My Favorite Things

by Lynsay Sands

  Frowning with concern, Royce clasped her lightly by the arms. “Are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale.”

  Brinna dragged her gaze away from the approaching Lord Laythem and focused on Royce. “Nay,” she said firmly. “I am not all right. ’Tis the heat. Do I not get out into the fresh air this minute, I’m sure to faint.”

  It was all she had to say. She barely had time for one more glance over his shoulder at Lord Laythem as he weaved his way toward them; then Royce had whirled her toward the great hall’s doors and propelled her to and through them.

  “Better?” he asked solicitously as the doors closed behind them.

  Her arms moving automatically to hug herself against the cold winter night, Brinna glanced uncertainly about the courtyard. Lord Laythem had been close enough to see where they had gone to, and she very much feared his following them. Standing on the steps, handy for him to find on exiting the hall, hardly seemed the wisest thing to do.

  “Perhaps the stables,” she murmured thoughtfully. Surely Lord Laythem would never look for them there? Certainly it was the last place Brinna would have chosen to go were she not desperate to hide.

  “The stables?”

  “What a wonderful idea.” Brinna beamed at him as if it had been his idea. “No doubt the stables shall make me feel better.” Taking his arm, she attempted to move him down the steps. It was like trying to shift a centuries-old tree. The man was immovable. Certainly too damn big for her slight weight. “My lord? Will you not come with me to the stables? ’Tis warmer there,” she coaxed, tugging at his arm.

  Heaving a sigh, he started forward down the stairs. “I thought you said that the castle was too hot and you needed to be outside else you might faint. Now you wish to go to the stables because ’tis warmer?”

  “Aye, well, the castle is too warm, and the night too cold. The stables shall be just right, I am sure,” she muttered, dragging at his arm in an effort to speed him up. “Do you not think we might walk faster?”

  “You were faint a moment ago,” he protested.

  “Aye, but the exercise will do me good.”

  Muttering under his breath, he picked up his pace a bit, hurrying across the courtyard behind her as she began a jog toward the stables.

  “I am not sure this is a good idea,” Royce complained as they reached the stables.

  Ignoring him, Brinna tugged the stable doors open and slid inside. Turning to glance back the way they had come as he slid in behind her, she spied a dark shape that could have been Lord Laythem standing on the stairs staring after them, and felt her heart skip a beat. Whirling away as he closed the door, she eyed the stables almost desperately, searching for somewhere to hide lest Joan’s father follow them. Then she started down the row of stalls determinedly.

  “What are you doing?” Royce asked curiously, following her the length of the building until they reached the last stall.

  “I thought to check on my mare,” she lied grimly.

  “She was back near the door,” he pointed out dryly, and Brinna rolled her eyes at that bit of news, then for want of any other thought of what to do, whirled, caught him by the tunic, and reached up onto her tiptoes to plaster her lips on his. It was the only thing she could think to do. His kisses made her thought processes fuzzy and scattered and made her willing to follow him anywhere unquestioningly. She could only hope they had the same effect on him and would stop his questions. Unfortunately, it did seem to her that he was better at this. While their earlier kisses had been fiery and passionate, now, without his participation, it did seem to be a wasted exercise. Brinna was about to pull away when he suddenly relaxed and kissed her back.

  Sighing in relief, Brinna leaned into him and let her arms creep up about his neck. She had the curious urge to arch and stretch against him like a cat, but he pulled away before she could, a question in his eyes.

  “How do you feel now?”

  “Wonderful,” Brinna purred, leaning her head on his chest with a small sigh, only to stiffen at his next words.

  “Then mayhap we should head back.”

  “Oh, nay,” she gasped anxiously.

  “We shouldn’t be here alone. It isn’t proper, Joan.”

  Joan. She stared at him silently. He was Joan’s. But for just this moment in time, she wanted to pretend he was hers. Joan wouldn’t care. She didn’t want him. But Brinna did. She wanted to hold him close for one night. Then hold those memories close for all the days of her future as she worked in her little cottage.

  “Joan?”

  “Mayhap I don’t feel proper,” she whispered huskily, and Royce’s eyes widened incredulously. For a moment they stood frozen in silence. Then he suddenly groaned and pulled her back into his arms, his mouth lowering to cover hers in a kiss that made her legs weak. This time there was no restraint. Nothing held back. He gave her all his passion, overwhelming her with it as his hands closed over her breasts through her gown.

  Pressing her back against the stall, he broke the kiss and turned his attention briefly to undo the lacings of her dress. Brinna gasped as the neckline slid apart and he tugged the collar of her shift down, revealing her naked breasts. Cold winter air chilled them briefly before Royce covered them with his hands. Growling deep in his throat, he cupped them, his thumbs running over her erect nipples as he pressed another hard, fast kiss to her lips. Then he made a trail down her throat, across her collarbone, and down to the erect tip of one breast, which he sucked into his mouth hungrily.

  Brinna shuddered. Her hands clenched in his hair, then dragged his face back up for a kiss, and she thrust her own tongue into his mouth as he had done to her. Releasing his head, she dropped her hands down to slide her fingers beneath his tunic, fanning them over his hard flat stomach, then running them up over his ribs to his chest.

  She felt the cool breeze creep its way up her left leg with some peripheral part of her mind, but really didn’t realize what it meant until his hand brushed against her hip. Before she could register surprise, his hand had slid around between her legs and up the inside of her thigh, a warm caress. Brinna gasped into his mouth, jerking in his arms as his hand covered her womanhood, cupping it briefly before he slid a finger between her folds to investigate her warmth and heat as he urged her legs further apart with a knee between her own.

  She heard the keening whimpers for quite a while before she realized that they were coming from her own throat. Suddenly embarrassed, she tugged her mouth away and turned her head until she found his shoulder. Pressing her mouth against it, she retrieved her hands from beneath his shirt, then wasn’t sure what to do with them. When Royce caught one of her hands and drew it down to the front of his braies, pressing it against the solid hardness that had grown there, she froze, raising fear-filled eyes to him. He met her gaze, read her fear, and paused, his hand stilling between her legs. She saw uncertainty burst to life in his eyes, and would have kicked herself had she been able to.

  “You are afraid. Mayhap we should stop and—” he began, his voice dying, eyes widening in shock as she suddenly moved the hand that clasped him through his braies, and slid it down the front of his braies to touch his bare flesh.

  “Move to the straw,” she suggested huskily, giving him a gentle squeeze.

  Uncertainty fleeing under passion, Royce caught her by the backs of her thighs and lifted her up. Brinna wrapped her legs around his hips, and caught them at the ankles to help hold them up as he turned to walk to the back corner of the stables where several bales of hay rested. He set her on one that would keep her at the same height, then reached up to tug her gown and shift off her shoulders as she released her legs and flattened them against the front of the bale she sat on. Once the cloth lay in a pool around her waist, Brinna leaned back, tilting her head back as she arched her breasts upward for his attention.

  He did not disappoint her. His hands and mouth paid homage, touching, caressing, licking, nibbling, and sucking at her goose-bumped flesh until she moaned aloud with her desire for him.
It wasn’t until then that he caught at the hem of her skirt again. Sliding his hands beneath it, he clasped her ankles, then ran his hands up the flesh of her calves to her thighs, pushing the material before him, urging her legs apart as he did. His mouth moved to cover her gasps as she shuddered beneath his touch, and she drank of him deeply, then bit his lower lip as his hands met at her center. He caressed her, then slid one finger smoothly into her, and Brinna arched into the invasion, her hands shifting to his shoulders and clutching him desperately as she wriggled into the caress.

  Tearing her mouth away then, she shook her head desperately and gasped as he slid his finger out, then back in. Reaching down into his braies again, she grasped him almost roughly, trying to tell him what she wanted as she bit into his shoulder to prevent crying out. She felt the cloth loosen around her hand, then felt it no longer as he sprang free in her hand. Brinna ran her hand the length of his shaft, then pressed her feet against the bale, sliding her behind to the edge of it in search of him.

  Chuckling roughly at her eagerness, Royce gave in to her request and edged closer, brushing her hand away to grasp his manhood himself and steer it on the course it needed to follow. She felt him rub against her, caressing her as his hand had done a moment ago, and wiggled impatiently, but still he did not enter her, but teased and caressed and rubbed until Brinna thought she would go mad. It was at that point that the tension that had been building inside of her suddenly broke. Taken by surprise, Brinna cried out, her legs snapping closed on either side of his hips as she arched backward.

  Covering her mouth with his own, Royce chose that moment to thrust into her. A sudden sharp pain flared briefly where they joined, and Brinna stiffened against it, then gasped and relaxed somewhat as it passed. When he began to draw himself out then, Brinna’s eyes popped open, dismay covering her face as she clutched at his buttocks to keep him inside her.

  “Nay,” she gasped in protest, then blinked in surprise as he drove into her again. “Oh,” she breathed, arching automatically and returning his smile a bit distractedly as she felt the tension begin to build again. “Oh.”

  “Aye,” Royce murmured, slipping his hands beneath her buttocks and lifting her into his thrusts.

  “JOAN?”

  Brinna blinked her eyes open with a sigh, sorry to see her stolen moment pass so swiftly. They had just finished the ride she had started. Royce had spilled his seed with a triumphant cry that had made the horses shift and whinny nervously in their stalls in response. Brinna had followed him quickly, biting into the cloth of his tunic as her body spasmed and twitched around him. Then he had slumped against her slightly, holding her even as she held him. Now it was over, it seemed, and he had brought reality back with that one name. Joan.

  “Joan?” Straightening, he smiled down at her with a combination of uncertainty and gentleness. “Are you all right? I did not hurt—”

  “Joan?”

  They both stiffened at that shout from out of the darkness.

  Brinna peered anxiously over Royce’s shoulder even as he cast a glance that way himself. They both saw that the stable door was open and someone was walking up the shadowed aisle toward them. Cursing, Royce pulled out of her and quickly tugged her skirt down into place. Replacing himself inside his braies, he turned away, hiding her with his back as he faced the approaching man.

  “Who goes there?” he asked tensely, reaching for his sword.

  “Lord Laythem.”

  Brinna heard the breath whoosh out of Royce at that announcement, and bit her lip as she clasped Joan’s gown to her breasts and ducked fully behind him. There was a moment of tense silence as the man approached, then the crunch of straw under his feet ended and there was a weary sigh.

  “Well, it would seem I waited too long to see if you would return to the hall,” he murmured, then added wryly, “Or perhaps not long enough.”

  “I am sorry, my lord,” Royce began grimly. “I—”

  “Do not be sorry, lad. I was young once myself. Besides, this makes me feel better. At least now I won’t have to feel that I forced Joan into something.”

  Brinna saw Royce’s hands unclench as he relaxed. Then Lord Laythem cleared his throat and murmured, “Though it may be a good idea to move the wedding date forward a bit.”

  “Aye. Of course,” Royce agreed promptly. “Tomorrow?”

  “Eager, are you?” Lord Laythem laughed. “I shall talk to Robert, but I do not think tomorrow is likely. We crown the Lord of Misrule tomorrow,” he reminded him. “I’ll see what I can arrange and let you know.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Brinna could hear the grin in Royce’s voice and knew he was pleased. Her own heart seemed suddenly leaden. But then, she wasn’t the one he would be marrying.

  “Aye. Well, you had best collect yourselves and return to the hall. I would not want anyone else to catch the two of you so.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Good.” There was a rustle as he turned to leave, then he paused. “Joan, I want to talk to you ere Mass on the morrow . . . Joan?”

  “Aye,” Brinna whispered, afraid to speak lest he notice that her voice differed from his daughter’s. Apparently not noticing anything amiss, he wished them good night and left.

  Royce whirled to face her as soon as Lord Laythem was gone. He was jubilant as he helped her redon Joan’s gown, talking excitedly about how this was a wonderful thing. How the arrival of the dower early would aid his people. They would leave the day after the wedding. They would travel to Thurleah, purchase this, repair that, and spend every spare moment in bed. Brinna listened to all this, forcing herself to smile and nod, and doing her best to hide the fact that her heart was breaking.

  Chapter Five

  Here, put this on.”

  Brinna turned from straightening the bed linens as Lady Joan slammed into the room. “My lady?”

  “Put this on,” Joan repeated grimly, stripping her gown even as she spoke. “And give me your dress.”

  “But—”

  “Now, Brinna. There is no time.”

  Brinna started to undress, responding automatically to the authority in Joan’s voice, then halted. “Nay. We cannot do this. I cannot. Your father is here now. He will—”

  “Today they appoint the Lord of Misrule. All will be chaos all day. ’Sides, he will not bother with me—you. He will be drinking and carousing with Lord Menton. You can easily avoid him.”

  Brinna shook her head grimly. “I cannot.”

  “You must,” Joan hissed, grabbing her hand desperately and giving it a squeeze. “Just this one last time.”

  “But—”

  “You got me into this,” Joan said accusingly, her patience snapping, and Brinna’s eyes widened in amazement.

  “Me?”

  “Aye, you. If you hadn’t let Royce drag you off to the stables for a quick tumble like some cheap—” She snapped her mouth closed on the rest of what she was going to say and sighed.

  “How did you find out?” Brinna asked, her voice heavy with guilt.

  “What do you think Father wished to speak to me about?” she asked grimacing, then bit her lip miserably. “The wedding is tomorrow. I have to warn—” She snapped her mouth closed again and frowned, then turned away, took two steps, then turned back. “Please? Just this one last time. You will not be discovered. I promise. Truly, you know as well as I that ’twill be chaotic today.”

  “Not at Mass it won’t be.”

  Sensing that she was weakening, Joan pounced. “You shall leave late for Mass. That way, Father will be seated at the front with Lord and Lady Menton, and you and Lord Thurleah will be at the back of the chapel. Just don’t let Thurleah dawdle once Mass is over and it should be all right.”

  Brinna blew her breath out on a sigh, then nodded and continued to undress, wondering as she did why she had even hesitated. She wanted to do this. She was eager to spend any little moment of time with Royce that she could while she could.

  “OH, GOOD,” JOAN SAID.


  Brinna whirled from closing the bedroom door to stare at Joan in amazement as she rushed toward her. Truly, she had not expected the other girl to be there yet. She had thought Joan would spend every last moment of freedom she had as far from this room as possible. Actually, she had rather hoped that Joan would. After the day she had had, Brinna could have used a few moments of peace and quiet.

  As per Joan’s instructions, Brinna had kept Royce waiting that morning, leaving him cooling his heels in the hall as she and Joan had paced nervously inside the room until Joan had determined that enough time had passed so that Brinna and Royce would be late for Mass and end up seated far from Lord Laythem and the possibility of his noticing something amiss. And the girl had been right. Mass was already started when they reached the chapel. Royce ushered her to the nearest seat, as far from her “father” as Brinna could have wished, and they had sat silently through the Mass.

  Royce would have waited then to return to the great hall with the other Menton guests, but Brinna had exited the moment it was over, forcing him to follow or leave her without an escort. She had apologized prettily once they were out of the chapel, claiming a need for air with a suggestive smile that had made his eyes glow with the memory of the last time she had proclaimed a desire for air. Moments later Brinna had found herself locked in his arms in a handy alcove, being kissed silly. And so the day had gone, with Brinna spending half her time dodging Joan’s father and the other half locked in Royce’s arms in some handy secluded spot. The only chance she had had to relax was during the feast itself. She, along with everyone else, had cheered the crowning of the kitchen lad who usually manned the spit as the Lord of Misrule, then had helped Lord and Lady Menton and most of their younger guests in serving the servants while Joan’s father and another guest had taken on the role of minstrels and attempted to provide music for the celebrants.

  Once it was over, however, Brinna had again found herself dodging Lord Laythem and spending more and more time in dim corners and dark alcoves, her head growing increasingly fuzzy with a combination of drink and lust. Royce had not gone unaffected by the revelry and their passion himself. The last time she had dragged him off to avoid Lord Laythem, he had nearly taken her in the shadows at the head of the stairs before recalling himself and putting an end to their embrace. Then he had suggested a little breathlessly that mayhap they should end that evening early so that their wedding day would come that much quicker. Which was why Brinna was now back in Joan’s room before the usual time.