“Enid, the miller’s wife, will nurse her from now on,” Mairin replied, reaching out to fondle a familiar masculine buttock. “Do you mind?”
“No,” he mumbled from the valley between her breasts as his two hands gently crushed the flesh of those breasts. His tongue stroked back and forth along that deep dale. He was mounted upon her, his thighs imprisoning her. He sat back now to play with those twin temptations, and she reached out to cup and fondle his sex.
“I love your manhood,” she said softly as she caressed him. “When it is little and at rest it has the sweetness of a child, but I love it best when you grow long and thick and hard for me, my Josselin. I love it when you fill me full of yourself, and that great beast throbs its message of love within me.”
“Do you want me to fuck you now?” he demanded.
“Yes! Oh, please, yes!”
“You are impatient, enchantress,” he said, tweaking her nipples teasingly. “Passion, like good wine, should be savored.”
“One can always savor the second cup, my lord,” she answered, teasing a pearl of fluid to the tip of his manhood, “but when one is dying of thirst, one should drink!”
“Oh, you tempting bitch!” he groaned, entangling his big hands within her thick hair to cup her head, and raise her up so he might kiss her. Their mouths fused bruisingly together, and he felt her guiding him into her body at the same moment that she slipped him her tongue. For a moment he was shocked by the incredible sensation of total bliss that engulfed him. Then slowly regaining his control, he began to move rhythmically upon her.
Mairin shuddered with pure pleasure as she guided the hot length of him within her, and felt him filling her. It was incredible that after all this time their passion for each other only deepened and grew. At the moment he had entered her she had pushed her tongue within the cavity of his mouth, and she had felt a tremor go through him. It always thrilled her that she could make him as weak with excitement as he made her. Pulling her mouth away from his she turned her head, and with her teeth worried at his earlobe. The pointed end of her tongue swept about the shell of his ear, and she blew gently. “Fuck me, dearling,” she whispered frantically at him. “Oh, fuck me!”
He needed to master her this night. The blood lust was still hot in his body, and he had a need to dominate. Sitting back upon his heels, still buried within her, he yanked her arms up and pinioned them along the side of her head. Leaning forward slightly, he thrust fiercely into her, and then drew himself almost completely out of her body, only to drive forward once more. Her whimpering, mewling cries urged him to greater passion.
With each thrust of his pelvis a shower of stars exploded within her brain. His ferocity frightened her somewhat, and she half-struggled against him. With a low growl of hunger he forced her to his will, finding her mouth again, and kissing her with such ardor that she almost fainted. It had never been quite like this. There had always been passion and tenderness between them. This was wildness, a wildness that brought sudden, intense pleasure and elation.
Then her fear was gone, and she pushed up to meet his downward thrust. His fierceness had unleashed an equal fierceness within her. She desired him so very much. She had longed for him all the long nights of their separation, wanted him with a burning hunger she had never before experienced in her life. Her nails raked down the smooth expanse of his back, and he groaned.
“Ahh, enchantress, how I have missed you! How I have hungered for you!”
Together they thrashed back and forth upon the bed, and the lush furs she had brought to keep them warm went flying in the fray. The low camp bed shook with the force of their lovemaking. Then suddenly they gained the crest of the wave together, and he discharged his living tribute into her garden of delight, collapsing upon her breasts with a low moan. Her arms went slowly about him in an instinctive movement. Together they lay panting, their bodies covered with a fine mist, sudden exhaustion claiming them before they might even pull the furs back over them.
They slept, but shortly Mairin awoke to find the braziers burning low. The air was chilly, and forcing herself up she winced at the cold, hard earth beneath her feet as she moved about the tent collecting the furs and placing them back upon the bed. When she had completed her task she was surprised to find Josselin awake, and pouring them some wine. They snuggled beneath the furs, sipping at the heady red wine.
“It is past the midnight hour,” he said softly, “and it is now three years we have been wed.”
“I hope in this year we may have peace in England,” said Mairin, “so that the child I will conceive may rest easy.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you. You are my lord, and my life now, Josselin de Combourg. May our marriage last three times, three times, three times three years!”
“Is that not forever?” he teased her.
“Aye, my lord! It is forever!”
“Ahh, enchantress,” he said, replacing the cup upon the stool, and taking hers to set by it, “I think the time has come to savor our passion since we have already drunk deeply from its well.” Then enfolding her in his embrace, he made her drunk with his kisses.
Chapter 14
Christmas Day dawned grey and cold. There was a threat of snow in the air. At midnight the bells in the burnt-out churches in and about York had begun to toll in an old tradition which warned to the Prince of Darkness that Christ had triumphed by his very birth. They had celebrated the first Mass of Christmas in the same large tent that hosted the evening’s meal. A makeshift altar had been raised at one end of the room, and the candles flickered eerily. The tent was packed full, for few had dared to ignore the king’s summons to York. It might be an odd Christmas court, but William’s point was well taken.
Kneeling upon the hard cold ground, Mairin suddenly felt as if someone was watching her. Careful not to raise her head she surreptitiously glanced around her, but everyone else was silently shivering and bowed in prayer. Still she could not shake the feeling of being spied upon. When the service had concluded she quickly looked about, which she had not been able to do previously. In the rear of the tent, making a hasty exit, she thought she saw a man who resembled Eric Longsword, but surely that could not be. She shivered.
“Are you cold, sweeting?” Josselin asked solicitously of her.
“Josselin, I thought I just saw Eric Longsword in the rear of the church. What would he be doing here? The last time we saw him he was one of Eadric the Wild’s lieutenants.”
“But you said he had sworn fealty to the Atheling, Mairin. He must be in Scotland with him.”
“Then why is he here? If he were with Edgar the Atheling he would be in Edinburgh or wherever the Scots’ king celebrates the feast of Christmas.”
“Are you certain it was Eric Longsword, Mairin? Mayhap it was someone who reminded you of him.”
“No,” she said slowly. “I am sure it is Eric Longsword. I felt as if someone were staring at me the entire Mass. The back of my neck kept prickling. When I turned about, there he was. I only saw him for a minute, but he was here.”
“Perhaps he is with Gospatric or Waltheof, sweeting. If he is one of their men now it isn’t suspicious that he be here. Many of their people are beginning to drift into York preparatory to the pardon of their masters. Your mother has said that Eric Longsword had a passion for you. You cannot blame him for looking, Mairin. I should not like to lose you, and if I ever did, you would be hard to forget.”
“I am glad that we are going home tomorrow,” she said. “York is a grim place now.”
“My lord de Combourg?” A royal page stood by Josselin’s side.
“Yes, lad? What is it?”
“The king would speak with you, my lord. I am to take you to him.”
“I must escort my lady to our tent first, lad,” said Josselin. “You will be safe there, Mairin. Loial will stay with you.”
She nodded. She wasn’t about to argue with him. She had no desire for another run-in with her rejected woul
d-be suitor. When they reached their little shelter, Josselin kissed her. “Do not be long, my lord,” she said softly.
He touched her face gently, and smiled into her eyes. “I will give the king short shrift, enchantress.” Then he turned to his squire. “Stay with your lady, and protect her as you would protect me, Loial.”
“Yes, my lord!” Loial was sixteen, and very serious. A second son, the child of a cousin of Josselin’s father, the Comte de Combourg had sent Loial to his eldest son on the eve of his departure for England. Raoul de Rohan had known that Josselin would make his fortune in England, and his cousin’s son needed training as a squire before he could be a knight. For younger sons there was only the church or knighthood. The boy worshiped his master, but he silently adored Mairin. This opportunity to prove his manhood in her eyes was a precious gift.
Mairin didn’t need to be told of the young squire’s devoted admiration for her. It was terribly obvious, for Loial was still too young to know how to mask his feelings from a woman. “It is cold, Loial. Would you like to join me within the tent?” she invited him.
Loial flushed, and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing almost painfully in his throat. “Thank you, my lady, but I had best remain on guard outside.”
“Aye, perhaps that would be better,” she agreed, “but if it grows too bitter, or if it begins to snow, you are welcome to come within. You will be no use to my lord with a chill and a fever.’ ”
“Thank you, my lady.” He drew the flap of the narrow entry back so she might go inside. As the flap fell shut and she attempted to adjust her eyes to the dimness, a powerful arm was unexpectedly clasped about her throat.
“If you struggle I will break your beautiful neck. That would be a great tragedy, Mairin Aldwinesdotter,” a soft voice hissed in her ear.
Mairin forced herself to relax. She was actually terrified, but she knew if she lost control over her emotions, he would have the upper hand.
“That is better, my pet. Now I am going to release my hold about your neck, but if you cry out, or in any way try to alert that beardless youth who so zealously guards you, I will kill him. Do you quite understand me?” His other hand smoothed over her breasts in a lingering caress.
“Aye,” she managed to rasp, pushing his hand away.
He reluctantly loosened his grip on her, and she whirled about to face him.
“I knew it was you, Eric Longsword! I saw you at the back of the church, and I told my husband.”
“Who probably does not believe you, but to soothe your female nature, has given orders to his unfledged squire to guard you. Do you really think that boy could overcome me in battle?”
“What do you want?” she demanded of him.
“You! You belong to me, and I have come for you!” There was an unpleasant glitter in his blue eyes.
“My husband will kill you,” she said quietly.
“He won’t know what has happened to you, Mairin Aldwinesdotter, but come! We are wasting valuable time.” He reached for her again, but she recoiled from him.
“I have no intention of going anywhere with you, Eric Longsword! Are you totally mad?”
It was the last thing she remembered. His fist shot out, catching her on the jaw, and then the darkness rushed upward to claim her. He caught her neatly with one strong arm before she might fall and arouse the young squire guarding the entry. Slinging the unconscious woman over his shoulder, Eric Longsword drew back the flap he had previously cut in the rear of the tent, and departed. She did not know how long she was unconscious, but when she gradually began to become aware of herself and her surroundings once again, her first thought was that it was cold. And wet. She shook her head to part the cobwebs. She was in the most uncomfortable position. She struggled to raise herself, but a hand pressed into the small of her back pushing her back down. She was slung head-down across a horse’s back.
“Lie still!” he growled at her.
“Let me up!” she demanded. “Where are we?”
“We cannot stop now,” came his reply.
“If you do not, I shall vomit!” she threatened.
Reluctantly he drew his horse to a halt, and sliding from his saddle, pulled her from the animal’s back. On her feet again she swayed dizzily as the blood rushed from her head, her eyes widening in shock as he took a dog collar from his pack. Fastening it about her neck, he attached a long leather lead to a small metal ring set into the collar. Then remounting he reached down, and pulled her up before him on the horse. He took up his reins in one hand, firmly wrapping the leather lead about his other hand.
“Where are we?” she repeated as they once more got under way.
“Outside of York,” he answered.
“Where are we going?” she persisted.
“Scotland,” he said tersely.
“Josselin will kill you,” she said again, “and I will help him! How dare you steal me away? You are a beast of the worst sort, Eric Longsword!”
“Be quiet, Mairin Aldwinsdotter!” he told her, and yanked upon her lead for emphasis.
She choked as the collar momentarily tightened. “My head is getting wet,” she said, refusing to be cowed by him. “Let me at least pull my hood up, or would you have me catch a chill and die?”
“Very well.” He grudgingly adjusted the angle of the dog collar and its lead. Then he allowed her to pull up the fur-lined hood of her cloak. “Now be silent,” he ordered, “or I will gag you.”
The day was gloomy. A light snow was beginning to fall. Steadily they plodded onward through the gray, and Eric Longsword seemed to know exactly where he was going. Mairin tried to identify any kind of landmark. She considered tearing small bits of the cloth hem from the inside of her cloak so she might leave a trail for Josselin to follow, but the snow would soon cover it. The silence unnerved her.
“How did you get me to your horse?” she asked him.
“I slit the back of the tent,” he said quietly. “I had my mount waiting there.”
“Josselin will follow us,” she said angrily.
“First he must determine in which direction I have taken you. Only then can he follow, and the snow will have covered our trail long since. If he decides we have gone north, where north? You have seen the last of Josselin de Combourg, Mairin. Now you belong to me.”
He is mad, she thought. I must escape him, but how? Up ahead she could see the huddled figures of several other horsemen, and she prayed they would be King William’s men. The king’s men would help her. The waiting men, however, were Scots.
“Ye took yer time in getting here,” grumbled the obvious leader. Then he smiled, showing a mouthful of rotting, blackened teeth. “I see ye brought us a wench. Yer a thoughtful fellow, Eric Longsword.”
“The woman is mine, Fergus. She’s my wife taken from me by the Normans several years ago. I’ve just retrieved her, that’s all.”
“He’s a liar! I’m—arrgh,” she choked as he fiercely jerked her lead, and the collar tightened once more.
Fergus’ eyes narrowed. “What’s this? The wench doesn’t seem particularly willing for someone ye claim is yer wife, Eric Longsword.”
“Her silly head has been turned by Norman luxuries, and she was loath to leave King William’s court,” Eric replied. “Nonetheless, she is mine. She will soon remember her place, even if I have to beat her black and blue to jog her faulty memory. Let’s ride, Fergus! We’re still too close to York for safety’s sake.”
“Aye,” the Scot agreed. “I’ll not feel safe until we’re cozy within the Cheviots.”
They rode for the rest of the day, and with each hour they rode, the storm grew worse. Finally spotting a farm, they approached it and found an abandoned stone cottage which was fairly large and incorporated its stables. The roof on the building was sound, however, and there was fuel for the fireplace stacked neatly, though from the looks of it, the farmhouse had not been lived in for several years. Cracking the ice on the well they drew up several buckets of water, and saw the ho
rses stabled amid the moldy hay.
To her surprise, Mairin discovered three women riding with the Scots. They looked at her with hostile eyes, but one of them was brave enough to finger her heavy wool cloak admiringly. Supper consisted of dried beef strips, oatcakes, and water. Mairin ate automatically. She knew she must keep up her strength if she was to escape. Wrapped in her warm cloak she huddled by the fire chewing slowly upon the tough beef. The Scots left her to herself, even the women now, and after a while flasks came out, and were passed about. Outside they could hear the howl of the rising storm, and small puffs of snow slipped through the cracks in the stone cottage to puddle upon the floor in the new warmth of the room.
Two of the men slipped off with two of the women. The men returned after a while, their places taken by two others. Whatever was in the flasks seemed to be loosening the tongues of the taciturn Scots.
“So yer wife has spent the last few years spreading her legs for the Normans,” said one of the men. “I don’t know why ye want her back. I’d have left the whore where she was.”
Eric took a long swig from his own flask. “She’s not to blame. They came to Aelfleah, our home, while I was away. Don’t think, however, that I don’t mean to punish her nonetheless. I intend giving her a good beating tonight followed by a thorough fucking. She always liked my fucking. She’ll jog her hips which will jog her memory, and then all will be well between us again.”
They didn’t see her get up from her place, but suddenly Mairin was amongst them. “You whoreson!” she shrieked. “You are not my husband and I’ll kill you before I’ll allow you to lay a hand upon me!”
Eric Longsword’s hand made contact with the side of Mairin’s head before her words had died in the air. He followed the first blow with a second one, and the Scots grinned at one another. The man surely knew how to handle his woman.
“Will ye be needing any help?” said Fergus hopefully.
“Nay,” came the reply, and taking the hanging lead up, Eric dragged the surprised Mairin from the cottage’s main room through the door into the stables. “I’ll attend my wife now lest her screaming disturb your rest,” he said to his companions. They grunted approval of his actions.
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