The Dark Lady

by Dawn Chandler

  He smiled lustily at her. “I was hoping to wake you in more romantic ways.” He stopped beside the bed and cocked his head at her. “Are you listening to me?”

  She blushed and ducked her head. “Sorry, my lord.”

  “No, not listening. I told you to call me Peter. I am your husband.

  Van just stared up into his rapturous blue eyes and barked a short laugh before she got hold of herself. Call him Peter? Van did not think she could get used to that. Peter was someone she looked up to, someone she respected, but he was also someone in power above her. Even when she became a knight, he was above her.

  “I do not see what is so funny. I do think it is more than proper. I think it is a rule of sorts, to show your respect and your loyalty.” He lay down atop her and she relaxed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

  He kissed her gently and then rose back up on his elbows and gazed into her eyes. “You will show your respect to me by calling me Peter and to show my respect of you I will call you Vanessa and—”

  She stiffened beneath him before she could stop herself.

  He grinned. “Sorry, Vanessa,” he said, emphasizing her name teasingly.

  Van scowled at him.

  His grin widened. “Do you have something else you would prefer I call you, Vanessa?”

  She sighed. This line of conversation would get her in trouble and she had more pressing ideas for the morning.

  She pressed her breasts into his warm chest. His crinkly hairs dug gently into her skin. “I have something else I would prefer you do, rather than talk.” She ran her tongue along his ear and rejoiced in the way he shivered at her touch.

  Chills ran through Peter’s spine as Vanessa’s tongue slid across his ear. A welcome warmth spread through him and settled in his groin.

  The crackling fire threw shaky light across the large room. Peter looked down at her face. It was tanned and beautiful. He could see only perfection except for the smearing of powder that sleep had not erased.

  He caressed the side of her face that was powder free and wondered again why she wore it. He did not ask. He knew there would be no answer.

  Gently lowering his lips to hers, he savored the warm taste of her trembling lips. He flicked his tongue across them and grinned as she gasped.

  She tried to pull him closer, but he propped himself up on his elbows and continued his gentle assault. He ran his tongue across her cheek, the residue of powder gritty and sweet.

  Peter sucked gently on her ear and ran his hand across her quivering arms. His touch was feather light and he could feel the goose flesh spring forth on her arm. He kissed and licked her neck, barely containing his lust as she moaned and arched her back.

  He wrapped his hand around a creamy breast and dropped his head to it, grasping a hardened nipple in his teeth, biting gently. He nuzzled each breast and lathered them with kisses.

  “Please,” she whispered breathlessly. Her voice sounded pained.

  He looked up at her for a moment, her eyes tightly closed, her mouth slightly agape. Then he slid down her toned body, trailing kisses along her stomach and kissed the soft hair at the apex of her thighs.

  “Peter,” she gasped, wrapping her fingers through his hair encouragingly.

  He grinned smugly at the use of his Christian name. He pushed her folds apart with his tongue. Her warm juices were sweet as he slid it in and out of her. Her muscles tightened and she rocked her hips. Her breathing increased, her hands tightening painfully in his hair.

  Vanessa’s moaning increased. His lust was becoming painful and he knew he could not last much longer.

  He pulled away from her and she gasped, “Wait.”

  He smiled up at her gently and covered her with his body. Shaking with need, he slipped his hardened shaft into her warm wetness.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips as he rocked against her gently. Pressing his lips onto hers and encouraging her lips open with his tongue, he kissed her sweetly and controlled the lust as much as he could.

  Vanessa ran her fingers through his hair, and around his ear, and kissed him back as they rocked together on the bed.

  Her muscles tensed and pulsed around him as he slid tenderly in and out. His breathing increased, tightness formed low in his stomach.

  A lump grew in his throat as she kissed him lovingly and without hesitation.

  She began to move her hips faster against him. She moaned against his lips. He nibbled and bit on her lips and chin and down her neck until her she tightened around him and cried out.

  Her face seemed to glow with pleasure. He could wait no longer. He spilled his seed deeply against her womb and collapsed atop her.

  ***

  Peter reined Jackal to a stop on the rise overlooking the lists. The men stood in small groups, each group with several boys. The boys each held the reins of a horse. Some struggled with their mounts and some looked confident.

  Peter watched the boys appraisingly as they worked. The horses whinnied in greeting. Jackal tossed his head, snorting in return. Peter ran his gaze across the groups of men and boys. It took him only moments to pick out two new bodies that were not there the day before. His grin fell away and he rode directly to Grant. He was sure the boys were Edward and Harry Hurtado. The other boys had all said they were disobedient and rowdy on the way to the castle. Now they appeared to be in fine spirits and working well with the others. He narrowed his eyes and stared at them in suspicion.

  Dismounting, he handed off his reins without looking in the direction of the man who took them. He nodded toward the two boys. “Edward and Harry Hurtado?” he asked, already sure of the answer.

  “Aye, my liege, they arrived just a short while ago.” Grant nodded his head gently. He glanced over at the boys. “They claim to have fallen behind and become lost.” He snorted and added, “Like they were not on a well-worn and traveled road.”

  “Keep a close watch. No one has gotten lost on that road before.” He watched the boys for a few moments before adding, “How are they doing?”

  “I have concerns,” Grant said sternly. “The majority of the boys are fine. My concern lies with the brothers. On the trip here it was said they were rude and evil tempered, but since their late arrival, they have been nothing if not polite and well mannered. It does not make sense to me.”

  Peter nodded his head in agreement. “I noticed that as well. I want to know if they leave the grounds for anything. If they do need to leave, get them an escort.”

  Peter glanced from Grant to Richard and smiled. He had not wanted to let him go three years ago and was glad to have him back within his army. “How are the rest doing?”

  “Some are doing better than others, but all seem to be willing to learn.” Richard shifted nervously from foot to foot. “We have some problems with Marshall VanDyke and Ebro, the brute of a horse he was assigned to.”

  “Aye, he is afraid of horses. Douglas Sheire said he had spoken to the boy and he saw something in him. He just needs to get over his fear.” Peter watched Richard closely as he kept looking past him expectantly. A disappointed look crossed his face once more and he looked back to Peter.

  “Richard?” Peter asked curiously. “Are you still listening to me?”

  Richard glanced at him and grinned sheepishly. “Yes, my liege. It is nothing.”

  “It is something.” Peter let his voice drop to a commanding tone. “Tell me.”

  “It is just that I was expecting to see Lady Vanessa. I really had not expected her to give up so easily.” Richard shook his head and gave a small laugh. He looked over Peter’s shoulder again and shrugged. “I know...” His voice trailed off.

  Grant shook his head, a look of disbelief crossing his face.

  Peter did not need to turn, did not want to see what he knew he would see. Vanessa must have dressed and left right after him. He had been positive that she was bowing to his control, had seen it this morning in the way she looked at him.

  He had to be mistaken. Ha
d to be.

  Peter watched all the men, and the boys, stop and look and he was not in the least surprised to turn and see his wife.

  A wave of anger crashed into him as he watched the woman, who was forbidden from coming to the field, stride confidently toward him.

  He was not as annoyed to see her as he was to see the thick powder back on her face. He had seen all of one side of it and had seen nothing wrong. Whatever blemish she had, she had to get over her fear of what people would say or think. That, although, would have to wait.

  Now he would make it clear that she was going to obey him. He would make sure she understood him if it was the last thing he did. “What in the bloody hell, are you doing here?”

  “I came to watch the young boy that I put with—”

  He shot his hand forward, grasping her arm and jerking her to him. “Nay, you will not watch anything and when it comes to my men there is no ‘I’ involved when you are the one speaking.”

  She jerked her arm, but he tightened his grip and shook her gently.

  “I told you, without any questions, you are not allowed to be here and you promised me.” Peter dug his fingers into her rigid arm and glared at her. “You said you would not come out here and you are disobeying me again as well as lying to me. I could have you whipped for what you have done. I—”

  His words cut off abruptly as she jerked her arm violently away from him. “I said no such thing. I may be disobeying you, but I did not lie. You told me what was expected of me and asked me if I understood. I did not lie when I said I did.” She straightened her shoulders and held her head high. “As much as you rant and rave about it, I am fully aware of and understand what you expect of me.”

  He slapped an aggravated hand to his forehead as he realized what she had done. Trying hard to fight a laugh, he pulled his weathered hand down his face and forced himself to glare at her. “Fine, you understand. Now you will tell me that you will do as I say.”

  The corner of Vanessa’s mouth twitched smugly. “Nay,” she said softly. There was no explanation, no hesitation...no nothing. Just, “Nay.”

  “What do you mean, nay?” Peter asked incredulously. He could not believe that she had just defied him so openly and she had done so with a grin on her lips.

  She just looked at him, the grin widened.

  “You will do as I say or...” He shook his finger at her as he considered his options. They were few and none seemed to be effective. The ones that were effective he did not believe he would be capable of doing. “Or I will have you locked in your chambers until you do,” he said finally.

  She gasped and took a step back. “Locked in...like I am some sort of prisoner. I am a person and I am your wife.” She took another small step back. “What I am not is your slave, nor your prisoner. I will not be locked in anywhere like I am.”

  Anger screamed through Peter at her public defiance. He lurched forward and threw her over his wide shoulder. “You will no longer defy me.”

  He watched Richard as well as several other men start forward to help her, but to their credit none moved more than a step or two. Well, some took three before they stopped to watch.

  He yelled for his horse. He looked across the men. His gaze settled on two men who had been with him for several years. James Choral, a tall blond-haired man and Brevon Dumont, a short, round, redheaded boy with a face full of freckles.

  He pointed to them. “You two saddle up and come with me.”

  Vanessa kicked and hollered dramatically and almost overturned them both. He watched them lead Jackal forward and was unsure of how he was going to mount with her fighting him so hard.

  He grasped the saddle and reins. Grant stepped beside him and steadied him as he swung his leg over, with her still struggling. He felt them sway as he teetered. He cringed as he prepared for both of them to hit the ground. Grant pushed on his thigh and relief flooded him as his rear settled into the well-worn saddle.

  She pushed her feet against the horse and they almost went over backwards. Grant grabbed her legs, taking several good kicks in the process. He cursed loudly and Peter watched the pale beginnings of a bruise begin on his arm. “Tie her legs.” Peter barely got the growl out. His breathing came in exhausted gasps. He had not worked this hard in a long time.

  Within moments, and with the help of several others, Grant had pulled a rope from the saddle bag and had Vanessa trussed up at the ankles and knees and wrists.

  Neither struggles, nor her unladylike curses, ceased as they made their way to the castle. Guilt began to worm its way through his thoughts as he swung his leg over the saddle, but he had come too far now to back down. If he let her win now, he would never gain control of her.

  Peter almost lost his balance as she renewed her violent struggles when he took the castle steps. He slapped her hard across the bottom, and tried to ignore her gasp. Her curses renewed with new vigor and she hit him across the lower back.

  Pain exploded through him, but he ignored her, the best he could. He knew he would have bruises across his back and backside.

  He slapped her across the rump again and told her to shut up and stop struggling before they both fell. She ignored him and continued fighting.

  He mounted the stairs with the two men right on his heels. He kicked his chamber door open, stalked across the floor and threw her onto his bed.

  He turned and left without a word to her. Slamming the door hard, he gave notice to the two men who had ridden with him. “Keep a close eye on her and do not allow her to leave this room.” He took a deep breath. “I will send a maid up to undo her bindings.”

  The men turned and stared as he crested the hill overlooking the lists. They shuffled nervously and Peter shoved down a bout of irritation at them.

  Grant took the reins as he dismounted.

  “I will see how the boys are coming.” Peter kept his voice calm and controlled.

  He could allow no hint of the anger that boiled inside him. He could feel it burning at him and pushing to escape its confines. He took a deep breath and stilled his shaking hands.

  The anger he felt was not at his disobedient wife, but at himself, at his inability to control a mere woman. It was no wonder Eolian eluded him so many times, he thought impatiently. How was he going to train these boys to be of any use to anyone?

  He supposed he could teach them to take orders from their wives, perhaps that he could do, he thought crossly. Shaking off the tendrils of self-doubt, worming through his foggy brain, he made his way to the boys.

  They were practicing grooming and hoof care, but he could see from anxious and excited looks that most wanted to be riding already.

  Peter stopped and watched them. These boys were not from well to do families or even those of the middle classmen. It was apparent that they had seen days of hunger and sickness. They probably had never been treated as well as they were here.

  This was not good.

  Conditions here were meant to be bad, to accustom the pages to life as a warrior. These boys were happy here, happy to be fed and to have the opportunity to ride the magnificent creatures put under their care.

  All but one. Marshall VanDyke, the short blond boy who had been afraid to even touch his horse. He was having difficulties controlling his mount. While he could hold him steady or pick up his feet for cleaning, he did not seem to be able to manage both. Every time the huge destrier would spook or rear, Marshall would lose grasp of the lead and let him have his head.

  Grant and Richard stopped to each side of him. He glanced at them and then back at Marshall.

  Grant shook his head. “It has been like that all day, my lord. He does not have the courage to take control. If that horse continues to have his way, there will be no fixing the problem.”

  Peter knew exactly what he meant. He was having the same dilemma of his own. He forced Vanessa from his mind and tried to concentrate on the situation at hand.

  “It will be fine. Sheire is a fine judge of people and of horse flesh.” Peter
strode toward Marshall and loudly proclaimed, “Boy, I have to see to one of my tenants.” Ebro skittered away.

  Marshall grasped the reins and pulled the big creature back toward him. He showed no fear when he did it, just frustration.

  Peter grinned. He was sure that Douglas had seen the natural way the boy had with horses. He just needed a chance to get over his fear. “Both Devenroe and Hestlay are needed here, so you will accompany me.”

  “Milord?” Marshall’s voice squeaked as he shifted his gaze frantically around the group.

  “Saddle your mount.” With that he turned away, away from the pleading look and the fear in the boy’s trembling face.

  Richard quietly asked as he handed Jackal over, “Do you know he has never saddled or ridden before?”

  “Aye, Devenroe, I am quite aware.” Peter looked into Richard’s troubled green eyes and smiled. “He will never get over his fears unless he is forced to, and as bad as it will be for him to make mistakes in front of me, it will be so much worse for those same mistakes to be made here.”

  Richard nodded in understanding.

  “Are you ready, boy?”

  Ebro was saddled and it looked to be correct. Peter just hoped Marshall didn’t fall off in front of everyone.

  Peter mounted Jackal and watched Marshall take a deep breath. He swung unsteadily into the saddle. The horse swayed beneath him. He sat stiffly and Peter waited until the animal settled.

  Peter urged his mount next to the young boy. He sat with his head forward and did not look around. “Ready?” Peter asked again.

  “Aye, my lord. I am ready.” He added under his breath, “As ready as I will ever get.”

  Peter grinned. He nodded to the men and led the unstable boy away from watching eyes. He did not want an audience for what he had planned. He was not sure if his plan would even work, but he was going to do it anyway. He could use this time away from his own problems and distractions.

  When they were a safe distance away, Peter dropped back beside him. “When you come to the fork in the road you will take a right. After that you will take a left and there will be a large oak, struck many years ago by lightening. Behind it is the small holding where you will stop.”