Hellion

by Bertrice Small

  And if there was no magic, what kind of a woman did that make her? Possibly a very gullible one; a very foolish one; a very stupid one. Once, perhaps these decendants of the great Merlin had been keepers of powerful magic, but somewhere in the intervening centuries that magic may have lost its potency. Were they using the memory of it to frighten their neighbors, to keep others at bay? Why else had Guy d’ Bretagne subjected her to such a night of brutal passion? If he had any real power, he would have simply cast a spell to make her love him and forget her husband. He would not have been angered by her love for a supposedly dead mate.

  “What an incredible fool I have been,” Isabelle of Langston said softly to herself; and then she was filled with a burning anger. What amusement she must have provided Guy and Vivienne with over these past few months.

  Still they must not guess her suspicions. She must remain Guy d’ Bretagne’s obedient mistress for Hugh’s sake, until she could find a way to free him. As long as she could make Guy believe she was acquiescent, she would be safe. Even without true magic, he was a dangerous, powerful man. Unless he believed she was really his, she faced the danger of being sent away, or worse.

  “You are awake at last,” he said, and she started at the sound of his rich, musical voice. Coming into her view, he seated himself upon the edge of the bed. “Have you learned your lesson, my Belle?”

  She nodded, casting her eyes down in apparent abject obedience.

  “And you will love me, putting from your mind any others for whom you might have ever held a tender passion,” he commanded her.

  “Have I not warned you, my lord Guy, that love is dangerous as well as sweet? I do not want you weakened by it. I enjoy your strength, for it is like none I have ever known in a man,” she said daringly.

  “After last night you must surely know I cannot be weakened,” he replied. “I must know that you love me!”

  You have lied to me, she thought to herself. I shall now lie to you, for it will, I am certain, help me learn the truth of you and gain my beloved Hugh’s release. “After last night,” she murmured softly, “how can you doubt my love for you, my lord Guy? Did you not behold my ecstasy? Could I have obtained such rapture with a man I did not truly love? Yet I have heard it said you discard those who care for you. I have but sought to retain your favor and remain within your sweet custody. I never meant to displease you, my dear lord.”

  She loved him! he thought. And, she had said his name for the very first time. In all the months he had kept her by his side, she had never once uttered his name, always addressing him formally, and most properly, as my lord. His heart soared with delight, and pulling her into his arms, he declared, “The knowledge that you love me has made me the happiest of men. Your love will not weaken me, Belle. It will but give me greater strength.” Then he kissed her, and for a brief moment Belle let herself be swept away, melting into his embrace, that he not be made suspicious.

  In the back of her mind, however, was a new knowledge. The power of the d’ Bretagnes was most probably a false one. There was no true magic!

  Chapter 15

  Isabelle shared her revelation with Alain and Lind the following day when she visited the mews. Both were amazed.

  “How can you be certain there is no real magic?” Alain said, suspicious as ever. His tone was disapproving, for he did not really understand or favor her association with Guy d’ Bretagne.

  Isabelle said wisely, “Think, both of you. Have you seen any sign of magic? Anything unusual, out of the ordinary? Nay, you have not. We have seen unspeakable cruelty, fear, and intimidation. We have been told the d’ Bretagne history, and warned we must obey without question. But is any of this magic?”

  They both shook their heads in the negative.

  “And that,” she said triumphantly, “is because there is no magic! They have traded on their family’s reputation to keep everyone in awe and afraid of them. Hugh’s memory has been kept from him by means of some kind of elixir, I am certain, not by enchantment. Did you not tell me, Alain, that Hugh’s loss of memory originally came from a blow upon his head? Nothing that I know of could permanently erase someone’s memory. Vivienne must continually dose him. If we know what to watch for, my lads, we shall be able to unravel the puzzle and free Hugh!”

  “You are more likely to discover the potion than we are,” Lind said. “You are with them more, lady.”

  “Perhaps,” Isabelle agreed, “but I nonetheless want you to keep a sharp eye out. Make friends with the serving wenches. Servants always see what they should not,” she concluded with a chuckle, and they both grinned at her knowingly.

  Now Isabelle deliberately set out to make friends with her lover’s sister. She dared not be obvious, but she knew that if she could get close to Vivienne, she was more than likely to learn her secrets. Then one evening an opportunity came. Vivienne was complaining that the winter cold was dulling the sheen of her raven-black hair.

  “Have you tried rinsing it with apple cider vinegar?” Belle asked the older woman. “I am told it is excellent for restoring a dark hair’s shine, or so my mother, who was skilled in herbs and household remedies, always said. Lemon is good for lighter hair.”

  “Apple cider vinegar? I never heard of using it for that purpose, but it certainly cannot hurt to try,” Vivienne said thoughtfully. “If you are wrong, though, I shall have you hung here in the hall to be whipped like any common miscreant. Do not think that because you are my brother’s leman I cannot do it. I am the mistress of La Citadelle.”

  “Lady, I would do you no intentional harm. If you would like it, I will wash your hair myself,” Isabelle murmured sweetly.

  Vivienne d’ Bretagne thought for but a moment, and then she said, “Yes, I should like you to attend to my hair, Belle. If you are clever, and you please me, I shall give you a place serving me one day when you no longer amuse my brother.”

  “That day shall not come, sister,” Guy said quietly. “From this day on I will take Belle as my wife. If she attends to your hair, Vivi, it will be for love of us both, not because she is your servant.”

  If Isabelle was astounded by his words, Vivienne d’ Bretagne was even more so. “You would take her to wife, Guy? Why? Does she know that you cannot give her a child? Have you told her of the curse upon us? No d’ Bretagne male has ever taken an outsider for a wife.”

  “Why should I not?” he rejoined. “Under the circumstances, what difference does it make, Vivi? I love this girl. I do not ever wish to be parted from her. If I cannot give her a child, at least I can honor her with our name, such as it is. She is too fine to remain merely my leman.”

  “My lord …” Belle touched his arm and looked up into his face. “I would cause no riff between you and the sister you have always loved. Whatever place you desire to assign me within your sphere, I am content to accept it.”

  “There can be no priest to say the words here, Belle, but I acknowledge you to be my wife from this time forward,” Guy said quietly. “If my sister loves me as I have always loved her, she will accept this.”

  “And what of our plan?” Vivienne whispered desperately in a tongue the others in the hall could not comprehend.

  Guy caressed her cheek, answering her in the same ancient Breton language, “It will be fulfilled as we desire it, petite soeur. What is more, you and I shall share in it. Trust me. I have never failed you yet, Vivi, but I want this girl to wife.”

  “So be it then,” Vivienne d’ Bretagne said, returning to the modern idiom. “If it will truly make you happy, Guy, how can I deny you?” She turned to Belle. “I welcome you as my brother’s wife,” she said softly. “You are now my sister, Belle.”

  “Sisters help one another,” Belle replied. “I shall still wash your hair and help restore its shine for you.”

  How strangely fate had played into her hands, Isabelle thought gratefully. She sipped automatically from the cup Guy held to her lips.

  “Where are you wandering?” he asked her playfully.
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br />   She focused her green-gold eyes upon him. She must not betray herself when she was closer than she had ever been to her goal. “I am marveling that with a few words you can make me your wife,” she admitted honestly. “Why can you not give me a child?” She had frankly been amazed that in all the months she had been with him, she had not conceived.

  “One of my ancestors managed to get us cursed by an angry parent,” he said lightly. “For centuries the men of my line have been unable to reproduce, which is why the women rule at La Citadelle. Will you love me less for it, Belle?”

  “Of course not,” she told him, secretly relieved. When Hugh’s memory was restored, he would surely forgive her her liaison with Guy d’ Bretagne, but had she borne her lover a child, how could Hugh ever forget her infidelity whilst the evidence of it grew up in his house? It would have been absolutely impossible for them both, and for the poor, innocent child. It was so much better this way.

  “I have a special way to celebrate our union,” Guy said, nibbling suggestively upon her ear. “It is most delicious in a variety of ways.”

  “You know that I am yours to command, my lord,” she murmured.

  His violet eyes glittered. “You are surprisingly brave for a woman,” he said.

  “You are very naughty, my lord,” Belle teased him dangerously. Her pointed little tongue ran across her lips.

  “Tonight I shall teach you how to be very, very bad,” he responded.

  Her heart hammered. At the other end of the table sat her lawful husband, lost to himself, and perhaps even lost to her, but she had not yet really tried to free him. How easy, she realized with horror, it would be to give up, to remain here at La Citadelle as Guy’s wife. But could she forget Langston? What of Hugh the Younger?

  It was the one thing that kept her focused upon what she had to do. Their little son must not grow up without his father. And what of the other children they hoped to have? Children who would go unborn if she could not bring Hugh home. If they could not escape La Citadelle.

  “Come!” Guy’s voice was imperious. Taking her hand in his, he led her from the high board. “While you daydreamed, I gave certain orders,” he said meaningfully. “I have spent many weeks teaching you the delights of your pleasure. Tonight I shall teach you how to pleasure me in a way such as you cannot imagine.”

  “Your creativity has always amazed me, my lord,” Isabelle answered him, smiling. “I am intrigued as to what you have in store for us, but I have no doubt we shall both be pleasured by it.”

  In his apartments, Guy undressed her, and then she undressed him. They bathed together, returning naked to their bedchamber. He had a beautiful body that, while hirsute and unlike Hugh’s, was graceful and finely made. Though very tall, his torso and limbs were in perfect proportion. She thought it sad that he would have no son of his own. Any children he sired would surely have been beautiful to behold.

  In the alcove where he liked to play his special games, a silver bowl had been placed upon a table. Peering into it, she could see it was filled with an extraordinarily thick, creamy golden substance. Next to the bowl was a long brush with a silver handle. Guy lit the sweetly scented oil lamps he enjoyed on special occasions. The scent of aloe filled the room. He held out his hand to her.

  “What is in the bowl?” she asked him.

  “In time I will reveal its contents to you,” he said, and then, “Have you ever taken a man’s member between your lips, Belle?”

  “No,” she said, eyes wide. But then, why not? she thought. Did he not taste of her each time they made love? Why should she not taste of him as well? She slipped to her knees before him at the gentle pressure of his hands on her shoulders. His groin was smooth and white, devoid of the dark hair that covered his chest, arms, and legs. A curly growth but hid the glory of one’s sex, he had told her when she had first remarked upon it.

  Reaching down with his hand, he lifted the limp flesh and rubbed it across her lips. “Open your mouth, Belle, and take it in, my precious. Be careful not to score it with your teeth. Then you may suckle upon it and use your tongue to tease it,” he instructed her.

  Following his directions, she was enchanted to find the member growing within the confines of her mouth. It grew so swiftly that she could scarcely contain it, and choked just slightly. With his hand on her fiery head he encouraged her further. She was becoming very aroused by her actions, and dizzy with the pleasure she was obtaining.

  Finally he said softly, “Cease, Belle,” and when she opened her mouth, he withdrew his member, now enormous and fully engorged. He smiled down at her, pleased to see the rising desire in her green-gold eyes, knowing she had enjoyed the task. “Now,” he continued, “place the bowl upon the floor near you, Belle, and using the brush, paint first my rod and then my jewels with the substance.”

  Fascinated, she obeyed him, lavishly spreading the thick, pale gold substance up and down his manhood. And then she painted his jewels as he had ordered her. Finished, she put the brush aside on the edge of the bowl and awaited his instructions.

  “Now,” he said, “using your mouth and tongue, wash it all off, my beauty. Every speck, for if I feel the least stickiness when you are done, you will receive six strokes of my strap, my pet.”

  Kneeling before him, she began to lick at his swollen member. Honey! There was honey in the mixture she had painted upon him. “Ummmmm,” she murmured, “delicious, my lord!” She licked and suckled his manhood, her hot tongue moving quickly up and down its length, laving the flesh free of the syrupy matter until there was no more. She could feel a heavy wetness between her legs, and realized how fiercely aroused she was. Twisting her body, she bent very low, gently taking his jewels into her mouth to suck them free of the honey. The more her mouth worked him, the more excited she herself became. He said nothing while she attended to him, but his labored breathing was audible.

  “Enough!” he finally groaned. “Enough, you vixen!” He forced her up, and lifting her into his arms, impaled her upon his raging member.

  Belle wrapped her legs about her lover, sobbing with her own desire as he carried her across the room to their bed. Laying her back upon the coverlet, he stood above her, plunging himself in and out, in and out, until she was screaming with a pleasure she would not have believed existed. She felt as if she were going to die, and it mattered not a bit to her. Her breath was labored as she reached peak after peak after peak. The familiar starburst exploded behind her eyes, but this time in such a profusion of colors that she could not bear it. She felt his tribute thundering into her, and almost immediately afterward lost consciousness.

  Her awareness returned with the feeling of his tongue on her torso, licking delicately. Belle forced her eyes open and watched as he painted her belly with the honey paste and then sensuously lapped it off her skin. “It is too delicious,” she murmured. “Too delicious to bear, and if you stop, I shall die, my lord!”

  “You like this little game,” he said innocently.

  “It is even better than the grapes,” she assured him.

  “Yes,” he laughed low, “I noticed how much you enjoyed it, Belle. There was a moment or two there when I thought you meant to swallow me whole, my precious. You left me no excuse to beat you.” He licked the last of the sweetness off her skin and laid his dark head upon her belly. “You have the body of an ancient goddess,” he told her. “What a pity we cannot have a child together. Especially now.”

  “Why now?” she wondered aloud.

  “When our ancestor was cursed,” Guy told her, “the curse was not simply upon the males of the family. It was also upon the females. The story is that the noblewoman cursing the d’ Bretagnes first laid her malediction upon my ancestor Jean and all those males who might follow him. Then, as an afterthought, she damned the female line, too, but that curse would not come immediately. She wanted the family to suffer as they had made her suffer. The women of the family would be forced to take lovers to procreate their line, but one day a woman would be born to
the d’ Bretagnes who would not be able to reproduce our line, and it would end altogether. My sister, Vivienne, seems to be that woman. She has taken lover after lover since she was a nubile girl, but not once has she quickened with a child.”

  “What has happened to her other lovers?” Belle asked.

  “She has dismissed them, of course, when she realized they could not give her what she most desired—a child,” he said.

  “And will she dismiss her Hugh?”

  “Nay, she has fallen in love with him, even as I have fallen in love with you. She will keep him by her side,” Guy said.

  “Who is he? Where did he come from?” Belle caressed her lover’s dark locks.

  “I know little about him,” Guy answered honestly. “He is English, I believe. Vivienne has a liegeman, a great fool named Richard de Manneville. This man was in de Manneville’s dungeon for some reason, and he wished to be rid of him. De Manneville was too cowardly to kill him. Vivienne saw Hugh, and despite his filthy state at the time, she decided she wanted him. She took him, the falconer Alain, and six men-at-arms who accompanied them, and brought them back to La Citadelle.”

  “He must love your sister, else he certainly would have tried to return to his own land,” Belle noted.

  “He has virtually no memory of his past life,” Guy told her. “The falconer told Vivi that his master received a blow on the head. Then, too, my sister, I suspect, keeps his memory from returning by means of some little potion she mixes up. If she is happy, it matters not to me. Hugh is no more than a simple knight, or else his family would have come seeking after him. Besides, anyone doing business with Richard de Manneville was surely unimportant.” He pulled himself up and began kissing her.