Linda Skye

by A Pleasurable Shame

  Eustache dismounted in one fluid jump. He ignored the bandits and headed for the small group of village girls who were huddled together by a tree. They were bound and gagged, their eyes wide with fear. Eustache strode over and, without preamble, crouched down before them, eyes searching.

  When his eyes found Giselle, he reached for her and pulled her small body into his chest. She was trembling. Eustache leaned back to look her over. She seemed relatively unharmed, even though hot tears were spilling over her cheeks. He tenderly pulled the gag from her mouth, taking care not to scratch her muddied face. Then, he carefully cut away the cloth bindings around her wrists. She immediately launched herself into his arms, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing her nose to his jaw.

  “Thank you,” she breathed through relieved tears. “Thank you.”

  Eustache stood, taking her to her feet with him. He smoothed her hair with a gloved hand and then gently pulled away. He lifted one hand to beckon to one of his men.

  “Take these girls away from here,” he commanded the man, his eyes still locked with Giselle’s. “To the stream we passed earlier. Unbind them and treat them kindly. You will wait for me there. Go, now.”

  “Yes, mon seigneur,” the man answered, immediately coming forward to usher the other girls away.

  “You go with them,” Eustache told Giselle, his voice dropping low.

  “No,” she protested, shaking her head,.”I do not want to leave you.”

  “You will go with them,” Eustache ordered, his voice firm. “I do not wish for you to see what I am about to do.”

  There was steel in his voice and in his eyes, and Giselle could not subdue a shiver at seeing this other side to him. Though his hand on hers was gentle, his gaze was unyielding. So, she took his hand between hers and pressed it to her chest.

  “Thank you,” she said again, her blue eyes searching his. “I will wait for you with the others.”

  Giselle turned to follow the other girls as they were led away. She ran to catch up and then cast a look over her shoulder. Eustache had turned back toward the bandits. With a clear ring of steel, he fluidly unsheathed his sword. Giselle looked away quickly, her eyes on the back of their guide.

  The small group of young women walked single file after their appointed guardian, speaking only in hushed whispers. In truth, most of the girls could not believe that they had been rescued—because what kind of lord would risk his life and the lives of his men for a group of women? Their eyes often strayed to Giselle, wondering about her relationship to their lord.

  For her part, Giselle ignored their scrutiny and sat alone when they reached the peaceful copse of trees. A shallow stream cut a cheerful path through the forest, its bubbling bright and crisp. The girls cheered up as they splashed into the clear water, washing away the mud and dirt and chattering happily. Giselle hung back and leaned back against the thick trunk of an ancient tree, her eyes trained on their path. She was waiting for her lord.

  Not long afterwards, they all heard the clinking of armour and the hoof beats of lightly trotting horses. The girls clambered out of the stream and stood waiting. The small contingent of warriors entered their little glade, the bandits’ horses on leads trailing after them. Eustache addressed them from above.

  “My vassals will escort you back to the manor, where you will begin rebuilding the village,” he said, voice ringing clear.

  All the women bowed low, murmuring their thanks. Eustache nodded and then speared Giselle with a calm stare.

  “Except you,” he said evenly. “You will stay.” He turned to address one of his men. “See to it that you do exactly as I have instructed,” he told the man, his tone severe. “And I will follow shortly.”

  “Yes, mon seigneur,” the man replied with a nod.

  Within a few moments, the group of women and warriors had moved off, leaving Eustache to stare down at Giselle from where he was seated atop Bayard. She looked up at him serenely. He looked tired but completely unscathed. Fresh blood was splashed in random patters over his armour, but it was already starting to crust between the chain-mail links. With a smooth swing of his leg, Eustache dismounted. He led Bayard to a tree and securely tied his reins to a hanging branch. He turned to face her squarely.

  “Giselle,” he said, his deep voice commanding, “come here.”

  She moved toward him willingly, her eyes never leaving his. He dropped to one knee in front of her.

  “Help me remove the hauberk,” he instructed, lifting his arms above his head.

  Giselle tugged at the chain-mail tunic and pulled it away from his body. It was so heavy that it almost pulled her to the ground. She dropped it, and it landed in the grass with a rattling thud. But when she made as if to pick it back up, Eustache pulled her to him and pressed his face to her stomach.

  “Leave it,” he growled, fiercely tightening his arms around her midsection.

  “Mon seigneur,” Giselle breathed, gently lifting the helmet from his head.

  Letting it drop to the ground, she threaded her fingers through Eustache’s hair.

  “You saved me,” she murmured. “Again.”

  Eustache rose suddenly, easily sweeping her into his arms as he did. He carried her to the edge of the creek and then let her down slowly.

  “You are unhurt?” he asked, cupping her face in his large hands.

  She nodded, giving him a wan smile.

  “Let me be sure,” he said, his voice husky. “Undress for me, Giselle.”

  She had never heard her name said with such absolute longing. She pulled her kirtle and tunic over her head without hesitation, baring her lithe body to his eyes. His eyes travelled over her as his hands mapped her curves reverently. Then, he stepped back to shed his own clothing. Offering her his hand, he slowly led her into the stream. The water was crisp but pleasant, and she eagerly followed his lead.

  Eustache stopped when he found a large, flat stone that rose above the water, parting the path of the stream. He effortlessly lifted Giselle into his arms and then sat down on the rock. He pulled her into a warm embrace, her back to his chest and her slim hips between his thighs.

  “Giselle,” he said, his chest vibrating against her back as he spoke. “Are you cold?”

  “A little,” she admitted quietly.

  “Let me warm you,” he said, pressing his lips to her ear.

  Giselle gasped as Eustache slid his hands down her shoulders, over her breasts and down her thighs. He began to rub her supple flesh in slow, agonisingly wonderful circles, inciting a heat in her flesh that had nothing to do with temperature. A sweet ache began to burn between her thighs, and she shifted, rubbing her backside up against his groin. The stiffness that prodded at her spine did not surprise her, but it did make anticipation spike down to her toes. Eustache grunted and pushed back, placing hot, wet kisses on her shoulder.

  “Not yet, ma cherie,” he muttered at her ear. “Be patient.”

  He cupped water in his hands and let it slide down her body. He rubbed at her skin until it glowed, washing away the grime of her unwanted travels. She moaned at the refreshing sensations, her heated flesh calling out in want. Then, with one hand kneading her breast, his other hand dipped low between her thighs. Giselle’s breath hitched and her spine arched away from his chest as he pressed a long finger against her slit. He pulled her back so that she was tightly moulded to him and then eased his finger deeper. She cried out in pleasure. He began to rub her slowly, stoking her desire into a blazing flame. She twisted against him, her hands fisting. But when he withdrew his hand, she protested with a loud cry. Chuckling, Eustache hooked his forearms under her knees and pulled her thighs over his so she straddled him with her back to his chest.

  He planted his palm between her shoulder blades and gently pushed her forward so that he could guide her hips over his arousal. With a throaty groan, he grabbed her hips and helped her sink down over his erect shaft. She took him into herself willingly, clenching around him eagerly. Bracing herself with her
hands on his knees, she began to pump up and down. His fingers dug into her as he growled his pleasure. And just when she felt that the burning bliss building in her core could be no more intense, he stood suddenly and whirled her around. For a moment he paused, allowing her to grow accustomed to the new position. He stood behind her, his hands gripping her bottom, and she was bent over at the waist with her hands poised on the rock.

  He slowly withdrew but just when his tip had reached her entrance, he thrust forward quickly with his hips flush against her backside. Again, he slowly withdrew, only to slam forward again. Giselle cried out, white lights dancing behind her eyes. Suddenly, Eustache began to pound into her with wild abandon, one hand steadying her at the base of her spine and the other reaching to cup her breast. Giselle wasn’t sure if the cries of pleasure echoing off the stream’s surface were hers or his—but she didn’t care. Just before her knees gave out in a wave of ecstasy, she felt Eustache shudder and release a stream of white-hot liquid into her core.

  He pulled her up to cover her with his arms, still trembling with the aftershocks of their love-making. When the fine tremors finally ceased, Eustache guided Giselle from the stream. They helped each other dress before strapping his armour and weaponry to Bayard’s rump. Eustache easily lifted Giselle up to sit sideways across the front of Bayard’s saddle before swinging up behind her. With her carefully tucked in between the pommel and his chest, they set off at a brisk walk back to the manor.

  When the chateau was visible on the horizon, Giselle finally steeled herself to ask the question that had been burning at the back of her mind.

  “Are my parents…?” She stopped. “Are they…?”

  “They made it safely into the chateau courtyard,” Eustache answered. “They are well.”

  “Merci,” she said. “I’m so glad.”

  Eustache cleared his throat, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

  “I have instructed my men to have Madame Lessard give your mother a job as a scullery maid in the chateau,” he announced brusquely.

  Giselle blinked, stunned at the news.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You cannot be my chambermaid forever” was his curt reply.

  Giselle looked down at her hands. Her chest throbbed painfully. Had her lord grown tired of her already?

  “I cannot,” she repeated slowly. She glanced up at his square jaw. “Will you take another?”

  Eustache’s lips turned down into a dark frown.

  “Another?”

  “Another chambermaid.”

  He looked down to meet her eyes, his gaze softer than she expected.

  “Again, you misunderstand,” he said gently. “I am not releasing you because I want to, but because it is only a matter of time until I am called back to battle by William the Conqueror.”

  “When?” she asked, her heart constricting. “When will you leave?”

  “I cannot say,” Eustache replied, looking back up to the path. “But we shall enjoy each other’s company until then.”

  The chateau loomed before them against a setting sun. Giselle leaned in closer to Eustache.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Until then.”

  Chapter Seven

  The coast was as windy and cold as he remembered it.

  Eustache stood at the edge of his camp surveying the angry grey waters of the English channel as his small entourage rushed to set up tents and start a roasting fire. They had been traveling for a few days and were finally ready to meet the boat sent for him by William the Conqueror.

  Only a few months, he mused to himself as the salty wind whipped his hair into a tousled mess. The days of their last few months together had been steeped in happiness. And by night, they had explored avenues of passion that left them both exhausted and trembling with fulfilment. But he’d only had a few months with his sweet young lover before he’d received the call to arms in England. She had taken the news surprisingly well, her expression stoic yet sad. He hoped she would be well cared for in his absence, and he dared to think that she had not sunk into despair because of the provisions he had arranged for her family.

  They were the best few months of my life, Eustache acknowledged. How he wished to see her face, to touch her cheek and to pull her close to inhale her sweet scent.

  But a darker, more violent future awaited him across the channel. Though William had been acclaimed king at Westminster the year before, there were rumours of a rebel upstart in Kent…which meant that William needed to call back all his best soldiers.

  And that described Eustache de Fiennes perfectly.

  He sighed and turned back toward camp. His tent was pitched, and meat had been spit and was roasting over a fire. As he strode toward his tent, he caught sight of his young groom rubbing down Bayard. The boy was young, but came with his brother’s enthusiastic recommendation. And though Eustache had not yet taken the time to speak to him, there was no denying the lad’s skill with horses. Bayard had been temperamental and edgy with all his other grooms but seemed to accept the slip of a boy immediately. Eustache wondered if the boy would survive the war camps; he was so slight that he was almost feminine. He wandered closer, his eyes quickly inspecting the boy’s work.

  But when he was a few lengths away, he stopped abruptly and stared open-mouthed. The boy was humming a soft tune as he brushed Bayard.

  I know that tune.

  And his strokes were long, even and graceful.

  I know that rhythm.

  Eustache crossed the distance between them in two long strides. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and spun him around, pushing him back into the horse’s flank. The young groom had deep blue eyes and thick dark hair that was cropped short. He had a long, graceful neck, thin shoulders and a slim waist. He stared back up at Eustache, eyes wide and unguarded.

  “You,” Eustache exclaimed.

  The boy—no, the woman—smiled, a mischievous tilt to her lips.

  “Yes.” The voice was melodic and sweet and achingly familiar. “It’s me.”

  Eustache took her by the shoulders and bent forward, his expression helpless.

  “Why?” he asked, nearly speechless with shock. “Why did you do this, Giselle?”

  “Gerard,” she quipped, lightly patting his cheek. “It’s Gerard right now. I am your groom.”

  He shook her lightly.

  “You little idiot,” he growled affectionately. “Do you even know where you are going?”

  “Yes,” she said confidently. “I am going with you.”

  “This is madness,” he said, even as his arm was snaking around her waist. “Madness. What were you thinking?”

  “My parents are provided for, and there is nothing left for me at the manor,” she moaned between hot, open-mouthed kisses.

  “And you thought I would just take you with me?” he asked between a snarl and a groan, his hand reaching to pull one of her legs over his hip.

  “Is there a groom better than me?”

  Eustache stepped back and glowered down in mock anger.

  “No, you are most definitely the most skilled of any groom there is,” he conceded. “But I would have words with you in my tent—away from prying eyes.”

  Giselle grinned up at him teasingly.

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, alone,” he said. “Where your real name will be on my lips, and we shall see if your skill extends to pleasuring a man.”

  She smiled, her bright blue eyes never leaving his. In that moment, Eustache knew he had been conquered, and he yielded willingly to her sweet seduction. He smiled back. Giselle bowed her head in a light curtsey and laughed joyously.

  “Oui, mon seigneur.”

  *

  About the Author

  Linda is a travel addict and a self-proclaimed food critic with an insatiable appetite for the written word. She first developed her love for reading and writing by browsing her grandfather’s dictionaries and etymology books—a habit she has yet to abandon!

  Born to Filipino par
ents in the United States and raised in Canada, Linda is a modern-day nomad, moving across country and ocean with her military husband. She currently lives in the United Kingdom and spends her free time writing, practicing digital photography, updating her food blog and dreaming of adventures at home and abroad. She has travelled throughout North America, Europe, Asia and Africa.

  Linda holds a Master of Education and specializes in teaching languages and literature. She has been teaching English as a Second Language, English literature and literacy courses since 2001. Though she is currently teaching part-time at a local technical college, Linda is a full-time daydreamer with a passion for the strange, mysterious and exotic.

  Enjoy more passion through the ages with the sensual Harlequin Historical UNDONE titles on sale now:

  To Rescue or Ravish? by Barbara Monajem

  Flirting with Ruin by Marguerite Kaye

  The Widow and the Rake by Lyn Stone

  One Reckless Night by Helen Dickson

  The Sheriff’s Last Gamble by Lauri Robinson

  The Debutante’s Ruse by Linda Skye

  For the Highlander’s Pleasure by Joanne Rock

  Behind the Courtesan’s Mask by Marguerite Kaye

  Capturing the Silken Thief by Jeannie Lin

  Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at http://www.Harlequin.com or your local bookstore.

  Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to undone@harlequin.ca.

  *

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  ISBN: 978-14592-3426-0

  A Pleasurable Shame

  Copyright © 2012 by Linda Skye

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.