
Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the opening and shimmied her way down. She cringed when her hand touched something wet and sticky on the sheet.
A rip and the linen tore loose. She landed with a hard thunk. “Ooof.”
Ignoring the pain in
her right leg, she scrambled to her feet and took off running, her slippers slapping against the cobblestones.
She cut through an alleyway.
“Wife!” She heard Jared’s voice behind her. “Face your comeuppance!” He must have kicked through Irma’s door and was yelling for her out the window. She pumped her legs harder. If he caught her, no doubt he’d haul her straight to the authorities. Have her tried as a witch. He would never forgive her for tricking him as she had done.
When she reached the dock near the prison, she paused and leaned against a dirty wall, clutching her chest. The realization that she was fully and completely alone pulled at her as she tried to fathom what to do next.
Get Kiera.
Find some way to explain things to Jared.
A man wearing a filthy cloak lurched down the alleyway. He carried a tankard of ale.
Straightening, she trotted in the other direction.
“Hey, woman! Hey, woman!” The man stumbled toward her. “'ow much for a quick tup in the bum?”
Gwyneth shuddered and silently vowed to go to Mass every day for a year if God would see her through this night.
The prison was an ugly, squat building with no decoration to lighten its dreary walls. It was made of crumbling brick. Its tiny windows were like the eyes of a giant squatting spider dredged up from hell itself. The eerie feeling of evil and death always threatened to choke her as she looked up at it.
Tamping down her unease, she made her way to the front and tugged at her tresses to better arrange them.
Was the kohl that Irma had applied running down her face?
She gave herself a good shake. She was here. She had done this many times afore. She could do it again. She did not have time to waste.
Holy Mother, she muttered as she always did when she rounded this corner of the building, I ask for your blessing.
Taking a breath, she composed herself and stuck out her bosom. The harlot’s garment revealed more than any of her kirtles or even her houppelandes. One more breath upward and her nipples might pop free. The book Jared had given her was tucked into her bodice. Its spine could be seen when she glanced downward. He might hate her, but the small book gave her comfort. It seemed normal. An anchor. As if nothing had changed and this exchange tonight would be routine.
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