by Jaye Peaches
He extracted himself from her, walked to the door, locked it, and shoved the key under the gap. “Lionel,” he called through the wood. “Get you to bed. You’re not needed.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He ravished her. There was no other way to describe what he did that night. The slow climb, which was built upon tender foundations, eased her body and mind, and ensured her continuing cooperation. The Zalim waited patiently, knowing he was not to be neglected, and duly unleashed when it suited Gervais and Matilda.
Gervais watched her carefully. Her moon-shaped eyes occasionally dwelt on his face, the silver irises magnified by the candlelight. When her lips parted, they murmured nonsense. There were other little clues to her state of mind: the way her throat constricted in anticipation; the rise and fall of her plump breasts in tune with her breathing. He judged her perfectly, and when she was soft and pliable, he rolled her onto her belly, and speared her where it mattered most for him. First the wet hole that had greeted him earlier, and he used it generously, and she had no qualms in reply to his playful intent. He teased her, sometimes with mercy, but not always. Twice he brought her to the cusp of a climax, stilled, and ruined it for her, then commanded her to come with frantic thrusts. She never complained and only ever obliged him.
He enjoyed the strangling contractions that tormented his iron cock. The secreted nectar served its purpose too. He coated it up and into her furrow, probing cautiously with his fingers and thumbs, preparing her. She moaned and wriggled, but never in a fashion that warned him. Matilda was a model of compliance, and richly endowed with arousal.
But he had his Zalim to satisfy. And they both knew it.
He drew her up onto all fours, moulded his massive form around her lesser one, and inched his way into her tightest place. No matter how prepared she might be, the first penetration was the least amiable. However, she was brave and willing. It meant much to him that she took the full measure of his cock without a sound.
He rested there, enjoying the transformation of her body from edgy to relaxed. The contentment was short-lived, though. He rose above her straight-backed, his hands pinioning her hips, and he thrust his pelvis forward. The heat emitted by her striped arse diminished and was quickly replaced by a familiar burning sensation in his tyrannical cock. With fire came the pounding of his heartbeats and the roar in his ears, and also something that afflicted his mind: the thrill of the hunt and the distant cries of his fellow hunters when they realised they had lost. All memories brought back to life by Matilda.
He rocked heavily in and out, using the length of his shaft effectively and somewhat roughly. He looped her apricot hair around his grasping fingers and reined her back onto him. She responded by bucking against him. He moved his hands over her form, from swaying breasts to fragile neck, from trim waist to shoulders. He supported her, when needed, by holding up her hips, and if she cried out, he paused and kissed the sweet spots of her spine, acknowledging her with a kindness and allowing her breathing to calm.
Time passed, and she held out. And so did he. He heard several times the crack of his own spine as he thrust repeatedly, felt the elasticity of his tendons put to the test by gyrating hips, and through it, the rigidity of his cock was maintained while the urge in him to come was suppressed. When finally her knees and elbows gave out, he altered positions. However, he refused to relinquish his control, and she begged him not to.
“Take me harder,” she said, neither feebly nor in a demanding tone of voice.
He took her off the bed and against the wall, then over a chair. He switched targets, alternating between the lush pussy and the puckered hole, ensuring his cock was kept erect and insatiable, but never losing sight of precautions and necessities. Bathing came naturally to him, and he wasn’t one for shunning cleanliness when it was essential. The beast wasn’t that grotesque a monster. The use of all of her meant they had different playrooms to explore; he flipped her over several times, approaching from front or back, up by her mouth or down between her legs.
However, she was with limits. Exhaustion took her eventually, long before his energy gave out. At that point, he remembered he was a man, and that the Zalim had had his way with her for plenty of the night. Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing, spooned his body around hers and drifted in a haze of sleep for a while. Stirring, he kissed her awake with a peppering of his lips along her nape and shoulders. His cock was bound to the hilt inside her pussy, and he summoned it to action, achieving something he had never done before. Without using the harshest pummelling, which was a requirement of the Zalim, Gervais filled her with a few purposeful strokes of his cock. A remarkable sensation accompanied the spurts: a calmness and wholesome sense of fulfilment.
He knew, as the dawn chorus began outside the windows, that he had seeded her. A child would come as an aftermath of that night. And whatever promise he made to Lord Barre was nothing in its sincerity compared to the one he would make to Matilda.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gervais preferred his private solar to conduct the affairs of his castle. He held a mini court there, listening to the grievances of his tenants and serfs, the local burghers, merchants trading near and far, and the lowlier branches of the nobles, those sons who had inherited little. The petitioners presented their disputes and grievances, and he heard them out, questioned the facts, and award settlements or fines. For the more serious cases, he dispatched the wrongdoers to the county assizes for judgement.
Matilda sat to one side of his table, which was raised on a small dais, and listened with interest. Her father had never permitted her to attend his own sessions, and it was something of surprise when Gervais invited her to join him. He behaved dispassionately, but his justice was fair and considered. Jacob brought order to the proceedings with his sharp voice, relieving his lord of the nastier side of the business. Two men-at-arms stood to attention by the door, but weren’t needed.
With the midday bell ringing, the last petitioner left and Jacob closed the ledger. Gervais stretched his arms above his head and rose, the height of him casting a long shadow across the room. He dismissed the men, and Matilda followed them, believing Gervais wanted time alone.
“No, stay,” he summoned her back. “I have something to tell you.”
He pulled up a chair next to the table and offered it to her. She seated herself, her velvet skirts fanning out, and wondered what occupied his thoughts, since he wore a pensive expression.
There was a dispatch box on the table, intricately carved with a hinged lift. From out of it, he retrieved a bundle of letters, and unfolded each one. Some came with elaborate seals indicating the sender was of importance. He rested his hand on top of the pile.
“I have been writing to people, those in positions of authority, some I admit who are nothing more than paid spies, and from them, I have gleaned what has become of your rogue priest, Father Mark.”
“Why have you pursued him?” What awful fate awaited the priest if he was discovered? She couldn’t imagine Gervais’s investigation was benign in nature.
“To ensure he does not ever sully innocent young women, since it seems, according to my correspondence, he has made a habit of it.” Gervais grinned. “Which, given he should not be wearing a habit of any religious order, condemns him twice over.”
She shifted to the edge of her seat, her stomach tying itself into knots. “I don’t understand.”
“Mark is not a priest. He never took any vows of celibacy, nor does the diocese have records of his Rite of Ordination. They mistakenly assumed another diocese conducted the ordination. The man is a fraud. He moved from abbey to abbey, but had no right to say mass or baptise babies.”
She covered her mouth. “He knew the liturgy.”
“He’s not stupid.” Gervais picked up one letter. “This is from a convent that suspected him; he was caught tampering with a holy relic, and acting inappropriately. Although the details are inconclusive. It seems postulants are not inclined to speak up when ques
tioned.” He raised his eyebrow.
Matilda felt the bloom of a blush. “No, they’re not. So he’s made mischief elsewhere?”
“Mark Poulter is the son of a fisherman. A prosperous one who lived by the sea. Married with one boy. Sadly, during a storm, he was washed overboard and drowned. His grieving wife was left to fend for herself.” Gervais moved to another parchment. “This was told to my man by a fishmonger. The widow was taken by a knight, the son of a well-liked baronet who owned property near to the coast. Sadly, she was unable to stop his unwanted advances.”
Matilda lowered her eyes. “Poor woman.”
“Quite. By the time he had finished with her, her reputation was in tatters and the chance of a second marriage unlikely. Mark witnessed her decline, and it drove him to revenge.”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “By pretending to be a priest?”
Gervais grimaced. “A roaming priest who attended abbeys. He had an education of sorts, some kindly uncle who had Latin, and with it, he tricked his way into monastic churches and learnt what to do and say. The abbeys welcomed him, but not the nunneries with strict rules of isolation. But he only desired the young virgins who attended monastic convents, those who were sent by their families to live piously prior to marriage.” He paused, and she recognised herself.
“For what purpose?” she asked quietly.
“To despoil the noble daughters. Carefully, so not to arouse too much suspicion. He picked those who... are adventurous.”
Matilda guffawed. “He had me booked then. For am I not so?”
“Exactly.” Gervais graciously patted her arm. “Which is also what draws me to you.”
“And Poulter wanted to wreck us, but in secret? It makes no sense.”
“It does if you are a woman too afraid to speak up and admit it. I think, though, he planned worse.” He chose another letter. “This is from a distant convent, one that he visited to take confessions and say masses, and would have been caught if the girl had spoken sooner. The postulant went to her Reverend Mother and confessed her sinful ways, and admitted she was tempted by him, but that he failed to acquire her. Failed in his capacity. You understand?”
“Oh. He couldn’t do it?” She snickered. “Well, that explains his fumbling with other things.”
“Quite. I suspect he was of the mind to be more vicious. But what he did was sufficient. By ruining young noblewomen, he exacted revenge for what happened to his mother. An understandable anger, but his chosen justice is as sinful as the crime against his mother.”
“So he resorted to meddling with us postulants, teasing us, and...” She sighed heavily at the memories. “But, my lord, I do confess, I cooperated. Did I not avail myself of him? He had no trouble tempting me to meet him.”
Gervais pursed his lips. “You told me so. But the first time, how could you have known what to expect? Because you trusted him, I assume, and your surroundings, you allowed him to deceive you.”
She had pushed the assignation out of her mind for so long, just bringing it to life again brought a tension to her head and nausea in her belly. “I think that is being generous, sir. I was not as innocent as you think.”
“No, you were very innocent, for you still believe that he had a right to you, when he had none, and that if you agreed, then it must be assumed you consented fully to what he had planned, when how could you in your ignorance? He might not have achieved his true aim, but he managed to ruin a number of young ladies who subsequently were found to be tarnished, and ill-equipped to deal with their circumstances.” He laid each letter on the table. “These are other accounts that I have uncovered through diligent and cautious enquiries. The Abbess of St. Winifred was not as blind as you might think, nor did she care not for your fate. You see, she instigated her own investigation. I suspect she feared a scandal that might spiral out of control, and consequently lose her precious donations. She thought it best it was handled by the bishops. Finally, they hounded the man, and he fled.”
“And?” She held her breath. Was he hanging in a gibbet somewhere?
“He returned to his mother, and found her dead and buried. He’d neglected her, and she succumbed to hunger and disease.” Gervais replaced the letters in the box.
“Mark?” she asked warily.
“Threw himself off a cliff in grief. He’s gone. You need not worry about any aftermath. He left nothing, no account of his deeds, and no witnesses to testify. In his bitterness, he achieved no peace, only an eternity of damnation.”
A small part of her felt sorry for the man. For he had set out to avenge his mother, and that had to mean he loved at least one person.
Gervais took Matilda’s hand and drew her up and toward him. She settled on his lap and he stroked the locks of her hair, combing his fingers through it.
“It is the past, Tilda. It means nothing to me, and I hope you can forget him,” he said.
Her scalp tingled. “Since I’ve been with you, I’ve not dwelt upon him. You, Gervais, are my everything now.”
He smiled. “Good. Because with that in mind, I plan a celebration.”
The thought of a feast and entertainment brought on the jitters of excitement. “Oo.”
“The end of our betrothal contract is nigh, and rather than mourn its passing, we shall celebrate, for I shall be asking for your hand, and you shall do me the honour of marrying me.” He kissed her cheek. “Yes?”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed enthusiastically. “And who will join us?”
“I prefer not to extend a welcome to high nobility, but to keep our affairs to my limited sphere of influence. The old knights who swear allegiance to me, the burghers of the town, the mayor, the freemen of the valley who bring prosperity to my estates. I am their feudal lord and they will share in our good fortunes.”
“No young knights?” she said sheepishly. “No maidens?”
“You will be Lady Baliol, the mistress of this castle; you need to excel at hosting, not giggling in the corners with your silly friends. There will be no distractions. Only those knights who are wed may come, and their wives.”
She hid her disappointment. “What of those strange men whom you entertained last time?”
“My brethren are not invited. It is time to move on from those hunting days.” He squeezed her thigh. “What I wish is your happiness.”
She sighed, relieved that the ogling eyes of those hunters would not humiliate her ever again. Leaping to her feet, she clapped her hands.
“There’s so much to prepare, is there not? Can I choose the jesters, the jugglers, minstrels and—”
He laughed. “Yes, yes. You can. Off with you. You have one week to make ready.”
She danced out the solar, swirling her heavy skirts. Already she had a gown in mind. They would roast a swan and a boar. Banners would be hung on the walls and fresh scented rushes laid on the floor of the great hall. The pewter would be polished and the dogs well fed, so they would not pester the guests. The castle would buzz with guests and nobody, not one of them, would know that their host was a beast inside a man. The secret was theirs, and it thrilled her, knowing she was the only woman capable of satisfying his demands. The only one he loved. The future was set, the path chosen. In a matter of weeks they would be wed and she would never have to worry about impressing a young man ever again.
Chapter Thirty
The castle gates were opened, and a throng entered the inner sanctum of Gervais’s home. He welcomed, with a smiling face, those who paid him taxes, and he paid them back justice and protection. Of those who came, the shining armour of the knights who swore allegiance to him had the most glittering trains and smartest liveries. When, if ever, the kingdom went to war, these men would provide service to him. Fortunately, peace ruled, and Gervais’s wealth was his to enjoy.
The lowly serfs were not invited. Neither were the other inhabitants of the castle who served him. However, what scraps were left over would be sent out to them, and Matilda had insisted they might listen outside the keep to
the music and make merry in the courtyard. Her kindness shone through, what he had suspected was a true aspect of her heart proved to be real, and it comforted him to see she had learnt to demonstrate it.
Gervais stood in the courtyard and welcomed his guests. Among the arrivals, riding on a mare, her black hair spilling over her shoulders, was a familiar face. He took the reins and helped the lady down. She greeted him with a curtsy, then a peck on his cheek.
“Cousin,” she said, smiling. “Don’t look so agape. I received your invitation and made all haste to join the feasting. Did you think I would miss out? Now, where is this bride of yours?”
“Marcia, welcome.” He waved his arm toward the keep. “I assumed you would stay away.”
“Tsk,” she said, gathering up her skirts. “It is your father that is intransigent. Your mother’s side of the family is less fraught with your past. Your aunt sends her regards, and begs you to visit.”
Gervais followed the lanky girl up the steps. It had been many years since he’d last seen her, and since then, she had grown into a woman, complete with reasonable hips and a plump mouth. She would make a good companion for Matilda at the dinner table.
Marcia was the last of the notable guests to arrive; she had the farthest to travel. The guest chambers of the keep and gatehouse were full to capacity. The bustle of people was unfamiliar to the castle, and many strangers roamed amongst the invited guests, for with the more exalted ones came their servants and men-at-arms. All of them had to be billeted in the outer precincts of the castle. For a few hours chaos ensued until Gervais, Lionel, and Jacob brought order.
If any person he might consider a threat to his person had breached his walls, they were invisible to him. He knew those he had asked to attend well enough, and there was little he could do if they brought a ramble of manservants and maids with them.
