“Efficient as always, Arnulph.” Beckett set his falcon onto its perch.
“In addition, my lord, I’ve made arrangements for your personal entertainment tonight.” Arnulph cleared his throat with vigor and rubbed his good eye, a habit he had when a topic embarrassed him. A ferocious warrior with a booming voice, yet he was as bashful as a maiden when matters of an erotic nature were mentioned.
“And Christiana, has she received instructions?” Beckett peeled off his leather glove.
“Not as yet. Poor, underfed lass. I wager the trays of food and ale weigh more than she. Mayhap in a week or two she will be ready to serve.”
“Arnulph, you’ve grown soft. Have her carry something lighter. I want her in the dining hall tonight.”
Arnulph raised his brows, and the eyelid seared closed over the empty socket drew taut. “Surely allowing her a day or two to get situated won’t hurt. After all, her father was the late lord’s most devoted servant.”
“Do I look like a priest? Alms can be gotten at the church gates. In my household, everyone earns their keep,” Beckett retorted, making a miserable attempt to sound like an earl rather than a love-stricken fool. She still had the most profound effect on him. Having her so near would probably prove his undoing. The poison of rivalry threatened to choke him again. He was already dreading Colin’s return. It pained him to recall how her wan cheeks had pinkened as she’d taunted him with mention of his cousin.
He could have saved himself all that was to come, if he’d only allowed Tiana to marry. There had been many a decent man asking for her hand, and he’d contemptuously refused them all. It was through his own selfishness that she had become his responsibility.
An unsmiling Arnulph regarded him warily. “I will make certain the girl is present in the hall. I’d advise you get some rest. Tomorrow’s expedition could be hazardous.”
Beckett gave Arnulph a loud clap on the shoulder. “’Tis all in hand, or should I say pussy. I always sleep soundly after a thorough fucking. I recommend it.”
Arnulph’s already ruddy complexion turned even redder. Beckett felt a twinge of guilt for bedeviling the man, but it passed quickly. The sorry bastard did not know what he was missing.
“Let’s head in, Arnulph. I believe I’ll start my night of debauchery in the bathing room. Send in my favorite bather. You know the one I’m speaking of. The one with the lush pair of lips and the cavernous throat.” He snapped his fingers as her name came to him. “Alice.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Arnulph replied, pursing his mouth in disapproval.
Beckett entered the chill, stone room, annoyed to find that there was no one there to help him disrobe. He piled his clothing on the floor. Steam was rising off the bath water as he stepped in. He took a seat on the bathing stool, his cock throbbing with need. ‘Twas Tiana’s fault. The desire she stirred in him was without equal. It wouldn’t matter how many women he bedded between now and sunrise; he would still not feel satisfied. And the one female who could satiate this carnal appetite wished him to hell.
Alice knocked lightly before entering. “My lord.”
“You’re late,” he barked, then rested his head back against the mosaic tiled wall and watched her through slitted eyes.
“You may punish me later if you wish to, my lord,” she said, her plump lips pouting seductively. Dropping to her knees beside the tub, she immediately began lathering her hands with the soap. She smoothed her way down his chest, making certain to splash her tunic as she worked so that the fabric clung to her pert breasts. Beckett tugged the loose garment from her shoulders so her hardened nipples would be exposed. As he leaned forward so she could wash his back, he provided a similar service for her. His mouth clamped on one of her nipples, and he laved it with his eager tongue. It was not long before she was plunging her skillful fingers into the water in search of his straining cock.
After giving equal attention to her other nipple, he lifted his head. Alice’s nostrils were flaring with each breath. She swept her tongue over her full bottom lip. “If my lord will stand, I shall pour water to rinse the soap away. Then I can be sure that every part is well tended.”
Beckett pushed himself out of the water. Standing on tiptoes, her breasts still naked, Alice poured hot water over his shoulders. With every rinse, her fingers followed a trickle of water to the coarse black hair at the base of his cock. She was soon in a kneeling position again. Her mouth opened like a greedy bird’s, her tongue smoothing over every inch of his balls and from the base to the tip of his erection. As she took him fully into her mouth, he dug his fingers into her hair. She moved her mouth rapidly as she held tightly to the base of his shaft. Closing his eyes, Beckett spent himself in her mouth.
He helped her to her feet. His hot seed had trickled down the side of her plush lips, and she wiped it demurely with her finger.
She straightened her hair and pulled her tunic up over her breasts and onto her rounded shoulders. “Shall I attend you tonight, my lord?”
“If you’d like.” Just as he had assumed, the relief he’d found was only momentary. His demons still plagued him. What pleasure, he wondered, must this woman find with a man whose body was present, but his mind very far away?
Chapter Two
Christiana was reluctant to open her eyes, but the strong hand shaking her arm grew more insistent. Her sleep had been thick and dreamless, due, she was certain, to having a belly full of warm pottage. Blinking into the candlelight, she could see a stout figure leaning over her straw mattress.
“Rouse yourself, lass. You will be helping tonight after all.”
“I will?” Familiar weakness overtaking her, she slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“The master has requested it. What is your name, lass?”
“Christiana.”
“I’m Agnes,” the gray-haired woman said as she walked over to the rack of green woolen dresses and sized one up for Christiana. “You’re terribly skinny, but this should do.” She tossed the garment onto the mattress. “Christiana—that name is familiar. Have you worked in the castle before?”
“My father did. He was the late earl’s manservant.”
“Your father? Do you mean you are Geoffrey’s daughter?”
“Indeed.”
Agnes brought the candle closer to the bed. “I do remember a pretty young thing running around with the two cousins.” Her faded blue eyes inspected Christiana. “Of course, I’d never seen hair that color before or since.” Her gnarled fingers snagged in Christiana’s sleep-snarled hair. “It shimmers like silver. You’re a right beauty.”
Christiana laughed. “’Tis dark in here.”
“Nonsense. I can see very well. Mayhap a little too well.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “The master will have his way,” she muttered under her breath as she plucked the dress from the bed. She tossed it onto Christiana’s lap. “Here, put this on. It is the smallest I have, so it will have to do. And then come to the kitchen to have a bite to eat. You won’t do me much good in your half-starved state.”
The lure of food gave her a burst of energy. Christiana yanked the wooden comb through her hair and changed into the green kirtle. It was loose everywhere but on top. She sighed. No matter the clothing, her ample breasts always jutted provocatively.
Following the sounds and smells, Christiana made her way to the kitchen. The huge stone hearth alive with flames, the giant black cauldron strung over the fire and the familiar hiss as the contents occasionally boiled over all brought back many memories. Every bustling corner had a different, pungent odor, some appealing and some quite wretched. One cook stood at a large oaken table rubbing a mixture of herbs and salt into the naked gooseflesh of plump birds.
The sight of roasting mutton made Christiana nearly dizzy with pleasure. The spit-turner favored her with a leering smile as he wiped his sleeve across his sweat-beaded forehead. Agnes gave the youth a good thump on the shoulder as she waddled past him. “Burn the master’s roast and you won’t have
teeth for smiling,” she chided him.
Agnes shoved a small bowl filled with hot oatmeal and a horn mug with ale foaming over its sides into Christiana’s hands.
“I put a dab of molasses in the oats,” she said with a wink. “We’ll have you fat and round in no time.”
Christiana sipped the frothy head of the ale and searched for a quiet niche in which to eat. A young woman with a braid as thick as a horse’s tail and a rather sullen expression on her face stalked across the room. Christiana’s sleeve brushed the woman’s.
“You’re in the way,” she scolded and delivered a sharp jab with her elbow. Christiana stumbled and winced as her hip caught on the butcher table. The ale sloshed out of her mug soaking the front of her garment. The kitchen workers were beginning to stare in her direction. Christiana shuffled over to a dark recessed wall and leaned against it, attempting to balance her bowl and mug while she quickly downed the contents of both.
Christiana was given the task of pouring water over the hands of diners that needed to wash their fingers. Her assignment was greeted with disgruntled mumbling.
“’Taint fair. I’ve been beggin’ you for that job, Agnes. The pert little bitch saunters in and gets it the first day,” the girl with the braid complained. “’Tis a lad’s job, you said.”
“Hush your squawking, Maud. ’Tis the wish of the master.”
Christiana felt that she would be paying dearly for Beckett’s little favor. It was rather pitiful to think that this was an enviable job. She avoided looking at Maud as she picked up the ewer. The water smelled sweet from the lavender sprigs and rose petals floating on the surface. She moved to stand with the other carriers. Muttering under their breaths, they scooted sideways away from her.
Agnes scoffed. “Like a pack of mongrels afraid of a wee kitty.”
“Next she’ll be letting the wenches carve the meat,” one of the servants informed his companions.
“Meow,” Christiana mocked. Men from all stations of life were an arrogant lot, she decided.
All the women but Maud seemed to find her taunt amusing, and soon a chorus of unearthly feline yowls were directed at the men.
“Leave off! The master will think we’ve gone mad.” Agnes’s gruffness was belied by the shadow of a dimple creasing her cheek. “And, lads, if you don’t stop your grumbling, I’ll have you emptying the chamber pots.”
The vast dining hall was already buzzing with noise. Long trestle tables had been arranged in rows. There were pewter trenchers and engraved drinking vessels for the nobles, and bread trenchers and homely pottery mugs for the rest. While there were a few important looking guests at the high table, Lord Dareford was nowhere to be seen.
Agnes prodded her toward the dais. “Ask them if they’d like to clean their hands, and don’t spill.”
One male guest with dark, leathery skin and an unholy gleam in his eyes gestured with a crook of his finger. Christiana leaned over the edge of the table as he held his hands out to be washed. She poured the water with one hand and caught the spillage in a flat bowl with the other. Bending as she was over the table caused her bottom to thrust out. The man twisted in his chair to get an eyeful.
“I believe I will mention to Dareford that I intend to have a taste of his fair-haired serving wench for dessert.” The lecherous dining guest licked his thin lips.
“And I believe Dareford will be looking for empty wall space amongst the tapestries for a place to mount Sir Alfred’s head.” Beckett’s sudden presence startled the man.
Sir Alfred’s tongue disappeared back into his revolting mouth.
“Lord Dareford, forgive me. I was merely teasing the little wench,” Sir Alfred sputtered. Though he was a hulking man, he appeared to cower before Beckett’s anger.
Beckett’s gaze shifted to Christiana. Though there was a forbidding expression on his face, a roguish glint sparked in his extraordinary dark eyes. There was the tiniest upturn at the edges of his appealing mouth.
“You look better already,” Beckett commented once Sir Alfred had found a safer place at the opposite end of the long table.
“I may appear more robust, but I assure you, I am not happier.”
“’Tis far better than living that dismal existence I rescued you from.”
“Rescued me? Ahh, my knight in shining...” She stopped and looked at what he was wearing. “My knight in blue tunic. How chivalrous of you to come and save a woman who did not wish to be saved! Now, if you’ll pardon me, I am off to enjoy my new existence by washing the foul hands of your even fouler guests.” She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm, tipping much of the water in the shallow catch bowl onto the floor. His long fingers wrapped easily around her thin arm. She stared down at his big, tan hand and then at his face. Any trace of amusement had been wiped from his expression.
“Still an obstinate little girl, Christiana.”
She attempted to wrench free of him, but only ended up spilling the remainder of the water from the clay basin. “I am not a little girl.”
Beckett’s dark eyes assessed her. His gaze lingered on her lips, then drifted downward, settling on her breasts straining the garment. Her nipples pebbled beneath his predatory appraisal. The only sign that he’d witnessed her arousal was a slight flicker of his lids.
“Well, you certainly don’t have the appearance of a little girl, but you behave as one.” He squeezed her arm tighter.
“You are hurting me, my lord,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
The bailiff stood at the base of the dais and directed a barely perceptible signal at Beckett. “Lord Dareford, there are some guests who would like to meet you before you sit down to dine.”
Christiana sighed with relief at the interruption. Beckett reluctantly released her arm and stalked off. She sprinted away, intending to stay well out of reach of his grasp for the remainder of the evening, the remainder of her miserable existence, in fact. Completely flustered, she could still feel the heat of his intense gaze on her lips and breasts.
She soon found herself scurrying from one table to the next in the great hall. Men who bathed once a year were suddenly very fastidious. Many a rogue summoned her repeatedly.
Grease glistening on his chin, the man she now poured for delicately wet his fingers in the lavender scented water. With a wink, he dried his fingers on his beard, shaping it into a devilish point.
Christiana whirled away before he could take a pinch of her bottom and slammed right into Agnes. She stuck her long nose into the pitcher. “Empty again? Draw some more water from the well, but forego the petals. ’Tis starting to smell like a brothel in here.”
Beckett made an effort to be polite to all his guests, save Sir Alfred. The man had wisely wandered to one of the other tables. Beckett kept a vigilant eye on him, ready to make him suffer if he merely breathed in Tiana’s direction. Almost of its own accord, his hand curled into a ready fist. God’s blood, would this gut-eating jealousy plague him forever? How would he keep his sanity when Colin returned? He would most likely ride up in his knightly garb, and all the women, including Tiana, would be swooning at his feet.
At his right, Clement set his knife down atop the pewter trencher with a ringing clang. Beckett tried to shake off his irritation before responding to his advisor’s not so subtle bid for attention.
“My lord, there is an urgent matter,” he said in a harsh whisper as the roast duck and heron were carried to the tables.
Both men held their tongues as the servant forked the meat onto their platters and ladled on the thick, peppery gravy.
“Well, Clement?” Beckett asked once the servant was out of earshot. He ripped off a strip of sauce-drenched meat and pushed it into his mouth.
“Lord Revynwyll’s men have moved west across Pikhorn’s northernmost border. They are freely hunting in his forest. The king is uneasy about the duke’s provocative actions. It is said that Revynwyll’s knights are well trained, heavily armed and merciless.”
Beckett tucked another
gravy soaked piece into his mouth and gulped some wine. “I assume Pikhorn has sent guards to greet them.” Squinting through the heavy haze of candle smoke, Beckett searched for Tiana.
“Lord Pikhorn appears loath to insult the duke. I’ve even heard tell that he has his foresters beating the brush, stirring up game for the hunting party. Yet, I do not doubt that the heiress is the true game the duke hunts. Would it not be wise to make the betrothal a binding thing? I fear Lord Pikhorn could be easily persuaded to forget the spoken agreement he made with your father.”
“Pikhorn is a craven ass, and I’m in no hurry to make him my father-in-law. Nor to share my bed with his whiny, petulant brat of a daughter.” Beckett returned his attention to Tiana. She gracefully skirted a servant balancing a whimsical marzipan sculpture upon a tray. He had always found the way she moved fascinating. Her small feet never seemed to touch the ground.
“’Tis grateful you should be that she has been spoiled so thoroughly by her father. I warrant the only reason Revynwyll has not yet taken her for a wife is because she refuses to have the old goat. But I’ve no doubt Revynwyll will use gold or violence to bring Pikhorn to his way of thinking.”
Beckett could not even pretend to care about Clement’s conversation.
“What the devil holds you so captive?” Clement craned forward to get a better view of the room. In moments, Clement pulled in an audible breath, and Beckett knew his advisor had discovered Tiana.
“Bewitching,” he muttered. “Geoff Calbot’s daughter has grown up even more lovely than I had anticipated. It may have been a mistake for you to bring her into the castle.”
“And, pray tell me, my trusted advisor, why is that?”
“I fear my lord may be blinded by passion and lose sight of the important things like his castle, his holdings and protecting his king.”
Beckett finished the wine in his goblet then returned the vessel to the wooden table with a loud thunk. “You overreach, Clement. Dare you suggest that I have neglected my duties to my vassals and my king?”
The Heat of the Knight Page 2