She liked it.
She liked his flesh against hers, his lips on her neck, her shoulder. She could feel his hot breath against her throat and it fanned flames within her that she never knew existed. Oh, God… was this what it meant to be kissed by a man? She was panting so heavily that she was growing faint with it, as if she couldn’t control herself or her resistance to his sensual onslaught.
And his hands…
Those big, strong, rough hands were holding her fast. His mouth was on her shoulder, nibbling on her flesh, and all of the protests on Gregoria’s tongue died right there in her throat. She couldn’t get them out because, frankly, she didn’t want to get them out. She couldn’t, in good faith, resist the man and his touch. She’d never known anything like it. Her body was growing limp, her knees like jelly and, suddenly, he was loosening the ties on the front of her bodice.
It was so fast and so skillfully done, that she hadn’t even noticed until he pulled on the bodice and her left breast sprang free. The same big hand that had been intertwined in her hair swiftly moved to that breast and his mouth along with it. He was suckling her nipple before she realized what had happened and her hands came up, slapping at his head, but it was a terribly weak gesture. Constantine released her torso and used that hand to pin her wrists above her head as he continued suckling her breast, now wet with his saliva. Using his teeth, he pulled away the rest of the bodice, freeing her right breast.
And then, he feasted.
Gregoria couldn’t have fought back had she wanted to. He had her pinned as his mouth moved between her breasts, suckling furiously. She could hear soft groans, realizing that they came from her as the man made her feel all shades of passion in his sensual onslaught. But Gregoria was a maiden and if things kept going the way they were, Constantine would find that out, too. She’d been saving that virginity for her husband, if she ever married, but the way her life was progressing, she doubted that would ever happen. Her brother wasn’t intent on finding her a husband; he’d never even suggested it.
She was destined to grow old alone.
But is this what it meant to have a husband? To be touched so tenderly, to have bolts of lightning shoot up your body when intimate parts were touched? To feel warm and safe and wanted? God, she couldn’t think at the moment.
All she could do was feel.
And feel, she did.
Suddenly, Constantine dropped her wrists and he hiked up her skirts, lifting her up and wedging himself in between her legs, which he’d pulled apart to straddle his hips. Gregoria was so far gone with what he was doing to her that it took her a moment to realize the position he’d put her in. She thought it had been for more kissing, more suckling but, in fact, that wasn’t what he had in mind. Before she could protest, or even think of a good excuse why this should not happen, she felt his manhood pressing on her tender woman’s center. He was rubbing himself on her, bathing himself in the wetness he’d created in her, preparing himself for entry.
She knew what was coming.
Oh, God, she thought with her last shred of coherency. It is happening!
It happened, indeed. Constantine gripped her by the buttocks and thrust forward, deep into her tight and virginal body. A sharp, searing pain rippled through Gregoria’s loins as she dropped her head, biting off her cry of pain in his shoulder, groaning softly as he thrust hard a second and a third time before being fully seated.
When he began to roll his hips, thrusting in and out of her, the sharp pain quickly evaporated, leaving a sensation that Gregoria could have never imagined in its place. Something warm, wet, and thrilling was happening now.
With Gregoria’s back against the wall of the cabin, Constantine held her buttocks against him, thrusting into her tight body but doing it in a way that he was also rubbing against her, pleasuring her. Gregoria was only focused on the junction between her legs where these miraculous sensations were taking place, not even considering the fact that, in spite of her protests, Constantine le Brecque had, indeed, taken what he wanted from her. He’d made her a whore, planting his manhood in her warm, wet recesses and pleasuring himself as men did.
But she hardly cared.
“Never has this felt so good,” Constantine murmured into her neck, biting at her flesh and causing her to gasp. “You were made for pleasure, lady. My pleasure.”
Gregoria couldn’t even answer him. He was sucking on her breasts again and, suddenly, the junction between her legs tightened up before she felt the release of such pleasure that she cried out with it. Stars were shooting all through her body and as she experienced her first climax, Constantine smiled faintly, kneading at her soft buttocks even as his own release rapidly approached.
“You are mine,” he whispered. “Do you understand me? Now, you are mine. Mayhap my seed shall find its mark and a strong, intelligent son shall be born from your body. Tell me you shall bear me a son.”
Gregoria was nearly incoherent. He was still moving in her body even as she tried to understand what had just happened, a spasm of the most amazing pleasure. Did he ask her a question?
“A… a…?” she stammered.
Constantine’s mouth came down on hers, kissing her deeply, his tongue filling her mouth and licking at her. Gregoria had no idea how to respond other than to let him do as he wished, because everything he’d done to her had given her the utmost pleasure for the most part. Like a fool, she simply let the man have his way in spite of her earlier protests. But as he kissed her passionately, he thrust hard into her and emitted a soft grunt, and she could feel his male member throbbing inside of her body. It was enough stimulation that she, too, experienced a second and lesser release, her entire body ripe with passion and excitement.
But Constantine continued to thrust into her, slowly now that the passion had died down, but there was still a wildfire blazing between them. Gregoria could feel it every time their bodies came together. There was heat between them that was beyond imagination.
“A son,” he whispered even as he kissed her. “A lad from your beautiful body. Tell me you shall bear my son.”
At this point, Gregoria was close to swooning. Her arms ended up around his neck, holding him for dear life because she was certain that if she did not hold on to him, she would slither to the floor and be lost forever. She held him tightly even as he moved away from the wall, still attached to her, and chased the dogs off the bed so he could lay her down. When he finally put her on the feather-stuffed mattress, he ended up beside her, holding her close as the ship rocked gently beneath them.
As they lay there in the languid midday, Constantine found himself reliving the past few minutes. He’d never before asked a woman to bear his son, so why now? There were strange forces at work, forces that had him more attracted to Gregoria than he’d ever been attracted to a woman in recent memory. His physical attraction to her was undeniable, but his emotional attraction… well, that scared him. He’d never asked a woman to bear his son before. There was a hint of permanence in that request, as if he’d finally found someone he thought worthy of such a thing.
Aye, that scared him a great deal.
He didn’t even know the woman, in truth. He’d had two conversations with her and, already, he’d bedded her. But it had been such an overwhelming need that it had been impossible for him to resist. He’d given in to it, just like he gave in to all of his whims.
But he was coming to wonder if she wasn’t a whim.
It was a strange situation, indeed.
Beside him, Gregoria began to snore softly and he realized the woman had fallen asleep. That was good because he really had no idea what to say to her. Usually, he had no problem with after-sex conversation but, this time, he was a bit tongue-tied. Something about this act had been… different. He didn’t know quite how, but it was. Therefore, he thought it best to leave her alone to sleep while he headed up to the deck.
He had a lot of thinking to do.
Carefully, he disengaged himself from her and rolled off the
bed, standing up to secure his breeches. But he happened to look down as he did so and saw blood on his manhood. When he turned to the bed and carefully lifted her skirt, he could see that the blood was coming from her. It wasn’t particularly alarming – either she was on her woman’s cycle, or there was another answer that he found particularly curious.
She was a virgin.
Having clearly told him she had been married, it didn’t seem likely that she was a virgin. Unless she’d been lying, of course. And if she’d lied about that, what else had she lied about? Constantine wasn’t a fool; he knew he’d given in to her request easily. Too easily. He knew his men weren’t happy about it, but they had the sense not to confront him. He knew they worried for his safety, considering how many men would have loved to have seen Constantine le Brecque dead. But if Gregoria had been sent by his enemies, then they knew where to hit him where he was the weakest – with a beautiful woman.
And he’d fallen for it.
There was a good deal on Constantine’s mind when he left the cabin and quietly shut the door.
Chapter Seven
Off the coast of Bardsey Island, Wales
Late the next day
Oh, but it was a feast!
Boiled crab that had been harvested in big nets off the coast of Bardsey Island made a tremendous meal, and Shaw MacDougall was sucking up every last morsel he could get his lips on.
It was the evening after a day of hunting for Shaw and his men. Aboard his mighty vessel, Savage of the Sea, Shaw and his crew were enjoying a rare moment of peace and leisure. That didn’t often happen in their line of work.
Having come down from the north on the Isle of Scarba where his castle was situated, a safe haven for him and his men amongst the rocky island in the wind-swept sea, their destination had been Bardsey Island for the fine hunting and fishing it had this time of year. The small crabs were abundant, as was the wildlife on the island itself. His men had hunted boar all day, along with the crab, and even now his cook was below deck, salting the butchered boar.
But in the captain’s cabin where Shaw and his men had gathered to feast, there was a good deal of food on the table and only two men to eat it. Shaw and his first mate, a massive Viking-looking man appropriately named Thor, seemed to have the table to themselves for the moment because the other men in Shaw’s chain of command were on shore finishing up with those who had been doing the actual fishing and hunting.
Nets needed to be brought in and the last of the hunt was being butchered on the shore before being brought onto the ship. This was some of their fun, and recreation, and it only happened one time a year. Shaw thought that it was the very best time of year. He’d been doing this kind of thing since he’d been a wee lad and it was in his blood. It reminded him of happier and more carefree days.
“If we dunna hurry, there will be something left for Kelly and Lachlan,” Thor said, his mouth full. “Do ye truly intend to share this with them?”
Shaw finished sucking the meat out of a claw. “I canna eat any faster,” he said. “I have eaten at least ten more than ye have. When did ye start eating like a woman?”
Thor frowned, his blond brows angled. “This is my second meal of crab today,” he pointed out. “I ate nearly an entire pot earlier today when they were first brought aboard. I had tae make sure they were edible, ye know.”
“God, ye’re a glutton.”
“Ye have no idea.”
Shaw snorted as he broke open another boiled crab and began to feast on it. “Do ye recall last year when we invited Con and his men tae feast with us?” he asked. “I’ve never seen such a feeding frenzy in my life.”
Thor grinned, crabmeat on his lips. “I notice ye dinna ask them tae join us again this year.”
Shaw shook his head, his long black hair wagging back and forth. “Why would I? Those Sassenach are worse than a pack of dogs. I canna abide by such selfishness.”
“Ye mean ye are afraid they would eat everything and there would be nothing left for ye.”
Shaw eyed him. “Lucifer can have all he wants because no one would dare tell the man otherwise, but Gus and Remy….” He shook his head as if appalled by their behavior. “They ate most of the crab and then lied about it. Tried tae blame it on me, telling me that I had eaten it all when I was drunk.”
“In their defense, ye did have a good deal to drink.”
“Not enough that I wouldna remember eating an entire pot of crab!”
The events of last year still rightly upset him and Thor fought off a grin at the man’s indignity. “I canna abide men who dunna take responsibility for their actions.”
“Nor do I. The bastards.”
Thor’s grin broke through; he couldn’t help it. “Well,” he said, “then that is the last time we invite that rabble tae our table tae sup.”
Shaw nodded his head firmly as he sucked on another claw. “Rabble, indeed,” he said. “At least Con has some manners. I love the man. But his men…”
A shout from the deck outside his cabin cut him off, and both Shaw and Thor turned to see a great deal of commotion through the open door. It seemed fairly serious and by the time Thor and Shaw set the crab aside and made their way out onto the deck, there was a ship close by, approaching swiftly under increasing swells.
It was dark this night, with a sliver moon, which meant that it was difficult to see much upon the water until objects were fairly close. But Shaw could see that the vessel was flying the red dragon of Constantine le Brecque, as it was illuminated on the bow by a fatted torch in an iron cage. Immediately, he went to the rail of the ship.
“Ahoy!” he called.
Someone was waving at him from the vessel. “Ahoy!” came the response. “Permission to board!”
“Who are ye?”
“Felix d’Vant, my lord. I have been sent by Lucifer!”
Sent by Lucifer and not by Constantine. That gave Shaw a stab of concern as well as confusion, but he waved the ship onward, issuing orders to his men to bring the vessel alongside. He maintained his post on the rail, watching as the ship drew close but not too close. With the increased swells, they didn’t want the ships hitting each other. Someone lowered a skiff from the other vessel and three men got on board, two to row and one who simply stood at the bow. Once the skiff came close to the Savage of the Sea, the man on the bow leapt from the skiff and caught the rope ladder that had been lowered for him. Deftly, he climbed it.
Shaw was waiting for him. He immediately recognized the man as one of Constantine’s senior sailors; he’d seen the man before. Felix d’Vant, he’d said. The man dipped his head politely in greeting.
“My lord,” Felix said. “Pardon my intrusion, but I have come bearing a message from Lucifer. May I deliver it to you in private?”
Shaw could sense that something was wrong; d’Vant had an urgent manner about him, and he immediately thought the worst.
“What has happened?” he asked. “Is Con well?”
D’Vant nodded. “Constantine is well, my lord,” he said. “But Lucifer wishes for me to deliver a missive to you.”
“Con dinna send ye with a missive?”
“Nay, my lord.”
The situation was becoming increasingly perplexing. Without another word, Shaw motioned for the man to follow him. He led Felix back into the captain’s quarters where a big table with a half-eaten pot of crab sat on the surface. There were crab carcasses everywhere, in piles and on the floor. Once they were inside, however, Shaw came to a halt and turned to d’Vant.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low. “Why have ye come at Lucifer’s request?”
D’Vant, a tall, blond, and handsome young man, scratched his head rather nervously. “What I tell you has come directly from Lucifer, you understand,” he said. “I am simply the messenger.”
“I understand. Get on with it.”
D’Vant did. “Three days ago, a woman came to Perran Castle,” he said. “She claimed to be the daughter of Miles Tenby. If you reca
ll, Miles Tenby was the quartermaster who was heinously murdered by the French two years ago. Do you recall the incident, my lord?”
Shaw did; he had a sharp memory. “Aye,” he said. “Go on.”
D’Vant nodded. “The woman told Constantine that her now-dead husband had stolen a holy relic from The Water Bearers and that now they had come for her,” he said. “She told him that she was being chased by the French but that she was determined to fulfill her dead husband’s wish of restoring the stolen object back where it belonged – to Three Crosses Abbey in Wales. She has requested that Constantine escort her to Wales, as a favor to her dead father, and Constantine has agreed.”
Shaw didn’t see what the trouble was. “And?”
D’Vant cocked an eyebrow. “And, Lucifer is not entirely sure this is not a trap by the French,” he said quietly. “He is afraid that something is amiss. He begs you to come to Eynon Bay, my lord, and provide support to Constantine on this mission.”
Shaw scratched his head at the odd story. Now, it was starting to make some sense and he could see why Lucifer was concerned. “I recall when Tenby was murdered,” he muttered. “I was there. Con tried tae save the man but there was nothing he could do. Now, ye say that Tenby’s daughter has come tae Con with this… this story?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And Con is tae help the woman return something her husband stole from the French pirates?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Shaw stared at him a moment before scowling. “And Con doesna suspect this may be a trap?”
D’Vant sighed heavily. “It is possible, but he is willing to help her just the same,” he said. “The woman… she is quite beautiful, my lord. She… she seems to have used her charms on Constantine.”
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