Purebred (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards #3 )

by Georgia Fox

  Isobel was so grateful she felt obliged to mouth a "thank you". He smiled and licked around her aching nipples to bring them further relief. Then he resumed the fucking as ordered, rough and hard. But he kept his eyes on hers and this time she did not look away.

  Chapter Six

  For the next two nights the couplings continued the same way. The Baron was always present, shouting commands from the foot of the bed while he got steadily drunk. On each occasion Alonso was expected to spend twice at least and he had no difficulty with this rule. The Lady Isobel's body had charmed him as if she was indeed a witch, and he had a never-ending supply of seed.

  But one rule he did not like was the Baron's insistence that the lady get no pleasure from the mating. In defiance Alonso made certain Lady Isobel enjoyed just as many climaxes as did he, although he had to be careful in doing so, for her husband watched them like a hawk. He did not mind how the Baron might take out his anger on him, but he didn't want Isobel punished for enjoying herself. Nor did he want another stud randomly picked out to take his place in bed with her. Suspicious of Louvet and his motives, he sent a message to his brothers. Hopefully one or two would arrive soon and provide reinforcements should the Baron talk of calling on other men to service his wife.

  Each night he sent a tray of food and drink to the lady's chamber with the same discretion.

  Since the Baron had decreed no words would be exchanged between them during the daylight hours, Alonso kept out of her way to avoid temptation, but this only increased his eagerness for the nightfall when he would see her again.

  One morning, while he stood in the yard, talking to a groom, he glanced up at her window and saw her looking down again. She wore a simple gown of emerald wool that matched her eyes. Even from that distance he could admire their brilliant color. Her hair that day was tied in two braids and she looked youthful. While he watched she bit into an apple and chewed slowly, her eyes thoughtful, studying him.

  His first thought was gladness to see her eating, but then the sight of her pink lips settling over the juicy flesh and her small, white teeth tearing into the fruit made his cock pulse and stretch in his chausses.

  When she licked her lips and took another bite he could hear the crisp sound as if she stood right beside him.

  By now he expected her to close her window with a haughty flourish, as she usually would whenever she saw him watching her, but instead she leaned her shoulder to the open shutter and, if he was not mistaken, she had almost smiled.

  The third bite was larger, greedier and made Alonso completely forget his conversation with the groom. He glanced hastily around the yard and seeing no one else watching, he moved closer until he was directly under her window.

  He was still thinking of something to say, when she began to hum a soft, lilting tune. One he recognized as a tune the minstrels often played. Then she began to sing in the tongue of their conquered land.

  Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere,

  Kynd is come of love, love to crave

  Blythful biryd, on me thu rewe

  Or greyth, lef, greith thu me my grave.

  Alonso leaned against the wall below her window, looking out into the yard in case the Baron should appear.

  "You are the bird on my briar, Lady Isobel," he said as she paused her song.

  "You, mercenary, should not speak to me," she replied softly, her voice falling through the air to where he stood, like petals tossed to a serenading lover. "My lord Louvet would not like it."

  "I do not care what your lord likes." He paused. "I care what you like."

  She sang on,

  Hic am so blithe, so bryhit, brid on brere,

  Quan I se that hende in halle:

  Yhe is whit of lime, loveli, trewe

  Yhe is fayr and flur of alle.

  "I need to see you without him," he said suddenly, surprising himself and apparently her too. She paused her song on a hiccup.

  "That is impossible, as well you know."

  "Nothing, Isobel, is impossible."

  "How dare you address me thus?"

  "I thought you were no coward? Is that not what you told me?"

  Silence.

  "Isobel?"

  Crunch.

  "Isobel, I will come to your chamber this afternoon, or you can come to the stables." Louvet would be at his half-built chapel for a few hours, looking over the construction progress and stealing coin from the donation plate no doubt. He had installed a statue that he claimed contained the blood of several martyrs, and with this lure to draw pilgrims from across the land he hoped to collect a tidy amount for his own coffers. It was one of the few times when he left the safe walls of his manor and therefore it would be a rare opportunity for the two of them to be alone together.

  The more Alonso thought of it, the more he wanted it. There was much he could not say or do under the watchful eye of her husband.

  But she resumed her song through a mouthful of juicy apple.

  Mikte ic hire at wille haven,

  Stedefast of love, loveli, trewe,

  Of mi sorwe yhe may me saven

  Ioye and blisse were were me newe.

  "Isobel—"

  "Stop calling me that."

  "‘Tis your name."

  "But I do not call you...Alonso."

  He liked the sound of his name on her lips. "You should." He chuckled. "Better that than Bastard-son-of-a-whore."

  "What do you want from me? You know what Louvet expects. You heard his rules."

  "The d'Anzeray do not care for rules."

  "I wonder what you do care about, mercenary."

  Alonso had no immediate answer, at least none that made any sense. He could hear her scornful comments already if he ever suggested his feelings for her had grown beyond lust. "You will find out if you meet with me in secret, my lady."

  He heard her sigh gustily. "How tiresome you are to stand beneath my window and tempt me with vague promises. Anyone might think you a lovelorn suitor."

  He grinned. "In that case I would be the one singing to you, my lady, not the other way about."

  "I sing not to you, fool! I sing for my own pleasure. Purely that and for no other reason." Crunch. "In any case," she mumbled through another mouthful of apple, "I'm sure I sing better than you."

  "Indeed, Lady Isobel. You would not want me to sing to you, I fear. You would be forced to cover your ears or feel them bleed."

  This time he made her laugh. It was a soft, shy sound he had never before heard and it lifted his heart.

  When she suddenly tossed the remains of her apple down to him, he saw she had scratched a word in the green peel.

  Yes.

  What it meant he had no idea. Yes to what?

  Above his head her shutters closed with a bang, leaving him with her apple. Alonso placed his mouth over the print of her teeth and took a large, greedy bite.

  It did not matter what she meant. It was a 'yes’. That was enough for him, because he already knew she was a woman who found it much easier to say 'no'.

  * * * *

  He was, of course, quite thick-headed, she thought. The man might not realize that her simple word meant she intended to meet him later in the stables.

  As she slipped across the yard an hour later, rain beating on the hood of her mantle, she feared he would not be there. Perhaps he went to her chamber instead. Would that not be a comedy of errors? But there was not enough room on that remaining apple peel to explain herself and with Jeanne's footsteps approaching her chamber she'd had no chance to shout down to him. She had to keep this secret from her maid, for what Jeanne didn't know could not cause her harm.

  Oh, what was she doing? This was madness. Sheer madness.

  If the Baron found out it would be the end of this "servicing" and very likely the end of her heartbeat. A few months ago she had not felt as if there were many reasons to cling to life, but now, suddenly she had several of them.

  She walked quickly through the rain, her head down. But she did n
ot run. That might draw attention to her and make folk look twice. Fortunately, in this dismal weather most residents of the manor took shelter in the great hall where it was warm, so she succeeded in crossing from one side of the yard to the other without meeting a soul who stopped to curtsey or even look at her face.

  By the stable wall she paused to sniff the wild climbing roses that thrived there. Today they held raindrops that nestled amid their petals and made the leaves shine. When wet their fragrance seemed even softer, more poignant somehow. Here in this place of war and dirt and violence, that such a thing of beauty should survive always amazed her.

  Once inside the stables she paused and inhaled a great breath of hay and horse. Familiar smells that reminded her of childhood on her father's castellany, when she hid in the stables to avoid her chores. And her prayers.

  A row of horses peered out at her, some neighing when they recognized her, perhaps hoping she brought them a treat as she often did. She loved horses. Fine, noble creatures and not at all the dumb beasts many thought them.

  Was that when her opinion of Alonso d'Anzeray had first begun to change, she wondered — when she saw him take such diligent care of his horse? He took the same care of her now too.

  "My Lady Isobel, is that a smile on your face? Sakes be, I never thought to see one on your sullen lips!"

  He was sitting in the hayloft, his legs dangling above her head. She could reach up and pull him down by his muddy boots. How could he see her smile from up there?

  "I am glad you came," he said. "Very glad." And a wide smile split across his wickedly handsome face

  How easy it was for him to say when he was happy or sad, she mused. He did not seem to mind showing his feelings, yet she'd always been taught to keep hers well hidden.

  Isobel asked if there was anyone else there and when he assured her they were alone, she mounted the rickety ladder to the hayloft. The hood of her cloak fell back as she looked up at him. "I hope you realize what a risk we both take."

  His smile did not falter. "I'm not afraid of Louvet."

  "But he could put an end to...things...as they are now."

  He took her hands and pulled her down beside him in the warm hay. "You mean to say you do enjoy your nights with me, woman? That you would miss me if I was sent away from you?"

  She swallowed, nervous suddenly.

  "There is no one here but me," he whispered, still smiling. "You may admit your weakness for this uncouth mercenary and no one but the two of us will ever know. So you can deny it later if need be."

  "Oh, hush!"

  Suddenly he leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. Isobel was one and twenty years of age and had never been kissed on her lips. Never. Not by anyone.

  And this had been strictly forbidden by her husband.

  But now he was not there.

  It was just the two of them.

  She raised her hand to his face and felt the stubble of an unshaven cheek. He was warm and so full of life it brought foolish tears to her eyes again. This man was an unstoppable force and he had claimed her. Not just her body. Her interest. Her curiosity. Her amusement. Perhaps even her heart? No, she could not believe that. Could not afford to think that, for this would not last forever, would it? He would leave soon, his tasks done. Then she would probably never see him again. Pain ripped through her. The only way to stop thinking was to kiss him back. To kiss him with all her strength and desire, to cling to the time they had left.

  His tongue tangled with hers, hungry, eager, needy. Together they fell back into the soft hay and she ran her hands over his broad, muscular shoulders, down his arms, linked her fingers with his.

  As their mouths parted at last she whispered shyly, "I like what you do to me, mercenary."

  "Oh, you do?" His brow arched. another slow, sensuous smile working over his fine lips.

  She reached the leather binding that tied his hair at the nape of his neck and loosened it until most of his dark, straight hair spilled free. "Yes. And you may do it to me again now, if you wish."

  "Oh, may I?"

  She nodded, trying to remain solemn.

  "Only if you call me by my name," he said, his dark gaze playing over her mouth and then down to the side of her neck where she feared he must see the erratic pulse beating.

  Isobel took a deep breath. "Alonso. Make love to me, Alonso."

  His eyes opened wider and then he kissed her neck, her chin, her lips again.

  They rolled together, fumbling for laces and hooks, getting hay in their hair, not caring in the least.

  He slid his hands up over her stockings and cupped her pussy with his warm hand. "I want you to bear my child, Isobel. Christ, I want it. I want it more than I ever thought possible."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down for another kiss. "Yes. Give me a babe." It would be a part of him, of them both. A lasting treasure she would see grow into his image, long after he had left her. He would leave one day, of course. It was inevitable. He made his living by traveling from place to place and fighting for those who hired him.

  The thought of watching him leave was like the thrust of a sword through her heart.

  Quickly she reprimanded herself for pondering his departure again. No dour thoughts, no sadness. Not today.

  "I need you," she whispered.

  He laughed softly, his head bowed. "Well, in truth you need my cock."

  She tugged on his hair until he looked at her. "I need you. Alonso."

  He blinked and she thought she read a tender question there, lightening the usual dark shadows of his eyes. But instead of speaking, he entered her swiftly. She was more than ready. The thick ridges of his cock slid into her as if they kissed her inner walls and she clung to him, gasping in delight at this stolen pleasure. Alonso hooked her leg over his arm and plowed deeper still, grunting her name, planting damp kisses along her shoulder and then back up the side of her arching neck. Despite the urgency of their desire, there was gentleness today, a new warmth that filled every inch of her.

  They kissed until their lips were numb, making the most of their chance, breaking all the rules.

  Was this what it felt like to be enthralled by a man? To want his touch and his kiss at the risk of her own life? She feared it was so. He had tricked her into it. The bastard!

  Later, as they lay in the hay, legs wrapped around each other, she asked him about his infamous brothers.

  "First there is Salvador, then Dominigo, Raul, then me, then Sebastien, Antonino and Ramon." He paused. "Hmmm, maybe Ramon then Antonino. I forget who is youngest."

  "You all share the same mother?"

  He nodded. "My father never married her. He had a wife already."

  "You are close with your brothers."

  "Very. We are loyal, steadfast—"

  "And you share your wives."

  Alonso smiled. "This is uncouth to you no doubt."

  "I do not know what it is," she admitted frankly.

  He tried to explain. "When we find something good why not share it with the brothers we love? Why be selfish? Besides we cannot all be home at once. This way they always have a husband to help." He winked. "A husband to shout at. Would you rather have one man to protect you or seven?"

  Isobel thought about it. "It's not the protection part that puzzles me. It's the seven men sharing me part. In bed."

  "Not just in bed, Isobel," he replied with a wicked grin.

  She feigned disgust. "And all seven at once?"

  "Sometimes. It depends."

  Her pussy was moist again already and since he had just slid his hand between her legs again, he would know it. "Six more all like you?" she murmured throatily.

  "Uh huh. Some even more handsome than me."

  She looked askance.

  He laughed. "Truly."

  "I don't believe that for a moment, Alonso d'Anzeray." A few moments later he was still laughing, and she had to remind him to be quiet before someone heard them in the hayloft.

  Chapter Sev
en

  "My lady, you look very happy today," observed Jeanne as she poured water to rinse Isobel's hair.

  "Do I? Goodness," she replied wryly, "I cannot think what has come over me." But she knew what had come inside her, many times now.

  "Are you cold, my lady?"

  "Not at all. The water is warm."

  "Oh, I thought I saw you shiver, my lady."

  Isobel leaned back against the side of the wooden bathtub and took in a great breath of lavender and sage. "Perhaps I did."

  Jeanne set the bucket down and knelt beside the tub. "Is it because of him?"

  Isobel turned her head. "Him? What can you mean?"

  "The Blackheart," Jeanne whispered, her eyes full and round. "The things he does to you."

  A quick spurt of laughter shot out of Isobel. She simply could not hold it back in her current giddy mood. "He makes me happy, Jeanne. There is no other way around it. I tried to resist his allure, believe me. No doubt this is how he enchants all his female victims."

  The maid sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I thought so, my lady. But now he will go away and you will be sad again."

  The water suddenly felt colder. "Have you heard talk of him leaving?"

  "I heard the Baron say that Blackheart has almost fulfilled his duties here and will not be needed much longer. Good riddance, I say."

  Of course. It would soon be known whether she was pregnant or not. If there was a child in her belly the Baron would not want Alonso hanging around any longer. He would be paid off quickly and given his marching orders.

  She looked down at her breasts, just visible above the water. They appeared a little fuller than usual and her husband had remarked upon it last night when he watched the mating ritual. He had handled them in his sweaty palms, bouncing them, testing their weight. But a slight tenderness and increase in size could also be due to her forthcoming flux, as she had pointed out to him.