How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel

by Stella Marie Alden

  At the parapet wall, she stepped onto the ladder, and turned toward Aiden. “Go back to the great room. Shout that you fear I will jump.”

  Eyes wide, his young hand clamped onto her forearm, a reminder of the man he would become. “Please, my lady. Do no such a thing.”

  She leaned in and whispered with a secret smile, “Fear not. That’s not my true intent. I need this one favor. I beg of you.”

  His face brightened at the mischief and she chuckled as he ran back across the square, all the while shouting the alarm with Loki barking at his heels. With the rest so engaged, she dashed for the well room and flew down the narrow staircase. At the bottom, the strident grating of metal sharpening against stone stopped. Her monk glared, eyes dark and furious.

  She touched his arm and said quickly, “Say naught and listen. I need you to finish what we started. You must. What if I scratch and bite at my new husband? I could easily end up dead and it would be all your fault.”

  He hesitated and then, thank all the ancient gods, his face softened. Still, he shook his head. What would it take to convince him?

  She fell to her knees at his feet, and took his hands. “I will beg, if I must.”

  Moaning, he slipped out of her grasp, strong fingers dug into her waist, and he lifted her up. Lips brushed over hers and his soft beard caressed her cheek.

  The iron alarm sounded above and his eyes darted about, suddenly alert. “You little fool. What have you done? Where are Sir Ferguson and the rest?”

  She pulled at his hand. They were almost out of time. “Looking for me. Prithee. Come.”

  His footsteps echoed behind as she dashed along her well-rehearsed route. The few stone houses meant for castle serfs, lay blessedly empty and dark as they ran the narrow streets.

  Ferguson’s shout echoed from the top of the parapets. “Do you see her?”

  “This is pure madness.” Shaking his head, Nicodemus stopped, and began to turn back.

  Nay. Nay. Not when they were so close. She shoved his heavy body toward the dock, where the rowboat bobbed up and down. She let go her breath when he sat.

  Giddy with freedom, she grabbed the oars out of his hands, and stroked into the dark ocean, without any light to guide them. Like the last ten times she’d attempted this route, all went without incident. He must’ve picked up her bow, for she recognized the familiar creak as the wood bent. He shifted in his seat, ready to fight for her.

  The ocean’s current soon washed them up into a hidden cove, and she jumped out of the boat and onto the water’s edge. Her boots and kirtle were soon sodden and she shivered.

  “You’ve no doubt done this many times before.” He dragged the boat over small cracking shells, stopping to listen with each small step.

  She whispered, despite knowing none would follow. “Aye. A queen must have means of escape at all times. Alexander taught me that.”

  Her heart thumped, her feet were cold and wet, yet freedom loomed so close, it was palatable. She pointed out how the boat would slide underneath short bushes at the end of the sand.

  “Come with me.” Freedom and joy and the promise of the forbidden urged her on.

  Grabbing her pottery lamp and a fire ring hid under a rock nearby, she ran deeper into the trees. A narrow path led them up into the hills. More than once he cursed as branches swung back to slap him in the face.

  “Oh dear. My apologies.” She’d never imagined she’d have a partner when she escaped.

  When the pines grew thick enough so as to hide them completely, she stopped to light her lamp. The desire in his eyes made her knees go weak. Mayhap they only had tonight, but she would take this perfect memory to her grave.

  Her voice cracked as she pointed. “There’s a cottage nearby used only in the summer months.”

  “Fay.”

  She turned and bumped into his hard body. Lips slipped across her face until they landed on her mouth. Hands glided down to her arse and tugged her so tight, she could feel his want swelling against her pelvis.

  He breathed hard and fast, and kissed the tip of her nose. “How much further?”

  “Not far. One more hill.” Pine trees, freedom, leather, and the promise of sex, intoxicated her senses.

  Letting go a groan from deep within his chest, he devoured her with kisses. “I’m not sure I can wait.”

  “Can we do it there?” She pointed to a small clearing in the rocky slope that seemed the only possibility. Between her legs, she dampened in anticipation. They would be one and then surely, he would not leave her.

  “We could, but I won’t. Anon.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the steep slope at breakneck speed.

  They both spotted the thatched roof at the same time. Crossing the clearing, he opened the door to the cottage while she held up the lamp. Tiny bright eyes disappeared and scampered into the straw roof.

  “Just a moment.” She placed her light on the floor, ducked outside, and picked up a pile of wood lying next to the foundation. When she returned, hay dropped on her head while he poked at the center hole.

  Together, they knelt as one. She lit hay with the lamp, he blew, and she threw on twigs. Soon the fire crackled, taunting her with the fire within.

  An eternity could’ve passed deep in the dark centers of his eyes. His nostril flared and he tucked a calloused finger under her chin. “You’ll let me know if the terrors come?”

  She nodded and shivered, but this time not from the cold.

  Snapping his cloak open, he laid it next to the fire. “Let me remove your wet boots.”

  All thought vanished when his hands surrounded her calf, her knee, and her thigh. She arched for him, wanton, but he slid his fingers back down her leg to remove her boot. He repeated the process, except this time his hand went higher still, and found her wet and wanting nub. Quickly, he pulled off her second boot and caressed her foot.

  “Christ, Fay. You are so ready for me. Raise your arms.” He loosened her kirtle and whipped both her tunics over her head. Next, he untied her under garments and they fell away.

  Naked and wanton, she lay before him, not shy in the least.

  Eyes wide, he swallowed hard, and whispered as if a prayer, “You truly are fey.”

  She was free and he wanted her. Nothing else mattered. She moaned and arched as he licked the tips of her swollen nipples.

  His teeth nipped.

  She gasped. Pure pleasure ran to the folds between her legs.

  He suckled.

  She creamed and opened her thighs wide.

  A finger slipped below her navel, into her curls, and between her folds. When he found her slick spot, he moaned.

  She tried to tell him, “More.” What came out was a whimper.

  The need to feel his flesh upon hers became everything. If she could climb into him, she would. She reached around his broad chest and dug her nails into his back.

  He chuckled, broke apart their kiss, and tugged off his boots and his monk’s robe. He had to struggle to loosen the rope that held his braies so as to shove them down.

  Holy ax of Odin. He was magnificent. Large. Mayhap too large. That would never fit inside of her.

  He must’ve read her thoughts and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, my dearest fairy-fey. You will adjust. Trust me.”

  Placing his weight onto his forearms, he slid his legs between hers, and opened her wide. He entered slowly, let her adjust, yet his fullness created a fierce desire to move. She arched up more.

  “Fay. Are you—” He gasped.

  “Move.” She bucked hard.

  He growled.

  They danced high to a place she’d never known. Surely, not of this world. When his hand reached between them and rubbed the place where she ached the most, she moaned. Urgent desire peaked and she held her breath. Then sparks exploded. His cock widened and pleased her even more. Their bodies joined repeatedly, until her whole being throbbed for release, once again, just shy of ecstasy.

  He pounded, and she met him
and wrapped her legs around his waist. With one final thrust, he hit the back of her womb, shouted, and groaned.

  Into tiny bright pieces, she fell. Surely she’d died, and this was the heaven the Christians described. When his weight dropped onto her, the drumming in his chest matched her own.

  His breathing slowed, he pulled out, and goosebumps prickled up her bare arse. Thumbs caressed the tips of her breasts.

  “I will cherish this moment until my dying day, and take it into eternity with me. You are my heart, Fay.”

  “Stay.” How could he leave after what they’d shared? She stared, unable to fully comprehend.

  He raked his hand over his beard and she’d never seen a more solemn man.

  He kissed her one more time and said, “I’ll have Brother James swear I was in the church all night with him in prayer. None will doubt his word. You will say you were here, praying in solitude. That you finally heard God speak to you.”

  Her chest ached such that she could hardly inhale. “That much is true. For in your arms, I can finally believe there is a God.”

  He smiled sadly as he dressed. “But I no longer do. Farewell, Fay. I—”

  He grabbed her madly, kissed her until her knees went weak, and ran out into the night.

  Alone, her heart broke into a hundred tiny shards.

  Chapter 15

  Nicholas stood on the deck of the longship with his back to the hills of Man. The gray sky and large mounds of rolling ocean shared his dark mood. His toes, wrapped in hard leather, complained after weeks in sandals. The clink of his mail seemed unfamiliar when he gripped his sword’s hilt. Soon, he’d spew Annandale’s plot to the king and be found guilty by association.

  So this was how it felt to be a walking dead man. Odd, that it did not truly worry him. All was lost the moment he left her side. Nothing else had meaning.

  While he relived her sweet lovemaking, the wrong coast came into view, and he shouted at the captain, “Turn the craft about. Aberconwy Abbey is way north of where you land.”

  “I’m making a brief stop, first.” The broad little man grinned and nodded at the first mate who jumped off the sail’s ropes and stalked forward. A sharp ax raised.

  Damnation. Why was even the smallest endeavor unable to be carried out according to plans? Nicholas pushed the seaman to the floorboard before more crewmembers could join in. “What mischief is this?”

  The pirate grinned wider. “Come now. We can reach an agreement, no? There’s another group of knights that needs ferrying. There’s much silver to be had. If your death is imminent, why give it another thought?”

  Indeed. Why?

  “Who leads these knights?” Nicholas had to ask, and yet he knew deep within his soul.

  The captain chuckled. “’Tis De Huntercombe, better known as The Ax. He comes to claim the Isle of Man.”

  Bloody palms of Christ. Sweet Fay had totally underestimated Alexander’s ire. Visions of her fighting and scratching at the huge De Huntercombe turned his stomach.

  He could not let this play out. Better to die there. “Turn the sail about. Back to the isle. I’ll double your fee.” Nicholas drew his sword and pointed it at the captain’s fat neck, drawing blood.

  The blackguard blinked his consent, brushed off his cloak, and tried to look affronted. But clearly, he was well pleased.

  The trip back to Man was interminable. How was he going to save her?

  By the time he stepped onto dry land, the afternoon was half-gone. He rushed to the abandoned cottage, wrapped his belongings, and buried them like before. Shuffling his sandals along the familiar path, he crossed over the drawbridge, and prepared for the wrath of James.

  However, it was Eaton who met him in front of the stables and shoved him back into the stone wall. “Are ye daft, mon? You need to go.”

  Nicholas pushed back. “You don’t understand. De Huntercombe comes. The Ax is to be her husband.”

  A gasp sounded from the tier above.

  God’s blood. Nicholas twisted his neck to view where Fay leaned out a window, face pale.

  Aiden poked his head out as well. “What’s an ax?”

  Fay spoke before Nicholas could craft a proper response. “A Scottish knight. Renowned in battle, but even more so for the count of dead wives.”

  She screamed a war cry, causing shivers to go up and down his spine, and disappeared.

  That was not how he intended to let her know. He dashed up the inner well-house stairs and followed. “Fay, stop.”

  By the time he arrived, she was already halfway up the ladder. “I’ll wait in the parapets and kill him before he can set one foot upon Man.”

  She kicked at Nicholas when he grabbed her ankle. Free, she climbed to the top, and pushed the ladder away. It wobbled. He jumped and grabbed with fingertips onto the ledge. Growling, he swung a leg up, and backed her against a wall.

  God help him, she stared up with big green eyes, a heaving chest, and plump lips. A moan escaped. It was his. Out of his mind, he devoured her lips while his hands slipped down her back, cupping her arse. His cock swelled. Only their tunics kept him from taking her.

  Damn all the kings. Damn my grandfather. Damn Brother James. He would never let her go.

  Iron clanged upon iron from the topmost of the parapets and she hissed. “Be quick. Take me.”

  A gear of sense clicked in his brain’s mechanism and he set her aside. “Quickly. Lock yourself in your chambers until I come for you.”

  She kept her bow and quiver close and kicked off her boots. “Arrow smites ax from afar.”

  Were the circumstances less dire, he would’ve been proud of her fierce nature. Instead, he feared for her life. Somehow, he needed to buy them more time.

  “Fay. Nay. Please, dearest heart. Just this once. Trust another other than yourself. Trust me.” When he tugged her up by her arm, her green eyes bore through him, and he willed her on.

  Three steps down the ladder, she turned her face up, and said, “But if he comes near me? I will kill him.”

  He nodded. The speck with sails grew larger, and on the ground, Ferguson dashed into the keep with ten knights close behind.

  “Damnation.” Nicholas climbed off the parapets and ran down the well-house stairs to the stables.

  Ferguson dismounted with sword in hand. “What in all of God’s creation are you doing back here? You’re not welcome, monk.”

  “I am unarmed.”

  “I know.” With his sword tip, he forced Nicholas back onto the drawbridge.

  Nicholas shouted to Aiden, peering through the parapet stones. “See that the queen does not kill her intended.”

  The good lad nodded and dashed off.

  Nicholas raised his arms and backed over the wood planks. “If you have any fondness for her, you’ll not allow the marriage to the monster who approaches by sea. Do you know of his reputation?”

  Ferguson paled but did not let down his sword. “Alexander has gifted Lady Fay to him. There’s nothing either one of us can do.”

  “He leaves a trail of dead wives in his wake. Does that not concern you?” He couldn’t believe the knight so callous.

  “She’s wide of hip. Stronger. Taller than average. She’ll survive birthing his babes and whatever else. The better question is, why do you care so much?”

  Nicholas ignored the bait and tried to reason with the stubborn arse. “Call the midwife. Have her explain Fay is not virginal. Huntercombe will insist upon seeing two monthly flows before bedding. Together, we can think of some way to save her.”

  The knight hissed out his breath, lifted his sword, and let out a string of curses. “You dung-worm. You took her?”

  “Hold! I speak of her childhood rape! Not me. Her step—”

  The blade fell fast. Nicholas ducked, rolled, and kicked at a kneecap.

  Ferguson’s leg buckled, he wobbled, and fell back. An eerie silence was followed by a scream and a splash.

  For a moment, Nicholas considered letting him
drown, then took a deep breath, and dove in. For Fay. At the bottom of the churning ocean, he worked the leather stays while the knight struggled to stay upright.

  The chore took too long, and Ferguson released his last breath in a giant bubble.

  Fighting past the urge to inhale, Nicholas pulled the armor up and over the head of the limp body. He gripped the padded vest, pushed off the ocean’s bed, and swam the few feet to shore.

  On the pebbly beach, he whacked between the knight’s shoulder blades. When that had no results, he rested Ferguson’s stomach upon a large stone and sat on his back. Damn it. Don’t die. She’ll never forgive me.

  The newly alive knight convulsed, coughed, and spewed seawater.

  Spent, Nicholas fell back onto the sand and attempted again to explain. “She’s not been pure since her-day-that-cannot-be-spoken. How could you not know what Gofraid did to her?”

  Ferguson rolled, coughing, and went to all fours. “That cannot be. I was there.”

  Nicholas stomped the knight’s face into the pebbles. “Then where were you? How was it that the brave knights of Alexander allowed her half-brother to take the keep? And a child queen raped, while lying in her mother’s blood?”

  “You have no idea of what you speak. The Manx set up a diversion. We were locked out. Tricked. We sent word to the mainland and were instructed to wait for reinforcements.”

  “You were knights. You couldn’t take on a handful of outlaws knowing the queen and her daughter were within?” He was so angry, he considered cutting off the knight’s balls and feeding them to him.

  “They may not have been well armed, but they had the love of the people.” Ferguson lifted his head, coughing out blood and sand.

  “You, sir, are a coward. I would’ve died trying to save them.” Nicholas kicked his head back down and hoped the arse would try to rise, so he could do it again.

  Ferguson managed to utter one sentence that held a modicum of good sense. “You may be right. But we canna finish this now. I need to greet the boat and you need to go.”