Desires Promise

by Desire's Promise (NCP) (lit)

  Once Kendrick was out of her sight, Isabeau let out a sigh of relief, allowing the weak feeling in her knees to ebb. How could she gain her desired retribution without giving into the demands of her hungry body? Aye, I can do it. The Duke will find out what retribution means.

  * * * *

  The cart lurched ahead with a jerk as it rolled over the dips and mounds of the blood stained meadow. Each bump and divot felt as though a sword pierced his gullet. Kendrick leaned back against the side, pulling his knee toward his chest so he could rest his vambranced elbow on it. He gazed at the other ragged prisoners. Their wounds oozed as much as his did and the smell mingled with the already stale air in the cart. The hot coppery smell encouraged his belly to think about retching.

  He leaned his head back as his mind revolved around the events of the day. How did he get captured? He had not realized their plan of attack as it exploded around them but once he had recognized it, he called a hasty retreat without reservation. With misfortune on his side, it was too late for them. Isabeau’s army had closed in as though it were a vise. Just as he was about to break through, he felt the hilt of a pike break over his chest, knocking him from his horse. He remembered the fall but little else.

  A sudden throb in his forehead diverted his attention. Out of instinct, his hand went to his forehead, touching the rough edges of the wound. Kendrick winced from the immense pain. There was a gash, perhaps the length of his index finger, near his hairline. Blood still oozed from the site but it was minimal. He smirked a little as Isabeau’s words came back to haunt him. Nay, it will be you who is the pupil. After I am through with you, milord, you will never want to set foot in Castile again. Why did this woman intrigue him so? He knew not. Perhaps it was because she could not be conquered or mayhap it was because she was the one woman to stand up him. Kendrick shrugged with an indecisive move. Whatever the reason was, he knew he must possess her in any way possible. The corner of his mouth drew up as a smile crept across it. Aye, he would have her even if he had to fight the hounds of hell to do it.

  Chapter 5

  "Get in there you scoundrel!" Vicious hands thrust him into the dim dungeon chamber where his feet found no purchase. Kendrick fell forward, landing on his hands for support. The air of the room swirled with the acridity of must and long disuse as well as the lack of ventilation. The hardened stones of the floor, covered in a thick slimy substance that bubbled between his bloody fingers, felt cold and remote. Behind him, Kendrick could hear the quick shuffle of feet and the swift slam of the door. The hollow sound ricocheted, swirling around his head for a moment before dying to silence. He whirled about to find the chamber empty with the exception of his presence. In the corners, he heard the swift scurry of tiny feet with each scrape of his armor against the floor. He was not alone.

  Kendrick rose to his feet and brushed the lumpy bits of grime from his tattered armor. At least they had left him with that bit of protection.

  Without warning, the door burst open again. Several servants, followed by more of the Queen’s burly guards, poured in. In their hands, they bore a basin of hot water, soap as well as bandages. Kendrick felt surprise cross his face as his gaze flicked from one servant to another. His brow rose in question. "What is the meaning of this?"

  A wizened old man stepped forward, his gray, stringy hair swaying in response to his movements. "’Tis the Queen’s order to bathe you and tend to your wounds. After it is complete, she will be in to see you."

  His shoulders stiffened as excitement burned through his veins, encouraging his heart to find a new rhythm. Isabeau was going to see him. "When will that be?"

  The elderly servant grinned, showing a row of blackened, gruesome stumps that had once served as teeth. "Never you mind your black heart. You are at the Queen’s mercy and she will see you when she finds it appropriate. Until then," he growled as his gnarled hands snapped in the direction of the young servant, "you will wear these." The youth stepped forward. He bore a length of shackle and chain in his tented hands.

  Kendrick’s gaze flicked from the chains back to the old man as a tense muscle quivered in his jaw. "I take it the Queen wishes to bind me as though I was her best beast?"

  Gregarious laughter erupted from the deeply lined face. "This is because you are an animal!" Then, without warning, the full fury of the man’s hand struck his cheek. Kendrick felt the edges of his head wound pull apart and the pain ripped through his temple as though it were an untamed fire. Fresh blood oozed down his face in a slow path, threatening to pour into his right eye.

  Kendrick put a hand to the injury, feeling the exposed flesh. How dare they do this to him! He was the son of a King! Suddenly, it was more than he could stand. Out of his fury, he lashed out at his captors. His fists flew to the left and to the right, connecting with any bits of flesh he could find. Yelps of pain arose around him but it was not long lived. There were simply too many of them.

  Before he imposed any damage, Kendrick’s arms were pinned behind him, hampering them from any use.

  "Let me go!" he hissed through clenched teeth as his legs were kicked out from under him. He fell face down in the muck, the moldy smell just inches from his nose. Bile threatened to burst forth but he held it at bay.

  Moments of silence followed before splitting with a generous mirth of laughter. Expert hands tore the armor from his body, casting it aside like rubbish. His hands were rendered useless with a rope. Somewhere above his head, he could hear the rattle of the chains as they were fastened to the ceiling. The ominous shackles hung down and waited for his wrists to fill them. What was she going to do to him?

  Once his arms were free, they pushed him to his feet and placed his wrists in the iron manacles. Swift fingers enclosed the metal, locking them with a secure motion. The old man checked them with learned hands, his aged eyes narrowing. "Aye, that is much better now. You will not give us any more trouble."

  Kendrick stared at the arrogant peasant with a black stare while his heart thumped in an unsteady rhythm in his chest. "I will be dead before I give up, old man. Tell the Queen I wish to see her now!" He jerked out of reaction with the vain hope it would cause a little slack in the chains. The only thing he did was to bury the iron a little deeper into his flesh.

  "Nay, not until you are bathed. The Queen will not lower herself to be in the presence of a filthy ragamuffin."

  The chains strained with his fury. "I care not! I demand to be released!"

  A girth of laughter erupted from the older man’s mouth. "You are in no position to demand anything," he garbled as he turned to the other servants who hovered near his elbow, "strip the rest of his clothing."

  Kendrick kicked his legs out in an effort to thwart their moves but two of the guards caught them and held them steady. When I get out of this, I will make Isabeau pay for what she has done.

  * * * *

  Isabeau sat before the ornate mirror as the shadows, created by the flicker of her candle, danced in a merry fashion on the cold gray chamber walls. She stared into the hardened, haunted face and almost did not recognize it. Why was she going to do this? She was a good, chaste woman and not given to flights of fancy. Then why was she bound and determined to torture the Duke of Kent in such a seductive manner? Because he awoke something in her, a fire that could not be quenched, demanding more of what he had to offer. Why did he do that? She was a woman in control of her own thoughts and feelings. Why must he make her feel out of control?

  Silence, normally unassuming, seemed more intense than usual, broken only by the whisk of the comb through her newly clean hair. Isabeau sighed heavily, her hands trembling. Was she truly up to this?

  Her head turned and she gazed at the armor placed with a careful hand on its armature, the onyx hued metal glaring at her. She smiled. The iron had served her well. She did not even have so much as a scratch anywhere. Too bad the same could not be said for the Duke.

  The ministrations behind her stopped as her servant laid the brush next to the comb. "Is there anyth
ing else you wish, my Queen?"

  She waved her hand. "Nay, there is not. You have served me well tonight. As your reward, you do not need to perform your duties until late afternoon." She continued to stare at the hardened young woman in the mirror before her. When had she changed?

  Quick footsteps exited her presence and moved toward the door. Then the sudden slam of the door jolted her back into reality. Isabeau drew a deep breath. His time for retribution had come. She stared deep into the mirror, pinching her cheeks to redden them. Her face took on a more youthful appearance but it did nothing for her eyes. The war weary look still resided in them. How was she to dispose of that?

  Her tremble filled fingers picked up the ornate bottle near the mirror. Isabeau uncorked the glass and let the intricate bouquet of roses, honeysuckle and wildflowers assail her nostrils. Aye, this should do the trick. She dabbed a slight amount behind her ears and on her wrists. Just as she was about to cap the bottle, she had a sudden idea. Taking a little more of the perfume, she dabbed a small amount between her breasts. If that does not tantalize him, nothing will.

  * * * *

  Kendrick stood in the same position for what seemed like hours, his arms pinned above his head. His limbs did not posses feeling except for the slight tingle as though his arms slumbered. He shifted his feet in a slight manner to awaken them as well. Instead of a hard scrape, it was a soft shuffle. What was going on? Kendrick curled his naked toes against the material and noted its warm rough texture. His feet were no longer on the cold, slippery stones of the floor! A mat, roughly woven together, rested under the soft, pink flesh of his inner soles. When did the servants put that there and why? Was it for his comfort?

  Before he could ponder any longer on the endless possibilities, a sharp clang at the door drew his attention. His head rose. Who had come to see him?

  The smell of sweet perfume drifted over his shoulder, assailing his nostrils with abandon. He inhaled with a deep breath, his heart banging harder against his chest. He did not need anyone to tell him who it was. She was here.

  "I see my servants have taken very good care of you, milord," purred the sensuous voice. The torch posted behind him cast a golden light on the wall in front of him, creating shadows dancing in time with the soft wind from the tiny slit of a window.

  He drew a ragged breath. "Aye, they have, Isabeau. Tell me, do you enjoy chaining me like an animal?" The soft rustle of her silken gown moved toward him as her perfume filled the air with its sweet heady scent. Oh, how he could lose himself in it!

  Her fingers burned a path on his perspiration soaked shoulder, rolling over the various scars. His muscles, not to mention his manhood, jumped with life under her touch. "Do not call me by my Christian name when you have not been invited to do so. Show me the same respect as you would your own King," she demanded in a husky whisper. Blood pounded in his temples as the ardor rose to lick his insides.

  The distinct rattle of the chains filled the musty air as he strained against them. "You wish me to call you by your right name, Isabeau. You belong to me and no other." Her hand lay against his back with the soft palm down, moving in slow circles. He closed his eyes at the heat of her touch as his body leaned into her open hand. Never in his life had a woman aroused him as much as this one. Perhaps ‘twas because this was the first time he was not the aggressor.

  Isabeau stepped in front of him as her hand sensuously trailed his stubble filled jaw. "Nay, I belong to no man, milord. If anything, you belong to me, to do as I wish…." Her lips descended onto his chest, tantalizing the flesh under the passion filled slivers. Slim fingers toyed with his nipples until the dark brown nubs hardened to marble. His body went slack as her hands moved downward. Never had woman tortured him this exquisitely before! Cries of ecstasy rumbled in his throat but he refused to let them out.

  Isabeau raised her head, glaring at him through desire filled eyes. "Why do you not cry out, milord? Am I not pleasuring you in the way you like or am I not all you dreamed of?"

  Kendrick’s chest heaved in unabashed emotion. "Aye ... that … you … are … vixen."

  Her blonde brows furrowed with a doubtful expression as her fingers danced their magic around his exposed flesh. "Good. I want you to know what ‘tis like to be paid unwelcome attention, milord. You see, since the night you molested me, I vowed to gain my revenge on you. No man will ever play with my senses without paying the price." With a swift hand, Isabeau drew his head downward, plowing his lips with a furious abandon. He could taste her inexperience in the kiss but it aroused his manhood just the same. What little remained of his breeches became taut and strained over the bulge of his erection.

  Her tongue danced on the corners of his mouth, seeking entry while her fingers entangled in the damp tendrils of his hair. Hungry for what she offered, his lips parted. Isabeau explored the cavernous regions of his mouth with slow calculated movements, engaging his tongue into play. Her slim digits applied a maddening pressure as the kiss deepened. Oh, how he could lose himself in her! Just as he began to enjoy the kiss, Isabeau broke away.

  She stepped away from his imprisoned form with a purposeful gait, her eyes full of deep satisfaction. Tossing her curls over her shoulder, her vision went straight to his manhood. "I see you are enjoying my attention very well, milord," she murmured as she lightly touched the leather covering him then stroked gently in order to make him harder.

  "Do not torture me in this way, Isabeau," he murmured, closing his eyes as the sensations escalated.

  "Really, my lord? I thought you enjoyed torture," she whispered in a sensuously low tone. Suddenly, a loud tear filled the air. "I wonder what you could be hiding in your breeches, my lord."

  Cool air rushed over the hardened staff of his manhood, making it even harder. Immediately, her fingers enclosed it, her thumb stroking the silken underside. "I see you are taking to my attention very well, my lord. Perhaps I will have to increase your punishment." With those words, her head dipped and he felt the velvety softness of her tongue slipping over the head of his member.

  He sucked in a deep breath, his heart racing. "You do not know what you do to me, woman," he whispered as she engulfed him into her mouth, moving with expert precision. He felt the blood pulsating there, the sudden rush of wanting to spill his seed becoming too overwhelming.

  Before he could explode, she pulled her velvety mouth away and looked at him with a sly smile. "Aye, my lord, I know exactly what I do to you," she murmured as she started to circle him in a predatory stride. "Just as you knew what you did to me that night next to the stairs." She cupped his buttocks with a firm hand. "I see that I have brought you to the brink as well. Tell me, my lord, how does it feel to be at the mercy of a woman?"

  His breath became more ragged with each touch of her fingers. "You will pay for this, dear lady, but it will be a punishment you will enjoy. I will make sure of that."

  Isabeau circled around, the soft rustle of her gown over the mat filling the thick, erotic air enclosing them and heightening his senses even more. "Do not make promises you do not intend to keep, milord. ‘Tis bad manners. You see," she whispered as a finger went to her lips, lightly tracing the edges of her delectable mouth. Her most desirable tongue came out, flicking provocatively at the digit in an effort to drive him closer to the edge of madness, "I always keep my promises. Just as I promised you someday I would be the master and you would be my slave."

  Kendrick was stunned. He had met his match. All his life, he saw women as something to sport with and never gave a regard to the feelings behind the woman. He only thought of himself. Now here was a woman who teased and tantalized him to the brink, offering a plethora of passion he would never find elsewhere. Aye, when ‘tis my turn, I will take it to the limit. "You may be master now, Isabeau, but soon I will be your master. I will teach you things you never knew existed…."

  The sharp sting of her hand across his cheek was more than enough to cut off his words. "I told you never to call me by my Christian name! Until I decide what
to do with you, Lord Kent, you will refer to me as ‘milady’. If you do not, you will subject yourself to dire punishment. Is that understood?"

  One corner of his mouth curled into a slight, bemused smile. "Aye, milady. If this is a taste of what you are offering in the future, I will gladly feast at your table."

  * * * *

  Isabeau’s heart beat in an erratic rhythm in her chest as her blood screamed along her veins. Her body trembled this close to him, made worse by the kiss as well as the musk-laden scent of his body. She nearly fell because her knees buckled in such a terrible fashion. Why did she decide to undertake his punishment? You are mad. You must stop this before you take him into your bed!

  She laughed with a nervous titter. With a small amount of hope, he would not hear the anxiety bleed through her voice. "There will be no feasting at my table now or any other time," she stated in a flat tone as her quiver filled fingers reached out and touched the taut muscles of his shoulder. "I am the one doing the feasting." She paused for a moment, staring at the golden flesh. He did not look to worse for the wear. Prince Edmund would have to pay dearly for her excellent care.

  His dark eyebrows moved up in a mischievous arch while the smile in his eyes contained a sensuous flame that nearly brought her inner core to meltdown. "Perhaps but before I am ransomed, I can relieve the ache that grows inside of you, dear lady."

  Her shoulders stiffened. "No, Lord Kent. The only thing I wish is to be left alone to rule my kingdom."

  "How many nights are you going to lay awake in the quiet of your chamber, hungering for the warmth my arms can provide? Just as you said, I am your slave, willing to do your bidding." His voice was low, filled with sexuality. She turned away for a moment. She could not let him see the redness filling her cheeks and flushing her face. If things had been different, she would have wanted him but not now. She could never allow the blaggard into her bed for any reason.