"Aye, you may not be in the mood for foolishness but you are most definitely in the mood for something else." Slim fingers danced on his chest, his skin burning where she touched. Moving in slow circles, her motions drummed up feelings he never knew existed. Under the velvet wrap with his eyes closed, Kendrick lost himself in her touch.
Her ministrations continued, trailing down his sweat-laden belly toward his private area. Reaching his waistband, careful digits pulled it outward. Languidly, her hand moved, lower and lower….
Kendrick braced himself for the moment when she touched him, not caring if he spilled his seed all over her. It would be his salvation for now. His saving release would come later when he had her in bed and plunged himself into paradise.
Her motions halted just as her fingers touched the line of his private hair. "I think you have had enough for one day, milord," she said huskily as she withdrew her hand. "Perhaps, I will finish tomorrow or perhaps I can let you languish for a day. I will decide later." She stepped away from his ardor-ravaged body with a contented sigh echoing from her lips.
Kendrick’s heart pounded in fury while the blood sang in his ears, his chest heaving in frustration. "Finish what you have started, wench! You cannot be so cruel as to bring me to the brink of madness then walk away?"
The soft rustle of silk against silk rose in the air and added to the heightened sensuality. He imagined her slender arms, one crossing over the other ... "Aye, I am cruel, milord. Just as you were cruel to my people, baiting my father to fight you. Now my father is dead because of your deeds. There comes a time in every man’s life," she walked slowly around him, the telltale sound of her gown swishing rising high on the room, "that he must pay what is due. I have come to collect the debt you owe me. After I return you to the Prince, never think on what has occurred here. It will never happen again."
His arms tensed. "You want me, Isabeau. You want me so badly, you would not hesitate to take me up to your chamber if your virgin heart would allow it."
Throaty laughter escaped her throat. "You think too highly of yourself, milord. Once you are out of Castile, I will never think of you again, I promise. Since our lessons are over for the day, I want to give you something to think about while I am not here."
"What is that?"
"You will find out. Keep silent." His arms tensed in anticipation, the sound of his labored breathing rising through the air. What was in store for him now?
Behind him, he could hear the clicking of several bowls on the wooden table. The erratic rhythm of his heart was out of control now, despite all his efforts to slow it down. With each of his movements, the chains rattled, splitting the still air. When was it going to happen?
Suddenly, Kendrick felt a light touch on his back, almost like a feather. Warm liquid was on the end of the instrument, slowly flowing down his back in rivulets. Around and around the instrument danced, its soft tip teasing his ripened flesh. "What are you doing to me?" he gasped as the toy moved around his body.
"If you can guess correctly, then I will give you a kiss before I leave," she replied sensuously as the strokes softened, "if not, I will stop all together."
He shivered slightly from the dancing instrument. "It … ’tis … a feather, dipped in warm oil," Kendrick murmured, enjoying every last stroke. Why had no other woman sought to please him before he pleased her? Aye, that is what makes this woman so different, he told himself. She drips exotic sensuality no matter how hard her virgin demeanor denies it.
She halted. "You are correct, milord. Would you like your reward now?"
He nodded quickly. "Aye, that I would, Isabeau."
Her hands rose and removed the bothersome binding around his eyes. "Then take your reward for ‘tis the last you will ever have of me." Putting both hands on either side of his face, she pulled his head towards hers. With enough slack in the chains, Isabeau took possession of his lips with abashed fury, plowing into his mouth. Her tongue sought his in the ancient dance and he followed, drinking in every ounce of passion she had to offer. Back and forth her tongue danced, teasing him unmercifully.
Then, without warning, Isabeau pulled away, leaving him hungry for the taste of her lips. "That is enough, milord. I do not want you to get too used to my visits. I think I have made my point quite clear for one day. I hope my lessons have gotten through that thick head of yours." With that, she turned and knocked on the door softly. Hard clicks filled the air as the bolt shot back. Her guard opened the squeaky door on rusty hinges and escorted her out, carefully making sure the cell was secure before he left.
Kendrick’s body went slack with his breathing steady but slightly labored. She took me to the brink of madness and brought me back, he told himself. No other woman has done that. Not even Bregonia had brought him this far. She never took him to the heights Isabeau did. He shivered. It was all over and he was a lost man.
* * * *
Isabeau leaned against the cool wood of her chamber door as the perspiration beaded her forehead. She simply could not keep this up. Though she thought to be teaching him lessons, there were several she was learning herself. Such as when she took him to the brink, she was taking herself there as well. His torture was easy. Hers was not. Instinctively, the rhythm of her body threatened to erupt every time she was around him, her flesh demanding satisfaction from the expert knowledge from his hands. I must stop this madness, she told herself. Or I will end up submitting to him completely.
With a shaky gait, Isabeau walked over to her writing desk. The time had come for her to send the ransom demand to the Prince of Wales. Each night that Kendrick lingered in her dungeon put her one step closer to losing her innocence. You must be strong! Her mind cried. Aye, she was strong but how long could she last against his seductive charms? Like tonight. When she played her game, the mere sound of his masculine timbered voice made her quiver in anticipation. What would it be like to be taught at his hands? Her mind thought at the time. Isabeau shook the notion from her head. She must never fall. Her innocence would remain hers. No man was worth the gift.
She pulled the inkwell to her and dipped the quill, holding it in mid-air. What would be a fair price for the illegitimate son of the King’s safe return? She smiled widely. Thankfully, Kendrick’s wounds were in the process of healing nicely and she made sure he had the best food. I will ask more than I originally planned for his excellent care, she thought idly. The sooner he was away from Castile, the safer she would be. Now came the tougher question. Who would she be safe from, Kendrick or herself?
With quick fingers, Isabeau scribbled out the hasty note, the light scratching of the quill against the roughened fibers of the paper piercing the uneasy air surrounding her. When she was finished, Isabeau read it over carefully to make sure there was nothing she missed. The tone, along with the script was perfect. It conveyed all she needed to say. Signing her name at the bottom, Isabeau sprinkled it with powder. She waited for a moment before rolling it up and sealing the edge with wax and embossing it with the royal seal of Castile. One corner of her lips curled in a smile. Once Kendrick was turned over the English, she would never have to look on his handsome face again.
* * * *
Dawn broke the next morning with furious abandon. Streaks of pink, red, lavender and blue worked across the sky in streaky fingers, driving away the darkness. Isabeau lay in her bed, blinking at the coming light. Sleep had eluded her most of the night. No matter how hard she tried, her body would not grow exhausted enough to slumber. Perhaps ‘twas because the matter of Kendrick was on her mind. Her body craved his touch, desiring that every inch of her flesh be explored. Yet, something inside of her refused to let her succumb. I am a chaste woman, she told herself sternly, and will not fall into bed with any man before marriage. If all else failed, she must save her immortal soul.
Reluctantly, she rose and stretched, waking her tired flesh up. She sighed, laying her hands in her silken lap. I wonder if the messenger I dispatched last night made it to the Prince, she pondered idly.
What would Edmund’s reaction be when he read her note? She giggled softly, her hands hiding her smile. If Edmund were anything like Kendrick, he would not be pleased.
* * * *
Despite the early hour of the morning, Edmund sat hunched over his table, one hand supporting his chin while the other rested in his armored knee. I wish Kendrick were here to help me plan another mode of attack, he thought wistfully, glancing now and then at the tin men on the board. Damn the Castilian wench for capturing his brother! Edmund smiled, snickering lightly behind his hand. If Kendrick were true to his word, the Queen would be a virgin no longer.
Edmund leaned his head back, casting his stare to the blanched ceiling of the tent. Sleep remained distant from him for whatever reason, causing him to toss and turn endlessly all night. At first he thought it was because he feared for Kendrick’s safety but toward the dawn he realized it was much more. What he truly feared was his father’s wrath and love. If only he was strong and brave like Kendrick, he would not have to play these silly games! Ever since his mother died, Edmund had felt truly alone. Now that the King was remarried with another child coming, he felt more alone than ever. Without Kendrick, who knows what he might have done…?
The sudden movement of the tent flap drew Edmund’s attention. He jerked his head forward, his eyes narrowing. Who dared to interrupt his thoughts like this?
A youthful soldier entered the tent, bowing quickly. "Your Majesty, I am truly sorry to bother you but we have just received a message from the Queen of Castile."
Edmund waggled his fingers in a backward motion. "Bring it in, man!"
With a simple nod, the youth swept aside the flap, allowing the brilliantly clad man to enter. Dressed in the colors of Castile, the herald bowed low. "I bring you tidings from Castile, your Majesty." In his outstretched, gloved hand was a rolled parchment, sealed on the edges with a glut of wax and embossed with the royal seal of the Queen.
Edmund snatched it from the man’s hands, tearing away the delicate seal. With nimble fingers, he unrolled the paper.
Dear Prince of Wales,
I have your brother in protective custody. Rest assured all his wounds were tended to and are healing quite nicely. He has the best food we possess. I am willing to trade him and his welfare in exchange for a sizable ransom. I have taken care of him quite well and I expect to be rewarded as such. Shall we say ten thousand crowns? Surely that is an inconsequential sum compared to your brother’s life. I would think your father, the King, would be most displeased if something happened to his son. If you wish to comply, we will meet on Cantilles Field again three day’s hence for the exchange. I will be there with the Duke of Kent at sunrise. If you do not come to claim him, I will order him executed by sundown then his head will be sent to the King of England. Tell me, how will you explain why you did not retrieve your own brother to your father? That is one position I would not like to have. Remember what I said. I will be watching and waiting.
Isabeau Regina
Queen of Castile
Edmund furiously crumpled the message. How dare she threaten him? Did she know with whom she dealt? Suddenly, her haunting words reverberated through her mind. I will be watching and waiting. Damn her! He was supposed to have the upper hand! Deep down inside, he knew she would ransom Kendrick but he did not think it would happen until after she was with child. Then without warning, another thought rose in his mind. Did he have ten thousand crowns with him to pay for Kendrick?
Edmund leapt from his seat, tossing the message viciously aside. Training his glare on her herald, his eyes narrowed. "Tell your Queen I will meet her at Cantilles Field in three days. If so much as a hair is harmed on the Duke of Kent’s head, I will not hesitate to cut her down. Am I understood?"
The Castilian messenger nodded. "Aye, milord, well understood."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Leave me and return to your mistress. There are things I must attend to." Without further ado, the herald left his presence.
Edmund turned to his soldier standing guard faithfully. "Bring me my advisors and quickly. There is much planning to be done and no time to do it."
The youth left silently after bowing, leaving him to his own errant thoughts. What was he going to do about the money? He could not send to England for it. The thought caused his heart to pound harder in his chest. If Father knew he let Kendrick get captured, he would spend the rest of his life in exile. No, there must be another way. He only brought about three thousand on this trip. How would he come up with the other seven?
Suddenly the idea struck. What if he placed several flat rocks on the bottom of the coffer then covered them with the remaining crowns, hiding their position? Would she count them there or wait until she returned to Castile to find she had been duped? A grin of contented satisfaction covered his lips. I hope she is as naïve as I need her to be.
Flashes of black drew his attention to the tent opening, making his grin even wider. "You sent for us, milord?" His advisors appeared like a pack of wild dogs to the kill. He grinned slightly. In a way, he was the leader of the pack, moving in for the kill.
Edmund nodded quickly. "Aye, I did. There is much to plan so let us begin."
* * * *
Kendrick’s heart pounded in an unearthly fashion, hammering a steady rhythm in his chest. She would be coming soon to tease and tantalize his senses until he could barely breathe.
Like a caged animal, he paced around the cell, waiting for her entrance, her touch and her scent to envelop him like a silken cloud, ready to carry him away. Where was she?
Every hour that passed seemed like an eternity to him as he craved her body tight against his, her youthful form firm and supple. Stop this madness or you will fall for the girl, he told himself. Kendrick could not help it. He was like a thirsty man finding water in the desert after days. All he wanted to do was drink every ounce of passion she had to offer.
The sudden clink of the door drew his attention, causing his breathing to become labored. She is here, he thought excitedly as his manhood rose to the occasion.
Kendrick held his breath as the dim form pushed through the door only to be let out when he realized ‘twas only the wizened man who brought his meals. "Here’s yer meal, scalawag. Eat up." Unceremoniously, his food was dropped on the table. The amount and quality remained the same but the way it was brought did not.
Kendrick gripped the elderly man by the arm. "Where is the Queen? Is she not coming?" He tried to put restraint on the anxiety in his voice but he could not.
The old man shrugged. "I know not what my Queen is doing. If she decides to see you, then she will. Otherwise ask no more about her." He wrested his bone thin arm free and shuffled in a meandering gait toward the door.
Kendrick stared at the exiting dwarf, his body filled with fury. Was this the retribution she talked so haughtily about? Nay, I will have a little retribution of my own, he vowed silently. Then I will have her until the end of time.
* * * *
Those three days passed ever so slowly for Isabeau. Day after day, she tempted herself to go and torture Kendrick more but she knew it was fruitless. She was only torturing herself. Fueling the awakening fire was not exactly a brilliant thing to do.
* * * *
Pre-dawn hours arrived with a vengeance, bringing the end of her feigned sleep. Isabeau’s nerves were completely raw, created by lack of sleep and the thought of Kendrick neatly trussed up in her dungeon. I must get rid of him as soon as possible, she told herself.
She rose quickly and dressed in her armor. Today was the deciding factor in Kendrick’s life. Would his brother arrive to claim him or merely forget that Kendrick was in her dungeon?
She remained silent throughout the application of her armor by practiced servants, her mind alive with anticipation. Once Kendrick was gone, her sanity and her innocence would remain intact.
At last, the golden crown went on her tired brow. In the depths of the mirror, Isabeau caught sight of a hardened woman, a sight completely alien
to her. The haunted eyes staring back at her did not speak of the soft femininity of yesteryear. War ravaged that stare, turning it as black as the night. Her breath caught. Who was this woman masquerading herself as a man?
"You are looking well, my Queen," issued the voice behind her. She turned sharply to find Seamus bowing low to her.
Her lips curled into a tight smile. "Much thanks, Seamus. Is all in readiness?"
His striking red head tilted in a nod. "Aye, milady. Do you wish the prisoner to be dressed in armor as well?"
Isabeau opened her lips to issue the order then quickly shut her mouth. That was something she had not thought of. I could turn him over as he is, she thought idly, but the Prince might not take kindly to his own brother dressed in rags. "Bring him to me in my audience hall and I will speak to him before he is dressed."
"Do you want him shackled, my Queen?"
Isabeau shook her blonde curls. "Nay, do not. If he touches me, it will be his last. After today, I will put out a decree ordering his death should he ever appear in Castile again."
Seamus tipped his head. "As you wish." With that, he took his leave, the sound of his boot heels beating in a steady rhythm the only sound breaking the tense silence.
Isabeau dismissed the other servants with a quick wave of her hand. Without question, they left. Suddenly she was alone with the poisonous thoughts swirling in her mind like a school of hungry eels. After today, he is no more to me, she told herself. Yet there was something in her body yearning for his touch. Why? Before he had darkened the doorstep at the castle, she was perfectly happy to remain alone. She wanted no man. Then, after that first kiss, the smoldering flame awakened, licking up the sides of her being and demanding more attention from the Duke of Kent. Why did he have to pick her to tease? He should have wasted himself on some servant girl and not her!
Desires Promise Page 9