Carline cried out when Megatha slapped her hand when the girl reached for a slice of honey bread.
“You will wait for the priest to give proper thanks for this meal, child. You know this. Do not act the heathen,” Megatha said, nastily.
Saxby said, “Priest Manner could be delayed for hours. Surely you do not wish to have Carline await his arrival, should he join us at all?”
“I can wait,” Carline whispered.
Saxby considered defending Carline than thought better of it. Carline’s features showed strain. The girl kept glancing at her nervously, silently pleading for her not to interfere. Reluctantly, she retreated knowing if she persisted in protecting Carline, Megatha would take her anger out on her daughter.
A low growl emanated from the corner of the room from the direction of the hearth where her pets Sasha and Rogue rested in front of the fireplace. The wolfhounds rose to their haunches, threw back massive heads, and snarled showing teeth. Their large eyes focused, centered, and followed the man as he moved toward the table.
Priest Manner hurried across the room in Saxby’s direction. “Those animals are an abomination. Must they be allowed to dwell inside the manor, Lady Saxby?” Priest Manner asked.
Sasha and Rogue had been with her since they were pups. Their mixed breed, part hound and wolf, made them appear nefarious and intimidating, but she thought them loveable creatures. “Once they have grown accustomed to your presence you needn’t fear they will harm you.”
Priest Manner glanced over his shoulder nervously. He moved closer to Saxby, and it sent the animals into frenzy. They snapped their jaws, barked, hunched low, and moved forward as if ready to strike.
Priest Manner froze mid-step.
“The animals are a blasphemy!” Megatha snapped, furthering the dog’s agitation.
“Sasha…Rogue do behave,” Saxby said.
The dogs whimpered, lay down, relaxed their heads against large paws, and kept watch over Saxby, trained on her every move. She noted Priest Manner took a seat across from Carline, who refused to acknowledge his presence even though the priest stared at her expectantly. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable pause, prompting from Megatha’s glare, Carline showed her respect by welcoming him.
Megatha immediately smiled warmly at the priest. Her attention to the man exuberant, giddy, she lavished Priest Manner with praises. She gave thanks to Oslei for his arrival at Dandelion, as if without him, the holding was doomed for hell and all souls were lost.
It took everything Saxby had not to choke on her wine, as she sipped, forcing the liquid down her throat before she rudely sputtered. Milo’s sister acted enthralled by the priest and disrespectful as she considered one would give the man of the cloth.
Priest Manner shifted his eyes to Megatha and smiled, causing his lips to crease into a thin line and disappear in his cylinder shape face. “I feel humble by your words, Lady Megatha. Thank you. Shall we pray and give thanks for this finely prepared meal?”
Megatha gave Saxby a pointed look. “We await your presence to guide us in prayer, as is right.”
Saxby suffered through Priest Manner’s desire to hear his voice. He spoke eloquently, with flair, and droned overly long, not giving thanks for the meal, more so for his presence. For he believed his existence at Dandelion made him a savior in the eyes of Oslei, that he was able to save the heathens who dwelled within the inner sanctuary of her home.
It was all she could do not to gag at the self-righteous rhetoric the priest spoke. Somehow, she managed through without embarrassing herself or Lord forbid, Milo, an offense he wouldn’t easily forget. Megatha would be sure to report to Milo what she considered disrespect and mannerisms unbecoming a mistress.
Finally, unable to stomach the endless conversation that revolved around all the sins of everyone except the priest and Megatha, Saxby politely excused herself. She had no issue with listening to the words of Oslei, as long as the message didn’t come from a forked tongue. Priest Manner had been Megatha’s idea. She knew nothing about the man and wondered why their regular priest vacated the dwelling when Priest Manner arrived. Milo conceded to his sister’s wishes as usual and in the midst of the turmoil following his accident, another outsider was thrust upon her.
Constantly, between Megatha and Priest Manner, she felt attacked from all sides.
She normally could weather through the storm, tonight her mind lingered on other matters and left her defenses exposed to the snips at her heels. She almost made it to the entryway when Priest Manner called out. She turned around and feigned interest in what he had to say.
Priest Manner leaned back in his chair, stared down his slim nose with a haughty air and spoke with a condescending tone. “I presided over Lord DeCapri’s confessions, which were many,” he said, and flicked his hand dismissively. “‘Tis best to purify your soul and cleanse your body of wickedness before you go to meet Oslei.”
She knew the priest found it offensive she had yet to seek his confidence and attend confession. “Is there something you wanted to tell me concerning my husband?” She wished to hurry him along, fearful he might go into an overly long sermon and thereby delay her from having a few moments to herself before she was required to attend to Milo.
“Lord DeCapri requested you join him immediately after dinner and without delay.”
She wondered why the urgency. Milo knew she always went to her chambers after dinner and rested before she visited and helped him prepare for the night. Milo needed much attention. She catered to his every whim, which seemed increasingly demanding. She changed his soiled sheets, washed his body, and massaged his aching limbs. Milo wasn’t as robust as before, even still, managing him alone drained her. His weight wasn’t great, but moving a man of his size around in the bed zapped her strength and tested her stamina. If he required, she read to him until he fell asleep, and because Milo rarely slept restfully, sometimes she stayed into the wee hours of morning while he tossed and turned to ensure he needed nothing. This meant she gained little, if any, sleep herself.
“Thank you,” she said, and hurried along noticing Megatha intended to open her mouth and add her two cents. She knew her duties toward her husband. She didn’t need Megatha lecturing her as if she was a small child incapable or incompetent and wasn’t aware of her responsibilities.
It irritated Saxby Milo listened to Megatha over her suggestions. The tasks required attending to Milo and the upkeep of Dandelion would be less taxing if he hadn’t dismissed the majority of the servants. A request Megatha insisted on and Milo readily agreed. She knew why Megatha made the ridiculous demands. Megatha intended for her to suffer as Milo, and any conveniences that would make her life easier, the woman effectively challenged and won. It was her penance, she knew. She never complained, though. How could she after what she did to Milo?
* * * *
The drapes covered the floor to ceiling windows remained closed and submerged Milo’s chamber in shadows, leaving the room dark and chilly because no sunlight filtered into the room and warmed the flagstone floor or allowed a breeze. The flow of air was stifled, and lay heavy and thick, making Saxby take deep breaths just to breathe.
It was her preference to open the windows and let in the sun, cool winds, and air out the room and make it more comfortable, but Megatha complained the briskness would further Milo’s discomfort. She disagreed. Milo overrid her decision, and Megatha once again prevailed.
She normally selected her battles with Megatha carefully to keep her stress at a minimal. The coping tactic had failed, and as of late she considered an insurmountable force invaded her home. Therefore, the manor stayed shrouded in darkness and felt like a tomb.
She could have fought Megatha and ignored Milo to do as she pleased, and dismiss the nagging guilt which surfaced when she went against his wishes. She could walk outside, feel the warmth and wind against her skin, and bask in the freedom to move about unhampered. Milo didn’t have the same luxury. With bigger battles ahead, she could suffer the sta
gnant air and dim and bleak interior of her home to keep Milo healthy.
Milo seemed to sleep peacefully. A good rest for him came rarely, and she didn’t care to wake him. Saxby stood quietly by his bedside and focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest. His breathing didn’t appear laborious as normal, and she thanked Oslei. She watched him a few minutes before deciding to leave him in peace. She turned. He called out and the sudden sound of his voice startled her.
She swore he slept like the dead, yet, his tone was firm and sounded vibrant and a contradiction to how he appeared, weak and fragile, Milo seemed more alert than she witnessed in a long time.
Bless you, Oslei.
She noticed the blueness of his eyes appeared brighter. He smiled, raised his arms for her to join him, and it didn’t seem to cause him undue duress just to manage the action.
Saxby kneeled beside the bed, enclosed his hand in hers, and squeezed it affectionately. “You seem better this evening,” she said. She ignored the pungent odor of nut, seed, and wine, which made up grainroot, and wondered if it was responsible for Milo’s sudden burst of energy. The cup of liquid was on the tabletop beside a pitcher she noticed was half-empty, or was it half-full? She had no idea how much of the concoction Milo requested.
She knew the elixir helped soothe him and rest comfortably, but she feared Milo became more dependent on the narcotic. Grainroot ingredients had healing effects, but it also made one euphoric, if taken in excess. She knew some who consumed the liquid daily and not for medicinal reasons, but to wander in a blissful haze.
“Oh, Milo, are you having a particularly rough episode?”
“Though I am loath to admit it, I can’t bare the pain. Forgive me for being weak.”
Saxby laid his palm against her cheek. “Please don’t say such. You are not weak.”
When she tried to comfort Milo, he nudged her away. His action was telling and let her know he didn’t want to be consoled. She noticed he sulked. Milo had his good and bad days. To her, it seemed the frequency of his dark moods outnumbered the better times. She pretended not to notice.
“I sent a message to Juden, and he has yet to answer my summons,” he said drily. “The saving grace is he did not throw the last messenger out by the seat of his pants as he did the others. I’m hopeful.”
Saxby’s heart rate spiked. She stared at him in silent horror at the possibility Juden would answer Milo’s request. “I hear there is unrest on the borders of Gundermeire. The lord who ruled over the land adjacent to Duns Laire died. Surrounding clans seek to overthrow and siege the people who reside there and enslave them. There are rumors Juden refuses to allow that to happen. He will come,” she said, and prayed otherwise.
“Kiss me.”
Eagerly, Saxby went to Milo. He rarely if ever asked for affection, though she craved it. She folded her arms around his frame and pressed her lips gingerly to his. When his tongue slipped inside her mouth, it made her feel toasty. She snuggled closer, desiring more of his attention, and relished in the feel of a wave of tingling sensations easing through her body. Her breast peaked, nipples crested, as twinges of need escalated between her thighs, if only he would touch her there as he once did. Those days ceased long ago. Milo tore his mouth away as if her lips scorched him.
Milo spoke casually with indifference. “Another comes tonight.”
Saxby tensed. She knew what that meant. She couldn’t believe Milo gained another man to fill her bed so soon.
“Milo…please.”
“Shhh, do not worry. You needn’t confess lust simmers inside you as it would any young woman. Don’t deny it, Saxby.” A cagey grin crossed his face. “I know you, wife. I know what you desire.”
Once again, she wanted to refute his claim she desired strangers in her bed. She couldn’t deny her need for fulfillment, as any woman might. It did bother her Milo made such decisions for her. No matter if he did not, she would never take it upon herself to seek a man for her bed. Never would she willingly go against Oslei’s word and break her vowels. She must suffer whatever fate befallen to her.
“I beg you, Milo. Please allow me to decide when I want a man to share my bed. I do not.”
“What of my needs? Do I not matter?” The words—full of allegations—slid from his lips and coated Saxby with shame.
She dropped her head. She whispered, “How selfish of me. I will do as you wish. I will take a man, if you want.”
“Two men,” Milo said with indifference.
Saxby’s head jerked up. Her mouth dropped, staring in disbelief, she tried to speak but stammered, unable to form a coherent word she merely gawked at Milo.
“Go and prepare yourself.” Milo turned away and looked out the balcony into the fading light, and officially dismissed Saxby.
Saxby hurried to her chambers. Her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions consumed, she tried to reason through what she considered the unreasonable. The culpability she felt to deny Milo anything surfaced and strummed through her intensely. Was it right to refuse her husband anything after what she did? She never quite understood how Milo wished to watch her with other men. Even though he said it was for her pleasure, if she resisted, it bothered Milo more so than her. This baffled her more than anything did.
Fighting back the tears, Saxby walked slowly toward her bedroom. Yes, she wanted nothing more than to make Milo happy and please him, but she struggled with what he requested. Her vows required she swear never to let another man possess her body. What Milo asked of her was a sin. Did it matter her husband orchestrated the entire interludes like a master puppeteer? Would Oslei show her favor and mercy, because of this? Nay, it was also a sin to deny your husband.
Saxby ran into her room before she allowed the tears to flow freely. She was damned if she denied Milo and damned if she obeyed. She would burn in the fires of hell either way.
Chapter 4
She swore not to allow herself any pleasure. To do so would be the biggest betrayal to Milo in her mind.
She simmered the desire brought on by Milo’s earlier kiss, to feel nothing.
As Saxby waited on the strangers, her mind wandered. The fall from the horse could have damaged more than Milo’s body, perhaps his mind as well. He seemed sharp as ever, sadly, increasingly she felt his injuries went beyond what she could see physically. Sometimes when he smiled, the light behind his eyes became shallow, and melancholy surfaced.
Saxby, you worry needlessly.
She dismissed her fears when she entered what she called the den of inequity.
Something was wrong.
The candle sconces bathed the room in light making everything visible, Milo behind the viewing pane and the two foreigners there. She needed the darkness. How else could she go through with things? How could she hide the gratification she sometimes experienced when the strangers touched her? Milo assumed she gained a measure of pleasure, but she didn’t wish to validate his claim.
She considered challenging Milo about the light, and then quickly dismissed the idea. If the room illuminated like the glow from a full moon, it had to be Milo’s doing. She refused to dwell on why he wished to torment her so. Perhaps later she would question him. Now, she wanted to get the sordid matter done and over.
Because she never saw the men she was with, she never paid attention to anything about them. That helped to easily forget her transgressions and treat each encounter as a figment of her imagination. This helped her to cope with what she must do.
With the room aglow, Saxby had a perfect view of the two men. Unconsciously, she examined their bodies, unable to help herself she took in the masculine forms. One was as dark featured, as the other fair. The brown-haired man had shoulder length hair and wide shoulders. His physic honed, he fit the shirt and trousers he wore and filled out the pants as if someone designed it expressly for him. The other had blonde hair curled around his nape. His height average and not as lengthy as his partner, she probably only reached his chin. She assumed both did hard labor that toned their
bodies to perfection, a display of chiseled muscles, she noted while doing her best not to pay too much attention.
The darker complexioned man said something that made the other grin. The blonde-haired man smiled, his eyes reminded her of Milo’s gaze, blue and dazzling, and she found it hard to resist the allure of his attractiveness. She shook her head to snap out of the reverie of salacious thoughts and berated her sinful feelings. Then she prayed to Oslei for forgiveness. Both were handsome devils.
Blue eyes looked her up and down appreciatively. He stepped forward and bowed with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He said, “We were told you were a fair lady. The messenger lied. You’re a remarkable sight. Isn’t she, Harden?”
Harden reached out, ran his fingers through her hair and skimmed her cheek. “Gage, I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes the color of moss or hair so red and silky.” He entwined his finger around the strands of Saxby’s hair. “‘Tis the finest thing I’ve ever touched. Skin flawless as milk and honey,” he said and caressed her cheek.
They enclosed her, pressing her between their bodies, and Saxby felt the infusion of heat seep into her flesh. Harden slid a hand down the cleavage of her breasts and raked a thumb over a nipple. The touch made Saxby suck in air.
She tried to step away, and they pressed her further.
The action made Gage raise an eyebrow. “We were told you are not innocent. ‘Tis the truth, lady?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
“‘Tis a shame,” Harden uttered.
Gage captured her chin and lifted, turning her face this way and the other. He examined her. “We were told to ask no questions, however I’m curious how you managed to avoid the eye of every man from here to the sea and beyond? I’m curious why our services are required. If you were to show yourself, I know there would be an endless line of suitors vying for your attention. I, myself, would be willing to fight to the death for a mere measure of your attention.”
Barbour, Carolina - Watch Me, Desire Me (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 3