Once a Knight

by Christina Dodd

  She sat on her heels before him like a supplicant before her lord, and she stared at his body as if deciding how to best achieve her goal. “Philippa knew you were coming in to me?” he asked.

  “She advised it.”

  He nodded slowly. “Did Philippa advise you on your attire?”

  Alisoun glanced down at herself. “She was wrong, wasn’t she? I wanted to wear something a little grander. Something made of velvet and trimmed in lace. But she insisted that simple was best—” Alisoun came to her knees and spread her arms wide, “—and look at me. I’m not attractive at all.”

  The worn linen clung to her hips, and he saw the shape of her thighs and the triangle of color between muted by the gauze above it. A simple bow gathered the material at the neck and held it closed and he could have sworn he saw one end of the ribbon waving to him, begging him to grasp it and pull it free.

  He had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Philippa is a wise woman.”

  Slowly she lowered her arms to her sides. “You like this?”

  He corrected her. “I like what’s under it.”

  She almost smiled. Then, rather briskly, she said, “Well, let’s get on with it. What would you like me to do first?”

  If she’d been more certain of herself, he would have burst out laughing. But beneath that superficial confidence, he sensed a virgin’s self-doubt. “I always like to start with just some cuddling.”

  “Cuddling?”

  He patted his chest. “Lay your head here and rest.”

  “I didn’t come in here to sleep!”

  He could be stubborn, too. “That’s the way I like it.”

  “As you wish.” She hovered over him. “But I wasn’t expecting this.”

  She didn’t seem to be settling. Like a bird sneaking up on a meal, she almost touched him with her hand, then snatched it back. She sat down beside him, then skittered away. She’d been able to make contact to adjust his bandage, but not in an affectionate display. Finally, he had to ask. “What were you expecting?”

  “Philippa said men were always in a hurry.”

  He snapped, “Then I suppose Philippa never bedded me.”

  “Actually, I suppose Philippa doesn’t know too much.”

  She wanted to do this, he realized, but she lacked the nerve.

  She chatted on. “She’s only had the one, although I think she’s talked to quite a few women.”

  Taking her hand, he laid it on his chest near his neck, where the bandage did not cover. “Then Philippa probably knows that men who are in a hurry leave their women wanting.”

  Her fingers flexed. “Wanting what?”

  He slid her hand to his far shoulder, so she leaned across him and had only to make minor adjustment to lie on her side and rest her head on his chest. She didn’t; she remained stiff and uncomfortably upright, leaning on her other elbow. “Cuddle with me and I’ll show you.”

  “Philippa said satisfaction is a myth.” Her elbow skidded along the sheet until her shoulder fit in his armpit and her head hovered above his shoulder. “Philippa said most of the women just snorted when she asked if they enjoyed it.”

  “Then they’ve not been in my bed, either.” He placed his palm on her ear and gently pushed her down the rest of the way. Her arm against the mattress moved restlessly as she sought a comfortable spot for it, and she kept a discreet distance between the length of their bodies. For now, that satisfied him. Tucking the sheet around her, he said, “You need not worry, my lady. I will satisfy you.”

  Sounding surprised, she said, “I never doubted that.”

  Her flattery, for such he considered it, could go to a man’s head. Reaching up, he popped her wimple off and flung it away. “Lie back down.”

  He must have put enough authority into his tone, for she obeyed him. But she hadn’t answered his question, and he would ask again later…when she wasn’t so skittish. “Now we just lie here.”

  And they did. Her head rested on his shoulder, he wrapped his arm around her back and rested his hand against her hip, and at irregular intervals, he’d pat her. At first, she was so stiff she couldn’t stiffen further. Then involuntarily she began to relax, and when he moved his hand, she stiffened again. Then when nothing happened, even when he moved his hand, she relaxed and stayed relaxed, but when he started to rub her with a slow and steady pressure, she asked, “Is this it?”

  “For now.” His hand slid down to the base of her spine and he massaged the muscles there. “If we do no more tonight, there is always the morrow.”

  She started to speak, then no doubt realized that he quoted her, and she settled beside him. But she must have been thinking, wanting to finish this in one efficient event, for on his far shoulder, her fingers curled. As he held his breath, she cupped the joint and pressed it gently, using her palm to stroke the muscles. Slowly she worked her way down his arm, then back up again and across his chest to his neck. There she touched her fingertips lightly to his ear, down his jaw, and along his throat.

  His own hand hung suspended above her back. For a novice, she had very good instincts, and it would not do for him to underestimate her intelligence. Nor would it do for him to allow her to take the initiative. In this matter, at least, he was determined to retain control.

  He moved enough to shift the feathers beneath them and she rolled into him.

  Her fingers stopped their stroking. He thought she’d stopped breathing. The length of her rested against his side, and while she still wore her full-length shift, he wore nothing but a bandage.

  It was the kind of intimacy she most needed to learn. It was the kind of intimacy that made him forget, just for a moment, that he was dominant.

  Then he felt her muscles gather and strain as if she were preparing for some great effort, and she scooted closer. She put her knee over his thigh and moved it up and down a little too briskly. Catching her thigh in his hand, he slowed her down, eased the pressure, made it more of a sensuous dance and less of an activity, and closed his eyes beneath the onslaught of unexpected pleasure.

  “Are we going to finish, now?”

  Her matter-of-fact voice in his ear rallied him. She might know enough body language to arouse him, but her tone needed work.

  Making a special effort to keep his own voice low and seductive, he said, “We’ve barely started.”

  She took her knee away.

  Bit and starts of courage, he diagnosed, followed by fragments of embarrassment and uncertainty.

  “You’ve used some kind of rinse in your hair.” Turning his head, he gathered a handful and sniffed it. “Kind of flowery.”

  “It’s probably marjoram and lemon balm and…”

  She sounded so prim and informative, he wanted to see her face. Gently, he lifted her head and slid out from underneath it, then rolled onto his side and faced her. The sheet stretched taut between them, forming a tent, and she watched him without expression. If he had succeeded in easing her inevitable apprehension, she cloaked that. She still concealed everything from him, all emotion, and he lost inhibitions in one blast of impatience.

  Too good a strategist to let his aggravation show, he allowed himself one brief grin. “It’s delicious.”

  Her eyes widened and she moved back an inch. “You seem distracted tonight.”

  So she had spied something in his face that made her wary. “Why is that?”

  “Discussing the scent in my hair when you could be performing other, more pleasurable duties is not something I had supposed would happen. If you’re too tired—”

  “Why would I be tired?” He scooted down so the top of his head matched her collarbone and the sheet protected his expression from her gaze. “I’ve dozed half the day. Why, this could take all night and I’d have no problem.”

  She took a big breath. He saw it as her bosom jutted out. Then she said, “I have to get up in the morning. It’s already taken longer than—”

  He kissed her breast through the veil of linen.

  “—T
han I’d planned. If we miss—”

  Wetting the cloth with his tongue, he sucked the nipple into his mouth.

  “—Mass.” She took another breath. “If we miss Mass, we’ll have extra penance and I’ll already have more than I—”

  “Keep talking.” With his lips moving against the damp material, he encouraged her. “I can listen.”

  “I have only so much time scheduled.”

  He rubbed the stubble of his beard on the shift, and it snagged the weave of the material. It must have scratched her skin, too, but softly, for she jumped and her hands flexed. The urge to have her out of the shift grew in him, and he reveled in it. Aye, he could prevail without forfeiting passion. But he wanted to see Alisoun, just once, forfeit everything to passion. It should be easy, for she was so unaware. Gravely, he promised, “I will do everything in my power to maintain your schedule, but of course you were planning to sleep here with me.”

  “I was?”

  He kissed lower, finding her navel, skirting the curve of her hip. “Although it would be amusing to see you leave after you have spent so much time in here. I wager every conversation in the great hall would cease.”

  “Everyone who beds in the great hall is asleep!”

  “Have you never slept in a great hall?” He lifted the sheet off his head and looked up at her. She shook her head, and he smiled. “One sleeps lightly, especially when there’s intrigue afoot, and when the lady of George’s Cross visits her defeated mercenary for a night, that’s intrigue of the best kind.”

  “They would gossip about me?”

  “And me, lady. Have you no thought of my reputation?”

  “What will this do to your reputation?”

  “Enhance it, I would suppose.” He dropped the sheet and slid his hands around her hips, turning her onto her back. “So in this battle, I had best provide evidence of expertise for all to see.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I will love you so well none will doubt your pleasure.” She jerked the sheet around her neck and he grinned in the dim light beneath it. That maidenly gesture of dismay only trapped him more tightly with her long slender body. Like a starving man before a feast, he intended to savor each nibble and taste.

  Pressing the shift into the indent of her navel, he watched it spring away as she sucked in her stomach. She was wary again, and if he proposed cuddling once more, she would rise from the bed and never return. Nay, he had to get on with it now—show some efficiency, dazzle her with his skill, make her think he was doing as she wished when actually, he was stealing that vaulted authority away from her.

  He scarcely felt the pain in his ribs.

  Resting his head on her thigh, he blew softly into that sensitive junction where he wished to be.

  “What are you doing?” she asked sharply. But she didn’t lift the sheet.

  “I’m waiting for you to relax your legs. I can’t do what you request without your cooperation, as you no doubt comprehend.”

  She did comprehend, but her cool mind did not have total sway over the impulses of her body. No matter how much she wished it otherwise, she was still an untutored virgin with her first man, and she couldn’t command her knees to part.

  He felt the quiver as she tried, and said, “Let me help.” He inserted his thumb in the space between her thighs and nudged up until he touched the place he knew she would like. “There.” He rubbed her. “More relaxed now?”

  She tensed so much he feared she would splinter. It was going to be tougher than he’d first realized. Lifting his head, he pressed his hand to her diaphragm. “Breathe,” he instructed.

  She inhaled with a deep gasp that told him she’d been holding her breath. When she’d absorbed enough air, she demanded, “What are you doing?”

  “Pleasuring you.” He rubbed her again. “Is it working?”

  “I know not. I only know it makes me want to…”

  She moved her legs restlessly, and he consolidated his position with his knee. “To do what?”

  “To jump up and run or fly or…I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

  “Good.” His free hand rode the shift up from her calf to her hip. He kissed a mole which appeared to the right of her pelvis, then kissed it again because he enjoyed it.

  The movement of his lips on her skin brought her to a half-sitting position. “I wish you’d get out from under that sheet!” she said in her most annoyed tone, but her voice trembled.

  “Why?” He poked his head free of the cover and grinned at her indignant, too-flushed face. “It’s where I’ve dreamed of being since the day I met you. Lift your hips.”

  She opened her lips to argue, then shut them and did as he ordered. Free of her weight, the shift billowed up around her waist, leaving her bare below, and she snatched at the edge of the sheet again.

  “Beautiful.” Ducking his head, he tried to submerge again.

  She caught his hair. “This is not what I’d planned.”

  “If you’ll lie back on the pillows and kiss me, I’ll do whatever you tell me,” he promised.

  “Do you so vow?”

  “Whatever you tell me,” he repeated.

  He could see her examining his statement, trying to see a trick, but she couldn’t conceive of herself so far gone with passion that she couldn’t speak or even think, and so she slid back on the pillows and crossed her hands over her bosom. With a crooked smile, he took her hands and placed them on his shoulders. “It just makes it seem as if we’re doing this together.”

  She didn’t comprehend the jest, and when she tried to ask for an explanation, he kissed her.

  Kissing she comprehended. Kissing they’d done before, and from her response, she enjoyed the touch of the lips, the slow penetration to the mouth, the first taste…. He groaned when she thrust her tongue into his mouth, and he wanted very badly to lever himself over the top of her. But first…his hand tangled in the laces of her shift. They had enticed him long enough, and he slipped the knot free and spread it with his hand. He didn’t like this shift. He didn’t know why he’d told her he did. It was too long, too revealing, and horribly in the way. He wanted it off, and when he placed his palm in the middle of her chest, the thud of her heart encouraged him. She tore her lips free when he cupped her, but he chased and captured them again. She didn’t fight, but caught fire easily, and he began to hope.

  Familiarity warmed her, obviously, and whatever he did, he had to do twice. Once to show her, once to incite her. Inching closer, he stroked the shift all the way open. Her shoulder slipped free, then her arm, then her hand. Lifting her with his arm around her shoulders, he removed the linen and flung it away.

  She struggled to semi-awareness. “David.”

  But he didn’t want to hear her behest, so he touched her as he’d touched her when he’d been beneath the covers. She bucked and moaned, her head falling back on the pillow, her red hair spread across it like writhing flames.

  He was right. He was right. All he had to do was accustom her to each movement, and she followed his lead. He could do that. He could do everything twice.

  Everything except…well, by then he’d have her so far gone with passion she wouldn’t notice. Assuredly, she was a virgin, but men exchanged stories on the night before battle, and he’d heard that a virgin of advanced age softened. He’d been told muscles relaxed and barriers broke with activity.

  With his finger, he entered her, testing the truth of it. She seemed tight, and he frowned. Then she shuddered, and he saw her face. She struggled to regain control so she could evaluate this initial contact. Quickly he withdrew and caressed her as he’d done before, and he vanquished her restraint. Her hands grasped his shoulders and her close-cut nails sank into his flesh. She began the rhythmic motions that invited him inside, and he praised her with a kiss so intimate, it brought tears to his eyes.

  His body hummed with triumph, with gratification, with pure carnal energy. She was his. He knew how to manipulate her now. She was his, and he w
anted inside her so badly…of their own accord, his fingers sank deep within her.

  He watched, but while her eyes opened, she didn’t focus. All of her attention centered on her own body, on her own reactions.

  A selfish loving, this first time, but he never doubted she’d return the favor another time, and what he felt now could scarcely be repeated.

  Was she ready? He was. He was so ready he feared to trust the damp evidence on his hand. But the men around the campfire had said something else, something he’d not understood at the time. The difference between an old virgin and a young virgin, they said, was that an old virgin followed with caution while a young virgin leaped after new adventures.

  That he had confirmed. Now he could only hope their other wisdom proved as true.

  Rising up and over her, he spread her legs and rocked against her.

  This time she focused, saw him, and she stilled as she adjusted to the dominance of his position. He rested on his elbows, holding his weight back, not wanting to frighten her, and he remained still while she thought about how it felt and what would happen.

  Then he rocked against her again, and again, and her already sensitive flesh began to respond. He moved into position slowly, holding himself in suspense as each moment he waited and feared to hear her logical voice instructing him. But although she remained silent, not giving vent to her pleasure, her body reacted to each of his thrusts with first timid, then sure thrusts of her own.

  “That’s it.” He crooned in her ear. “When I’m inside you, do just that.”

  He shouldn’t have said anything, he guessed. He wanted nothing to distract her now, but he was too close and it was going to be so good, and so easy…

  He entered her, but she fit him almost too tightly, if such a thing were possible. He trembled as he held himself in check, moving slowly, slowly. Then he found her maidenhead, and it in no way responded to his gentle movements.

  The men had said older virgins were easy. But the men didn’t know Alisoun. Alisoun was now and would always be contrary.