by Sahara Kelly
THE KNIGHTS ELEMENTAL
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, February 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
PO Box 787
Hudson, OH 44236-0787
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-806-5
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
THE KNIGHTS ELEMENTAL © 2004 SAHARA KELLY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Briana St. James.
Cover art by Syneca Featherstone.
THE KNIGHTS ELEMENTAL
Sahara Kelly
Chapter 1
The enormous bed was practically obscured by a tangle of limbs. A sensual moan crept from the throat of the woman whose mound was being caressed, and another sobbed her pleasure as a dark man eased his huge cock between her arse cheeks and plundered her darkest secrets.
Next to them, a woman suckled and laved another cock to its full height, and a fourth woman straddled a man’s blonde head, setting her cunny above a willing mouth and a very able tongue.
The group writhed and gasped and whimpered its pleasure, a sight of decadence and lust that would have sent shudders of shock through the virtuous residents of the small keep, had they been privileged to observe it.
Finally, one woman collapsed with a shriek, limbs shuddering and breath coming in gasps as she attained her peak. The woman straddling the blonde man was next, and a firm hand slipped beneath the woman whose arse was glowing with the strokes of the dark-haired man’s cock. That hand found exactly the right place, and rubbed.
Another scream pierced the gloom within the bed hangings.
As the women succumbed, the two men found their own pleasure. A harsh face softened for a moment and with a groan, he released his seed, gripping the firm white buttocks and closing his eyes as the tremors spread from his balls to his spine.
With a sigh, the man next to him finally let go. The woman holding his cock lowered her head even further and moaned as he spurted deep into her throat. His blonde head tossed on the pillow and his hips rose to catch the motions of her tongue as he drained himself dry.
At last the group subsided into a heap of sweaty, sated flesh, soft kisses and murmurs penetrating the darkness within the chambers.
There were times when being a knight was not altogether a bad thing.
* * * * *
They rode on either side of Lord Benstede like a matched set of chess pieces. Strong, sitting their mounts comfortably, and to all intents and purposes enjoying the sunshine.
Sir Guy and Sir Gilles. The Knights Elemental.
It was a nickname given them several years ago when they had teamed for a battle that had been fought and won in glorious, if elementary, fashion.
Since then, they had formed a deep friendship, and had traveled together throughout the country, bringing fear into the hearts of the unjust, and joy to the bosoms of many women.
Sir Guy Northbridge lived up to his reputation as a man cold as the north wind—his hair was raven black, and his eyes the stormy gray of the North Sea during a gale. His face was harshly male and his expression stern, lightened only occasionally by a twinkle of humor. Women sighed for him, and lusted after him, and those that were fortunate enough to share his bed told tales of a man who took boldly and gave much, leaving exhaustion and a smile behind him. But always leaving.
Sir Gilles deSoleil, on the other hand, was a complete contrast. His sandy blonde hair reflected the sunlight, his bright blue eyes sparkled with merriment, and his lips were permanently creased into a pleasing grin. His women sighed with pleasure, cried when he left them, and vowed they’d never find another like him. The Knight of the Sun, they called him.
But he always left too, making him a perfect companion for the North Wind with whom he rode.
It seemed that nothing could tie these two handsome knights. Not soft kisses, nor heated couplings. They took what was offered, relished it, and moved on.
And fought like true warriors when the occasion demanded. Many an enemy had cringed at the sight of the fierce gray gaze that glowed beneath an equally fierce helm, and others had blinked as the sight of a savage smile from a pair of suddenly icy blue eyes was the last thing they ever saw.
Yes, unquestionably, these two men riding silently beside their liege Lord had deserved their sobriquets.
The Knights Elemental.
The North Wind bringing a cold breeze that made a woman’s flesh shiver in anticipation, and the Sun, making her body heat and her cunnikin throb with longing.
Neither of the women watching this parade of magnificent male flesh was thinking along those lines, however.
And of course the knights weren’t thinking of them in any way at all. It was hard to think about someone who was observing you from halfway up a tree.
“Linnet, don’t let them see you.”
The hushed whisper came from a lower branch, and Linnet Aylmer drew herself back further behind the lush foliage. “Don’t worry, they can’t possibly know we’re here from this distance.” She settled her breeches-clad buttocks more comfortably into the crotch of the branches and stared at the party making its way along the lane.
“How do they look?”
“Faugh, Mechele, just as we expected. Two pampered knights, and a fat old Lord between them. A baggage train, a couple of squires, servants—nothing of import.”
“But the knights themselves?”
“They’ve got good shoulders on them, but with all that finery it’s hard to tell how much is man and how much is padding. And I can’t see their faces. I’d be willing to bet my best chaplet they’re just another pair of arrogant hangers-on, traveling on their reputation and their conquests, naught else.”
The party was swallowed by the curve in the lane, and Linnet slid carefully out of her tree perch, brushing off her backside and nodding with satisfaction.
“If Baron Lymington thinks to send his liege Lord over to ‘discuss’ our tribute, then we have no problems. Lord Benstede looks to be a fat and lethargic man, I suspect. Ply him with food and ale, and we can send him away happy.”
“And the knights?” Mechele’s hazel eyes reflected her concern.
Linnet snorted. “From what I’ve heard, they would probably be too busy bedding our maids to worry about the tribute. Men of such repute seldom ever have the brains to match their cocks. Don’t worry, Mechele. From what I saw, they pose little, if any, threat to Maltby.”
Mechele sighed in relief. “Good. Let’s go and reassure Sir Dunstan, then. He should be awake after his nap by now. It will be good for him to know there’s nothing to fear from this particular quarter.”
With these reassuring words, Mechele Trenowyth hugged her cousin Linnet Aylmer, and the two women retraced their steps through the forest to their home, Maltby Abbey.
* * * * *
An elegantly gloved hand moved slightly on the reins, and in response to the slight gesture, both knights pulled ahead of their Lord on the narrowing lane to ride side by side.
“Did you see them?”
“Yes. Two of them, I suspect. In the tree to the far left of that pasture.”
Guy nodded. “Local lads, I’ll warrant. Eager for a glimpse of our Lord and his train.”
Gilles stretched his spine. “Faith, I’ll be glad to reach Lymington’s home. My arse is starting to complain about all these journeys. Too many long days in the saddle with nothing to keep
our interest.”
Guy snorted. “If you disregard the—how many maids was it—in that last keep we visited?”
Gilles chuckled. “They were all willing, Guy. We had a fine tumble. And if I recall, you had no complaints.”
A reluctant grin spread over Guy’s harsh features. “No. I had no complaints.”
“Well, God willing, we can ease more than our arses tonight.” Gilles smiled too.
Lord Benstede reined in slightly and beckoned them to his side. “See yon house?” he asked, nodding across the fields to where a large wooden structure was nestled into a hillside.
The two knights followed his gaze, slowing their mounts.
A patchwork of neat fields surrounded the building, and several tidily thatched cottages lay scattered in the area. The lanes were well-tended, and the whole picture was one of rural tranquility, lazing comfortably under the late morning sunshine.
“That’s Maltby Abbey,” said Lord Benstede. “And that, apparently, is why we’re here.”
“Doesn’t look like trouble,” said Guy, narrowing his gaze and taking in the layout of the settlement.
“Looks quite pleasant to me, too,” added Gilles.
“All I know is that Lymington called for our help with this place. I suppose he’ll be more forthcoming when we meet him. And Saints, I confess to hoping this journey will end soon, and that the Baron’s hospitality includes a good meal.”
Guy and Gilles exchanged identical chuckles. Their liege Lord certainly loved his table.
But it was an affectionate chuckle, nevertheless. They had ridden at this Lord’s bidding for many months now, and had come to respect the shrewd intellect that was well-concealed beneath his portly and unprepossessing exterior. “Probably where those two lads came from that were watching us earlier,” he added.
Gilles grinned. “Didn’t know if you saw ‘em, my Lord,” he said.
“I may be slower than you two, but my eyesight is still as sharp as ever.”
“Never doubted it for a moment, my Lord,” said Guy.
Something in his tone sparked a huff of laughter from Lord Benstede. “Yes. I’m sure. A good and politic answer, Guy. You’re learning.”
Guy raised one eyebrow in question.
“Knights must learn to wield their tongues as skillfully as their swords, lad,” advised Lord Benstede.
“Oh I doubt that there’s a problem with our tongues, my Lord,” said Gilles cheekily.
Lord Benstede turned his amused gaze to Gilles. “Of that I have no doubt. Even I have learned of the prowess of my two knights. The satisfied smiles and tears we seem to leave behind in each town we visit cannot, unfortunately, be attributed to my departure.”
Both knights laughed in self-conscious embarrassment.
“‘Tis a matter of pride, eh lads? Love the ladies and leave them smiling?”
“Always, my Lord.” Guy’s answer was so affirmative that a grin spread across Lord Benstede’s face from ear to ear.
“I wish I had your stamina, boys. Nowadays, I’m afraid ‘tis the lure of the table that makes my heart beat faster.” He suddenly remembered himself. “That and the company of Lady Benstede of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Gilles respectfully.
“And methinks that our journey’s end is in sight, my Lord, so your heart may now beat faster at the prospect of a good meal, and ours at the thought of a good hot bath.”
Guy nodded ahead to where the lane opened wide onto a grand estate.
The fields were busy, workers digging, weeding, scurrying to and fro with wagons of various supplies, coming and going from the large gray stone building that lay a short distance away.
“Looks like it might have been a keep, once upon a time?” Gilles studied it carefully.
“Probably. But it sprawled out into this town we see. I understand this part of the country has been spared the worst of the battles that plagued us a few years ago. There have been a few reports of roving bands of thieves, but not much else. Can’t think of anything too dangerous or difficult about this visit. Perhaps it will be a welcome respite for all of us.”
Lord Benstede clicked up his mount and moved off with a sprightly trot towards their destination.
Guy yawned. “Faith. Just what we need. Another round of diplomacy, politicking with the locals, and country maids.”
Gilles nodded, looking bored. “I doubt that there will be much to challenge us here. Just another case of showing our faces, flashing our swords for the fascination of the natives, offering the support of our presence to the Baron, and we’ll be done.”
Their sigh was mutual.
Sometimes, being a Knight Elemental was no fun at all.
Chapter 2
“My Lord, brave knights, welcome, welcome…” Baron Lymington beamed and spread his arms wide as if to embrace the incoming party of guests.
Gilles felt his gut tighten. He hated the obsequious nature of such greetings, and it looked as if Baron Lymington had the art of arse-licking down to a tee.
“Our humble abode is graced by your presence. And your trusty knights. Welcome gentlemen. ‘Tis a happy day for our home to have such nobility and courage within.”
Guy’s lips curled in distaste, and Gilles could read his friend’s mind as clear as day. It was a trait they’d discovered within each other—this ability to sense the other’s emotions with a mere flicker of expression.
It had bonded them more closely than the fiercest battle, and once again, Gilles blessed the day that he had found himself next to Guy. Almost closer than brothers, they had shared much in the way of adventures and Gilles knew that he’d gained so much more than just a trusty sword at his side.
Theirs was a deep and abiding friendship, tempered with loyalty and a great deal of respect.
A respect which, unfortunately, did not extend to their host.
Gilles pasted his polite smile onto his face, and watched as Guy’s lips tightened into their customary forbidding line.
They followed the Baron into what had once been a Great Hall, but had now been converted into smaller apartments. The high-beamed entrance hall was all that was left of the original keep.
“I have ordered rooms prepared for you, and a meal shall await you as soon as you are bathed and settled.” Baron Lymington summoned his steward, a shadow of a man who scuttled to do his Lord’s bidding.
Gilles and Guy found themselves occupying a huge chamber abovestairs, and had no complaints about the accommodations, only the host.
“An effusive man,” muttered Gilles as he shed his travel-stained and dusty clothing.
“Not one I’d care to live near, that’s for sure,” agreed Guy, sinking into one of the two wooden tubs that faced a huge fireplace in the room.
He sighed as the warm water swept his limbs. “At least he has hot bathwater,” he murmured.
Gilles, busily sinking into his own tub, simply sighed.
Thus, the two clean and relaxed knights found themselves seated later that evening in Baron Lymington’s chamber, enjoying a flagon of ale and listening to the man as he related his tale of woe to Lord Benstede.
Glancing around him, Gilles noted that the man clearly spared no expense when it came to his own luxury.
Far off in the shadows was a mammoth bed, hung with a fine damask tester, and the wall hangings matched it in elegance. The floors were polished smooth, and the windows, through which he could see darkness falling, boasted well-mounted glass panes. Glowing wooden chests and bureaus lined the walls, and a fine fur rug lay before the Baron’s fireplace.
“Will Lady Lymington be joining us this eve?” inquired Lord Benstede.
“No, my Lord. She passed on to her just reward nigh on seven years ago. There is no Lady Lymington. Sad, but there we are.” The Baron idly waved a hand.
A moment was spent in silence, honoring the departed, but clearly not mourned, Lady Lymington.
“So, my Lord, I am going to have to ask for your assistance in the matte
r of Maltby Abbey,” said the Baron, turning to the subject at hand.
Both Guy and Gilles pricked up their ears at that sentence, having lost much of the conversation earlier as it involved mostly effusive compliments and niceties, which were neither to their taste nor their interest.
“And how may we assist you, Baron?” asked Lord Benstede, leaning back in his chair, replete at last after a fine meal.
“Well, perhaps I should explain the situation first.”
“That would help,” muttered Guy.
He ignored a glance from his Lord. Guy too had noticed the richness of the room in which they were sitting, and had reached the same conclusion as Gilles. Baron Lymington was not shy when taking care of Baron Lymington.
He knew that Gilles probably had taken the measure of the man right off, just as he had, and that they would share a mutual distaste.
“Maltby Abbey.” Lymington sighed. “‘Tis a thorn in my saddle, my Lord.”
“It looked a fine and tidy property?” encouraged Gilles.
Guy mentally cheered his friend. Thank the Lord for Gilles. With his encouragement they might reach the point before midnight.
“Oh it is that, Sir Gilles. And as such, it has been assessed the regular amount of tribute that would fit such a profitable place. My problem is not with the property itself, but the owner.”
Guy leaned forward. “I believe your messenger to our Lord spoke of a Sir Dunstan something-or-other? An elderly man, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Quite right, Sir Guy. Quite right. Such a sharp mind. Equaled only by your sharp sword, I daresay, haha?”
Guy restrained the urge to retch.
“Go on, man,” said Lord Benstede.
“Oh—er—yes. Sir Dunstan Trenowyth. Man has to be the wrong side of eighty summers. He bought the place from the Swanns several years ago after some scandal or other befell that family and they decided to move on. Of course, at his age, he let the property slip for a while, and the fields failed to yield what they should have, and so on. I was almost ready to offer him my assistance…”
