She wound to a conclusion as he pushed the empty plate away. He stretched mightily, easing muscles that had grown stiff during the long day, then turned to eye her speculatively.
Engrossed in her closing arguments, she didn’t notice. “The matter, lord, is quite clear. Tis your bounden duty to correct the oversight, and, as it happens, tis no difficulty to rectify the omission.”
He leaned back, crossed his arms behind his head, and studied the roof. He knew she was right, but it was pleasant to hear her behaving as his wife. “Lady, thirty-three baptisms will take all day. My men will not wish to dally—not unless I make them free of the town, which I will not.”
“Nay—tis one ceremony only. Tis perfectly acceptable they be done all together.”
Bilder and the robin entered. While they cleared the board, Alaun considered how best to wring victory from the adversity currently besetting him.
“So”—he lowered his gaze to Bilder who, correctly interpreting it, secured the tent flap behind him—“you would have me stand sponsor to all these children, none of whom are mine, I might add.”
Her fractional pause told him that she had wondered. “Tis not such a great burden,” she returned. “Your wagons are heavy with plunder, and these children, after all, are the outcome of the campaign.”
Deciding he would definitely have to share that gem with Roland—and Edward, when the king next commented on Alaun’s haul—he sleepily eyed the canopy. “And how think you this mass ceremony would be accomplished?”
“Why, tis straightforward, lord. The priests at the cathedral would be more than happy to perform the ceremony.”
“For thirty-three times the usual tithe? I make no doubt.”
“Nay, twould be a matter to be agreed. Twould be more than one baptism, but not, to my thinking, more than two.”
“And I would have to bestir myself tomorrow morn to see the priests and arrange this matter?”
Eloise raised her brows. “Tis difficult to see how it might be done otherwise. They are your villeins.” Frowning, she added, “But you are always up betimes, and the train will not be moving on awhiles, for Sir Eward has to go to market, if you recall.”
“I recall well enough the boons I have granted you, lady, but for your information, the column moves out as usual tomorrow. The crossing over the Severn will take hours. My lieutenants will have it in hand through the morn.”
She quickly adjusted her plans. “But that is no impediment. The baptism could be performed in the morning, and the women and babes could rejoin the column before it quitted the town. I, too, would ask permission to visit the market with Sir Eward. There are herbs I would restock, if I can.”
“Lady, if I am to be standing sponsor to thirty-three babes, you may rest assured you will be by my side throughout.”
She grimaced, then glanced at him. “Perhaps there’ll be time to visit the market after the service?”
Alaun heaved a heavy, artistically disgruntled sigh. “Why, lady, do I see my whole morning going in pursuit of your plans?”
There was no viable answer to that. She kept mum.
“If I grant you this boon—these boons—thirty-three baptisms plus a visit to the market”—he lowered his gaze until it met hers—“what will you grant me in return?”
Eloise blinked, dazzled by his golden eyes. “You wish a boon, lord?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “One boon in compensation for thirty-four. Tis not too much to ask, I think.”
He looked sleepy, lazy, a golden lion just waiting to purr. She wasn’t deceived—he wasn’t sleepy at all. He was hungry, and she was the prey his golden gaze had fastened on.
Subduing the shiver that rippled through her, she calmly arched a brow. “What is this boon?”
He smiled. “Tis a fantasy I have.”
“Oh?” A delicious wariness tickled her spine. He rose and held out his hand; she hesitated, then placed her hand in his. As he drew her to her feet, she quickly asked, “This fantasy—what does it involve?”
“Tis purely imaginary.” He drew her around the table, then closer still, until she stood pressed breast to chest with him, firmly locked within one muscled arm. He smiled down at her. Then he lowered his head; his lips found hers in a slow, easy caress, a caress that left her hanging, waiting, hungry for more.
“Tis a simple enough situation.”
The words drifted featherlike past her ear. His lips traced the arch of her brow from forehead to temple, then swooped to brush her parted lips once more.
“Tis me, in my castle, but in my fantasy I have a wife.”
“A wife?” She turned her head and trapped his lips with hers.
“Aye,” he breathed as he drew away again. “A wife who is haughty and imperious—just like you.”
Alaun kissed her before she could think too much on that. Disengaging, he continued, “She has been at me to correct some oversight—she’s been nagging me for days, like an burr trapped under my shirt. Her tongue is sharp-edged and her complaint is valid—tis a situation many men find both aggravating and arousing.”
“Arousing?” She blinked large, lustrous eyes at him, as if she couldn’t focus.
He smiled. “Aye, tis a fact few women realize.”
Eloise certainly hadn’t, but before she could come to grips with the concept, he was speaking again.
“In my fantasy, I have finally done her bidding—rectified whatever omission I have made—and am on my way to claim my reward.”
“Reward?”
“Aye.” Bending his head, he trailed kisses from her collarbone to her jaw. His hand settled at her waist, gripping but not tight enough. “Tis afternoon. She’s in the solar with her women. When I enter, she’s standing by the table.” Raising his head, he glanced at the oak board beside them. Then his golden eyes, flame-etched, returned to hers. “I order her women out, and they close the door behind them.”
His lips found hers; still held firmly in his arm, she strained upward to meet him, but he held back, keeping the contact light, tantalizing—two steps short of satisfying. As their lips parted again, she sighed. “And then?”
“Then I tell her I’ve done her bidding.”
His hand left her waist; fingertips trailed from her brow to her ear, dipped into the hollow behind, then lazily traced her throat, stopping on the spot where her pulse beat wildly.
“I acknowledge her right to correct me in such matters, as a good wife should.”
Languidly, his lips followed the path his fingertips had traced. She shivered.
“She’s pleased—she preens.”
She laced her fingers through his hair, sucking in a quick breath as his tongue stroked the pulsing vein at her throat. “What happens next?”
“I smile, and tell her she must now pay the price—the price of being my wife.”
Silence ensued; slowly straightening, he broke it, his voice softly challenging. “Will you pay the price tonight, lady-witch?”
Breathless, her lashes screening her eyes, she looked into his, and found them burning. “I’m not your wife.”
His lips curved; she licked hers.
His smile broke; he bent and feathered a kiss across her hungry lips. “Lady, you have nagged me this day—who else but my wife has that right?”
She caught his face between her hands and kissed him. Still he held back, denying her the satisfaction she craved. “What price do you speak of—that your wife must pay?”
“Nay, tis simple enough. Nothing more than a wife’s duty.”
“What?”
He chuckled. “Tis merely that she should provide me with my just deserts.”
She tried to draw back; she wished she could frown. Instead, her body thrummed with a need she couldn’t deny. She met his gaze; his expression was mild, yet distinctly challenging. “What happens in your fantasy?”
His chest swelled. “I take her in my arms—thus.” He drew her about so her back was to the table.
She went readily, twining he
r arms about his neck, pressing herself to him as his arms tightened about her.
“And then I taste her—thus.” He did, long and deep.
She welcomed his invasion. She melted against him; as the kiss went on, she felt her body awaken, stirring against his. He retreated to nibble tantalizingly at her lips.
“I taste her lips.” He took them in a swooping kiss. “And her tongue.” He demonstrated with a slow, shatteringly possessive kiss, his tongue gliding over hers, twining and inciting her passion. “And her breasts.”
His voice had dropped to a husky growl. She glanced down to find her laces all undone and her chemise yielding to his quick fingers. He laid her breasts bare, then cupped a firm mound in one palm, caressing the soft peak with his fingers before bending to take it into his mouth.
As his tongue swirled about the sensitive bud, she let her head fall back, her body arching, offering herself more fully to him. Her fingers twined in his hair, holding him to her; she gasped as he suckled deeply. Then she felt his hands at her waist, pushing her clothing down. Her skirts fell with a soft whoosh to the ground.
Alaun released her breast and lifted her to sit on the table. His hands on her back, stroking her silken skin, he brushed his lips across hers until she was ravenous for his kiss—then kissed her deeply, slanting his head over hers as he lowered her to the polished board.
He raised his head. She lay before him, naked and delectable. He smiled into her wide, dark eyes, then let his gaze wander slowly down, over her slender limbs and womanly curves. She was breathing rapidly, her breasts rising and falling, her belly taut with anticipation. His smile deepening, he returned his gaze to her face. Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers. “And I taste her sweet honey, my lady-witch.”
Eloise heard, but did not, immediately, grasp his intent. Even when his lips trailed down her body and the first inklings trickled through the rapturous haze, she could not, even then, credit her imaginings. He couldn’t—wouldn’t. Not there.
But he could—and did—with paralyzing slowness, having first reduced her to a quivering, barely sentient being, her mind flooded with fire as his mouth moved from aching peaks to equally aching hollows, the touch of his lips laying flames beneath her skin. He tasted her—all of her—his tongue following each contour of throat and shoulder, tracing the smooth curves of her swollen breasts, pausing to lave the tight buds of her nipples before exploring further, outlining her waist with long rasping sweeps before thrusting provocatively into the hollow of her navel.
By then, she was writhing between his hands, trapped by the sweet pleasure of his loving. When his hands parted her thighs, she sighed, sure he was going to possess her. She opened herself eagerly, anticipating that delight. Instead, she felt the soft caress of his fine hair against her sensitive skin, then feathery butterfly caresses as his lips trailed light kisses along her inner thighs.
It was too late to close them. She moaned and arched, insensibly sure she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he touched her there. She would go wild, explode, disintegrate.
She did all three when his lips settled firmly over her soft flesh, sucking lightly as she gasped and squirmed helplessly between his hands.
Alaun hurt, ached, throbbed with desire, yet it was the sweetest ache he’d ever known. He shifted his hold, placing one forearm across her waist. With his tongue, he parted her, the flushed, swollen flesh apple-sweet. Her nails sank into his arm. Smiling, he caressed her, allowing his expertise full rein, tasting her softness, teasing the little nubbin hiding in its hood, luring it out so he could roll it between his lips.
He took her from peak to peak, never quite letting her rush over the edge and into sweet oblivion.
Adrift in unchartered seas, Eloise panted, gasped, sobbed, and sighed—again and again. With his free hand, he guided her legs up and over his shoulders, then slipped his hand beneath her, long fingers stroking her bottom before caressing her sensitive cleft. Beyond thought, she locked her legs about his head, holding him to her as he drove her ever on, over the troughs and peaks of some wildly sensuous sea toward some dimly perceived harbor.
And then, all at once, she was clinging to the edge of the world, poised above a drop so high she would surely shatter when she fell. For one long instant, she hung there, quivering, knowing beyond all understanding that she wanted him within her—now.
Then he was there, but not as she was used to. She fractured as his tongue thrust boldly into her, taking her, ravishing her, sending her not plummeting but soaring, higher and higher until the sun rushed to meet her, a golden, very familiar blaze. She melted, pulsing about him.
As consciousness slowly returned, she felt the gentle lap of his tongue as he savored her.
She gasped; he raised his head, his expression elementally, triumphantly male, one tawny brow rising as if inviting her comment.
“I want you.” She could barely get the words out. “Inside me. Now.”
His eyes flamed; his heat reached for her even as his hands did, firming about her hips, drawing her closer to the table’s edge. Her thighs parted wide.
Alaun looked down, then bent and placed a kiss on her triangle of curls. A single movement of one hand released his staff, throbbing and urgent, hungry for her. He lifted his eyes, locking them on hers, wide, wild, darkly glowing. Gripping her hips, he pressed slowly into her.
Eloise gasped. She breathed in, arching as he entered—then couldn’t breathe out. Her eyes flared, her lips parted, but no sound came forth. Stunned, captured, she watched, held immobile as he forged relentlessly, slowly and inexorably, into her. Her already heightened senses sizzled. She could feel him stretching her; his hands on her hips anchored her, permitting his steady, intensely powerful, absolutely controlled invasion. Such deliberate penetration coming so soon after her wild release was intensely erotic.
Alaun didn’t blink as he sank deep into her body. Her flesh scalded him, indescribably slick, her tight passage yielding to his steady advance.
Her body surrendered, melting about him as he came to rest, hard and rigid within her.
Eloise slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. Eyes wide, her gaze trapped in the blaze of his, she lay quivering, her breasts rising and falling. Slow ripples of pleasure radiated from where he held so still within her. Palms flat against the board, her heart thundering in her ears, she waited, her mind caught in his web, focused on him.
Dragging air into his lungs, Alaun released her hips. Gently, he closed his hands about her breasts, already swollen to firm fullness. He kneaded slowly, possessively. She pulsed hotly about him, her body thrumming anew.
His touch on her breasts was exquisite; Eloise shuddered and closed her eyes. Pleasure rippled outward from where they joined as he started to move within her. Each solid stroke pushed her higher, into spiraling pleasure; each demanding caress wound the spiral tighter.
Soon she was lost, trapped in the vortex, surrounded by pulsing pleasure and keenly rapturous delight.
She arched strongly; Alaun locked his hands about her hips, holding her steady as he plumbed her depths. She went wild, her hands gripping his, slim fingers curling like talons about his wrists. The short, sharp, desperate cries that fell from her lips urged him on, her body straining against his hold.
Then she convulsed, a long shuddering wave spreading through her. For one timeless instant, her tension held, then it dissolved, the steady pulsing of her release calling on his own.
With a soft tremulous sigh, she eased back to the table.
Head thrown back, he lost himself in her.
*
His witch was yet abed when, a thoroughly satisfied smile on his lips, Alaun left his pavilion the next morn. He visited the sheriff, and the priests, then repaired to the bridge to supervise the start of the Severn crossing.
Eloise joined him there, neat and elegant on her roan mare. Their eyes met—she smiled, slowly, then glanced away.
Satisfaction swelled, a warm glow in his chest.
&n
bsp; Even the fact that she’d come to fetch him to the cathedral was insufficient to dim his mood. He went with her readily, the time spent standing beside her by the font given over to consideration of another church ceremony. As it happened, the how, where, and who would be there were questions requiring some thought.
He roused himself as the last child was wetted and duly squalled. The priest offered a benediction, and Alaun’s people, some, certainly, unwed girls, but many others couples, tradesmen in his train whose wives had accompanied them as laundresses and semptresses, turned away, smiling and nodding gratefully to him. And to the lady by his side.
Sir Eward waited at the door of the chapel to present each family with their lord’s baptismal gift. It was little enough, five silver pennies, yet each family was delighted to receive the vail, acknowledging their bond to him and his acceptance of their child into his overall care.
Noting the commissary and the small crowd about him, Eloise gifted Alaun with a brilliant smile. “Tis very good of you, lord.”
He shrugged. “Nay. Tis no more than our custom.”
“But tis good of you to remember it at a time when you’re so hard-pressed.”
Brows rising, he caught her gaze. “Am I to take it you wish to further reward me, lady?”
To his delight, she blushed. “We are in a cathedral, lord.”
“Aye—tis hard to imagine a more challenging venue.”
The shocked look she sent him had him swallowing a laugh. “I must see the priest a moment, lady.”
Serenely, if a little stiffly, she inclined her head. “I will await you here, lord.”
Rovogatti stood by the wall mere yards away; four men-at-arms shadowed the door. Alaun nodded and turned away. The priest was waiting; he gestured to the vestry beyond. Alaun followed him up the worn steps.
Left to herself, Eloise strolled to the arched windows. Mid-morning sunshine poured in, pooling in warm puddles on the floor. The bottom of the recessed window was at chin height; only by rising to her toes could she see what lay beyond the thick walls. A small, well-tended graveyard with many finely carved gravestones met her gaze. The clergy’s graveyard, she surmised, reserved for those who served in the cathedral.
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