All at once, she gave up. Why fight the hunger his body aroused? Why not enjoy it? Certainly, he felt no discomfort. Her glimpse of his face had confirmed that. She did not see a man undergoing a miserable ordeal. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, a distinctly lascivious look in his eyes. Whatever pain his shoulder gave him, he had forgotten it for now.
She rinsed the cloth and prepared to enjoy herself. This time, she allowed her hands to linger as she washed. She kneaded his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his firm muscles. Ran her hand down the sleek curve of his lower spine and dared to cup one of his buttocks with her fingers.
He made a low sound and spread his thighs so she could glimpse his testicles hanging heavy between them.
Edeva removed her hand and stood back, wondering if she would swoon from the exquisite tension humming through her. Her insides felt liquid, her skin hot and tight. There was a piercing spasm at the center of her lower belly, and little points of sensation swirled outward from it. She wanted, oh, what she wanted...
“Edeva,” his voice was a husky murmur, “mayhaps you should finish.”
She rinsed the cloth and began to wash his buttocks. Her movements were slow, delicious, and thorough. After again dipping the cloth in the water, she gently soaped between his thighs. The thin cloth rasped against coarse hair, and Edeva let her fingers slip beneath the cloth, exploring the intriguing taut pouches, this essence of his virility.
She sensed Jobert held himself very still, as if he might explode if her fingers dallied too long. Then, with a groan, he turned sideways, balancing on his uninjured arm. “Do my front, Edeva,” he said.
SIXTEEN
As soon as he had turned over, her eyes went to his shaft. Ruddy pink against the blaze of his pubic hair, it stood up bold and proud, a beacon of his desire. But was it desire for her, or could any woman stir it?
“Touch me. Please.”
She reached out. His shaft also rose for Golde. Did his passion at this moment mean anything?
He groaned as her fingers hovered over him. “Edeva,” he whispered. “My lusty she-cat, please touch me.”
She rinsed out the cloth and washed his manhood. He was as hot as she remembered. And as hard.
She tried to be cold, disinterested. Not to fondle the velvety, arrow-like tip. Nor run her fingers lovingly down the smooth length of him. Or curl her fingers around the weight of the tight pouches hanging below.
But such willpower seemed beyond her. Though haunted by doubts, she could not help enjoying the moment. Skin against skin. Sensitive finger pads against keen flesh. She traced patterns along the heated column of his shaft, savoring the fit of him in her hand.
A droplet of moisture appeared at the quivering tip. Her instincts said to lick it. He was clean, smelling of soap, and her mouth had felt wet and yearning ever since they began this fascinating endeavor.
She leaned over and touched him with her tongue. He gave a gasp and clutched the bedcovers in a death grip. “Dear God, you’ll drive me to madness!”
The desperation in his voice frightened her. She drew back. “Your wound! We should not be doing this!”
“Jesu, woman! Do you mean to kill me? If you do not finish now, I’m like to expire of frustration anyway.”
Edeva gazed at him in amazement. “But how do we... that is... you cannot think to...”
“Do as you were doing. I will find release, of that I’m certain!”
She gaped.
“Never fear,” he whispered, “I will satisfy you as well. I would not leave you to suffer aching loins, not after the delight I’ve experienced at your hands.”
The warmth in his voice soothed her. If he did not love her, at least he cared for her feelings.
He sat halfway up on the bed, his green eyes dark with longing. “Take off your kirtle. I would see you naked.”
She did as he bid, feeling half hot with embarrassment, half with desire. Her nipples were swollen, pulsing peaks. Between her thighs, she was so wet, she feared to find moisture dribbling down her legs.
His eyes swept over her, eager and hungry. “Straddle me.”
Awkwardly, she climbed on the bed and did so. He leaned back, nostrils flared, lips parted. The pupils of his eyes were black pools. “Heaven forfend, but you’re spectacular.”
’Twas a heady thing, to display herself to this man. He did not make her feel too big, ungainly or unfeminine. His gaze upon her body was reverent.
“You have magnificent breasts,” he said “I would taste them... one delicious nipple at a time.”
As if he willed it, she leaned over, offering herself. He took the gift, his mouth rough upon her succulent flesh. He swallowed her, drawing her deep between his lips, until the ache inside her erupted in a throaty moan. ’Twas unbearable. She wanted more. Leaning back, she arched her pelvis to meet his skillful fingers.
He thrust one finger inside her and used the others to rub her cleft, finding some magical spot. She braced her body and closed her eyes. Shivers of delight threaded through her flesh; spirals of fire exploded inside her.
As the peak passed, Edeva slowly became aware again. She was draped over Jobert, her body slick with sweat and the moisture of her climax. She looked down at him, fearing to see disgust writ on his features.
His eyes were wild, his features flushed and distorted. “Now, Edeva, you must return the favor.” He took her hand and drew it down to his shaft.
He seemed as rigid as stone as she caressed him. “Faster,” he whispered. “Yeah, my love, that is wonderful!”
In seconds, creamy wetness covered her fingers. Edeva stared at it, thinking of his wasted seed. She would have liked to have felt it gushing inside her.
But she feared to hurt his shoulder. And there would be other times. Wouldn’t there?
She climbed off the bed and rinsed her hand in the wash water, then looked at him. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed. She could not help wondering if it mattered who brought him to release. Could any woman have satisfied him?
His eyes fluttered open. “Lie next to me,” he whispered. “I would have you near.”
She settled herself beside him. His lips brushed the side of her face. “Edeva,” he murmured. “My lovely Saxon.”
* * *
“A boy in the village, Leogyth, fell ill with a stomach ailment,” Edeva said, looking up from her sewing. “Helwenna could do naught for him, and he died a day ago. They will have a pyre to burn his body. ’Tis one of the old ways. The church does not sanction it, but our people have always burned their dead.”
She watched Jobert rock back on the stool. Although he had improved greatly in the last few days, he still spent most of his time in the bedchamber, resting. She brought him news, detailing the events occurring in manor and village.
“I have decided to have Helwenna train someone else as healer.” She smoothed the altar cloth she was embroidering. “She is old and will not last many more winters. I would hate for all her knowledge to be lost. I’ve decided on Eadelm. She is sturdy and quick-witted, and I think she might be good at it.”
“Which one is she?”
“She works in the kitchen. A big brawny girl with a broad face and brown hair.”
“Ah, the one none of my men wanted to bed.”
“’Tis a good thing, too. At least I have one kitchen helper who is not pregnant. Every day when I go to order the meal, I find myself assaulted by complaints and cries of misery. Half of them are ill in the-morning, the other half, too tired to do their duties.” Edeva’s voice rose with aggravation. “I vow, by next summer, your knights will have turned my kitchen into a nursery!”
“Certainly you’ve had young female servants get with child before.”
Edeva’s hands stilled on the cloth, remembering when her mother discovered that Beornwold and Godric had been dallying with the kitchen help. Two of them came up pregnant not a sennight before King Harold and his train came to Oxbury, and her mother had counted it a disaster. She’d had both o
f Edeva’s brothers whipped, and the women had been given as wives to two of Leowine’s villeins.
’Twas easy to find husbands for women carrying bastards of the lord’s line; most sokemen were not adverse to having a cuckoo in the nest if they thought the sacrifice could earn them rewards in the future. Edeva feared it would be much more difficult to find enthusiastic spouses for women who carried babes from Normans.
“Husbands will have to be found for them,” she said. “And I imagine you will have to pay dearly to get decent men to take on women sullied by your knights. Most of the women do not even know which of your men is the father.”
Jobert gave a grunt. “How much do you think it will take?”
“Mayhaps a cow or pig for each of them, plus increased grazing or fishing rights and other privileges.”
“That seems rather dear. If your female servants keep getting pregnant, I’ll be beggared in no time.”
“Then mayhaps you should have spoken to your knights sooner!” Edeva said tartly. “‘Tis their pleasure you pay for!”
Jobert shook his head. “I could not keep soldiers in my garrison if I grew too strict about their rutting. ’Tis the way of fighting men. Most of them will never marry. They must find their release somewhere. Is it not better now that they know they must make certain that the woman is willing?”
Edeva felt a flush creeping up her neck. This talk of “rutting” and “release” reminded her vividly of what had occurred between her and Jobert four days before. The memory of her wanton behavior still embarrassed her.
“Even if the women are willing, there is still the problem of what to do when they get with child. ’Twould be better if your men confined their lust to one or two wenches. Then we would only have those to worry over.”
“No man really likes to bed a wench who’s had dozens of bedpartners before him,” Jobert pointed out.
Edeva thought instantly of Golde. “The wench, Golde, is certainly well-used,” she said, “yet men do not seem to tire of her,”
“Oh, I do not think that’s true. By now most of the knights realize she only appears eager and willing when she wants something from them. If they go with her, ’tis because they have no better choice.”
Edeva felt a wave of satisfaction. From the sound of it, Golde had fallen from favor with Jobert. At last, he had seen her for what she was.
“I will agree to settle some property on the women,” Jobert said. “Which ones are they?”
“Asa, Aldreda and Emma.”
He grunted again. “They all look alike to me. Except Wulfget. She looks naught like anyone else.”
Which is why Fornay favors her, Edeva thought. Did Jobert also prefer delicate, fragile women?
Once more, she grew discouraged. Both Fornay and Golde had warned her that Jobert intended to wed a Norman. She could order his household for him for months, share his bed and still end up discarded when he took another woman to wife.
Anger at the thought made her voice sharp as she said, “And what of Wulfget? Do you intend to see that Fornay does the proper thing and weds with her?”
“That is up to him. I do not decide whom my captains will marry. And I certainly would not order him to marry a Saxon if he did not want to.”
His words stung, and Edeva feared they held portent for her as well as Wulfget. “But he came to her when she was injured and helpless,” she persisted. “If he abandons her now, ’twill break her heart!”
Jobert grew impatient. “If he has impregnated her, I will marry her off to some villein with the others. I am not responsible for every foolish, lovelorn maid at Oxbury!”
And what of this one? Edeva wanted to scream. What of this foolish, lovelorn maid?
“Tell me how the building progresses,” Jobert said, clearly wishing to change the subject. “Alan said that they had begun to deepen the ditch. I suggested they move it out several feet, so there is more room for the stone curtain wall.”
Edeva folded up her sewing and stood. “You can discuss your building plans with your captains. I have other things to attend to.”
What ailed her? Jobert mused as Edeva left the room, slamming the door behind her. She did not have to endure being bored and helpless, too weak to venture from the bedchamber!
With a curse, he rose from the stool. Although the wound healed well, the loss of blood had left him pathetically weak. Moving from the stool to the bed used up all his strength.
He took a few unsteady steps, then sank down on the bed, his legs trembling. The simple exertion made him thirsty, but the ewer of water lay on the table at the far side of the room. Too far away to make the effort worth it.
He would wait for Edeva to return. If she returned. She had been strangely distant since the day she bathed hint. His shaft grew hard at the memory. The sight of her straddling him, bringing her lush, rose-tipped breasts to his mouth. Her beautiful, golden crotch spread wide so that he might pleasure her. And pleasure her, he had. Fondling her creamy opening until her breasts heaved, her hips trembled and she thrust her head back in a glorious vision of ecstasy, thick golden braids streaming behind her, full, tempting lips parted, her blue eyes half-closed.
He could scarce look at her without remembering that moment and wanting her with a great throbbing hunger that his miserable, wounded body could not fulfill. His weakness disgusted him, and because of that, he had vowed not to cajole her into lovemaking until he could do it properly. He wanted to join with her, fill her with his seed, possess her. And he wanted to do it every night, every day... forever.
The intensity of his feelings shocked him. What he had felt for Damaris was a mere twinge compared to this. A nagging toothache to a bone-deep wound.
When would his answer come from William? He’d sent the letter asking for permission to wed Edeva nearly a month ago. The king should have received the missive by now and sent a message back.
Alan would be appalled when he found out his plans, Jobert thought as he leaned back on the bed. The knight would think his lord had lost his wits. But, in truth, was not wedding Edeva the perfect way to secure her loyalties? From what he knew of Edeva, she would never betray her husband, no matter what her other kinsmen might urge. Once she was his wife, she would be bound by law and honor to support him.
He wondered if she would resist the marriage. She was so proud, so headstrong. A woman like that might well fear the obligations of matrimony.
Of course, if she refused, he could coerce her. The law said a woman must wed willingly, but in truth, the bride’s agreement was meaningless. For the right payment, Father Reibald would sign the documents asserting that Edeva had agreed to the marriage, even if she was brought to the altar bound and gagged.
But it would not come to that, Jobert decided. He had other means of overcoming her objections. Give him a day alone with her in this bedchamber and he vowed he could love her into submission! A smile touched his lips at the thought.
Unfortunately, he would have to be healthy and vigorous for such action. A far cry from his current condition. His smile vanished as he closed his eyes and gave in to the nagging fatigue.
He woke to the smell of smoke. Not the familiar scent of woodsmoke and charcoal, but the acrid odor of war, a conflagration of thatch and wood and burning flesh. He knew a moment of alarm, and then he remembered the funeral pyre for the dead village child.
A primitive sort of rite, but it seemed that once the spirit had left the body, God should not care how the empty flesh was disposed of. Father Reibald was probably incensed by the custom, though. He would use the incident to point out the barbaric nature of the Saxons.
To Jobert, the English did not seem particularly crude, merely different. For all the warlike ways she exhibited in their first encounter, since then Edeva had acted much like other women. If anything, her feminine skills were superior to most females he had known. Her needlework finer, her command of servants and gift for organization more impressive.
And the wealth and luxury articles of Oxb
ury also belied the image of brutishness and lack of culture that most Normans had of the English. He’d never slept in such a comfortable well-appointed bedchamber. Even everyday functional things at Oxbury were crafted with an eye towards beauty: The silver ewer and cups on the table, fashioned with ornate, curving handles and scrollwork. Edeva’s carved ivory comb, decorated with horn inlay. The wooden chests in the corner, bound with embossed leather strips and secured with bronze fixtures.
As odd as it seemed, Jobert thought it might well turn out that the Saxons had as much to offer the Normans as the other way around. They were not savages to be killed or reduced to serfs. If a Norman treated fairly with them, they appeared willing to offer an honest day’s work.
A pity about the village child. Some family mourned him. But children died frequently in any household. Even kings were not spared that sort of grief.
They were certainly sending off the unfortunate Saxon with a lot of fuss, Jobert decided. The odor of the smoke had not abated, but grown stronger. And was there not a lot of commotion and noise for a peasant funeral?
Jobert rose stiffly and went to the window and unfastened the shutter. A gust of cold, damp air assaulted his face. Squinting against the sudden brightness, he looked out across the valley to the village along the river. Not one, but a half dozen plumes of smoke rose from the group of dwellings.
He frowned as he stared out at the distant scene. Something was wrong. That was no funeral pyre, and the figures running between the burning buildings were not Saxon mourners, but his knights!
Jobert reacted in an instant. Ignoring his weakness, he left the bedchamber and groped his way down the stairs. The hall was almost deserted, but he found a serving wench polishing tableware by the main hearth. “What’s happening?” he demanded. “What’s going on in the village?”
She looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, but remained mute. Jobert quickly realized that she did not know what he was saying. He struggled to remember the Saxon words, then gave up and hobbled to the doorway.
The Conqueror (Hot Knights) Page 19