Sword Play

by Sahara Kelly

  “Aspicio Amor,” he read aloud. He flashed a quick glance at the woman standing nervously next to him.

  She was blushing, a deep fiery red spreading from her neck over her complexion to her brow. She held her hands against her cheeks and turned away from him.

  He looked down again. “A Look at Passion,” he muttered quietly.

  He traced the already-worked design with careful fingers.

  Beneath the border was a glorious tree, vividly alive with various shades of green. He bent closer. There—there in the leaves, cunningly and intricately blended, was the figure of a woman, one hand on her breast, one hand between her legs and a look of bliss on her face as she lay on a branch with her eyes closed.

  He drew back. It was completely undetectable unless one was looking for it.

  His eye traveled to the green fields and the barn that was taking shape on the taut fabric. The barn contained a tumble of hay, and sure enough, when he lowered his head close to the stitching, once again he found an erotic illustration. This time it depicted a couple, making love in the hay, her legs wrapped around his waist and his back arched as he plunged deeply into her. He would have had to be looking very closely indeed to spot it, so cleverly had the stitches been arranged within the rest of the picture.

  He hissed out a breath between his teeth, feeling his cock throbbing against his thigh.

  “Lady, to describe your skill as commonplace is to do you a great disservice.” He turned to find her back facing him, as she was apparently staring intently at something through the window.

  He saw her shoulders straighten.

  “May I inquire as to the purpose of this piece? It is, on the surface, a lovely work, but I detect that there are secrets lurking within its stitches…”

  Lady Constance whirled around on him, face still flushed, but this time with no embarrassment or hesitation in her gaze.

  “And that, Lord Magnus, is just the problem.” She strode to her tapestry frame and waved a hand across it. “Secrets. Hidden secrets. Do you have any idea what kind of instruction is given to a girl before she’s shipped off to wed?”

  Magnus shook his head cautiously.

  “None. Absolutely none.” Constance paced the floors. “Most girls are barely into womanhood when they’re given—or sold—to some man as his wife. They’re told that their husbands will educate them on their duties. Well, splendid. Do you know what they too often get?”

  Again, Magnus held his tongue and shrugged slightly, wondering where this discourse was leading.

  “They get a man who has no clue about the fragility of a virgin. They get a man who thinks that all he needs to do is to stick his…his cock in his wife, deposit his seed, and his job is done. Heaven forbid his wife should demand anything more from the experience. Like tenderness, or touching, or anything that might convince her that this coupling could be pleasurable.”

  Constance snapped her mouth shut, and frowned. “For some unknown reason, men seem to think that their wives are so gently bred that to offer them pleasure in the marital bed would be to dishonor them. Such acts are restricted to the local whore, who has a damn sight more fun with the husband than the wife does. This, from my way of thinking, is wrong.”

  “And you intend to correct the situation with…this?” asked Magnus, waving his hand at the tapestry.

  “I intend to suggest to anyone who takes a closer look, that lovemaking between a man and a woman can be not only pleasurable, but exquisite. Something to be anticipated, enjoyed, perhaps even treasured, when both parties have a better knowledge of such things.”

  Magnus caught her hazel gaze and held it with his own, watching as the realization of what she’d said took hold of her senses.

  “You mean like we did?”

  Chapter Five

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The words of denial leapt from Constance’s mouth before she could think of a better way to refute his suggestion. It was utterly impossible for her to admit to this stunningly handsome man that she had willingly lain with him, welcomed him into her body, and tightened around him like a well-made gauntlet.

  She turned her face away, unable to complete the lie by staring him down, much as she would have liked to.

  “Lady Constance, remove your chaplet and your veil,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Do as I say.” He was nearer now, his voice lowering, his presence making her senses swim. “Remove it.”

  “I will not.”

  “Lady, do it yourself, or I’ll summon the servants and have them hold you while I do it. This is my Keep. I am its Lord. Remove your chaplet.”

  There was no doubt in Constance’s mind that he meant every word he said. But somehow, she was not afraid. The threat she heard in his voice was not violent—it was sensual.

  And damn her body to the grave of Saint Beatrice, she was responding to each and every nuance, every breath, every soft intonation.

  If he kept this up she’d be taking off a damn sight more than her chaplet.

  Slowly, she raised her hands, keeping her back to him. With deft fingers she unhooked the veil and lifted the padded fabric chaplet that held it in place. Both veil and chaplet tumbled from her fingers to puddle on the floor.

  She heard his breath tighten in his lungs as her head was bared before him, and within seconds she felt his hands withdrawing the pins from the neat coil of hair that rested at the back of her neck.

  Her black braid fell free, down the length of her spine to brush her buttocks.

  There was silence in the Solar for long moments, and Constance waited, until she wanted to scream at him to say or do something, anything.

  His touch, when it came, was almost a relief.

  He grasped her braid and tugged her gently backwards, pulling steadily until she came to rest on his solid body.

  “Lady, you are a very poor liar,” he whispered, leaning so that his lips were mere breaths from her ear. “I remember the women I take. I remember their taste…” His tongue flicked out and circled her lobe, making her shiver. “I remember their scent…” He tugged her head backwards, exposing her throat, and buried his nose beneath her jaw. “And above all, I remember how they feel.”

  He slipped his free hand around and beneath her over-tunic, slipping upwards until he cradled one full breast.

  He moved them even closer, and Constance could feel his hardness growing now against her buttocks, in spite of the fabric that separated them.

  This was truly a man to be reckoned with. He was demolishing her defenses and breaching her soul with his words and his touches. She dared not let down her guard.

  “You are bold, Lord Magnus,” she hissed, through clenched teeth. “Taking advantage of a defenseless woman. My word. Such valor.”

  His chest rumbled with his laughter. “Defenseless? I think not, Lady Constance.” His hand tightened around her breast and her traitorous nipple solidified into a granite lump of sensation beneath his seeking fingertips.

  “You possess more weapons than most of the knights who have ridden at my side into battle.” His tongue traced a slow path along the tendon in her neck and she gasped at the pleasure of it.

  “You mock me, Sir,” she choked. She battled the urge to tilt her head and give him better access.

  “Indeed not, Lady.” His fingers tightened around her nipple, pulling and tugging it into a state of exquisite hardness. “Are these not sharper than any dagger a soldier might wield against an adversary? Pointed enough to breach his armor and reach the man beneath?”

  His hand slipped down from her breast across her belly. “Are these curves not dangerous enough to lure a man from his path and into the hidden valley of danger?”

  He traced his way to the dip between her thighs and pressed the fabric of her dress roughly against her now-swollen softness. “And isn’t this valley deep enough to encourage the most noble of knights to enter its darkness and run the risk of losing himself within?”
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br />   She sighed with pleasure as he stroked her, feeling her moisture flow beneath his touch and her legs spread in invitation.

  He tugged more forcefully on her braid, twisting her head around so that he could see her face.

  She resolutely closed her eyes, unwilling to take the chance that his eyes might be laughing at her. This was too close, too personal, too…everything for her to run the risk of seeing that it was all a game to him.

  “And though you shutter those eyes, do they not fire heat into a man’s loins with a single glance? Hotter than the fieriest arrow ever used in a siege…” He dropped light kisses on her eyelids, drawing a hesitant sound from her throat.

  “Would these lips not suck the very essence of a bold warrior from his body, the way a wound leaches the blood from his veins?”

  Suiting words to action he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Constance was lost. His discourse had heated her, stoked her inner furnace to the point where she was ready to explode beneath the onslaught of sensation he was causing.

  She sighed into his mouth and welcomed his tongue as it stabbed demandingly between her lips.

  Somebody groaned, but Constance had no idea who it was, so involved were they both in the embrace. She wanted nothing more than to strip him naked and sate her needs with his fine body and that stupendous cock that she could feel jabbing against her buttocks.

  And then what?

  The thought shot through her mind like cold water, recalling her to her surroundings. She pulled away, hating to lose the warmth of his mouth, but knowing it was imperative that she retain some control over this flammable situation, which could turn wanton in seconds.

  She thrust her buttocks back against him, daringly. “It would seem that you are not without weapons of your own, my Lord. Is that not a mighty lance threatening my welfare?”

  He grinned, a sweep-a-woman-off-her-feet sort of grin. Constance reminded herself to keep her slippers firmly on the floor. “‘Tis only a threat of pleasure, my sweet,” he quipped, rubbing his groin suggestively against her.

  She stepped carefully away, and he released his grip on her braid. “I’m sure the pleasure would be as mighty as the weapon, my Lord. But you forget something.”

  He raised an eyebrow, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy. By Saint Beatrice he was a sensual man on so many levels.

  “You are to be wed. I am to prepare your Keep to welcome your bride. Surely such lustful ‘weaponry’ should best be kept for that occasion.”

  Magnus narrowed his gaze at her. “I would not want it to become rusty through lack of use.”

  “Then polish it yourself, my Lord. I understand that will provide a satisfactory—shine?”

  Magnus tipped back his head and laughed aloud. “A wit. Lady, your tongue is every bit as sharp as my sword.” His lips curled, making her want to pull them to her aching breasts and have him suckle her for about a week or so. “But I would prefer you test your wicked blade along the length of mine…”

  She shuddered at the images his teasing words evoked. To touch him, taste him like that. How entrancing such a thing would be. And how sinful.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Magnus neared her again. “Think on it, Lady. Would it not make a fine image for your tapestry?”

  *~~*~~*

  And there it was. The key to the situation that Magnus’ busy mind had been searching for throughout his verbal seduction of this woman who played hell with his resolutions and brought his cock to an amazing state of hardness with just her scent.

  “You want to embroider an…an instruction manual, if I understand you correctly. To show how it can be between a man and a woman when both are educated and aware of the possibilities. Am I correct?”

  Lady Constance gave him a slight nod, eyeing him warily.

  “And for my part, I require you to work hard on my Keep, creating an elegant residence from a pile of rather ugly stone.” His innate sense of discretion warned him that now was not the time to mention his upcoming nuptials.

  Seducing one woman while talking about another was simply unacceptable in his book, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it might earn him a blade between the ribs from Constance.

  “I suggest a bargain between us.”

  “A bargain?”

  Magnus caught the hint of curiosity in the back of her eyes, and quelled a triumphant smirk. “A bargain. In exchange for the work you will be called upon to do over the next few weeks, I shall offer myself as a volunteer each night, and together we can investigate more possibilities for your tapestry.”

  She drew her brows together suspiciously. “You will ‘offer’ yourself? That sounds enormously generous of you, my Lord.” She puckered her lips in a little moue of disbelief. “So in exchange for my services, I am to come to your bed each night and sport with you, thereby adding something new in the way of illustrations for my tapestry.”

  She snorted. “Forgive me if I don’t quite see where the advantages to me lie in this ‘bargain’ you would make.”

  Magnus’ mind churned. He was too damned close to what he wanted to give up now.

  “The advantages? Why, Lady, think this through. You have at your disposal a healthy, able knight, willing to do your bidding and pleasure you in as many ways as possible. And there are lots of ways…”

  Mindful of her earlier response to his touches, Magnus reached for her hand. Absently, she let him take it and raise it to his lips. “Have you ever ridden, Constance?”

  She blinked, caught by surprise as he casually used her given name. “Of course. I have my own palfrey stabled in the outer bailey.”

  Magnus’ lips curved sensually. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She stared at him, completely lost now at his train of conversation. “I don’t understand you, my Lord.”

  “When a woman rides a horse, it moves beneath her and takes her from one place to another. When she rides a man, he moves beneath her and takes her to a magical place no palfrey could reach.”

  Constance mulled over his words, then felt the blush begin as she realized the implications.

  He gave her no quarter. “Have you ever polished a floor, Constance? Ever been on your hands and knees with your beautiful arse thrust into the air?” His lips were brushing her knuckles now, to and fro in a mesmerizing rhythm that had her spellbound.

  “Imagine, Lady, were you to be in that position, but not to work, oh no. Instead, you’d feel the heat of a man against your thighs as he sought entrance to your sweet darkness from behind…”

  “Like an animal?” she gasped.

  “Oh, yes and so much more. It’s animalistic all right, but it’s also powerful and exciting, and it lets a man touch something deep inside a woman, something so pleasurable she can scream and sob and soak his cock with her body’s tears.”

  Constance sensed that she was fighting a losing battle.

  Magnus’ words were evoking images in her brain that threatened to send that organ boiling over and dripping from her ears.

  “You have knowledge of the marriage bed, Lady Constance. The act of passion between a man and a woman is not foreign to you. You wish to improve the lot of other women who might need such knowledge. You have been a wife.” He paused and stared at her, the startling blue of his eyes reflecting the sunlight from outside and sending it back like twin beams from the bottom of a magical ocean.

  “But have you truly been a woman?”

  Constance’s mind reeled, and her body throbbed as his words aroused her senses.

  She was scared to close her eyes, lest she see visions of the two of them, naked and writhing in the positions he’d described.

  Oh how she wanted it. How she wanted him.

  A loud cough made them both jump and Magnus turned with a snarl to see a servant cowering in the doorway.

  “Forgive me, my Lord,” he said nervously. “Sir Edward requests your presence in the bailey…something about discussing the work that needs to be done?”

  Magnus no
dded abruptly.

  Constance dragged her hand from his, thankful for the reprieve. “My Lord, I would that you leave me now. I have work, as do you.”

  Magnus’ face fell into unrevealing lines. “And our bargain?”

  Constance drew a breath. “I…I need time. Time to consider the advantages and disadvantages of your offer.”

  “Constance…” he said hesitantly. “Know this. If there were to be a child…if that is what’s worrying you…”

  She snorted. “No, my Lord. That is not one of my worries. I failed to produce an heir through four years of marriage to my husband. He had sired a son on his previous wife, so it was quite obvious that my womb was barren. Bearing a child is the least of my worries.”

  If he only knew what her worries were. If she only knew what they were. But perhaps she did and was just afraid to admit them, even to herself.

  “I repeat, my Lord. I need time to think on this.” She raised her chin and glared defiantly at him.

  “Very well, Lady. I will respect your wishes.” He bowed elegantly, and left her, pausing at the door. “You have ‘til sunset.”

  Chapter Six

  Magnus wondered if time was passing as slowly for Constance as it was for him.

  His day alternated between bouts of hard labor and periods of annoying idleness, during which times he did nothing but fight his arousal and try and hide the front of his breeches.

  By the Saints, he wanted that woman in his bed this night. And he wanted her willing too.

  Thankfully, Edward summoned him before his cock could embarrass him further.

  Ravynne’s Keep was a tidy property, and Magnus loved it. He’d been gone for three months, which was no great length compared to some Lords, who would journey for years on one quest or another. But to Magnus, this was his home, and to be away for a quarter of the year was to be away too long.

  He prided himself on knowing his tenants by name, and on keeping their housing within the bailey snug and weather tight. It was his considered opinion that these were the real holders of Ravynne’s Keep. The people who lived and loved and worked and laughed within its huge stone walls.