by The Bargain
Trembling, he closed his eyes and jerked harder, once, twice—and came with a low-throated moan.
Long seconds later his heart slowed a little, and only then did he open his eyes to find Aleysia still standing there, watching him with a confused expression. Did she guess what had made him groan? Would she even know of such things?
Whatever the case, soon the mystery would be over. Virgin she might be, but certainly she knew her power over men. In fact, if she was betrothed to a Scottish laird whom she addressed so intimately, who said she was still virgin?
Suddenly, he had to know the truth for himself.
"Prepare yourself for me now," he said, nodding toward the bed.
Aleysia's heart pounded as she awaited the Norman, regretting the moment she had offered her body to him.
He washed himself with the soap, scrubbing every inch of his hard flesh. Long minutes passed, but still he did not come to her. She had been suspicious as to what had caused such a moan earlier, his head fallen back on the tub's edge, his eyes closed, the thick cords of his neck strained as though in pain. Perhaps the wound she had inflicted upon him?
Nay, he had suffered far worse.
He would not be touching himself, would he? That thought did nothing to help her shattered nerves.
What in God's name took him so long now?
She wanted to get this over with. Hold up her end of the bargain and be done with it. Then she would go on with her plans. She could bear anything if she knew her brother would be safe.
Which meant she must be strong. She must please the Norman, if she and Adelstan stood a chance at escaping. Hopefully, Duncan was on his way with an army. When he arrived, she would leave and never come back. Not as long as de Wulf held Braemere.
All thoughts evaporated as she heard the Norman stand from the tub. Fear rippled through her as she glanced at him. Water sluiced down his powerful body, and over that part of him that would soon be within her. Her stomach tightened. It was as she feared. His manhood was thick, long—and far too large to fit inside her. How could she bear it?
Pushing aside her apprehension, she shivered under the covers and awaited him, praying for the strength that would get her through the night. Remember Adelstan, she chanted over and over in her mind. You will escape and this will be nothing but a horrible memory.
A minute later the mattress dipped beneath the Norman's weight. Aleysia lay as stiff as a board, waiting. He lay on his side, not bothering to cover his nakedness. Instead, he propped himself on his elbow, grabbed the blanket from her grasp—and ripped it down and off her.
Cold air met her body and she trembled fiercely. It took every ounce of will and fortitude she possessed not to flee.
The scent of sandalwood mingled with his masculine scent—a fragrance Aleysia knew she would never forget. His large, long-fingered hand reached out, brushing along her jaw, over her neck, then lower, over the swell of her breasts. She stiffened and held her breath.
Slowly, his fingers rolled over her nipples, circling them, causing a strange ache there, one that settled low in her groin. He leaned over her, his breath hot against her breast, before his mouth covered her there. Her stomach tightened at the new sensation.
He sucked lightly, his teeth grazing her nipple, gently pulling. Her insides burned, and to her horror, she heard a moan escape her throat. Against her leg she could feel his cock, hard like stone. Heat flooded her insides, to the very core of her, making her wet.
Feeling his silver gaze on her, Aleysia closed her eyes, fighting against the strange sensations and guilt that made her want to push him away. She shifted, her body seeming too hot, too sensitive. His wet hair brushed her stomach, his tongue laving her navel before placing a kiss there. Her inner muscles contracted and she lifted her hips. Her eyes darted open, looking down just as he eased her thighs apart.
"Open for me, Aleysia," he said, using his thighs to part her further. She was completely open to him, her thighs spread wide, and he stared unabashedly, his long lashes casting shadows on his high cheekbones. He would be able to see her arousal, the moisture there. Heat flushed her entire body as his gaze wandered back to hers. "You are so beautiful."
Then he did the unthinkable. He lowered his mouth and kissed her there, at her most intimate place.
And it felt... wonderful.
Her breath left her in a rush as his long, velvety tongue stroked her moist, heated cleft. Meanwhile, his hands returned to her breasts, cupping them, his fingers teasing her sensitive nipples into pointed peaks.
He seemed to know her body better than she did, touching her in a way that made her heart hammer and her bones feel like they were melting. Her fingers curled into the bedding at her sides, fisting it as a delicious ache built deep within her, there in the place where he pleasured her, making her burn for the unknown. His tongue slipped inside her sheath, and she cried out her pleasure as she was lifted on a silky cloud of sensation.
More. How she yearned to say the word aloud, to encourage him, to keep him doing... that. The blood roared in her ears as he sucked hard on the place where it seemed all her nerve endings were bundled. The more he flicked that spot with the tip of his tongue, the higher she soared.
Unable to help herself, she reached out for him, her fingers sinking into the silky-soft wetness of his hair, anchoring him there, urging him without words to continue as she rode out the wonderful new sensations. He inserted a finger inside her channel, and her inner muscles clenched.
"So tight," he said with a pleased smile before sucking her button again. He used the perfect pressure. Not too hard, not too soft, and all the while his finger moved in and out of her.
Her entire being throbbed and she was rocked by something so amazing, her body seemed to be not of itself.
Minutes later, still trembling, she opened her eyes to find the Norman braced above her, his gray eyes dark with unspent passion. His rock-hard manhood rested against the very core of her, the place his mouth had just been—the place that ached for him in a way she hadn't known was possible.
She lifted her hips a fraction, needing to be filled by more than just his finger. The sides of his mouth curved just a little, and then he thrust. She cried out at the momentary pain. The tiny stab that told her she was no longer a maiden. Guilt rushed her, and she pushed at his chest. "Nay, do not."
He didn't move at all, but just lay there on top of her, his cock filling her to the womb. Trembling, he rested his forehead against hers before kissing her softly, speaking to her in his native language, which she couldn't understand. For the first time in her life, she wished she knew the hated language.
Her channel gripped him, adjusting to the intrusion. The pain eased with each second that passed, but that did nothing to ease the shame. Unshed tears burned the backs of her eyes.
"Shhh," he whispered, kissing her gently. "The pain will pass. Soon you will experience paradise."
His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes closed, making her wonder if he too suffered from a similar ache. It was the same ache she'd experienced just moments before when he'd pleasured her with his mouth, yet more intense.
She shifted again. He released a primitive growl and began to move. Slowly, sliding out, then in again.
Her head fell back a little, her lips opening.
His mouth descended on hers again, his tongue slipping past her lips, stroking hers in the same way he stroked her body. The same rhythm. She tasted her essence on his lips and as he thrust again, she wondered if she would burn in hell for enjoying it so much.
After all, he was her enemy.
The thought slipped away as her stomach coiled and the pulsing began anew. Soon she was clawing toward a pinnacle, higher and higher. With each thrust she gripped tighter to his shoulders, her fingers grazing his strong back, clinging to him.
He winced, and she realized she'd caught his wound with her nail. The wound she had caused. Her hands moved down his powerful back, the narrow waist, to the hips that moved in a slow
rhythm, as his tempo gradually became faster, making her body climb higher and higher.
She cried out against his lips as the sensations overtook her, pulsing until the throbbing in her body released, and took her to heights she never imagined.
CHAPTER 4
Aleysia was horrified.
Last night she had acted like a whore. Worse still, she had enjoyed the Norman's touch.
She had not realized the pleasure a woman could experience while making love—the sheer ecstasy of the act itself, feeling much like an arrow being shot into the sky, then falling back to earth.
Too bad the rapture ended the moment de Wulf had rolled off her with a satisfied groan.
She should have merely endured his touch, lay still without moving, rather than sigh and moan like a contented mistress. God's breath, she should have at least pretended not to enjoy it so much.
Despite the fact she had made good on her bargain to the Norman, from the moment she had opened her eyes, guilt rushed over her in waves.
What of Duncan? How appalled he would be to learn his betrothed had given her maidenhead to another, particularly the very Norman who held Adelstan captive. True, she had offered the bargain in order to save her brother, but she had taken pleasure in the coupling.
Immense pleasure.
Mortified at the idea of facing Renaud this morning, she had considered staying abed, but she would not hide. Nay, she would walk into the great hall with chin held high and act as though nothing had happened. Mayhap de Wulf would think her performance in his bed just that. She worried her lower lip with her teeth. Or would he know the difference?
At least de Wulf had seen she had a bath readied, and she took advantage of it, hoping to wash away every last bit of their lovemaking from her sore body.
There was a forest-green gown, undergarments, hose, and girdle laying over a chair near the fire. Her braies and tunic were nowhere in sight. Obviously, de Wulf did not approve of her men's attire... though he had not seemed to mind it yesterday.
She took her time dressing, the fine linen chemise and kirtle feeling odd against her skin. She could not recall the last time she had worn a gown. Having brushed her hair, she started out for the great hall, nearly losing her nerve a half-dozen times.
The bailey was quiet, only a few soldiers about, all of whom nodded as she passed by. As the large double doors of the great hall loomed before her, Aleysia steadied her nerves by taking a deep, calming breath.
Without another moment's hesitation she entered the enormous room full of knights, villeins, and serfs alike, all busy talking as pages scurried about, making sure cups and bowls were filled. Thank goodness. Mayhap she could slip in unseen, eat, and then ask Renaud's permission to see her brother. Scanning her surroundings, she spied a place to sit, on a bench next to an old woman. As she walked across the hall, she made the mistake of glancing toward the high dais where Renaud, Galeran, and several other men-at-arms sat, eating, or had been until he caught her gaze.
Renaud motioned for her to join him.
She pretended like she had not seen him, and kept walking toward the bench. He stood and motioned once more, this time with more emphasis. His lifted brow told her he would not take no for an answer. Forcing a smile she did not feel, she nodded in acquiescence and made her way toward the dais. If there had been some in the hall who had not heard of the bargain made between herself and de Wulf, then that would change the moment she took a place at Renaud's side.
Heat rushed up her neck to stain her cheeks.
Renaud's long, dark hair fell past his broad shoulders in silky, thick waves. Last night she had not been able to see the highlights in the rich brown locks, but now in the light of day they shone brilliantly.
Dressed plainly in a blue tunic and black braies, he seemed uncaring of how he appeared to others. Such a contrast to de Pirou, who had dressed with great care, wearing tunics of only the richest materials, embroidered with colored stitching. Even de Pirou's mantle, held together by an enormous sapphire broach, had been heavily embroidered and embellished with a gold border. Most lords of the realm dressed to impress, but Renaud seemed to have no need for such finery.
Ignoring the whispers that continued all about her, she tried without success not to blush as memories of last night flashed through her mind. This man had seen her naked... had done things to her she could have never imagined. Her heart pounded against her breastbone when she finally stopped before him.
"How are you this fine morn?" he asked, a softness in his eyes that had not been there the day before. In truth, his silver gaze was so intense she could not keep it.
"I am well," she replied, biting her trembling bottom lip as she slipped onto the bench at his side.
He sat down, his thigh brushing against hers, reminding her of the night just spent in his arms—of the contrast in their bodies... of the pleasure he had given her. She abruptly shifted so they no longer touched, and he laughed lightly, obviously amused by her skittishness.
"Did you sleep well, my lady?" His gray stare burned into her, and she had no choice but to look at him. Her heart gave a mad jolt at the heat she saw there, and to her dismay, her nipples tightened into tiny buds.
"Aye, I did."
His lips curved, flashing a boyish grin. "Good. I am pleased to say I did as well. Already I am eager to return to our chamber."
"You mean your chamber, my lord."
How handsome he was—even with the scar, which made her wonder what had happened to his betrothed. Did he love the woman, and were they still set to marry? No doubt she was stunningly beautiful, much as his mistresses would be.
She pushed the strangely disturbing thought aside. It mattered not who his lovers were. De Wulf was merely a means to an end. They had a bargain, and she would live up to her end until she and Adelstan escaped.
Then she would never look back.
Renaud reached for his goblet at the same time she reached for hers and their fingers brushed. She nearly toppled her goblet when she jerked her hand away, but his reflexes were fast and he caught it in time.
"I will not bite you, Aleysia," he said, in a husky whisper she felt all the way up her spine.
"I am not so sure, my lord."
He moved over again, to where they touched arm to arm, leg to leg. "You smell wonderful." He inhaled deeply. "You must have used the oils."
How hot she felt all of a sudden. "Indeed, I did."
"They should help ease any ache."
She knew what ache he spoke of. And now she suffered from yet another ache that had returned with force. The one between her legs. Her cheeks burned and she tried to pull away, but he sat on her gown, trapping her.
She took a sip of wine, wishing he would stop staring at her. He mirrored her movements, drinking from his goblet, watching her over the rim. How she wished he would choke on the wine.
His gaze slipped lower to her breasts. Her stomach twisted as she watched him, an idea forming in her mind. She must leave Braemere as soon as possible. From time to time her mother had asked the healer to make her a special potion to help her sleep. And it worked, for her mother would sleep like the dead.
Aye, mayhap she could add a potion to Renaud's wine.
Renaud's heart hammered like a lad's as he watched Aleysia sip her wine.
Last night he had found paradise in the most unlikely place. A Saxon woman betrothed to a Scot, who had given her body to de Wulf himself in exchange for her brother's well-being.
Though Aleysia had offered herself to Renaud under distress, he did not believe for a minute that she did not enjoy their mating. In truth, she had moaned and met each thrust as though she were a well-practiced whore. Yet she had been a virgin, the evidence of which had been on his cock and on the sheets this morning. Knowing he'd been the first pleased him more than he cared to admit. Even more, he yearned to take her to his bed again.
His father's words of warning had raced through his thoughts since dawn. Never give your heart to a woman—for
she will return it to you with a dagger clean through it. And his father knew of which he spoke, for his wife, Renaud's own mother, had left her family for another. His father had never forgiven her, not even when she returned years later, heartbroken by the very man she had abandoned her family for.
Renaud still could not forget the anguish on his mother's face when his father rejected her, throwing her out in the rain and telling her she would never see any of them again. She had not tried to contact any of them throughout the years, and he had learned she had died about ten years earlier, a sad, broken woman who had been living in an abbey with a small cloister of nuns. Sadly, even after hearing of her death, his father still had been unable to forgive her, and had insisted her name never be uttered around him.
Pushing aside the painful memories, Renaud smiled down at Aleysia. How flustered she was. Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. It was obvious she hated sitting beside him, and was embarrassed, for no one would be second-guessing their relationship. "What will you do today?" he asked, amazed at her breathtaking beauty. He would have to thank the old servant woman who had found the kirtle for Aleysia. The green of the gown brought out the color of her eyes. How fine she looked in feminine attire. If she were his woman, he would buy her the richest fabrics in the most vibrant colors in which to clothe her slender frame. How he would love to spoil her so. The thought surprised him, even stunned him, for he had never taken to a woman so quickly.
"I would like to go for a ride, and then perhaps see Adelstan."
The fantasy evaporated under her intense stare, and he frowned. Of course she would want to see her brother. She watched him intently, her eyes filled with hope, a tawny brow lifting as she awaited his answer. It was not unreasonable for her to ask to see her twin. After all, she had been true to her word so far. "Aye, but I shall accompany you."