“Tulane?” Sorcha asked, pretending not to know that family. Henry was looking for information about his mother. Servants often held the small tidbits that helped solve mysteries, and sometimes shared them more easily with equals than with their masters. She’d lucked into a position to learn more, so why not inquire? Maybe she could help him.
“Lord Relt Tulane was the grandfather of Lord Uther and Sir Reven,” Metta replied. “Not only did the man want Tregarth lands, he wanted the Lady Gwyneth. Except, she didn’t want him.”
“I’m from Tregarth. I understand she vowed to do anything to protect her people. Maybe she misled him?” Sorcha prodded for the truth.
“As far as I know, Lady Gwyneth never gave the man a glance. She was young and determined, smart enough to come straight to Lord Gareth Pembroke. As proud and noble as any woman could be, she told him of her circumstances. She offered him loyalty and sons. The courage of such a young lady impressed Lord Pembroke. Never having married in all his fifty-seven years, he found her deal appealing. He wanted heirs, so he married her that summer. By fall, she was carrying his first child.”
“She never had anything to do with Lord Tulane at all?”
“In those days, men had their gatherings, making truces to keep from battling one another, especially when there were crusades and wars elsewhere in the world. Naturally, Lord Pembroke hosted feasts, and as the lady of the castle, Lady Gwyneth would have seen to Lord Tulane’s comfort when he came here.”
His comfort. Sorcha thought of the ways in which women took on that chore—assisting with their bath, serving them a meal, providing them with pleasant conversation. Was it possible that the Lady Gwyneth had also gone to Relt Tulane’s bed? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman used sex to protect her family or her way of life.
“Were Lord Pembroke and Lady Gwyneth happy?”
“I never saw a man more devoted to his wife, nor a woman more in love with her husband. After Ware and Kilburn were born, she fell ill. Lord Pembroke stayed by her side, taking care of her himself. Eventually, she recovered. Several years later, she gave birth to Sir Henry. She was so proud to have given Gareth Pembroke a third son.”
“It’s a shame she didn’t get to see him grow to be a man.”
“I think she knew more about the man Sir Henry would become every day she watched him spoiled by her husband. When Sir Henry was learning to walk, she told me she never knew a man could be so gentle and loving with his children.”
Sorcha paused. Sir Henry had told her she died in childbirth. However, if she died within the first year of his life, maybe he thought of it that way.
Metta grabbed the towel and held it up. “I think you’ve sat in the water long enough, milady.”
Sorcha rose and stepped out of the tub.
“I’ve left you clean garments on the chair. I shall take yours and have them washed and dried.” Metta departed with the clothing bundled under her arm.
Sorcha looked at the chair and picked up the wispy white linen chemise. A clean gown, stockings and shoes lay neatly on the seat. Whose clothes were they? The garments appeared fine, for a lady, not a servant. Besides, Metta was a short rotund woman. Perhaps they were the Lady Gwyneth’s.
She slipped the chemise over her head and left the other items behind. The walk down the passage gave her time to think about Sir Henry. It was a ludicrous notion that he had brought her here because he was considering marriage. She had to assume it was wishful thinking on the servants’ part. She knew how boring it was to work in the tavern when no one was there. If Henry were always away at tournaments, they would miss having something to do.
She entered Henry’s chambers expecting to see him. The sound of his humming drew her across the room to a door that stood ajar. Through the gap, she saw him leaning over a huge washbasin carefully scraping a sharp blade along his jaw, removing soap and whiskers. As she moved forward, she noticed his nakedness. The lean hardness of his perfect form glistened with water droplets from his recent washing. He wasn’t wide or brawny, but he was muscular, including his taut buttocks. Every move he made showed off the twisting sinews beneath his smooth skin.
When he turned to reach for a towel, he saw her. Instead of startled, he acted as if he had known she spied on him.
“You can come in, Sorcha,” he said, confirming he knew or had waited for her.
She swung the door back and stepped into the opening. “You are a handsome sight, Sir Henry.” She leaned on the jamb and openly stared at him.
“So, I’ve been told.” He wiped away the traces of soap from his face.
“And did they say how cocky you are as well?”
“Me?” He grinned. “Now who would say anything like that about me? I’m an endearing fellow that everyone likes.”
She loved his humor, and she especially loved his deliciously aroused body. His cock grew longer with his every step. The towel he used to wipe his face dropped from his fingers to the floor. She backed away as he slowly stalked toward her.
“Is it your opinion, I’m full of myself?”
“Maybe a little, in a charming way.” She smiled. “You’re certainly not as arrogant as, say, Sir Reven.”
Henry stopped. “You compare me to my biggest rival?” His left brow arched.
“He is merely an example. If I thought about it more, I do believe I can come up with others more boastful than you.”
“I’ll not encourage you to name them.” He moved toward her again. “I’d prefer not to bring other men into my bedchamber during my seduction.”
He placed his hands on her arms and stroked up and down.
“Do you ask that of all the women you bring in here?”
His face came close to hers. “You are the first to be in here, Sorcha,” he said as if he didn’t remember he had claimed that when they first arrived.
He kissed her, and her mind should have been solely on the pleasure of his undivided attention, yet it wandered. Was it truth or lie that she was the first in his private room? Had he seduced every woman with the same story? Metta had confirmed his statement, but she was a servant, she’d naturally say as instructed.
She drew back, breaking from his distracting lips sucking at hers. “Are you sure, you haven’t forgotten one or two that may have come before me?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, looking at her curiously.
“Women.”
“What women?”
“You don’t need to lie about your exploits, Sir Henry.”
“Are you purposely trying to muddle my brain, woman?”
“I don’t believe I can be the first women you’ve brought to your bedchamber.”
“You’re right.” He stepped back. “I should have told you about the others. I do them an injustice by discounting them.”
“The first was a sturdy woman, Edna. She was fit for the task—strong and thorough. Then Lulu came along and I forgot all about Edna. Lulu had such amazing skills. Oh, but I shouldn’t leave out Nellie. A talented woman if ever there was one.” He folded his arms together over his chest. “Shall I name others?”
“Oh, don’t let me stop you from confessing now.” Her face burned with the heat of outrage, mostly directed at herself for getting into a position to be humiliated.
“Sorcha.” He grabbed her upper arms.
She jerked free and turned from him.
“Edna, Lulu, Nellie, and the other women I haven’t told you about were servants—old women working in the castle. Not one ever came in my room for anything other than to clean up after me or bring me food.” He kissed her shoulder. “You are the first woman I have ever brought home. By the name of Pembroke, I swear this to be the true.”
She had to accept his word. He swore by his family’s name. How did she apologize for her doubts in him? How did she explain how crazy her emotions had become when she was around him?
Henry’s nakedness pressed the length of her backside. His arms wound around her, one under her breasts, the other aimed downward. He
inched the long chemise up her legs.
Anxious to feel the touch of him, she helped, and soon his hand cupped between her legs.
“I want to please you, Sorcha.” He kissed along her jaw. “Only you.”
“Yes,” she murmured, wanting that too.
He massaged the split of her sex. On each pass, his fingers stroked deeper into the wet folds, gliding back and forth with ease.
She turned her head and caught his mouth. With her arm raised and her hand at the back of his head, she kept him there, loving the feel of his lips twisting against hers.
Her orgasm mounted steadily toward explosion, and she shuddered against him. His hand moved to her belly, forcing her clothing higher. He rubbed circles over her skin, soothing her tremors.
“Take this off,” he said, pushing the garment up even further.
She turned within the enclosure of his arms.
He caressed her sides and breasts as he lifted the flimsy cloth higher. She raised her arms, feeling the glide of his hands move the fabric slowly over her head. Then she was naked, barely seeing the wispy piece of clothing as Henry tossed it on top of the trunk.
“You’re too beautiful for words to describe.” He grasped her hips and backed her toward the embrasure.
Her bare bottom pressed the cold stone. A breeze fluttered her hair forward over her shoulders. The setting sun suffused her surroundings with an orange glow that dimmed even as Henry stepped forward, took her face in the palms of his hands, and kissed her.
The light movement of his chest hairs against the tips of her breasts hardened her nipples. She wanted to lean forward, to force her body tight to his, but he seemed to have a plan and she didn’t want to interrupt.
His kisses traveled from her mouth to her jaw. He left a trail down her neck and across her shoulder. Wet swirls of his tongue took a path to her chest. He lifted one of her breasts and rubbed the hard peak, flexing her nipple back and forth.
Flattening her hands against the stone at her sides, she thrust out her chest, encouraging his attentions. His mouth covered the ache and he massaged her rigid nipple with the flat of his tongue.
Turning her head, she moaned, “Henry.”
His gentleness teased her. Light and airy brushes of his lips against her skin made her shiver. Twice he returned to her mouth to plant a tender kiss. But his patience sparked her impatience and she grabbed his sides as if she could force him to do more. She got the opposite.
He drew back and stared at her, his heavier breathing dusted her face. His right hand moved, slipping from her arm to her hip, skimming her belly.
She bit the inside of her bottom lip, unsuccessfully holding back her whimper.
He grinned, pleased by her reaction to his fingers sliding between her legs. She scratched lightly, impatiently at his hip. He kissed her again, harder, more aggressive than before. Was it supposed to be a distraction from the fondling of her nether region? If so, it wasn’t working. Nothing could take her mind off the way he stroked the split of her pussy and massaged deep into the wet furrow.
She grabbed his wrist and hung on to guide the manipulation of his fingers, but he didn’t need direction. He pushed and pulled over the sensitive nub and dipped into her vagina. The wiggle of his thumb touched every ecstatic nerve of her intimate realm.
As the energy escalated, so did her panting. Her vaginal channel twitched, opening and closing against Henry’s knuckles. When her lips were trembling as hard as her insides, she turned her head, pulling her mouth free of his.
He ran his free hand into her hair and twisted her back. “I want to feel every gasp you take,” he whispered, planting his mouth over hers again.
And she did gasp. Henry’s unrelenting thrusting of his fingers moved deep into her. Her reveling sounds were stifled by his long kiss. He relinquished his claim of her breath only after she sagged against him, spent of her initial vigor.
“Now I taste the sweet cream,” he murmured.
Henry lowered before her, kissing her breasts and her belly. Then he was on his knees. He nudged the inside of her thigh, encouraging her to part her still numbed legs from her intense orgasm.
Reminded of his earlier play at being a cat, she expected to hear him meow. He lifted her right leg, making a sling of his arm, and held it up, opening her. Caught by the surprise of cool air entering her vagina, she moaned raggedly. “Oh God, Henry.”
He used his fingers to fan her open wider, exposing the depths of her pussy. The area heated again with his breath. She inhaled sharply so aware of the glorious sensation. His tongue darted out against the folds and slid up over her clit. The twinge of nerves made her whimper one short sound. But the rubbing back and forth intensified the ache. She couldn’t believe how quickly her insides responded. The deep licks stimulated her to the core.
She raised her arms up the inside frame of the embrasure behind her. Raking her fingers against the cut stone, she searched for support. She thrust her hips forward against the rapid flicker of his tongue, lapping fervently at her expelling juices.
His merciless suckling churned amazing sensations that coursed up through her chest. She felt him connect to that burning desire, his hand over her breast, his hot palm and strong fingers kneading her flesh.
“Don’t stop,” she begged, fighting to stand on one leg.
Trusting him not to let her collapse, she let go of the stone and jammed her fingers into his brown locks. Pulling the strands, she encouraged him to have his fill of her.
Aroused to indecent measures, her body throbbed all over.
“Yes,” she wheezed, rocking and grinding herself against his face.
Henry broke away and stood, hauling her other leg up, suspending her off the floor with her back against the wall.
She felt the probe of his cock align with her opening. He thrust forward and sharply penetrated her. His low grunt blended with hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he pumped his rock hard maleness in and out of her several times. Then he paused. He drew back and stared at her. His gaze moved to her mouth.
She melted into his gentle kiss. The tender movements rotated their lips. She was enjoying, loving the affectionate moment, when abruptly he released her legs. His cock came free, brushing against her. Her frustrated moan accompanied his step back from her.
“There is a danger of you conceiving,” he explained.
Most men she’d been intimate with never showed this kind of consideration. Henry’s chivalrous withdrawal only made her want him more. She wanted to reward him for having the decency to think of her.
When she shoved him back, he caught her hand.
“I can take care of myself, Sir Henry.” She moved toward him. “You’ll not deny me.”
His eyes widened and his slow grin made her insides quiver with excitement.
“And if I do deny you?” She heard amusement in his tone.
If there was one thing in life Sorcha followed without question, it was her intuition, and she backed Henry to the bed, ready to show him the depths of her passion.
* * * * *
Henry fell back on the heavily quilted mattress. Sorcha leaned against one of the tall canopy posts, untied the silk cord and let the red drapery loose. He rolled to the center of the bed, watching as she set free the remaining three curtains.
“No one will come in without my say.” He reassured her, thinking it was why she wanted the bed enshrouded in the thick brocade panels.
“Even if you cry out?” She knelt to the edge and leaned over him.
“What wickedness do you have planned?” he asked, intrigued.
Her long, lustful gaze made his erect cock jerk. She glanced at it and reminded him of how she had stroked him to the brink of release and then stopped.
He grabbed her arm. “If you’re thinking of torturing me with a repeat performance. . . . ”
Something in her stare suggested he not make idle threats. He’d not do anything to her that she’d not want done.
“Henry,
trust me.” She took his hand and lifted it above his head on the pillow. “You’ll not be sorry.”
The touch of the silk cord looping around his wrist sent a shiver through him. What was she planning? It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to guess when she walked around the bed and tied his ankles and his other wrist to the bedposts.
“Now what?” he asked eagerly.
His cock throbbed. The ache coiled through every part of his groin. His scrotum tightened.
Sorcha said nothing. She seemed absorbed with examining him in her pace around the bed. That she was naked, kept him from saying much else. He enjoyed seeing every angle of her gorgeous body. The sleek lines of her form were actually quite fit for dragon riding or riding atop him. He scarcely contained himself—preventing premature ejaculation seemed nearly impossible.
“You are my captive, Sir Henry. Now you shall be punished for your hasty misuse of me.” Her serious tone slightly quelled his raging arousal. He looked to her face for clues to the mysterious charge.
“Misuse?” he questioned.
“You had your way with me, Sir. Now I’m left wanting.” She raked her fingers down his chest. “I expect to be satisfied, but first you shall be punished.”
He squirmed under the ticklish stir of her fingertips gliding lightly over his abdomen. His cock sprang from its arched position. He didn’t fight the ropes tying his wrists to the posts. Still, his movements made the canopy frame rattle against the stone wall. The draperies shivered at the corners.
Sorcha bent down and ran her tongue across his chest. He felt the sting of her teeth on his nipple. Clenching his jaw, he held back his groan as she continued roughly tonguing the area. She worked from one side of his chest to the other side, wetting his skin with licks and kisses. No woman had ever laved so much attention on his nipples. It was exhilarating.
“Oh God,” he yelled, rocked by the sudden light slap of her hand between his legs.
But then pleasure fringed the pain as she grasped his sac and kneaded it.
“The servants will wonder what you’re up to, Sir Henry.” Sorcha laughed, resuming her harsh massaging of his tender testicles.
A Tavern Wench to Bed Page 7
