When she had first became a squire it had seemed impossible to maneuver in the bulky hauberk and chest plate. Practice was all it had taken. Was it possible that with practice her gowns would become as secondary skin as had her armor?
Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Only one way to find out,” she said with determination.
Her voice echoed in the long, dirt-floored building. Always one to begin training as soon as possible she set about to accomplish the task she had laid out for herself.
Starting at one end of the barrack she first began to run the distance of the men’s sleeping quarters. Falling several times only angered her to run faster. Lap after lap she raced down the center of the isle. Lap after lap the dress began to be forgotten.
Sweat began to slide down her face. The quick breeze as she ran was cool and inviting. She ran her arm across her forehead as the salt stung her eyes.
Her confidence began to build as she fell less and less. Soon she changed course. She slid under the bunks or went over the tops of them.
Her breath began to wheeze tightly through her raw throat and heaving chest. Still she ran on; adding jumps, kicks, and rolls to her practice.
Hours later, covered in dirt, sweat, and bruises Van stood assessing the area. On one of the bunks lay a short sword, heavy and well worn. It had been left behind, due to a broken tip.
Practice began immediately. As she feared, the sword caught in the material of the skirt as she swung the massive weapon. It snagged and tore at the silky dress. She did not give up. She practiced throughout the day until she felt one with her weapon.
Van fell to the ground in exhaustion. She was tired and sore, but exhilarated. The high pitched whinny of approaching horses brought her to her feet. She glanced out one of the small windows and noticed that darkness was falling.
She knew the warriors would stop at the barracks to drop off armor and weapons before entering the castle for the evening meal. She opened the door a slight crack and peered out. The men were coming up into the court yard.
Closing the door she ran for the back of the barracks, slipped out one of the rear windows, and laughed as her dress went with her instead of holding her up.
She ran toward the castle, sliding to a stop in the deep shadows of the garden. She realized that practice with the sword was fine, but the main weapon she would probably use was her dagger.
The thigh strap was inaccessible without lifting her skirts completely. The dagger would be useless to her. She looked at the folds in her dress and shook her head. She must be able to get at her weapon.
Looking around the darkening shadows of the garden to ensure she was alone, she gathered the silky material and pulled it up exposing her thighs and the scabbard. She removed the jewel encrusted dagger and dropped the material, allowing it to fall naturally.
Using the sharpened dagger she made a slit in the fabric. The knife slid into the newly made hole perfectly. She pulled it in and out several times to insure it would work properly, and then she began the long climb back to her husband’s chambers.
***
Peter pushed away the guilt for locking up his bride and focused on what pleasures he could inflict on her. He would make her forget his mistreatment in wondrous ways. A grin spread as he mounted the stairs two at a time.
He glanced up at the guards he had assigned. His grin fell away. Dried blood was smeared across both of the men’s faces. Peter’s heart began to race and fear prodded at him. His first thought was that she had escaped.
He quickened his step, but then forced himself to relax and walk calmly toward them. He reminded himself firmly that if she had escaped, the men would not still be standing guard. They would have sent for him.
“What happened?” Peter impatiently motioned for James to join them in front of the master chambers.
James looked at Brevon almost sympathetically and then focused on Peter’s shoulder as he spoke. “She was coming out of the chambers. We told her to stay, milord. She slammed the door into my face.”
Peter looked at the slightly bulged nose, the thin smearing of dried blood, and the darkening eyes of both men, and knew without a doubt that both had suffered broken noses.
He turned his attention to Brevon, who stood quietly with his shoulders stiff. He would not meet Peter’s gaze. “What did she hit you with, Dumont?”
Brevon quickly looked at the floor and mumbled an answer too low for Peter to hear. Peter glanced at James, but the tall blond looked away nervously. Peter was not positive but it looked as though James was trying not to laugh.
Peter’s brow furrowed and he turned back to Brevon. “I apologize. I did not hear you. Can you look at me and repeat your answer?”
Brevon’s jaw tensed. He shook his head and looked at Peter. His eyes gaze darted to the ceiling and back to Peter’s face. He sighed heavily and reluctantly answered through clenched teeth, “I said her fist. She hit me with her fist, milord.”
“Fist?” Peter’s mouth dropped open before he could stop it. “How many times?”
He had seen Vanessa’s temper, but she had always kept it under tight control. At least usually. She had lost it with Rebeka, but even then she had only grabbed her. Peter had not believed her to be a violent person. He had pushed her hard and she had never struck him. He was surprised she had actually hit the guard.
Brevon’s facial color deepened until he looked as though his skin were burnt. “Just once, my lord.”
“Once?” He looked at the damage to the two men.
A tingling doubt wormed through him. Maybe I better rethink pushing her so far. I knew she was strong. I just had no idea how much so, he thought grimly.
“It is all right. She is a fiery woman to say the least. Have you heard anything from her?” Peter looked toward the door. The room behind it was silent.
“A lot of cursing at first, milord, but she has been quiet for a long time now,” Brevon said quietly.
Peter opened the door to an empty room. A thorough search of both rooms sent his angry bellow to the men outside the thick doors. He heard their rapid footsteps rush toward him. They stopped behind him, their breathing heavy and raspy through their broken noses.
“I thought you said she was in here. Where is she?” He spun toward them. “Which one of you let her out?” He pointed his finger accusingly at each of them in turn and then clenched his fists. He took a jerky step toward them struggling to get control of his anger and concern. “Did she persuade you in some way? What did she promise you, did she give you something?” Peter shot his questions rapidly at them, gesturing angrily at the rumpled and messed blankets on his wife’s bed.
They stepped back a half step. “N–nay, milord. W–we—” they stuttered together.
Peter jerked his arms up for silence. “I do not want to hear it. The three of us will search the castle and the surrounding lands and when I find her she had better have a good explanation as to how she disappeared into thin air.” He glared from one to the other. “For you sakes, she had better.”
With the men trailing behind, the entire manor was turned upside down.
Peter was halfway through questioning one of the downstairs maids when he sucked in a deep breath. A sudden worry stopped his words in mid question.
If Vanessa had gotten out, she might run and if she had run she would head for the stables.
Peter turned away from the confused looking maid and rushed from the castle, knowing in his heart that her stallion would be gone, but praying that he was wrong. Guilt slammed into him, knowing he had pushed her too far this time, and she had escaped him. A heavy hand clenched his heart and threatened to rip it out.
The sky was darkening as Peter and the two guards stepped into the courtyard. The men were entering the barracks, but Peter barely registered their movements as he raced for the stables.
Mortamor looked up, startled from the work he was bent over, as Peter slid to a stop just within the stable doors. Mortamor bowed low and asked if there was anythin
g he could do for him. His gaze darted from Peter to the men behind him.
“Aye, you can tell me if you have seen my wife.” Peter forced himself to assume a calm demeanor and held his breath as he awaited the man’s response.
Mortamor looked back to Peter. “Aye, milord.”
Peter could feel the sweat running from his brow and stinging his eyes, but he did not bother to wipe it away.
Mortamor eyed him carefully before cautiously continuing. “I tried to stop her, milord but as the lady here, when she told me to move I had to...”
Peter did not wait to hear more. He rushed for her stallion’s stall with Mortamor and both guards right behind him. He stopped suddenly, surprised to see Beast still in it. He looked back at Mortamor questioningly.
“She came to him, but told him she could not leave. She said she did not have any of her things and that there was something she had to take care of first. Then she left. I did not see where she went.” He wrung his hands nervously. “I did not think to inform you, milord. She did not take the horse, so I thought—”
“You did just fine.” Peter’s voice was calm, but his innards rolled in turmoil. He turned back to the two men. “We will go back to her chambers and wait. If she does not return shortly, we will gather the men and start the search.”
Once again in her chambers, Peter and the guards stood silently. Peter tilted his head listening closely. He thought he heard a deep breathing coming from his chambers.
He walked carefully toward the door and then was sure he heard several graphic curse words. It was definitely Vanessa’s voice. His brow furrowed in concentration. Her voice was sometimes sweet, sometimes low and angry, but now there was a different tone to it. It lacked the high pitched squeal, which he had begun to believe was false. Now he was sure of it.
Peter entered the chamber, but it was empty. He strode to the window and looked down, watching her fight to pull herself up. He grinned down at her, impressed at the skill with which she scaled the twisting and thorn covered vines.
The vine she was holding gave way suddenly. Vanessa cursed and Peter’s heart lurched, balling into his throat and cutting off his breath. He was sure she was going to land broken and battered in the garden below. He gripped painfully at the window ledge, the hard rock digging into his flesh.
He stood helpless as she slid down the wall. She cursed loudly as the vines caught at her face and hair. She managed to catch herself and Peter took a deep shuddering breath as relief surged through him.
She began to climb once more. She pulled only slightly with her gown and he was amazed that it did not catch and tear on the vines. But it seemed to move fluidly with her.
“Greetings, my lady.”
Vanessa jumped and almost lost her grip on the wall once more. His breath caught in his throat.
She looked up. The vines had left a green and black smudge down one side of her face. A trickle of blood ran across her cheek. Dirt, sweat, and grime covered her face, but the powder was gone.
More than likely, he thought, sweat had washed it away. He wondered if she was aware that her mask was missing. He grinned, thinking that she was not.
Her brilliant smile, full of pure joy, took his breath away. He smiled. “Do you need some help?” He was no longer angry, just relieved she had not run and that she had not fallen. “I am surprised that gown has not tangled on you, though I shudder to think of anyone in the garden, what a sight they would enjoy.”
“Very humorous. Nay, I need no help.” Vanessa laughed. “I have my dress well in hand, I will be right up.” The dress caught on several thorns, but she dispatched it easily enough, and made her way quickly up the wall.
Peter held his breath until she was within an arm’s reach. He leaned through the window and grasped both of her wrists drawing her roughly through the small opening.
He pulled harder than necessary. Her weight suddenly came through the window and pushed him off balance. She fell painfully on top of him, knocking out his breath.
James and Devon rushed forward to assist him. Peter just waved them away, gathering the large, laughing woman tighter in his arms.
“Close the door on your way out,” Peter ordered without looking at them.
He opened his mouth to lecture her on putting herself in danger, and for disobeying him, and was stunned into silence when she placed her warm soft lips against his. With a deep and insistent kiss, she pressed herself forcibly against him.
She pulled away only long enough to pull her gown over her head and to remove his shirt. She leaned down against him. A moan of pleasure escaped him at the feel of her hardened, erect nipples brushing through the tight curls on his chest.
She caressed his chest, kissing his cheeks, his chin, and his neck as her hand roamed lower. A shaky groan escaped him as her hand first released him from his braies and hose and then caressed the entire length of him.
He did not think he would survive this sweet torture. He thought to roll her over. He pulled her hips up and gasped in pleasure and surprise when she pressed them back down. His hardened shaft slid into her hot sweet moistness.
He shuddered, grasping her, driving deeply. She arched her back, taking him fully. As her breasts swayed over him he found he liked a woman of the same height. She was a perfect match. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down to him, taking first one breast and then the other into his hungry mouth.
It took only a few moments before his hands were back on her hips, guiding her, up and down. Sitting up straight she allowed him to control the speed.
Her eyes were closed, her long fingers digging into the flesh of his chest. Sweet joy lit her face. Her breathing came in deep gasps, her lips parting to allow the sounds of the building pleasure to escape.
The look of need on her face excited him beyond the limits of his control. His fingers dug into her hips. He lifted her off him and pulled her back down as he thrust his hips forcefully up to meet her. Up and down she slid against the length of him. He pounded deeply into her. Her breathing increased and her moans became louder.
Pain lingered in his chest as her nails clawed at him in her pleasure. He increased his tempo. His breathing became a painful, searing burn deep in his throat. His eyes closed, his head fell back. He arched his spine and called her name as he spilled his seed deep inside her.
His throat ached and his heart was racing. He opened his eyes and looked up at Vanessa. Shivers ran through her as she rocked her hips gently.
Knowing that she had not come to pleasure, he rolled her over and, without pulling out, slid on top her. He ran his hand across her breast and caressed an erect nipple. He continued his exploration down her flat stomach and through the patch of hair between her toned thighs.
He propped himself up on his elbow and watched her dark, tanned face as he manipulated her wet, warm flesh. Her lips quivered and her head rocked back.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders tightly. She closed her eyes, her breath coming in short quick gasps as his fingers moved faster.
He looked carefully at her familiar face and wondered again why she insisted on wearing so much powder. From what he could see she had nothing to be ashamed of.
Sweat glistened on the dark tanned skin. He enjoyed watching her without the presence of the powder he had come to loath. Even with the dirt and grime on the one side of her face she was beautiful.
His fingers moved faster across her swollen flesh and darted within her warm passage. Vanessa moaned deep within her throat and rocked her hips to match his movements.
He smiled down at her as she cried out, lost in passion. It echoed across the tapestries in the room as the warmth of her pleasure spilled around his fingers.
Peter slowly got to his feet. His words were breathy as he spoke. “I will send up a bath. You can wash up before supper.” He smiled, thinking it wouldn’t be too bad to be with Vanessa for a lifetime. She lay sprawled across the rug. Her firm body sparkled with sweat. His groin tightened in response and he smiled
contentedly.
Peter began to turn away and Vanessa reached up and stayed him with a touch to his arm. He looked backed down at her in surprise. She lowered her eyes for a moment and then taking a deep breath stared up at him.
Nervousness teased Van like a bully from her past. She felt once again like a lowly page. She hadn’t felt like that since she was eight. Peter affected her in ways no one else ever had.
He looked down at her expectantly, but did not say a word.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. “My lord, may I speak to you a moment. I have a request.”
“Aye, come and sit by the fire.” He pulled her to her feet and led her to the matching chairs that sat before the cold fireplace. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and pushed her gently into one of the chairs.
Apprehension tensed her muscles. She twisted her neck from side to side hearing the customary and satisfying pop.
Peter wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and pulled his chair closer to her. Their knees touched when he sat down.
A hot jolt of pleasure shot through her legs and settled in her stomach, leaving in its wake a warmness that calmed her taut nerves.
Peter placed his hand against her arm. “What is it?”
She trembled slightly and looked into his deep blue eyes. “I am not sure how to ask this.”
He smiled warmly. “Just ask.”
She nodded. “What do you know of me?”
Peter’s head tilted slightly and his brow furrowed. “I know a little. Is there something in particular that you are asking?”
She smiled weakly. “I know my father and yours were friends. Did you see anything of me as a child?” She prayed his answer was no.
Her mother’s story was that she had left the night Van was born. Her father’s was different. He had told her that she was with him until she was one. She did not want to learn that her mother had lied to her, but she needed to know the truth.
The Dark Lady Page 29