Lord Grim's Witch (a medieval romance novelette)

by Delilah Devlin

  He grinned and let go of her arse, not the least surprised when she lay acquiescent, even widening her knees and raising her round bottom higher.

  With his hands free to ravage, he traced her slit then rimmed her opening before thrusting two fingers inside her. Her inner muscles clamped hard around him, and her hips undulated. He wanted to explore her—fully—but knew she’d bolt if he didn’t arouse her beyond embarrassment first. So he played inside her cunt, thrusting, swirling, adding another finger and fucking her slowly, so that her hips dipped and rose at his command, faster and faster. When he judged her ready, he bent close and bit her bottom, causing her to jerk and her channel to flood again.

  With his fingers swimming in cream, he licked between her buttocks, finding the small exquisitely sensitive opening and licked her with the tip of his tongue.

  She mewled like a kitten then gasped when he lingered. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Whatever I please,” he murmured and pressed fingers on either side of the opening to spread it wider.

  “That pleases you?” she asked, her voice strained and high pitched her only resistance—her hips reared back, begging for more.

  One day, he’d take this tiny hole. Drill deep and feel the pinch of the strong muscles that guarded her entrance. For now, he’d tease her with a hint of what he would do. He’d unsettle her so deeply she’d be ashamed for days of her own body’s response, but grow wet at just a knowing glance from him.

  Quickly, his own body grew so inflamed he couldn’t wait any longer to feel her heat around his cock. Looking down at her, her back jerking with her jagged breaths, her hair a wild tangle from her thrashing head, he felt a deep satisfaction—a dark, primitive thrill at having “taken” her so thoroughly. He grasped his cock and stroked it hard within his palm, then placed it against her plump, dripping cunt and squeezed her bottom hard as he plunged forward.

  His cock raked her channel, rammed tight into clenching, tender tissues. Wet heat surrounded him as he tunneled deep, slamming his hips so hard her slender bottom jiggled with each thrust.

  “Please, please, oh please!” she begged sweetly, pushing back to take him deeper. Her body shuddered, her cunt clenched, and she cried out, flinging back her head.

  Geoffrey needed wait no longer; he stroked deep, hard, slamming against her again and again, until his own release swept over him. When his balls had emptied, he took them both to the mattress, clutching her close to keep the connection.

  With his chest heaving, he held her tightly—too tightly because she wheezed a bit and pushed at his hands.

  “You’ve already taken away my breath,” she muttered.

  Geoffrey found himself smiling as he drifted back to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Geoffrey awoke to pounding on his door.

  Beneath him, Gisele stirred and murmured a protest. She’d slept as soundly as he had despite the fact his weight pressed her deep into the mattress.

  Groaning for the loss of the sweet warmth gloving his sex, he withdrew slowly, lowering her legs to the bed. He wondered how many times he might have taken her this night if they hadn’t been interrupted. Even after the third time, he’d thought perhaps he’d had his fill, but his cock rose again.

  She roused, sleepily blinking her remarkable green eyes. “Someone’s at the door? Can you not send them away?”

  A smile curved his lips. She didn’t want to leave his bed any more than he did. “I must see what is the matter.”

  He rose from the bed, tossed the coverlet over her nude body, and stomped toward the door, flinging it open.

  The steward stood outside, his expression far from apologetic for his interruption. He looked frightened.

  Instantly alert, Geoffrey straightened. “What is it? What has happened?”

  “Come to courtyard, milord,” his steward said, wringing his hands. “The sheriff needs you.”

  Geoffrey nodded and turned to quickly gather his clothing from the floor.

  “Lord Grim, what is it?” Gisele asked, sitting up while she held the coverlet securely over her breasts.

  “Stay abed. I’ll be back.”

  Once the straps of his boots were secure, he hurried from the room, following closely on the heels of the steward. A crowd of people hovered in the hall, their hushed whispers filling him with dread. On the steps of the keep, his gaze swept over the men standing beside their horses and a cart draped with a blanket.

  Tibor straightened as he drew near. “Milord, send the rest of them inside.”

  Geoffrey didn’t question the quietly issued command. His friend’s granite expression warned him whatever was in the cart needed the utmost discretion. Glancing over his shoulder, he pinned the steward with a hard glare. “Get everyone inside. Now.”

  Within moments, only the men who’d accompanied Tibor on his patrol remained. A cloud passed before the full moon that had illuminated the courtyard, darkening Tibor’s expression and casting shadows over the cart. Tibor stood so still, cold dread began to settle in his bones. “So tell me. How did your hunting go?”

  “It was as we suspected, Geoff,” Tibor said, his voice even, He flipped back the blanket to reveal the nude body of a man, an arrow piercing his side.

  Geoffrey drew a deep breath. “The wolf?”

  Tibor nodded. “We set the trap using a few of the witch’s sheep. We kept watch from her hut. When they began to bleat, we crept outside and lay in wait for him to appear. He was a fearsome creature, walking on two legs, but his head was that of a wolf and his body was covered in fur.

  “I crept closer with my bow and a quiver full of silver-tipped arrows, just as you recommended. When he drew close to the pen, he scented the air. He spotted me and charged. I let loose an arrow just as he leapt for my throat.” Tibor’s gaze dropped to the body of the young man. “He didn’t die quickly; he thrashed about and transformed into the man you see here.”

  Geoffrey felt a tremor shudder through his body. “Did he bite you, Tibor?”

  Tibor stood still for a long moment, still staring at the man in the cart. When his friend’s gaze slowly lifted, Geoffrey’s heart sank to his toes.

  “I wasn’t bitten,” Tibor said, his voice tightening, “but his claws scratched me on my shoulder.”

  A blanket of cold, numbing dread settled over Geoffrey. “We must see to your wounds,” he said, unwilling to admit to himself the possibility his friend might already be doomed.

  “Let me help, milord,” a soft feminine voice whispered beside him.

  Geoffrey startled and swung his gaze to Gisele. Dressed only in her white shift, she stood like a pale ghost beside him.

  “I told you to wait in my chamber,” he said in harsh whisper.

  “Let me treat him, milord. I may be able to help.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled, hoping she hadn’t overhead the whole conversation.

  “I know that you fear he will become a werewolf like this poor creature. I have some knowledge. I might be able to stop the poison from entering his blood.”

  Impatient, and quickly growing distraught, he lashed out. “Woman, what can you do? He is already condemned.”

  Her small hand lifted to press against his arm. “We must go to my hut,” she implored. “Let me care for him there. My herbs—”

  “If the wolf’s contagion has already taken root, he will transform within a day. We should lock him in the dungeon and await the change.”

  Tibor’s expression was grim, but resolute. He nodded his head, indicating he understood what must be done.

  Gisele’s eyes filled with tears. “But if I can save him, why would you not be willing to try?”

  Clenching his jaw against the urge to howl his pain, he gritted out, “This is a demon’s magic—not something your remedies can cure.”

  “But I’m not just a healer, milord,” she said softly. “Herbs aren’t the only skill I own.”

  “What are you sa
ying?”

  “I must lay hands on him as well. I possess a…gift.”

  Her resoluteness in the face of his anger finally broke through the numbing horror. “You think your gift can save him?” he asked, afraid to believe.

  “I would like to try. If I have the rest of tonight and tomorrow, we will have time to get him back to the dungeon to await the full moon.”

  Geoffrey’s throat tightened. “Aren’t you afraid to touch him—in case he might spread the poison to you?”

  “He can’t infect us until he transforms.”

  “You sound as though you’ve seen this before.”

  Her eyes glittered in the moonlight, her smile was serene. “My mother was a healer. She passed her gift and knowledge to me. She had some experience with werecreatures.”

  “You say this so as though it was a daily occurrence.”

  “Well, I know it’s not. But let’s not consign your friend to death just yet. We have a day.”

  Geoffrey looked to Tibor whose expression was closed, as though he too was afraid to hope. “We will go to your hut. You will have a day to work your magic.”

  “You must keep everyone away.”

  “I don’t want either of you to risk yourselves,” Tibor bit out.

  “We risk nothing,” she said, at last giving voice to her impatience. “Listen to what I say. You cannot infect us until after you transform into the creature. Please, let me help you.”

  For a long moment, he stared at her. Then his lips curved into a smile. “Why, mistress, you sound as though you care.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “I would care for even the lowest of creatures, Sheriff.”

  His smile broadened. “Tibor, mistress. Since it looks as though we will be spending time alone—again.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Must everything be about bedsport?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a man—you’re an attractive woman.”

  “You are cursed, sir, and still you find time to play games?”

  One eyebrow rose. “I’m cursed, but not yet dead.”

  Relieved his friend had regained his wit and a measure of hope, Geoffrey interrupted their sparring. “We’ll take horses. I’ll let the men know we are leaving.”

  Gisele caught his arm as he turned. “You mustn’t tell them why. If they suspect, they might take matters into their own hands.”

  “What?” Tibor murmured. “You wouldn’t like to see me swinging by the neck? You do care.”

  “Hush, you fool,” she shot back without taking her gaze from Geoffrey. “Milord, tell them to burn the body, but they mustn’t touch it. They’ll have to burn the entire cart.”

  Geoffrey nodded and strode away, shouting to his men to assemble, glad to have something to do to push away thoughts of the coming day.

  “Was he gentle with you?” The sheriff’s voice was soft. For once, it held no trace of mockery.

  Unable to meet his searching gaze, Gisele dropped hers to his wide chest. “Gentle wasn’t what I wanted,” she answered honestly.

  “I knew it!” he crowed.

  She scowled and raised her chin. “I don’t know why I assume you can behave like an adult.”

  “My immaturity is part of my charm. Admit it, the games you and I play amuse you. You spend countless hours thinking of ways to make me itch or reek.”

  Her lips twitched.

  “I knew it! You little witch!”

  At her renewed scowl, he raised his hands. “I say that with the greatest affection.”

  She arched a dark brow. “Remember your fate is in my hands.”

  His eyebrows waggled. “I’ve waited forever to hear you say that.”

  Lord Grim returned with three horses. “I’ve told them we wish to be left alone for the day.”

  “Good lord,” Gisele exclaimed, “they’ll think you both intend to—”

  “If this is to be my last day…” The sheriff’s lips stretched into a wicked grin.

  “I don’t care if you have only an hour left to live, you can get those thoughts out of your mind.”

  “Of course.” But he shot a glance at the dark lord that was laden with mischief.

  “Have a care that she doesn’t turn you into a toad,” Lord Grim drawled.

  “Too late for that, milord,” she quipped.

  Both men laughed as she stood beside her horse. Lord Grim cupped his hands and swept her easily up into the saddle. His hand rested on her thigh for a moment, and he gave her a squeeze. “Whatever you can do, please do it. He’s a brother to me.”

  Seeing his love for the sheriff softened her toward him. “You have my promise I will use everything in my arsenal of cures to help him. I have no wish to see him destroyed.”

  “Good Lord, haven’t you had your fill of her?” Tibor called out.

  Geoffrey shook his head, gave her a quick smile, and then vaulted into his saddle.

  Together, they rode through the gate, the full moon lighting their way.

  *

  “I’ll take care of the horses,” Lord Grim said, as they drew to a halt in front of her small hut.

  The sheriff dismounted and reached her first. His hands closed gently around her waist as he helped her to the ground.

  Her heart fluttered, and she kept her gaze averted, glad for the darkness that hid her blushes. She’d managed for so long to keep him emotionally at a distance. Now, she knew they’d share intimacies that would strain her ability to keep things light and her heart unaffected.

  She led him into her hut and went straight to the hearth, reaching for the poker to stir the embers. Thankfully, a few still smoldered, so she added kindling, one small branch at a time until the fire blazed. Only then did she turn back to him.

  “I need for you to remove your clothing.”

  A smile tugged his lips. “The scratch is on my shoulder.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I must be sure. Please.”

  His brows rose high. “Be sure to tell Geoffrey this is your idea.”

  “Do you fear him?”

  He pulled his tunic over his head, taking his undertunic along with it. “No, but I wouldn’t want him to think I poached where I wasn’t invited. Not after he’s laid claim.”

  “I’m not pledged to him,” she said softly, trying not to stare at what he revealed. The night before, they’d come together in darkness. Tonight, she feasted on the sight of him.

  His torso was leaner than Lord Grim’s, but just as well-muscled. She struggled to keep her breaths even, and her body unaffected, concentrating instead on the three angry scratches that marred his shoulder.

  “You’re not pledged to him… Does that mean you’d not be averse to keeping me as a lover?”

  “What?” Good lord! Had he seen her interest? Flustered, because the thought of having both of them as lovers didn’t seem such a bad idea, her protest was a little too ardent. “Of course not! I only meant, he shouldn’t feel any possessiveness toward me. Besides, I’ve heard you two have often shared your conquests.”

  “You’ve heard that, have you? Are you shocked?”

  “Shouldn’t I be? The rumor has it you don’t simply pass them between you, you take them together.”

  His mouth curved into a devilish smile. “I suppose on the surface that appears a bit…decadent.”

  “Sinful is more like it,” she said, adding a tart bite to her tone. “The very idea!”

  “And yet, your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are sparkling with fire. I think the idea excites you, mistress.”

  She gave him a baleful glance. “Your trousers, sir.”

  His laugh was low and tinged with wicked delight. His fingers made quick work of the knot at his waist, and as fast as she could blink, he’d divested himself of his clothing and his boots.

  His arousal took her breath away. Darker than the rest of his sun-browned skin, it was capped with a ruddy crown. It rose from a nest of dark crinkly hair and seemed to strain toward her. While she stared, his hand closed around his staff and rubbe
d up and down once. “Be careful. He does bite.”

  Her reply was a croak. She swallowed to wet her dry mouth. “Turn slowly, so that I can see every inch of your skin.”

  “Every inch is right here,” he taunted, stroking himself again.

  “You know damn well what I mean. Turn so that I can inspect you for more scratches.”

  His hand dropped from his cock, and he gave an exaggerated sigh. “Wouldn’t you know, the woman prefers to gaze upon backsides.”

  He was right. His was perfect—rounded and hard. She remembered grasping both globes in her hands and squeezing with all her might as he’d rutted against her. She cleared her throat. “I see nothing of interest. You may turn around.”

  “You sound as though you’ve swallowed a frog.”

  Ignoring his taunt, she ground out, “Lie down on the bed. I have a salve I’ll rub into your wounds.”

  “Shall I dress?”

  She halted and stared at him. The prudent thing would be to tell him to put on his trousers, but it had been an odd night all the way around, and she wasn’t her usual stern self at all. With ruthless honesty, she admitted to herself that she wanted to gaze upon his naked form, and perhaps touch him intimately. “Please don’t,” she said softly.

  All trace of arrogant humor bled from his expression. Quietly, he strode toward the bed and lay down on it, his cock pointing toward the ceiling.

  She gathered a crock of ointment and a bundle of herbs and crossed the room, settling beside him. “I’m going to make a poultice and rub it into your wounds. Then I’ll place my hands over the scratches and let them heat the medicine. Afterward, I’ll wrap it.”

  “Will this save me, mistress?” he asked, his tone light, but his gaze almost pleading.

  “Gisele,” she whispered.

  “Will this save me…Gisele?”

  When he wasn’t being clever, his voice had a pleasant rasp. She hadn’t noticed that before. “It is only part of the cure.”

  “What else must you do?”

  “It is what you must do that is most important.”

  “What is that?”

  She lifted her fingers and brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead, not questioning the appropriateness of the tender gesture. “Believe that you’ll be cured.”