Again he brought lash down. Linet shrieked.
“And this, this is for making a cuckold of me!”
Twice more the switch split the empty air, wringing terrified gasps from Linet. But by the fifth time, when she realized he wasn’t going to strike her with it, she remained silent. He was forced to discard the thing.
He cursed under his breath. He couldn’t very well ravish the wench, no matter what his body was telling him. He had more honor than that. Still, there was El Gallo to consider. The man wasn’t stupid. One snap of his corpulent fingers and the two of them would become sharks’ supper.
His own lust he could fake. But hers—hers would have to be real. There was no help for it, no choice at all. The wench’s propriety had to be sacrificed for her welfare. He smiled grimly. For the first time in his life, he truly regretted having to play the seducer.
Linet shivered in the dark, her other senses heightened by her blindness. She heard the beggar growl deep in his throat, smelled the salty tang of his skin, tasted fear on her own tongue. Then she felt his teeth along the neck edge of her shift, nipping at the cloth, tugging persistently downward over her shoulders and bosom until, to her horror, one breast tumbled free. Her face went hot. Dear God, what did he intend?
He’d dropped the whip to the floor. She’d heard it fall. But there was much pain a man could inflict with his bare hands. She braced herself for the worst.
And then it came.
Her breast was suddenly engulfed in warmth. Something soft and wet closed over her nipple…sweet Mary—his mouth…and he began to suckle gently there. The blood rushed to her ears. Her humiliation was so great that she almost wished he would attack her with the lash instead. She groaned in protest. But to her shame and against her will, her body began to enjoy the lavish attention. Her nipple hardened with desire.
She cursed her tormenter in three different languages, trying to put an angry edge on her arousal. But he only responded with cruel laughter, nuzzling the cloth from her other breast, bathing her with his slick tongue. She moaned in helpless rage.
Duncan’s heart pounded in his temples. God, but she tasted sweet, he thought guiltily. Her skin was warm and soft and fragrant. But damn the Fates, he couldn’t afford to think about it. He had to keep his mind clear.
He captured both of her wrists in one hand. With the other, he inched up the hem of her shift. She shrieked and kicked out wildly, but he subdued her with a thigh thrown over her bare legs. His hand traced the soft contours of her calf, rounded her knee, and slid stealthily upward.
“Nay!” she yelled in panic. “Nay!”
“Oh, aye,” he promised.
When at last he found her soft curls and his palm squeezed gently between her legs, her hips moved instinctively against him. His mouth went dry as he felt her searing heat and tenderly searched the mysterious flower of her womanhood. He opened the petals with nimble fingers. When he touched the tiny bud in their midst, she bucked and gasped with surprise. Yet even as he felt her shudder away from his touch, that part of her strove upward to meet his hand.
He stroked her expertly, wetting his fingers with her juices and murmuring encouragements to her as she moaned helplessly. He lay half astride her and rocked slowly, deliberately, against her body, making the bed creak for El Gallo’s benefit.
Linet groaned. She’d never known such an agony of pain and pleasure. She should fight him, yet her limbs refused to cooperate. Her entire body was aflame, and she forgot whether it was shame or passion that had made it so. The world shifted in her as she lost complete control over her body—the thrashing of her head, the rocking of her hips, the primitive sounds growling from her throat.
And yet it didn’t matter. She found a strange contentment, a freedom in riding on the crest of that unknown wave. Warmth emerged inside her like the birth of a new sun, filling her with heat and light stronger than she’d ever known.
Duncan endured an agony of his own. He thanked God he was clothed, for it took all his moral strength not to plunge into that softness with more than just his fingers. Aroused to the point of pain, he knew there was no relief to be had for him tonight. It was all for the woman writhing beneath him.
Sooner than he expected, he sensed her reward was imminent, and that knowledge made him rock hard. Linet clutched at him with fingers he’d long ago freed and begged him wordlessly to finish it. Groaning, he pressed his head to hers, and when she sobbed out wildly in fulfillment, he echoed her with a deep growl of his own.
It was over. And he still ached with need.
He pulled the shift back over Linet for modesty and staggered back. From behind the wall, Duncan could hear the heavy creaking of El Gallo vacating his observation quarters. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. He hoped the reiver was more satisfied than he was.
“He’s gone,” he murmured.
Fumbling his way, he sat back on the large trunk and hung his head. He was miserable—physically unrequited and mentally shaken. Never had he felt such a strong response to a woman. Never had he had to deny that response with abstinence. He certainly hoped Linet appreciated the torment he was enduring for her.
For a long while the only sound in the room was Linet’s ragged breathing. He hadn’t expected much else. The poor thing was probably too astounded to speak.
Gradually, his heartbeat evened, and his loins eventually gave up hope. He stood on unsteady legs. Groping in the dark, he found his way to the candle and the flint that hung below it. He struck the flint and lit the wick. Then, as the cabin was suffused with gentle light, he stole a guilty glance at the bed.
Linet lay curled into a protective ball. Her hair concealed most of her face like a coif of golden mail. To look at her lying there, small and defenseless, one would think he’d truly beaten her.
He’d beg her forgiveness now, of course, though it would be the first time he’d ever offered up an apology for bringing a woman’s desires to fruition. Still, it was the chivalrous thing to do.
He rose and neared the bed, unsure how exactly to convey his remorse. He crouched by the bedside and awkwardly cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if my actions have caused you distress,” he murmured.
There was no response.
“I’m certain El Gallo was convinced,” he continued, hoping to assuage her with praise. “Your responses were most—”
A cry of rage erupted from Linet, a culmination of all the shame and self-loathing that had bubbled up inside her as her body reverberated with the echo of her climax. Damn his soul, she didn’t want to hear about her responses. She wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“You bastard!” she hissed beneath her hair. “Leave me alone.”
Duncan stiffened. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t he apologized? She didn’t sound properly grateful for his help at all.
Perhaps she didn’t understand. “I had to convince El Gallo you were mine,” he patiently explained. “I had to lay claim to you before one of them did.”
Her silence irritated him.
“I’d think you’d be grateful,” he muttered.
“Grateful? Grateful? What makes you any better than one of them?” Linet spat, lifting her head to glare at him, an action she instantly regretted. She couldn’t very well pretend it hadn’t happened now, that he didn’t exist. He seemed to fill the room. His gaze was sultry, his hair tousled, and she could remember all too well the feel of those skilled fingers upon her so intimately only moments ago.
Her cheeks turned to flame. She scrambled up to her knees on the bed, clutching her shift to her chin. “Get out,” she mumbled, trembling.
What sympathy Duncan possessed escaped him quicker than a bird from an opened cage. He controlled his temper only by sheer dint of will. With forced patience, he bent to retrieve the diabolical-looking harness and hung it back on the wall. He coiled the whip and hung it up as well.
“You know, it’s partly your fault,” he grumbled. “If you’d only gone along with—”
“My
fault! You have the audacity to drag me into this devil’s lair and threaten me with a whip and…and have your way with—”
“Have my way!” Duncan’s irritation blossomed into full-blown anger now. “I did not, my lady, have my way with you. I had your way with you.”
“How dare you insinuate…you Satan’s spawn! This was all your idea. You used me, lied to me, forced me to enjoy your pawing, and now you—”
“Ah ha!”
“What!” she snapped.
He cocked a brow at her. “Enjoy?”
“What?”
“You said I forced you to enjoy my pawing.”
Linet reddened. “I did not. I said ‘endure.’ You forced me to endure your pawing.” Surely she hadn’t said “enjoy.” Shite, she wished she hadn’t drunk that last cup of ale. She couldn’t stand much more humiliation at the hands of this commoner tonight.
“Indeed,” he explained, “you left me no choice. I did what I had to do for your safety.”
She ran a shaky hand through her tangled hair. “Get out.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
Her gaze flashed at him. “I wouldn’t leave with you if you were the last man alive.”
Duncan gnashed his teeth. The combination of Linet’s unthankfulness and his own unrequited lust vexed him sorely. He had half a mind to take the whip back down. “You prefer to wait here for El Gallo?” he asked, quirking a brow. He looked pointedly at the wall of devices. “Very well. He no doubt knows the proper use for those things.” With that, he wheeled and headed for the door.
“Wait!” she cried, her voice raised in panic.
She scrambled to her feet with as much haste and dignity as she could muster. God, she hated being dependent upon anyone, most especially a toplofty peasant. “You will escort me to the hold then,” she informed him.
Duncan blinked, incredulous. Now she thought to order him about. Was there no end to the woman’s audacity?
He waited for her to clamber off the bed, his lips clamped together. Her ruined shift fell away from the top of one creamy breast as she neared, causing a twinge of desire to torment his loins. He averted his gaze and rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. “This way,” he muttered. Maybe the brisk evening breeze would cool his ardor.
“My garments,” she gasped, fumbling with the laces.
He shook his head. “As you are.”
She flushed in horror. “God’s wounds—you’re serious.” If she had any qualms about sacrificing her dignity to save her life, they proved futile. He caught her wrist and tugged her forward.
“El Gallo believes we’ve just trysted in Sombra’s cabin. You must look the part. As far as the reivers are concerned, you belong to me. After tonight, no one will dare question that fact.”
Her heart raced, as if she half believed his claim to her. She drew back her arm, and he let her go. But she knew resistance was pointless. Reluctantly she followed him, creeping onto the deck close at his back. The evening wind lifted the edges of her gown away from her damp bosom. She sucked in her breath, praying for invisibility.
Duncan sucked in his breath as well. The most difficult part, he grumbled to himself, would be convincing the crew he was sated from his tryst below.
The beggar didn’t exactly throw her into the hold, but he might as well have, for all the dignity he left her. On their trek across the deck, he’d pinched her backside, remarked lewdly and loudly on her performance in Sombra’s bed, and cupped her breast in full view of the crew. The last earned him a sharp elbow in the stomach that she hoped he’d feel for days.
But instead of reacting with anger, he paid her back with more humiliation. Standing before the hatch of the hold, he spun her toward him, took her face in his hands and planted a long, slow, wet kiss on her lips.
If she had trouble thinking after that, it was small wonder. The churlish peasant was making a spectacle of her, mocking her good breeding by treating her like a wanton, as if she were his for the asking. He was making her feel things… God, nay, she wouldn’t think of that.
“How dare you lay hands on me!” she cried breathlessly. “I am a de Montfort! And you…you are—”
He’d swept her off her feet and below deck before she could finish. “I am your rescuer,” he whispered fiercely, plopping her down upon a wooden chest. “Me! By whatever name I choose, whether I’m a nobleman or a slave, nothing changes that fact. I’ve risked much in coming here, and I’d die to protect you. The least you can do is treat me as an equal.”
Then he left her to ponder his words. An equal? He would never be her equal. She was a de Montfort, damn it, and he…
Moonlight pierced through the planking overhead, striping her shift with stark white. She lifted tremulous fingers to her mouth. Her lips were still soft from his kiss. And warm. She flicked her tongue lightly over them. God, she could still taste…him. What other havoc had he wrought upon her body?
A tear welled in her eye, and she brusquely wiped it away. There was nothing to cry about, she scolded herself. It wasn’t as if she’d invited his attack or encouraged him in any way. She’d simply forgotten herself for a moment in the excitement of it all. She was, after all, in dire circumstances. Any noblewoman would have reacted that way in the clutches of ruthless sea reivers. She was in danger and drunk and naturally thankful for an ally, even if it was a pretentious beggar. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the warmth that suffused her when his lips closed over hers, the thrumming in her breast when his thumb brushed her skin, the breathlessness she suffered when his sapphire gaze held her.
Instead she clung to more consoling memories—memories of her well-appointed cottage in Avedon, of the thriving wool trade she and her father had built from nothing, of the stirring lectures Lord Aucassin had given her, assuring her of her birthright, high on the ladder of society. She raised her chin, certain she could survive anything, comforted by the fact that she was a grown woman, far removed from the cruel-tongued playmates who’d taunted her as a child. She knew her place now. Lord Aucassin had made sure she would never forget.
She reached up to touch the de Montfort medallion upon her bosom, tangible proof of her breeding. To her horror, it was gone.
It wasn’t as if the piece was particularly valuable. It had been a Christmas gift from Linet’s father when she was five winters old. Since that time, the cheap bronze had been worn almost smooth, the finish dulled with handling. Still, it was a symbol—a symbol of her inheritance, her status. Removed from her father, far from her bolts of wool, adrift among a pack of savages, it proved to her that she was a de Montfort, that she could rise above whatever misfortune fate handed her.
Without it, she was only Linet. Without it, men like the beggar could look at her the way they would any tavern wench, the way he had when he’d kissed her.
She buried her face in her hands. In one cruel stroke, some lowborn reiver had reduced her to the insignificant child she’d once been. Without her medallion, she was a little girl again, suffering the ridicule of ruthless teasing: Linet the bastard child, Linet the whore’s daughter, Linet the black sheep of the de Montfort flock.
Ah God, if she got out of this alive, she vowed, she’d never again even speak to a commoner outside her own servants. Once Harold was found, she’d return to her warehouse and live inside the safe, protected, isolated walls of her mesnage, never to set eyes on that damned beggar or his thieving kind again.
With that small comfort, she curled up against a bale of linen rags, punched them into a more desirable shape and drifted off to slumber.
Duncan wondered, gazing up at the dawning cloud-scattered sky, if someone would saint him when he died. Two days of hell had passed on the back of a snail. Two days of suffering the torment of a martyr. Oh aye, he’d fondled and kissed Linet to his heart’s content on deck. The reivers expected it of him. But below deck, the woman had forced the celibacy of a monk upon him. The stubborn wench still adamantly resisted the natural longings of her own body. Thus,
his desire remained unrequited.
Chivalry certainly came with its challenges.
Never had he been so frustrated. How his brother Garth had made it to the age of eighteen as yet untried in the ways of love, he’d never understand. For Duncan, his unmet lust was a gnawing ache in his belly.
But Linet de Montfort wasn’t the only source of his frustration. The Corona Negra was nearing the coast of Flanders now. The difficult task of helping Linet escape and assuring El Gallo’s capture lay ahead. Much was at stake. Much could go wrong.
He rubbed his cheek beneath the eye patch and let his gaze drop from the distant horizon to the dark water below, where a school of fish glittered by. If only, he thought, there was some way to get Linet safely off ship before they got to the harbor at Boulogne…
“Nay!” Linet whispered fiercely, shuddering in the loose jerkin and hose.
The afternoon sun sparkled on the gray-green water at the aft of the ship, making the waves wink up at Linet as if they were teasing her. But she was not amused. She was terrified.
True, this close to land, the ocean was calm and shallow. And she knew how to swim. But this was the sea. The men’s clothing she wore was cumbersome, and it was a long dive to the water below. Who knew what savage creatures lurked below the guileless surface? Certainly the savage creatures of the slave market could be no worse. At least those she was accustomed to. After all, she was a merchant. She was used to bargaining her way through life, not making reckless, foolish, daring escapes like this one.
“You must!” the beggar hissed.
Linet bit her lip and stalled for time, holding up the selvage of the jerkin. “Do you have any idea what seawater will do to this dye?”
The beggar clenched his teeth. She knew what he was thinking: After all his trouble of digging up a disguise for her, she’d better not disappoint him.
The rest of the crew bustled about the fore of the ship as they neared the harbor, some watching for hull-ripping reefs, others trying to make out the insignias of the anchored vessels. They were preoccupied now, but there was no telling for how long. She had to jump now…if she was going to do it.
Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion Page 13
