Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  I pulled him on top of me and he came willingly, his weight pressing me into the soft earth. I could feel every inch of his body, but there was one part in particular which held my attention, and it was digging into my stomach with blind determination.

  I expected him to hoist my skirts up to my waist and free his manhood from its prison, and I parted my legs in anticipation when he did the former. But when he slid down the length of my body, coming to rest with his head and chest between my spread thighs, I tried to sit up.

  ‘Shhh,’ he urged,’ be still. You will like it.’

  Will I—? Oh, God, yes, yes, I will. I do!

  Bolts of pleasure radiated out from between my legs as he lapped and sucked and nibbled, pleasure so intense that it burned and scorched, and had me whimpering with the force of it. My breaths came in short pants, interjected with cries and moans, and a strange pressure grew, radiating out of the hard little button that Brihtric flicked and played with.

  I had taken pleasure in mating, had felt loved and wanted by my husband, but I had never felt a sensation like this. Oh, God, I could not take any more, and I writhed under his mouth, so much so that he had to clamp his hands on each hip to anchor me down.

  Abruptly, I stilled. Something was happening, and it bore down on me with all the speed of a galloping horse. Brihtric answered me with a groan, let go of my hips, and slid one finger deep inside me. But it was what he did with the fingers of his other hand and his mouth which sent me spiralling into oblivion. He pulled my hidden folds up and back, exposing the nub of flesh and he lapped hard and fast, the pressure growing and building until—

  I screamed, a cry of pure animal pleasure. Wave after wave crashed into me, and I was at one with the sea, the sky, the stars. Trembling and shaking with a sparkling, shuddering delight, I relaxed into the earth, limp and spent, and delirious with the bliss of it.

  Brihtric reared above me, moving up my body until his head was level with mine. I saw the hunger in his eyes, and for the first time in my life, I understood it. If he had ever experienced the pleasure that I had just experienced, then no wonder he craved it again. No wonder it drove men wild with wanting.

  He fumbled at his britches, and I opened myself to him gladly, wanting to give him the joy he had just given me.

  He slid into me, hot and hard, my secret muscles clamping around his length, and an emptiness I didn’t realise had been there was filled with his manhood. He began to thrust, and when he moved in a steady rhythm inside me, part of him rubbed against that very sensitive nub, awakening it once more.

  I thought my enjoyment was done, and this renewed feeling surprised me. My hips moved in time to his thrusting as the glorious pressure grew once more. His lips found mine, and I tasted myself on him, my desire and my pleasure, and I was intrigued to discover how much the flavour aroused me. Answering him thrust for thrust, I moved against him, his breathing harsh and fast in my ear, his mouth hard on mine, his body claiming every part of me.

  And when his release came, he took me with him, and I exploded into a million pieces, ecstasy filling my heart and soul.

  Chapter 22

  Arlette had not skimped on my wardrobe. Though I understood that the reason behind the new and luxurious garments was to showcase William to the best advantage (she had spent a fortune on ensuring all her son’s retinue looked their best – even the sailors wore a uniform, and William’s knights all bore his crest on their tunics and breastplates), I was nevertheless thankful for it.

  I had brought a maid with me, as befitting a noblewoman of my rank (though what exactly that rank was, had never been very clear) and later, as I prepared for tonight’s feast, when she was bathing me and braiding my hair the only thing on my mind was how I should be dressed. Would the rose-coloured gown be best, or the leaf-green? I chose the green; the colour reminded me of the afternoon, spend under the leafy canopy of the trees and on the soft bed of unfurled ferns.

  I could not see to rid myself of images of Brihtric’s head buried between my spread thighs, or the sight of him above me, wonder and hunger mingling like sun and rain to make a rainbow of pleasure in his eyes. And I had not yet begun to explore my feelings for him. He was in my mind, filling it, owning it, leaving me little room for any other thoughts, and I could not wait to see him again.

  Do not let him get under your skin, I admonished myself, not if you might have to dispose of him, then I uttered a pained laugh, causing the maid to pause in her ministrations and give me a quizzical look.

  I shook my head. Too late for that, I knew; he had not simply got under my skin, he had got inside it – literally – and it had been glorious and wonderful, and I was consumed with thoughts of when we could do it again.

  Purely an animal response, I told myself. Do not confuse lust with a higher sentiment, I told myself. It was only sex, I said. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that it was nothing, I knew deep down that my response to him, my connection to him, was much more than relieving an itch. His heart had touched mine, and I had no idea how to deal with it.

  That was not the only problem I faced. There was another, much bigger one – what if William decided that Brihtric was too great a threat, and that my lover should be permanently removed? And worse still, what if I should be tasked as the one to do the dispatching?

  The thought of killing him filled me with complete and utter dread. Taking Brihtric’s life was unthinkable now, not after what we had done, after what he had done to me. He had awakened something inside me that I had thought long dead, and for that reason alone he deserved to live. I could not recall a time when I had felt this alive, and my heart sang with joy. I could not kill him, I would not kill him – I would end my own life first. The stain on my soul was great enough already without ending the life of this glorious man, and I would risk eternal damnation and commit the mortal sin of suicide, before I harmed a hair on his head.

  Sending the black thoughts to the back of my mind, where they would no doubt sit and fester only to reappear in the witching hour to torment me, I decided there was no point in thinking about it now. What will be, will be. I intended to enjoy this night for what it was – a celebration. The ceremony had been last night, with all the formalities of announcing an heir, but tonight was about feasting and dancing and I had no doubt that Edward would put on a display of wealth. Despite lacking some of the trappings of Normandy or Flanders, England was not a poor relation. She had wealth aplenty, and I bet her king intended to show it off, so I dressed for the occasion, taking great pains with my toilette, telling myself it was solely for William’s benefit. But I could tell myself this all I wanted, for it made no difference to the reality; I was primping myself for one reason only – Brihtric.

  I waited until the last minute to attend the hall, sending my maid away to let me compose myself. She was happy enough to go, having taken a shine to some soldier or another. Which was good, since I forbade her to sleep in my room. I needed privacy, just in case, and I had no idea where she laid her head at night but I had an inkling it was next to her lover’s. Good luck to her. I would not begrudge her some happiness. After all, hadn’t I just snatched some for myself?

  I stared out of the narrow window, unshuttered at this time of year, and for a long while I watched the activity on the river and lost myself in the emotions coursing through me. My body might be outwardly still and silent, but my heart fluttered and my mind fretted and worried. Joy and dread vied for supremacy in equal measures. How would I react when I saw him? How would he? Should I pretend that our tryst had never happened? Would he do the same? Would he be friendly and polite, or would he send me hidden looks filled with delicious meaning?

  The joy was the anticipation of seeing him again and the memory of what we had shared. The dread was the worry that I was merely another conquest, another roll in the hay, and that our encounter meant nothing more to him than a pleasurable rut with a willing woman.

  I could have sworn that our joining had meant more to hi
m than that, that he had felt the same as I, but nothing was ever certain, and I had so little experience in affairs of the heart I could not trust my own judgement. Tupping a visiting gentlewoman might be common practice for him, and he might not realise it was decidedly uncommon practice for me.

  But surely, he had felt that connection too? He must have…

  Finally, realising I could not stand there any longer with my thoughts spinning around in circles, I scooped up my courage with both hands, took a deep breath, lifted my chin, and walked out of the door.

  With my head held high and my back straight I entered the hall, only to find Brihtric, William, and Edward conspicuous by their absence. With the wind taken out of my sails, I picked a bench and dropped down on to it, grabbing a tankard from a passing servant as I did so. After taking a fortifying draught of strong, fruity wine, I surveyed the room, spotting some of our own people, and recognising some of the English.

  One of those Englishmen joined me, uninvited and unwelcome, plopping heavily down on the bench with a grunt.

  ‘Lady Caitlyn.’ Wulfstan nodded at me, raising his tankard in greeting.

  ‘Lord Wulfstan.’ I nodded back, wishing he would go away and leave me alone.

  ‘I heard you came off your horse today,’ he said.

  ‘It threw me,’ I retorted, wondering what else he had heard about, and who would have told him. I hoped with all my heart it had not been Brihtric. The thought of him bandying his conquest around for all to hear made my heart ache. I preferred not to keep glancing at the great doors at the far end, but I couldn’t stop. Surely Brihtric was bound to enter soon?

  ‘You seem none the worse for wear,’ Wulfstan said, looking me up and down. ‘In fact, you are as lovely as your mother was. She would have been so proud of you.’ He said this as if he had known her better than less than a day should warrant, and I rose to the challenge.

  ‘Did you know her well, my lord? I ask because I understood she only spent a very short time in Wessex.’

  ‘Not as well as I would have liked,’ he said, without any inflection whatsoever, leaving me to draw my own conclusion as to how well he would have liked to get to know me. I hoped it was purely as Idris’s wife and not getting to “know” me in the biblical sense. I was not sorry to have scuppered his plans.

  ‘You are the image of her,’ he added.

  ‘So you said, my lord.’

  ‘You even have a hint of the Welsh lilt in your voice.’

  ‘I suppose it is unsurprising considering it was she who taught me English,’ I replied, glancing at the doors for the fiftieth time.

  ‘Did she teach you, Welsh, too?’

  Was it my imagination, or was there an undercurrent to what appeared to be an innocuous question?

  Darn, but there was my paranoia again, biting me like a persistent flea. Of course, he could have no suspicion.

  ‘Ie, gwnaeth hi. Yes, she did. My mother and I used to speak her native tongue often.’ Now, that definitely was not a lie. For the first few years of my childhood, Welsh was all I spoke.

  ‘You said your mother died a long time ago. What of your father, is he still alive?’ Wulfstan asked, and I noticed that each time I glanced at the door, he did too.

  ‘No, my lord, both of my parents are dead, which is why I am so grateful to Lady Arlette for taking me into her household.’ My story was becoming too convoluted for comfort, and so full of holes he could have driven a cart through it.

  Blast. I could only hope he would take my story at face value. After all, he had no reason to doubt me, despite my paranoia.

  ‘Did you know that my wife, Sigrid, still has your mother’s little palfrey? Lady Caitlyn left it when she went to Normandy. The beast has got to be nearing thirty and it is as thin as a pike shaft, but Sigrid won’t hear of me putting it out of its misery and feeding it to my hounds. Never mind, the mare cannot last much longer.’

  Silver was still alive? I stared up at Wulfstan incredulously. That mare had carried me across Wales and into England. She had saved my life (I ignored the fact that she had almost cost me to lose it, too) and I had been sad to leave her behind. Silently, I thanked Sigrid for her care of my horse.

  ‘I got some nice foals out of her, and some of them were the same colour as her, almost pure white, and even her third-generation offspring throws a white colt or filly now and again,’ Wulfstan was saying. ‘Hah!’ he shouted, making me jump. ‘I shall send for one of them! You can take it back to Normandy with you, as a gift from me in memory of your mother.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Wulfstan, you are very kind. I would like that.’ Unbidden, my eyes filled with tears. Apart from the antler comb (which I still possessed), Silver had been my last link with my old home. It would be good to have another, however tenuous.

  Seeing my face, Wulfstan cleared his throat. ‘I shall enquire if there is a white one. Would you like that?’

  I nodded, wordlessly, too choked up to answer. He took a long swallow of ale, emptying the tankard, then got to his feet. ‘Your man is here,’ he said, patting me on the shoulder and nodding towards the door.

  Expecting to see William, I glanced over at it.

  It was Brihtric.

  His gaze went straight to me and his expression was unreadable. Immediately my insecurities came rushing back – I was nothing to him; it was merely a roll in the grass; he was going to pretend our encounter had never happened. Then he smiled, and it lit his face like the sun. Almost as swiftly, it was gone again, and I understood that he was being cautious, so I bowed my head and lowered my eyes until I was certain no hint of my feelings for him showed in my face.

  Behind Brihtric came William, and after him, with some delay and much fanfare and pomp, came King Edward. I curtsied along with the rest of the ladies, and once the king was seated (a great deal of fussing accompanied this simple action), the feasting began. I was placed at a table just below the dais, while Brihtric had a seat on it, near to his king, (as did Wulfstan, I noticed) and all through the many courses, I tried not to look at him.

  He, in turn, tried not to look at me.

  It was that very avoidance which gave us away.

  ‘You are quiet, Brihtric,’ King Edward observed, and I was thankful that I was close enough to the dais to hear what was being said. ‘Is something bothering you?’

  I watched out of the corner of my eye, as Brihtric placed a slice of roasted swan onto his plate. He said something, but a burst of laughter drowned out his voice.

  ‘He is smitten by a wench,’ Wulfstan said, his booming tones carrying over the chatter. ‘And I wager I know who she is.’

  Brihtric and I exchanged a brief glance. His expression was unreadable but there was a darkness behind his eyes which troubled me. For some reason, he did not want our liaison to be common knowledge. Maybe it was regard for me and my reputation, but I had seen how he acted around other women at court and no one seemed bothered by his flirting with them and neither did he, so why treat me any differently? Ah, it could be because he was worried about William’s reaction. Brihtric might think that the Duke might not take kindly to anyone dallying with his gentlewoman. Little did he know the Duke probably didn’t care. I was not entirely sure William understood the extent of my enthrallment to his mother, but he knew that however much I dallied, I was bound to her, and no amount of assignations would alter the fact. Therefore, he was probably content to let me dally away, for at the end of this visit I would be at his side on board a ship to take us home.

  Home. Now that was an emotive word, and one which I had not considered in many a long year, until recently. Sudden bouts of homesickness had assailed me frequently in the early years of my captivity, but gradually the ache had decreased until it became a dull, sore spot deep in the corner of my mind.

  This visit had brought everything to the forefront, much more than I had anticipated. Much more than Arlette had expected too, not that she cared, and not that I could do anything about it. I blamed Wulfstan for today’s bout. I
might have escaped more or less unscathed, but talking to him had released a flood of memories.

  Where was home? Wales? Normandy? Where did my heart belong – with Duke William, who I loved like a son, or to the west of here where I was born and bred, and where I had lived, and loved, and lost.

  And now there was Brihtric to add to the pot. I had not anticipated desire to be thrown in, either. Nor a fledgling love for a man I hardly knew.

  Blast, but this was a mess.

  Chapter 23

  Pleasure burned through me, searing my flesh and turning my insides to liquid. I writhed and gasped beside him, as Brihtric’s fingers delved and stroked. His lips were on my breast, the nipple deep in his mouth, and his manhood throbbed urgently, pressing against my thigh, a drawn sword craving only to pierce tender flesh.

  I cried out in ecstasy, feeling nothing but the bliss of the moment, the lifting of my soul to the heavens, followed by its slow return to my body.

  But Brihtric was not finished with me yet. The night was young, and it seemed we were spending it together, wrapped in each other’s arms. Right now, there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

  He reared up and rose over me, but I pushed him away. What was good for the goose…

  He chuckled as I rolled him onto his back, and I drew my gaze from his face to admire the length of him. Not an ounce of spare flesh clung to his muscled frame; he was lean from his shoulders to his stomach, and I traced my fingers from the dip at his throat where his collarbones met, down between the hard muscles of his chest, and over his stomach, following the pale trail of hairs to the denser thicket where his manhood rose proud and rigid.

  He trembled under my touch, his hips lifting slightly at the anticipated caress, but I stopped before my destination, wanting to tease and tempt him, and make him beg. I cupped his sack and gently squeezed, hearing his grunt of pleasure, then I eased myself down his body until my face hovered above his excitement.