Desires Promise

by Desire's Promise (NCP) (lit)

  His smile turned devilish. "Because you are my servant that is why. Now take off my boots." Kendrick stretched out his long legs, crossing his feet casually at the ankles waiting for her to remove them. His hands went behind his head as his sapphire hued eyes closed to slits. She trembled as the predatory gaze increased, her heart finding a new rhythm all its own.

  Before she knew what happened, the fear overshadowed the anger, fueled by his presumption that he need only speak and she would obey. Her hands clenched in frustration as well as anger. The fragile trust that built up with him the night before crumbled away, leaving a shattered mess in its wake. "Take them off yourself. I want no part of you," she retorted, crossing her arms over her bosom defiantly. His will would be something she would never cater to.

  His amused demeanor darkened. The long, strong leather encased arm extended out from behind his head and his fingers waggled in her direction. "Come here, Isabeau."

  "No."

  "I will not ask twice. If I must retrieve you, your punishment could be most severe." His voice possessed a hint of danger that frightened her. Air caught in her chest as she continued her defiance. She would bend to no will but her own.

  Isabeau remained staunch in her bravado. "Retrieve me then because I will not submit to your demands."

  Before she could move, Kendrick was on his feet closing the distance with two strides. His hands gripped her upper arms in a painful grasp but she refused to cry out. "Remember, this will pain me more than it will pain you."

  * * * *

  His black boots were tight but she managed with get them off with a few quick, sharp tugs. Despite the pain inflicted on her backside, Isabeau refused to shed a tear. She was not about to let him know her humiliation.

  Dipping the cloth into the basin of water provided by the servants, she bathed his large feet and applied the balm from the beaker he handed to her. "You have a wonderful touch, my dear. This is most welcome after a long day of hunting," he murmured as he leaned his head back on the chair. His hands remained laced behind his head as sighs of pleasure escaped his lips.

  Isabeau stared at the hands that had inflicted pain on her and hated them for what they did to her. Deep within her mind, a strange question arose. How many men had died at pain inflicted by them? More than likely too many to count. "I am glad it pleasures you so, milord," she replied in a soft tone with her eyes locked onto the olive hued feet in her lap.

  Then, Isabeau felt the gentle caress of his hand on her head. She peered up into the depths of his glittering blue eyes and noticed the rising tide of lust. His hand worked its way down from her head to her cheek where it cupped her chin with a soft, loving motion. "I do not like punishing you in such a manner, Isabeau. If you would only obey me, then things would not be this way."

  Flickers of desire stormed through her veins at his touch but she doused those flames. How dare he beat her like a child then expect her to fall into his arms! Nay, she would not! Draining all emotion from her face, Isabeau strengthened her voice with the subdued anger. "That will never happen, milord. I am not some animal to be broken. I am a woman with thoughts and feelings…."

  A sly smirk crossed his lips with a slow motion. "So I have been shown."

  "Then why do you not treat me as such? Do you hate women so much you will treat me in such an ill manner?"

  This time it was his turn to pale as a look of stunned disbelief crossed in his face. There was definitely something brimming under the surface. Had another woman hurt him before? "Nay, I do not," he answered in a cool timbre as he leaned back into the chair. "’Tis just I am a man who cannot be ruled by a woman."

  Angrily Isabeau let his feet fall to the cold floor, rising to her full height. She would not do another thing he demanded. The beaker next to her knee shattered against the floor. Rivulets of white balm spilled everywhere, running through the cracks between rocks. Now feel the same chill as I did. His eyes flicked to the liquid then back to her as the dark tide of fury crept across his face. Without a word, he continued to glare at her.

  "And I am a woman who will not be ruled by any man. You can beat my body until the end of time, milord, but you will never make me subservient to you." She planted her hands on her wool clad hips and returned the stare with matched intensity.

  His sardonic black brow rose upwards. "I doubt whether it will take all of that, my dear. I have a feeling this little taming exercise may be more entertaining than I thought," Kendrick stated in a low, masculine tone as he rose to stand before her. Small, evil chuckles escaped his throat as he continued to stare at her. "I may just have to marry you, Isabeau."

  She stepped back from his reach. "I am not a marrying woman, milord."

  "But with the right man, you could be."

  Isabeau shook her head. "There is no such thing. Besides, you would never be faithful to me. That is something I could not live with."

  Kendrick shrugged his broad shoulders, the rough sound of leather against leather rising to pierce the hostile air between them. "I suppose you are right. You just might not be woman enough for me."

  Her cauldron of mixed emotions bubbled hot, causing her to lose control. Lunging forward, Isabeau spread her hands and laid them against his thick chest, pushing with all her might. Kendrick lost his footing, falling backwards onto the chair. Loud cracks echoed in the room, bouncing from the rafters as ancient wood splintered into pieces under his weight. An expression of quiet, menacing anger and disbelief shot across his face. Her heart pounded in terror. What was he going to do to her now?

  Surprisingly, a riotous laughter erupted from him. "I suppose I deserve this," he laughed as he moved to unsteady feet, "but I would take care next time, Isabeau. I may be laughing but this does not dismiss my anger. I will have to punish you for this."

  She stood before him with arms folded. "Do what you must."

  Kendrick rose to his naked feet, carefully stepping over the splinters of glass and wood. "First, you will bathe me before I retire," he ordered. His gaze settled on her, raking over her determined form as if he expected some sort of reaction from his decree. "Second, you will spend all day with Hedda and scrub the kitchen."

  Somehow this punishment was not a shock to her. She expected it all along. Then, without warning, uncontrolled slivers of delight coursed up and down her body at the thought of seeing him naked. Control yourself or else all is lost.

  * * * *

  The thick of the night approached vigorously and Isabeau had yet to find sleep. Her body ached from overwork and refused to allow her to relax. She tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable spot. Thankfully, she was stationed with the rest of the servants otherwise she may not be able to resist his charms. He knew what he was doing to me when he forced me to bathe him. She shivered. The memories of his naked body were too alive and too fresh for her to forget them. How could he do this to her?

  Isabeau lay on the rough, straw hewn pallet covered with more coarse wool. Her hands laced behind her head as her mind drifted back to the events of earlier, her heart pounding as the images burned through the tired fog of her mind.

  A tub, constructed of the finest wood England had to offer, banded by rings of iron, had been brought into Kendrick’s chamber and filled with steaming buckets of water. Ribbons of moisture rose around the tub and permeated the air with humidity. Before the last bucket emptied, Gardana had entered the room with the necessary items in her hand and a black scowl on her face. Without saying a word, Gardana slammed the things on the rough-hewn table in the hopes of gaining Kendrick’s attention. It did not work. Kendrick’s gaze had remained on Isabeau. The girl had repeated her actions. Kendrick turned to her and mentioned her name in that same menacing tone. Without a sound, the servant had drifted away with tears streaming down her face. What did Gardana hope to accomplish with her actions? Isabeau thought

  Once the tumblers of the lock fell into place, Kendrick had shed his clothes in a slow, sensual manner and stood before her in the full light of the torches h
anging in the wrought iron sconces. Rock hard muscles flexed under his tanned skin, glowing in the golden light. She glared at the girth of his arms. There was no way she could even attempt to get her hands around them.

  Jet colored hair had tumbled down the broad shoulders, spilling out onto a perfectly chiseled chest. Her breath caught as her gaze lowered. Kendrick’s chest tapered down to a strong, slender waist with a small path of dark hair reaching up toward his navel. Isabeau’s heart had been beyond her control now as she drank in the rest of his body. Nestled in the large plethora of dark hair rested his manhood, strong and large. Her body had quivered. The remark she made when he accosted her the second time certainly did not fit him. He must be larger than most men.

  Long, well-muscled legs met at his hips and tapered down to his large feet. Isabeau had felt odd at the way she stared at him but she could not help herself. It was almost like looking at an angelic vision except this angel was dark and avenging.

  Before she could say anything, Kendrick had slipped into the tub and ordered her to sit behind him. Deciding to cooperate for the moment, Isabeau had taken her seat and lathered her hands. She dredged them through the silky strands of his hair and moved in leisurely circles. From the husky groans that emitted from his throat, Kendrick had enjoyed her ministrations as well.

  Unfortunately, it did not stop there. She had to wash him thoroughly. With trembling fingers and a pounding heart, Isabeau had completed her task though she diverted her eyes. His skin was warm and velvety as the water sluiced over the carved muscles, sending her senses spinning. She had to keep control. If she had not, her clothing would soon lie in a heap on the floor and she would become the wanton woman she had always feared.

  All through the washing, Kendrick kept his eyes on her. Several times he had caressed her face in a gentle motion and had murmured sweet promises of pleasure if only she would give herself to him. Her wall of resolve had nearly broken but she kept him at bay with a few snappy answers. It worked. But the question was, how long would it last?

  Isabeau turned over on her side, tucking her arm under her head. Aye, she did want him, as much as any woman wanted a man. Nevertheless, how could she allow him to make love to her and still save her soul? According to the Faith, her soul would be damned if she entered a sexual relationship with a man before marriage. Isabeau frowned. Marriage? To Kendrick? She shook the notion out of her head. Kendrick would never be faithful to her no matter how hard she tried. Men during these times thought nothing of keeping a mistress and a wife. Other women would always warm his bed besides her. There is no solution so you must remain chaste. Tears of utter hopelessness tracked thier way out of her eyes and landed on the bag of odiferous feathers serving as a pillow. How was she to withstand the constant assault on her senses?

  * * * *

  Her knuckles ached from using the hard scrub brush but Isabeau did not back down from the challenge issued to her. Hedda, as it turned out, was much different than Gardana. Startling white hair hung in limp braids on either side of her weathered face, swaying gently with her slow movements. One of Hedda’s eyes clouded over, as if someone had poured milk into it. The other eye remained a clear, sparkling brown. Yards of dark material swathed her thin body, tied at the waist with a length of leather. From what Isabeau could gather, Hedda had been at Kent since before Kendrick was even born. She must be nearing a hundred.

  "Here now, ye missed a spot," Hedda cackled as she tapped the spot in an impatient notion with a weather beaten stick.

  "Forgive me," Isabeau murmured, moving the hated brush over the area and putting as much emphasis on it as she could. The dark stain remained stubborn for a few moments then gave up its hold on the floor.

  Hedda gazed down with her wise eye. "That is better, girl. Tell me, ‘tis it true you are really a Queen?"

  Isabeau pushed the stray strands of wheat colored hair that fell from the braid out of her face and nodded. "Aye. I am the Queen of Castile."

  Hedda’s gray brows furrowed in question. "How is it ye become part of Kendi’s castle?"

  Now it was her turn to be dumbfounded. "Kendi?"

  Hedda lowered herself to the neighboring chair with a tired grunt and laid the weathered stick between her thin legs. "Aye, ‘tis the Duke. I brung him from his mother’s womb and I has called ‘im Kendi from his birth."

  How interesting, she thought, Kendrick harbors a few secrets of his own. Leaning back on her haunches, Isabeau stared at the older woman as she wiped the thin sheen of perspiration from her forehead. "You delivered him?"

  Hedda nodded. "That I did. He was the largest baby I bring inta the world. His mother was a slender woman she was. I had to cut the opening a little wider in order to get ‘im out."

  Her eyes widened. "She died?"

  Hedda shook her graying head in a methodical swing. "Nay. She lives in a small cottage not far from here." Heavy sighs escaped her throat as she shifted on the stool.

  "Why does she not live here?"

  Hedda shrugged her bony shoulders and slumped a little further. "I do not know, girl. Stop askin’ so many questions," Hedda hissed as her stick tapped the floor again with a stronger urgency this time. "Get back to ye work. Kendi be back anytime and he be mad if he find you talking about ‘im." The thin stick went back between the elderly legs and disappeared in the dark coarse folds of the older woman’s gown.

  Isabeau bent back over the stone floor, scrubbing a little harder now. Her mind spun with question. Could she probe a little deeper and find out some of Kendrick’s secrets?

  Before she could ask, a set dark boots appeared in her field of vision. She looked up. Kendrick stood over her, tall and impressive with a smirk on his lips. "You are working cooperatively with Hedda I see. Good. The less consternation in this castle the better." He bent from his waist, tilting her head up. Spirals of sensation radiated out from where his hand rested on her chin.

  Anger, mixed with an undercurrent of desire, swelled inside her but she managed to keep it under control. The less he knew about her emotions, the better. "Aye, milord. I was taught to respect my elders."

  Horrid cackles escaped Hedda’s throat. "Did ye hear that, Kendi? Taught to respect her elders! ‘Tis the first time I have ordered a Queen to scrub a floor!" At the mention of his pet name, Kendrick’s broad shoulders winced. He did not want me to know about that name.

  Kendrick’s arms crossed over his scarlet clad chest as he stared at Isabeau. Slowly his lips curled into a sensual smile. Isabeau shivered. His sexual intensity was maddening. "Good. See that it stays that way. After you are finished, Isabeau, I wish to bathe. After I am through, I want you to bathe as well."

  She trembled slightly at his order. "Why, milord?" The brush dropped from her hand and landed on the floor with a dull thud. What was he going to do to her?

  Kendrick put his large palm up in gesture of silence. "Ask no more. Be in my chamber at half past the hour." With that, he spun on a well-booted foot and left the room. From his stride, she could see the anger within him.

  Isabeau cast a nervous gaze at Hedda. The elderly woman slumped in her seat with her arms folded over her protruding belly. Her head lolled to the side as the softest of snores rose high in the chamber and pierced the veil of anxiety left by Kendrick. Isabeau sighed. What was to become of her now?

  * * * *

  "Halden, come here! We must stop this!" Gardana’s voice screeched in the tiny chamber just on the outskirts of Henstrige castle. She stood at the urn filled with water as the figures of the Duke and the blonde woman shimmered beneath the surface before it faded from her sight. Nay, the Duke could not take the woman now!

  Halden shuffled in, dressed in his traditional brilliantly embroidered black robe. An elderly hand scratched at the graying tendrils of his head. "What is it, Gardana? Do you not understand I am trying to nap?"

  Gardana closed the distance between them and wrapped a hand around his upper arm. With little force, she dragged him over to the bowl. "Look! The Duke is plannin
g to take her away so he can seduce her!"

  Halden stood glaring at the basin with his eyes narrowing now and then, as if he did not understand the images dancing before his eyes. Several long and tense moments passed before he looked up. "Aye, I see them but I also see the coming of the child. It cannot be stopped."

  Furious rage ripped through her body. It can and will be stopped. "Why not? Surely there must be something I can do to poison her!" Her arms fell to her sides where her hands clenched in fists of rage.

  Halden shook his head in a methodical motion. "The child is destined to come but we must wait until the right time, Gardana. ‘Twill not be long now."

  "Why? I want her out of the way and out of his life!"

  An evil grin crossed the thin slivers of his lips. "Because the Duke must fall in love with her first. You see, if we kill her now, the Duke will not be grieving enough for him to take you back to his bed. If we wait until he falls for her, the better the chance you have."

  The fire under her rage simmered slightly as her hand rose to rub her chin in a contemplative motion. Halden’s words made sense. If you wanted to cripple a man, take away the one he loves. After that, he can be ruled easily. I will rule the Duke even if I must sell my soul to the devil to do it.

  Halden brushed her with an impatient touch on the shoulder and brought her back to reality. "Have you told the Duke you are carrying his child?"

  Gardana shook her head. Dark tendrils of hair tapped her cheeks in a feathery touch and fell back into place. "Nay, I have not. The runes have told me not to."

  Crimson hued eyebrow shot up quickly. "You are playing with the runes? How many times have I told you to wait until I have trained you properly?" His voice was loud. For an older man, his voice remained strong and steady when he willed it to be.

  Her hands flew to her hips in a gesture of pure defiance. "Of course, Halden. You have shown me everything you know," she growled then leaned forward so he could not mistake her words, "including the runes. I will use them how and when as I see fit. I will go along with your plan for now but if things begin to go awry, I will come up with a plan of my own to dispose of the wench. Am I understood?"