A sound of frustration escaped him, but he rolled off her, and in the dark she saw him press his arm across his eyes. She lay rigidly beside him, their breaths mingling in the chill night air. What had she done? Why would she ask this man such a thing? He was obviously not a good man. Was she truly insane?
“All right,” he finally ground out, but remained lying on his back. “I have not been considerate of a woman since my wife.”
“Perhaps I have made a mistake.”
“Perhaps,” he replied, but he remained at her side. After the silence stretched on to the point of nerve racking, he finally shifted so he lay on his side, facing her. He slid himself closer, so he laid the length of her. Then he was rising and coming closer, and she felt his lips on hers. They were hard, cold even. She did not know lips could be cold. They moved over hers for a moment, before the rigidness left them, and they became soft and pliant. She felt the tip of his tongue, as he continued to coax her.
“Part your lips,” he whispered against her lips. She did so, and his lips softly stroked over them again, the tip of his tongue caressing the underside of her top lip, as he inhaled sharply. He was gentle, his body suddenly felt warm. She felt his hand on her side, lying easily there. He continued to kiss her lips gently, stroking was the best way she could describe it. “Relax,” he whispered again, before sucking her upper lip into his mouth, stroking it as he released it with his tongue. He did the same with her bottom lip, before his tongue entered further, before stroking it back out.
She felt her body press into his. His hand used pressure on her side to roll her toward him. His fingers stroked up and down her back. She felt herself melting into him with the continued soft, gentle feel of his lips on hers. She did not know how long he caressed her in such a way, but she felt an eagerness building in her for something more, something that felt just out of her reach. Then his hand moved into her hair, and he used gentle pressure to tilt her head back, and his lips were on her neck, then moving down. When his lips latched onto her nipple she bucked against him, but the hand on her back stroked her gently, settling her.
He sucked the nipple into his mouth, his tongue softly stroking the tip, before letting it slide from between his lips. “They are just as perfect as I imagined,” he whispered, before taking it into his mouth again. Emma’s fingers dug into his hair as he gently built her into a frenzy she did not recognize, could not understand, until he pushed her onto her back and took the other nipple into his mouth. That was what she wanted, her mind confirmed. He gave it the same attention as the first, until she felt the frenzy building again. She began to protest, until his hand cupped the breast his mouth was not suckling, and she moaned. It escaped her, and she clamped her mouth shut, until his fingers gently tickled across her wet, hard nipple, and she gasped, bucking upward. His elbow came down to press down on her, his elbow positioned at her groin. Each time his teeth graze her nipple, she found herself involuntarily rising against his arm, and the frenzy could no longer be appeased. She wanted, no needed something.
Then he was slipping a finger into her, and she cried out in surprise and wonder as her hips rose, demanding more, but his hand was there to keep her pressed to the blanket. She writhed beneath him as he slid his finger in and out, and she felt moistness building and a pressure, so deep it went all the way to her stomach, and made it flip, and then she felt a release so magnificent she cried out. Her hands came out to hold his hand to her pelvis, as she rose up against it. He seemed to read what she needed and he thrust his finger deeper, pressing it as far as he could, the knuckles of his fingers digging into the flesh of her entrance, it only added to the flowing release that left her gasping and limp.
Then his lips were on hers again, even more gently than the last. His finger inside her began to move again, slowly, and she could hear her own wetness. Perhaps it was something she should be self conscious of, but she would ask him later when he was not building the need within her again. He moved overtop her, his finger left her and he was pressing himself to her opening, as he took both her breasts in his hands. His mouth claimed hers greedily, at the same time his fingers tugged gently on both her nipples, and he slid into her. He paused as she felt him fill her opening, the pressure was painful, and suddenly she did not think she would like it. He was big, and he would hurt her.
But Roland’s lips kept gently stroking hers, his fingers continued to play with her nipples, and she felt the desire building all over again. His mouth dipped as his one hand held her breast, so his lips could close over it. As he sucked it into his mouth she felt him push his way a little farther in. She gritted her teeth. It hurt so badly, until he continued to suckle her nipple and squeeze the other. She felt the need, was this what desire was? It was very raw, demanding, pleasurable, and almost barbaric. Then his lips moved from the one to suck the other into his mouth, and he pressed a little farther in. Again he worked her up, until she was moaning and gasping.
He moved his face up next to hers, so he could place his lips next to her ear. Was there moisture on the cheek that pressed against hers? “I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt, and there is nothing I can do about that.”
She did not have time to respond, before he thrust himself deep. It felt as if he ripped her open, and suddenly she was done. She did not know it would hurt that bad. It was excruciating as she felt him throb and stretch her to the point of nearly blinding pain. He gently kissed her ear, her cheek. His hand wiped the tear she did not know she had shed away, and then his mouth was on hers again. It began all over, the gentle kisses, the slight stroke of his tongue, until the pain was forgotten, and the need was there again.
When he began to move inside her, she felt the pressure as his large size stretched her, but the excruciating pain was gone. What was beginning to occur was utopic. Her body was building the same need, but he stretched her so much, and went so deeply, the need was mingled with the pain, until all she could think as he picked up his pace, was that it hurt so good. She was bucking against him, crying his name, writhing and moaning, before she felt herself explode around him. Quickly he withdrew, and she felt the heat of his seed spilling across her stomach.
She was exhausted. The moon marched across the sky, indicating a considerable amount of time passed, when it seemed only minutes. She felt Roland leaving her, mumbling to himself, but she was too tired to make out his words. She rolled to her side, and let oblivion take her.
Never had Emma dreamed she would leave her little stretch of woods let alone England, yet here she was in Normandy, standing beside Roland as they waited for the King to finally see them, after the request was sent three days before. After the night Roland fulfilled her request, he was just as cold and unapproachable as ever. A part of her was glad, but another part wanted more, and that part she did not understand at all. She blamed it on the fear of the unknown. It was her weakness she must overcome. She was alone now, but it was for her father and uncle, and she would not fail them, whatever it took.
She spared a glance to Roland. He stood tall and straight, his angular jaw and square chin like iron, his eyes steel, as they stared at the door before them. Though he did not move, she knew he saw her watching him.
“How did your wife die?” she asked, turning to him suddenly. She was not made of steel like this man next to her. He was, after all, the man who was bringing her to the King. He went so far as to dress her fit for a princess, at least that was how she felt, but Roland assured her that was far from the case. The gown she wore was a shimmering blue fabric, the cloth more costly than anything she ever wore on her body. She looked stunning before the mirror in the inn, where they were staying.
“The King killed her.”
Nothing on his face changed, and he did not hesitate to step forward as the doors swung open, not waiting to see if she followed. She looked about herself, at all those people waiting to see the King. All dressed in their rich clothes, a superior look on their faces. There was no help here. She sensed it. Her knees quaking relu
ctantly, she followed him.
Roland was speaking, but her mind was racing too fast to catch his words. She felt the man next to her, the coldness so strong, she felt herself shiver. He stood tall, at least as tall as the King before her. He might be considered handsome, but her fear and the hatred she felt coming from Roland numbed her, before it terrified her, and she wanted nothing more than to flee back to her woods. It’s a little too late for that now, she reminded herself.
The room grew quiet, and she looked about herself and realized the King was speaking to her. He repeated himself, the annoyance on his face sent fear racing up her spine, and though she heard his words, they did not make sense and her brain could not pick the words out to put them in logical order.
“Is she simple minded?” the King asked after a moment, when he redirected his gaze to Roland.
Is he talking about me, her mind asked in a panic. Yet no words would form to come from her mouth.
“Yes, she is,” Roland informed the King. Emma’s mouth fell open and she wanted to protest but even her indignation wasn’t enough to overcome the fear that was eating away at any rational thought.
“It is no matter. Thank you for bringing her here so we know of her existence. You will see to her until I find her a husband. I will hold a feast tonight in her honor, and it should only take a day or two.”
“I thought I would return to England. Sir Damien will be wondering what has kept me.”
“I have told you what I need of you,” the King snapped, and Emma’s eyes darted to Roland’s. They were cold and hard as ice, and the man did not waver. “Besides, Sir Damien and the Fenton Bastard have both been taken care of. You will see to the lady’s safety, and then I will reward you, perhaps with a piece of property of your own.”
As she stared at Roland, a tick began at the corner of his eye, and she instinctively knew it was raw anger that made it, yet he did not falter. He turned quickly, and grabbing her hand, pulled her from the King’s presence, all the way back to the inn, without slowing his pace or saying a word. Once inside the privacy of their double chamber he released her, and began pacing.
“That son-of-a-bitch!” he gritted out, shaking his head. “He is going to grant me a piece of property? That son-of-a-bitch! I don’t want his damn land, or his blessing.” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it in his frustration. He let out another angry, frustrated moan, before dropping his hands and turning to look at her.
“I’m simple minded?” she asked. She long since got over the embarrassment of being looked upon as one with no intelligence, but she thought perhaps Roland needed a distraction.
“You weren’t exactly saying anything to make the King think otherwise. No curtsy, no, ‘thank you your majesty for allowing me in your presence’.”
“I have never been before a king. Apparently it is something you are well versed in, and should give me some lessons.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said, turning to sink onto the edge of the small table set in the corner.
“What?” she was not prepared for his apology, was not even looking for one.
“I’m sorry for bringing you here.”
“You didn’t bring me, I came on my own, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
She watched him shake his head. The anger was gone, and the sadness was back. “He will do to you what he has done to the rest of us.” She only stared at him as he studied her, his eyes going from sad to gentle. “He will find a reason for your death, or a reason why you must suffer. He does not spread joy and hope, only death and sorrow.”
Suddenly anger flared hot within her. “Why must you tell me this? I was much better off not knowing the King killed your wife, or that he only brings death and sorrow. Do you have any idea how afraid I am? I grew up in a simple life, not learning to bow to the man who killed someone I loved with all my heart. I don’t know if I can do this.”
Sympathy flooded from the man, or perhaps she only saw it in his eyes, because nothing else changed. “I will take you home.”
“You will take me home? You will take me home? God Roland, it’s a little too late for that now don’t you think?”
“Yes I do,” he replied simply, and she saw truth and regret in his blue depths.
Suddenly the tears could not be stopped as she stood before this man, a stranger still, and fought them back.
“No, no, no. Don’t do that,” he pleaded, standing from his position.
She didn’t want Roland to see her like that, so vulnerable, because she suddenly did feel simple minded. She realized she tread too far and too deep into the situation, and now her only help was this stranger who was more broken than even Karen. Karen went through the rest of her life knowing, as everyone else, that what lay inside her mind was a jumbled mess of confusion. Roland suffered the same, yet he stood tall, and no one could begin to know what chaos warred inside him.
The sob tore from her, and turning, she fled to her own small chamber.
Chapter 10
Kinsey
“You cannot tell me what to do!”
“I will tie you to the gate until you see the ridiculousness of what you are saying!” Cyrille’s face turned red, as he succumbed to a bout of coughing.
When Lady Keri began to walk around him, he snaked a hand out and grabbed hold of her, his fingers tightening when she tried to pull away. He knew he was hurting her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do, next to taking her back to Scotts Manor and angering his brother.
“Sir Halvor,” Keri said, her face red with anger, jerking her arm free, as Cyrille straightened with one final cough, to stare up into the face of Garrick’s commander. He was quite the intimidating figure atop his horse, a scowl written plainly across the big man’s face.
“What is happening?” Halvor asked, swinging a leg over his horse’s withers, and sliding nimbly to the ground. He crossed his arms over his chest, and planted his feet slightly apart. Cyrille could not say he was a small man, but Halvor was much bigger, and now, as he took a formidable stance, he would be concerned for his own life if their leaders were not allies.
“She insists she is going back to Scotts Manor, despite the fact Damien will serve my head on a platter, if I allow her anywhere near the place,” Cyrille said, in an agitated whisper.
“I didn’t ask you to go did I?” Keri hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked much like a petulant child, and Cyrille did not understand why Damien didn’t turn her over his knee and treat her like one.
A sigh escaped from behind Cyrille’s hood.
“You will not go alone,” Halvor told her calmly.
“Who do you think you are?” she asked, her eyes flashing anger.
“I am the Bastard’s commander,” he said calmly, in case she had truly forgotten. Never did anyone dare disobey his orders.
She harrumphed, rolling her eyes. “You do not scare me with that Bastard’s commander,” she said flippantly, shaking her head at him.
Is she mocking me? Cyrille read the incredulity of this thought cross the big man’s face.
“I know if either of you were to harm a hair on my head, Damien would have you punished. I suggest you let me go now, before you have his wrath to face.”
Cyrille stiffened. Unfortunately, Keri was right, and neither of them would risk hurting her, but Halvor was seeing the merits of tying the woman to the gate. Deciding she must have won the argument, Keri turned and moved toward the stable, her long brown hair casting off the lights of the waning evening light, as it moved with her determined strides.
“You will stay here,” Halvor ordered, his voice did not rise, but it was strong and certain, not to be disobeyed.
Keri turned slowly, propping her hands on her hips. Again, her head bobbed and in a mimicking voice she taunted, “You will stay here.” Then she scoffed and strolled toward the stable again.
Halvor’s jaw was hanging open and he quickly closed it. Women had no concept of rank and following orders. How did they think p
eople were organized and battles were won? Everything in life had rank, and everyone had someone to answer to. It was the way of things, but this woman seemed unaware she was to obey Cyrille, at the very least, since her husband left him responsible for her.
“You men,” Ryann chuckled, as she walked past them in the direction of the stable. Within a few minutes of disappearing inside, she reappeared with Keri. They walked past the men and Keri cast them a scornful look, but said not a word, as the two women went back inside the hall.
Cyrille watched Halvor straighten in his chair and glare at Keri. They sat in the hall, long after the last meal of the day was consumed.
“It’s not that I am against your plan,” Keri said. “You all are yet to name any armies that will be sent to help defend us. I will not allow Damien to stand alone.”
“Damien has an entire army at his disposal,” Cyrille tried to explain, for the thousandth time.
“And either the King’s men or Garrick are on their way to kill him,” Keri said, her voice taking on the frustrated, angry tone that would have her ready to do something drastic again.
“That is why we cannot be certain of anyone’s commitment to Damien,” Halvor said. “Many would buy a chance at fighting the King’s army, but not Garrick’s.”
“I still have a few lords to ask. I will leave tomorrow to find them,” Cyrille said. Surely Keri would know what a commitment he was offering, by exposing himself to so many.
“And I will go wait with Damien for your return,” Keri said.
“You will not,” Halvor said.
“I am not one of your soldiers to be ordered about. I am going, and I will go alone, so you two cowards will not have to answer to my husband.”
The two men stared at each other
“I will go too,” Ryann chimed in. Halvor’s head swung quickly to the small blond woman sitting next to Keri. “If Garrick does arrive at Scotts Manor, perhaps I can talk some sense into him.”
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