The Conqueror (Hot Knights)

by Gillgannon, Mary

  The Norman held the chapel door open for her. She hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and went in.

  A rush of cold air followed them, stirring the dust on the floor. The Norman pulled the door closed, then took the one candle burning by the entrance and went to light the others set in holders at either side of the nave.

  As the small chamber leapt into light, an ache started in Edeva’s throat. The chapel had been her mother’s dream. She had wanted a “real” church, and Leowine had indulged her. The ornately-painted screen behind the altar, the carved wooden arches of the ceiling the trefoil windows set high in the whitewashed walls, their exotic shapes gleaming with precious rose-colored glass. Every detail lovingly rendered, as if fashioned for a fine cathedral.

  Once there had been a priest as well. Father Saxfrid, sent by the bishopry at Winchester. He had died shortly before the battle of Hastings, and there had been too many other things to do to see to a replacement.

  Since then, the place remained unused. Edeva sometimes came here to pray, but she had not done so in months. Her grief made her too bitter and angry for petitions to heaven.

  The Norman stepped back, surveying the high-ceilinged space. His expression was admiring, almost reverent. Edeva felt a stir of pride that helped assuage her pain. Her mother had created a worthy legacy

  “You said it was in the chapel,” the Norman said. “Show me where.”

  She wanted desperately to refuse, but could not. She would not force her people to go without meat this winter.

  She pointed to an area where the paving stones made a pattern, with a large square stone in the center. “There, in front of the rail.” Her hand shook.

  The Norman went to the spot. He took out his dagger and began to pry up the flat middle stone. Edeva watched, her distress increasing. She should not have told him of her father’s hiding place. She should have come here alone at night and dug it up herself. Why had she not thought of that?

  She shook her head, wondering what was wrong with her. Why did she keep doing things to help the Norman?

  He swore loudly. She saw that he had worked the stone partway out and it had squashed his fingers. “Help me,” he said.

  Taking a deep breath, she knelt beside him. Together they eased the stone out of the way. He motioned that she should pull out the wooden box beneath.

  She tried but could not budge it. Grunting, he pulled the paving stone all the way out, then reached in and took the other side of the box. They heaved it onto the floor.

  In the space underneath the box, surrounded by straw, were several barrels. The Norman pried open the top of one with his dagger and grunted in satisfaction. The salt. Then he turned his attention to the wooden box.

  He used his dagger to wrest off the lid. Inside were several cloth bags. He began to pull them out and open them. He tossed the first one aside, and Edeva saw a curl of parchment poking out the end. She guessed it contained charters and grants from the long line of Saxon kings her family had served. All worthless now, good only for scraping and reusing the vellum, if it were not too old and brittle.

  The next bag made a clinking sound when he shook it. He smiled, and then put it aside.

  He hefted the final bag, and the look of expectation on his face deepened. He opened the bag and stared at the contents, then carefully dumped them on the floor. The wealth of Leowine’s lineage winked and twinkled in the candlelight—rings, necklaces, bejeweled daggers, belt buckles and brooches fashioned of gold and precious gems. A sick feeling went through Edeva. Her father must have hidden away his treasure horde before he left for Hastings. Now it belonged to the Normans, their enemies.

  Traitor, a voice in her head accused. Better you all starve this winter than to lead him to this!

  She glanced up and saw the Norman looking at her, his features softened by an expression of awe and gratitude.

  She wanted to spit at him. “I did not know it was there,” she said in a voice full of venom. “If I had, you could not have forced me to tell you of it even if you tortured me to death.”

  “Always the hellcat,” he said softly.

  She stood, wanting to weep. She had betrayed her family, her heritage. And all for a man who thought her an uncouth, savage hellcat.

  Whirling around, she stalked out of the chapel. When she reached the yard, she began to run. She dashed into the hall. People turned to stare at her. Edeva sucked in her breath and headed toward the stairs.

  She reached the bedchamber and slammed the door behind her. Briefly, she thought of trying to lock it. But why bother? The Norman would be busy gloating over his good fortune for hours.

  She threw herself onto the bed and pressed her hand to her mouth, forbidding herself to cry. If her brothers saw her now, they would be appalled. They thought she was strong. A hellion and a virago, they called her.

  But she was not strong. ’Twas so hard to always be thinking of everyone else, to forever remember to hide her own breaking heart.

  Oh, how she missed her father. He had seemed as formidable and enduring as the hills themselves. But he was gone, and she must carry on and do the best she could on her own. It seemed like such a heavy burden, and there was no one to share it with. Even if her brothers reclaimed Oxbury, she knew they would not aid her in the running of the manor. They were concerned only for their own comforts, their own prestige and power. ’Twould be up to her to see that Oxbury and its people thrived.

  She sat up slowly. At least she had a purpose, something to work toward. She could see that the manor prospered, despite the Normans.

  There was a sound on the stairway. Edeva jumped to her feet and looked around for something to bar the door with.

  Too late. The door opened. Edeva moved to the storage chests in the corner, hoping the dimness of the chamber would hide her turmoil.

  “Edeva?” The Norman stepped into the room. Edeva knelt down and opened one of the chests, pretending to look for something inside. “Lady Edeva, I would speak with you.”

  She continued to ignore him, pulling out pieces of cloth and examining them. He approached her and tried to take her arm. She jerked away.

  “Jesu, woman, I am trying to be civil!”

  He stood there a moment, and she could sense his growing anger. Good. Let him understand that she was not willing to do his bidding unless it served her purpose.

  “We are back to this, then. You fighting me, snarling like a wildcat?” He heaved a sigh. “I do not want it to be like this, Edeva. I have tried to show you courtesy, to treat you with deference. I had hoped to win your cooperation and respect in return.”

  “Respect?” Edeva straightened. “How can I respect you, you greedy, lustful pig!”

  “How can you call me lustful? I have honored our agreement. I have not touched you!”

  Edeva went rigid. She longed to tell him that his lover was a Saxon spy. But then she would have to tell him how she knew of Golde’s perfidy.

  His eyes suddenly glowed with anger. “I can see my forbearance, my attempts at honor, are wasted on a shrewish bitch like you! ’Tis clear I should never have rescued you, but left you down in that foul cellar to rot!”

  He turned and started to leave. In the gloom, he tripped on the stool in his pathway. He swore violently, then picked up the stool and threw it into the wall.

  “Stop!” she screamed. “’Tis not yours to break. None of this is yours! All the things in this room—the furniture, the chests, the clothes, the jewels you found in the chapel—they belong to me! I am the heiress of Oxbury, and I will command this place as I see fit!”

  He approached, and once more his voice was deadly calm. “You are wrong, lady. King William gave Oxbury to me. It is mine now. All of it.” He reached out and grabbed her sleeve. “Even you. Although why I would want such a quarrelsome, viper-tongued creature, I know not.”

  As he glared at her, Edeva felt her fury fade. She did not want him to despise her. As ridiculous as it w
as, she still sought his regard.

  His anger also seemed to ease. His fingers relaxed on her arm, then stroked. “I don’t know why I should want you, but I do.” His voice grew low and husky. “I want you all night long... every morning... every time I look at you.”

  Shimmering heat rose inside her. Edeva tried to remember her hatred. He moved closer, trapping her. His arms reached around to imprison her and his mouth met hers.

  The kiss was long, slow, searching. Edeva felt her legs turn the consistency of gruel, her head swim. When he drew back, she could barely stand.

  He stared at her, the pupils of his eyes huge and black. “I think there is a woman inside you, beneath all the snarling rage and fire.”

  Edeva swallowed. The way he looked at her... It made her feel weak, helpless.

  He leaned down and kissed her again, his tongue probing, inflaming. She gave a low moan and her arms came up around his neck.

  His body felt warm and solid against hers, his mouth like liquid fire. She tasted, reveled... and surrendered. When he took her hand and led her toward the bed, she did not try to resist. Her will was gone. Utterly vanished.

  He began to undress her. He pulled the loose gunna over her head, then knelt down to take off her shoes. She did nothing. He reached under her shift to find her garters and roll down her stockings. Edeva stood, trembling, nerveless.

  He grasped the hem of the linen shift and eased it upward. As he pulled it over her head, Edeva’s gaze met his. His face was soft, intent. Not the fierce mien of a warrior but the misty countenance of a lover.

  “Edeva, my beautiful Edeva.”

  His admiring words melted her last vestiges of resistance. As if in a dream, she watched him lower his head to mouth her nipple. She sighed and closed her eyes. He caught her as she swayed. Throbbing need radiated out from her nipples, swirling and whirling inside her.

  He drew her nipple deeply into his mouth, and Edeva cried out from the sudden, urgent restlessness afflicting her. She longed for something, some wild, unnamed thing.

  When he released her, she wanted to weep for the loss. But then she saw that he was undressing and her breath came faster. She could not forget the first time she saw him naked. How proud and invincible he appeared. How intriguing. She remembered staring at his groin, and the way it made her feel. Aching and weak inside.

  She wished it were brighter in the room, so she could more clearly see his triumphant masculine beauty. Those wide, well-muscled shoulders, strong arms and chest, the lean, flat line of his belly. The warm sheen of his skin and the vivid body hair accenting his underarms and chest.

  His tunic lay in a heap on the floor, and he bent down to unfasten his boots and cross garters. He stripped off his hose, and then approached. Edeva stared at him, marveling as always at his size. Most men made her feel overtall and unfeminine, but with the Norman she knew what it was like to imagine herself as a dainty thing.

  ’Twas threatening to be near a man so big and strong. Also intoxicating.

  His eyes raked over her, admiring her as she had him. “I’ve never had a maid before, but I will be gentle with you, Edeva. I promise.”

  His words made her impatient. She did not want him to be careful and restrained. She wanted the passionate fire that he had aroused before.

  Her whole body felt hot, her nipples tight, rigid points. The sensations surging through her were near unbearable. Overcome, she parted her lips and regarded him through slitted eyes.

  A look of surprise came over him, then his nostrils flared. “God help us, woman. I am not made of stone. If you look at me like that, I am like to pounce on you like a beast”

  Very deliberately, Edeva looked at his groin.

  He made a low noise, a sound of hunger barely mastered. Then he pushed her onto the bed and climbed up beside her, his eyes like pools of desire. “You know not what you ask for,” he said.

  He bent over her, his hands suddenly rough as he pushed her thighs apart. Edeva gasped as he touched the part of her that yearned and pulsed the most. She closed her eyes as he stoked the fire there, his fingers parting and fondling her. Helplessly, she moaned. It seemed the more he caressed her, the more she wanted. Her hips shifted restively.

  She tried not to think how wanton she must appear. How wet and eager.

  His provoking fingers changed position, and when she opened her eyes, his face was near hers. He leaned closer and teased her lips with his tongue even as he used his hand to tantalize her lower regions. Then his lips slanted hard across hers and his tongue invaded her mouth as he slipped a finger deep into her silky wetness.

  The shocking sensation of him penetrating her body both soothed her and drove her to madness. Her hips pushed violently against him, seeking some perfect magic position that would fulfill her.

  His thumb found the top of her cleft and supplied the miracle she sought. Waves of heated pleasure drenched her. She writhed and twisted, falling into dazzling sensation.

  She was barely aware of his fingers leaving her and then pressure, impossible pressure as he fitted his shaft against her opening. He thrust deep, and Edeva gave a cry of surprise and pain.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  She stared up at the ceiling, wondering if anything could have prepared her for the feel of his big shaft deep inside her.

  He lay quiet, letting her catch her breath, then he began to move. A rhythm she fought against, wincing at each thrust, then gradually giving way. Her body stretched, adjusted. The discomfort turned to a nagging pang and then spiraled into a familiar longing. Each time he moved inside her, she felt a twinge of pleasure. The twinges grew to something more. A great heaving energy.

  He raised himself above her, neck arched and straining. His eyes were closed and his hair poured over his shoulders like blood. She reached up to stroke his chest and urge him on. Then she clutched his upper arms and closed her eyes, finding her own release.

  He collapsed onto her, sweating and panting. “Sweet heaven,” he whispered. She caressed his back, feeling a remarkable sense of fulfillment.

  After a moment, he rolled away. He lay panting a moment, then leaned on his hip and regarded her, his eyes a pale, shining green. “What a wench you are, Edeva. I vow there is fire in your veins. And you have burned me to a cinder.”

  She basked in his admiring gaze a moment, then slowly grew uncomfortable as the languorous heat of her passion ebbed away and the implications of what she had done struck her.

  God help her. She had lain with her enemy. Passionately. Wantonly.

  A kind of numb horror replaced her feeling of contentment. She started to get out of bed. He caught her wrist. “Rest now,” he said.

  She pulled away. “I must see to the evening meal... I must... there are many things I must do.”

  When she stood up, she felt the wetness of his seed between her thighs. Dread afflicted her as she realized that he might have planted a babe in her womb.

  She hurried to get her clothes, desperate to get away from him. Away from the shameful thing she had done.

  He sat up on the bed. “Let me help you wash.”

  “Nay! I’ll wash later, after I have seen to things below.”

  She jerked on her gunna, not bothering with her shift or stockings, then jammed her feet in her shoes and fled the room.

  Jobert stared after the woman, frowning. What had come over Edeva, that she ran from the bedchamber as if demons were in pursuit? Did she really regret what they had done that much?

  Well, she’d had no doubts earlier. Never had he bedded a woman so responsive, so eager. Indeed, he had not even realized a woman could be like that, had not imagined they might be made that way. The females he encountered previously had been of two kinds, either bored and businesslike harlots, eager to have him finish so they could collect their payment, or pure, untouchable virgins like Damaris.

  Edeva was different. Her desire seemed as strong as his, her release as uncontrollable. ’Twas a revelation that a woman’s cravi
ng for lovemaking could be as intense as a man’s.

  But Edeva’s boldness was mixed with a confusing sort of innocence. She had been a virgin, touchingly new to the wonders of sex, and he had hurt her with his lack of control. He had not meant to, ’twas simply he was so aroused by her uninhibited release that he could not hold back in seeking his own.

  He winced as he remembered her cry of pain. He’d promised to be gentle, but she’d taken him so by surprise. From her thrilling acquiescence when he first kissed her to the ease with which she allowed him to undress her—he’d been so keenly, wonderingly aware that she wanted him.

  Or her body had. Her mind and heart might be another matter. Mayhaps that was why she could not wait to get away from him. Though she desired him, she still saw him as her enemy.

  Jobert rose from the bed, discomfited by his thoughts. He had not meant to get so involved with this woman. He’d rescued her out of pity, and then later realized that her help was essential if he meant to fulfill his plans for Oxbury. But things between them seemed to grow more complicated by the day. Now he had bedded her and discovered exactly what he feared—that he felt things for Edeva that he’d sworn never to allow himself to feel again.

  Casting an uneasy glance at the bed, Jobert began to dress.

  NINE

  Two red-and-white oxen stamped and paced in the corner of the yard, bellowing anxiously. A short distance away, a newly butchered animal hung from a scaffold, its blood draining into a huge pot, while axes thudded as workmen chopped brushwood to stoke the cooking fires. Near the kitchen shed, women armed with cleavers and knives cut up the meat, while other servants pursued the unpleasant task of cleaning the animals’ entrails to make casings for sausages.

  Edeva moved through the noisy, chaotic atmosphere giving directions. She had already overseen the mixing of spices to season the sausages and tasted the salty brine that would be used to preserve most of the meat. Now she must make certain the bones were kept to boil down for soup stock, the hides carefully stripped and the sinews saved for bow strings. Nothing would go to waste if she could help it.