by Alyssa James
Oh, Saints above, what was happening? What was this?
As she intuitively picked up pace, the male groaned again and the tension and opposition of his body vanished. His hips beneath her began to thrust up as she thrust down, to pull away as she lifted herself up—working with her instead of struggling against her.
Aye. This must surely be pleasurable for him now just as Ysabel had said it would be, for his resistance had ceased.
The hard, male strength of him hit a sweet spot against her inner flesh and she craved more. Thoughts emptied from her brain as she became mesmerised by the sensation of their coupling and the rhythm of their movement. Her body strived for the promise of something special that seemed just out of reach no matter how much she strained to attain it.
Their mating went on until finally his massive frame went completely rigid, shuddered and he let out a deep, guttural cry that was muffled by the sack. At first she panicked, wondering whether he was having some sort of fit—whether he was in fact suffocating with his head in the sack.
She was about to call out to her servants, climb off him and rip the sack from his head when she felt the warm spurt of liquid deep within her.
His seed!
Lisette sent a prayer heavenward as she realised all was well with the man beneath her. She pumped up and down for a little longer. Then, she almost collapsed against him in relief. She had achieved her goal. God be praised! This man’s seed now bathed her womb. Provided they were both fertile, she may even be impregnated by this first joining.
She rested for a moment, listening to his laboured breathing, and did not move until she felt his rod begin to lose its strength. As she shifted and his member eased out of her, ’twas accompanied by a sticky wetness. Lisette had never been more grateful.
Lord Collins would not claim her maidenhead. She had given away her virtue, and she had surely just given her soul to the devil, but in so doing she may have just saved not only her mortal life but Genevieve’s as well.
Relief warred with remorse and guilt over the magnitude of her wrongdoing as the detachment she’d worked so hard to achieve, receded. There was no doubt her act had been sinful even if her motivation had been borne of desperation.
Would the man lying beneath her forgive her if he knew he was her only chance?
Self-reproach would not alter the crime she’d just committed. In time, God would punish her. Until her day of reckoning she must live with her conscience knowing that she had done what was necessary. Ultimately she would drive herself mad if she continued to dwell on her actions, and that would not be of benefit to Genevieve.
The stranger would be well compensated for the moral crime she perpetrated against him. When they returned him to where they had found him, John and Frederick would leave him with food and silver coin which would be generous payment for the use of his body and robbing him of his seed.
When she left this hut and faced those she had enlisted to help her, she would hold her head high and show no shame to them. If they knew how badly she felt they would insist that she abandon her plan. They would admonish themselves for not having been able to dissuade her from this path and she would not let her own guilt become theirs.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the man.
He gave a short, terse growl back.
Carefully, she stood up. Still with her skirts pulled up, she made her way to the small basin and dampened a cloth to wipe away the stain of blood which marked her inner thighs.
She’d cheated her guardian of his victory in witnessing her deflowering, although Ysabel had provided a solution to that so neither Lord Collins nor Lord Blake would ever guess the truth. In keeping with tradition, there would be a blood-stained sheet from her wedding bed to drape in Lord Collin’s great hall and none would be any the wiser.
All was progressing exactly according to plan.
So, she reflected, casting a glance over to the powerful male frame that lay unmoving on the hay bed, that was what mating was all about. It must definitely be more pleasurable for the male than it had been for her, for men to want to repeat it. The act had only left her strangely physically dissatisfied and sore.
She moved toward the outstretched male figure and reached for a blanket to both warm him and cover his nakedness. Pausing in the act, she drank in his powerful thighs and snatched a glance at the masculine appendage that now lay dormant on its soft bed of hair. She prayed fervently that such a strong, masculine body would prove fertile.
Her gaze drifted upward over the coarse woollen shirt covering his wide chest and shoulders and she wondered about him. Large hands. Strong forearms. What did he do? Judging from his dress, he was a peasant—probably a farmer rather than a blacksmith because his upper arms were very strong but not overly bulging like the village smithy.
Did he have a family already? A wife and children who would be missing him?
Forcibly she closed her mind on her curiosity as the thoughts made her throat clog once again with sadness. His identity mattered not to her mission. It mattered not if he had a family and they missed him, for he would return safely to them soon enough and he would be much richer. The only thing that mattered was whether John and Frederick had chosen wisely and that this man could help her conceive a child—an heir for Lord Collins—when all the other Collins’ brides had failed.
“I promise all will be well for you,” she told the man on a sob. “You will be looked after while you are here and will be back where you belong in the next few days. I vow you will be none the worse for your time here.”
In desolation she knew her future would never be the same again. Her soul would be forever blackened by her shame and guilt.
As often as possible over the next few days leading up to her wedding, Lisette would make the short trip into the village in pursuit of her goal. She would revisit this stranger to milk him of his seed in the hope of becoming with child.
Chapter 4
Collins Keep
“You are so beautiful Lisette,” Genevieve told her wistfully. “I hope I will be a bride as beautiful as you!”
Lisette stiffened at the innocent words. Her younger sister would make a far more beautiful bride. She only hoped that what she had done before she left Bridlemere proved fruitful so Genevieve would never become Lord Collins’ bride.
“You are beautiful, m’lady. You are the image of your mother.” Ysabel agreed.
The mention of her mother made Lisette bite down on her lip to try to stem the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. Would her parents be ashamed of her or would they understand that she had done the only thing she could think of to save both herself and Genevieve? With her parents gone, the burden of responsibility for her sister pressed down on her acutely. The threat of having Genevieve as Collins’ next wife was now in God’s hands. Lisette had done all she could in that regard. But, after their guardian’s disgraceful behaviour, Lisette worried about leaving Genevieve in his household—even though Ysabel, John and Frederick had promised to do all they could to keep her out of harm’s way.
Mayhap if she pleased Lord Collins, Lisette would be able to convince him to have Genevieve stay here at Collins Keep and try to influence a suitable matrimonial match.
“The cornflower blue shade of your gown exactly matches your eyes,” Genevieve went on, completely oblivious to the agitation churning in the cauldron that was Lisette’s stomach. “Your shiny blonde hair must make all the angels in heaven jealous.”
This time the child’s words added weight to the already heavy state of Lisette’s conscience. The angels would not be jealous, but were they standing by her as she went to her marriage? She prayed the company of Heaven had not turned their backs on her. Every day she would strive to do good in other ways and hope to make up for what had already consigned her to an eternity in Hell.
The man she had so sorely used was most likely back with his family now celebrating his good fortune, but the knowledge that he would be freed a richer man had brought her lit
tle consolation as she had continued to visit him. The dark circles under her eyes were a testimony to her sleepless nights and her troubled conscience. A few times she had been at breaking point, sure she could not continue with her plan, and then she would see Genevieve and force herself to make the trip back to John’s hut in the village.
“Come, Genevieve,” Ysabel directed. “We must away to the chapel.” Then, giving Lisette a motherly hug, she whispered, “I will ’ave what you need at the wedding feast. I will slip it to you then.”
Left alone, Lisette sank to her knees and prayed again for both forgiveness and protection. In her complete naivety, she’d thought procuring the seed she needed would be easy—a sheer physical act. She hadn’t thought of the man she rode as a person, just as a body that would provide her with what she needed. In reality, even though she could not see his face and did not know his name, she was eaten alive with remorse. Ysabel had found her crying the day before they left Bridlemere and knew she carried the burden of her guilt. Lisette’s only consolation was her maid’s assurance that in the act of emptying his seed into her womb, the stranger experienced physical pleasure. When there had been no turning back, Ysabel had done her best to cheer Lisette, reminding her that the man had been well compensated with food and silver coin upon his release.
’Twas not long before the door to her chamber burst open and her guardian strode in. There was satisfaction and malice in his expression.
“Praying will do you no good,” he scoffed. “Your betrothed awaits and he has been warned about your fiery temper.” With a rough tug Lord Blake dragged her to her feet. “He assured me he will punish you if you so much as put a foot out of place.”
Cold dread leeched through her, making her throat dry at the thought of the threat which awaited her. With firm resolve, she pushed her fears away.
“I doubt Lord Collins will be well pleased if I present at his bed with bruise marks from your fingers.” She looked pointedly at where Lord Blake’s fingers bit into the soft flesh of her upper arms.
Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer. The stench of his body odour repulsed her.
“He won’t be worried about that part of your body.” His gaze travelled to the swell of her breasts and she heard his breathing quicken. “Were you the daughter of a serf and not bound for marriage to a lord, I would enjoy my Droit du Seigneur. Observing the boundaries of honour is vastly overrated, I fear.”
“You have no honour,” she bit out through clenched teeth. “You wouldn’t know the boundaries of honour if you fell over them.” When she would have pulled free of his hold, he released her. She expected his wrath, but he merely laughed.
“Any slight bruises on your fair skin from my fingers will pale into insignificance with the treatment you will receive at your husband’s hands for your viper’s tongue. And after this eve in your wedding bed, you’ll have bruises deep inside you that won’t be visible. All will know of them each time you try to take a step.” He laughed in crude anticipation.
Shuddering in revulsion, Lisette walked past her guardian. Lord Collins would not punish her—she would give him no reason to. As much as it would cost her to be meek, she would present herself as a dutiful, compliant wife. It had occurred to her that once she was the lady of his keep, she might be able to gather enough information from the servants to implicate Lord Collins in the murder of at least one of his wives. In that case she would petition the king with the facts she gathered and ensure the brutish lord received his punishment.
***
Standing outside the church doorway waiting for the priest to perform the marriage ceremony, Lisette could not bring herself to look again at the man standing on her right. Everything in her had recoiled as her guardian had placed her hand into that of her future husband. Until a few moments ago she’d only seen Lord Collins once, across a crowded banquet hall.
Collins was tall, but not well built, and his shoulders were rounded. His cheekbones were prominent, his lips—too thin—were pinched in an expression that reminded her of a weasel. The black eyes that examined her from head to toe like a man buying a brood mare, were completely devoid of any warmth. But, rather than appearing cruel, he actually struck her as being furtive and rather unsure of himself—a rather pathetic creature. Mayhap Lord Blake had exaggerated the suggestions of what she might suffer at his hands and in his bed. Surely Collins’ rod would not be as firm as the peasant she’d already coupled with.
The heat from a blush rose up her neck and Lisette lowered her head further. She could not let her thoughts wander back to that peasant.
Now she must play the part of innocent maiden and ensure she did not test her husband-to-be. The consequences for her, should he realise that she had no maidenhead to offer him, were surely too horrible to contemplate. If the priest found out she had lost her virtue...
Anxiety crawled across her skin. Lord Collins had already bedded many maidens. Could she fool him? Would he be able to sense that she was missing the membrane of resistance that was her maidenhead? Mayhap she should have waited until after her wedding night to go forth with her plan? Nay. There would have been no opportunity to proceed once she was at the Collins’ keep. None of her faithful servants would have been there to assist her.
Again she sent a prayer heavenward that she had been successful. ’Twas too early to tell. Her courses were not due for another sennight.
Now, standing next to Lord Collins, her slim hand cramping from the tight hold of his sweaty palm, Lisette willed herself to be calm—to merely exist, not to think or to feel. She forced herself to stand rooted to the spot when all that was in her screamed at her to break free and run as far away as possible. ’Twas better that she accepted this man as her husband than have sweet Genevieve betrothed to him.
The priest cleared his throat and began the ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in Paradise and into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined.”
Honourable estate! There was nothing honourable about this union, Lisette scoffed inwardly. She was barely able to maintain the detachment she’d strived so hard to achieve. There was nothing honourable about Lord Collins either, if Ysabel’s suspicions were correct.
The sound of horses’ hooves drawing near hovered at the edge of her subconscious mind. Somewhere among the onlookers, a child cried and another coughed. She paid the sounds no heed. With firm resolve she willed her mind away from the scene around her and sought internal peace. She must maintain an air of detachment, adopt an expression of indifference rather than allowing her features to show her distaste for the man who was to be her husband. She must give him no hint as to her resistance, for ’twould serve no purpose and may only incur his wrath. He must believe she came to him willingly. ’Twas imperative that he believe she was devoted to him. If she swelled with child, he must be convinced the child was his. She must not show any discontent that might make him suspect she had taken a lover.
“Therefore,” the priest droned, “if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, by God’s Law, or the Laws of the Realm; let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
“I present just cause.”
There was a collective gasp from the crowd at the confidently delivered words. Indeed, Lisette heard her own sharp intake of breath.
Lord Collins stiffened beside her and dropped her hand. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”
“Identify yourself,” the priest commanded.
Lisette turned. The crowd parted just as though Moses was parting the red sea.
A knight in a full suit of armour sat astride a mighty black destrier and walked his mount forward toward the people standing at the back of the crowd. As he lifted his arm in signal, a half a dozen more knights rode forth surrounding the crowd.
The horses she’d heard!
/> People grew restless. Fearful.
“What is your business here?” Collins challenged the leader of the knights, but Lisette was close enough to observe the uncertainty in his features. “Who are you and from where do you hail?”
The knight swung down in a smooth, lithe action from his steed and removed his helmet.
There were some exclamations and sounds of feminine approval from the assembly.
Lisette’s heart jumped in her chest then seemed to do a series of acrobatic tumbles as she looked at him. A finer man she’d never seen. Even dismounted, he stood head and shoulders above everyone. His clean-shaven face—in the style of King Henry—was exceedingly attractive with a strong jaw and high, chiselled cheekbones. However his manner and expression were menacing. His gaze skewered through Collins as surely as if he’d speared him with a lance.
“I am Lord Rowan, Earl of Romsey and first knight of King Henry.”
A great chain of oohs and aahs rippled out like waves from those around her.
For some strange reason the deep, authoritative voice had Lisette’s pulse quickening and made her weak at the knees. Via travellers to Bridlemere Keep, she’d heard of Henry’s first knight, Sir Rowan. It appeared he’d been granted the new title Earl of Romsey, and that was little wonder given the reported value of his services to the king.
“You have no business here, Romsey,” Collins said forcefully, although he shifted from leg to leg thus detracting from the confident tone of his voice. “Get on your horse and ride on.”
Paying him no heed, the knight continued. “I object to this marriage, on two counts.”
The crowd jostled a little. Lisette could see that those on the edges vied for a better view of the handsome knight who dared to interrupt the marriage ceremony of a powerful local lord. Collins, after all, was highly feared by all who knew him.
