Captive

by Louisa Trent

  “I am not my cousin!"

  “How well I know it,” she said, softly.

  “But since my return from the Crusades, I am subject to dark spells. ‘Tis possible that I might hurt you too, just like my cousin, when they have hold of me."

  He took up the second pail, and dipped a square of linen in the hot water. Testing it first to make sure the cloth would not scald her, he smoothed it across her shoulders. “I never wish to hurt you, Aeschine."

  The illumination from the hearth's small fire danced about his captive's head like a halo, turning her wild tangle of fair hair to burnished gold. He had an urge to bury his face in its richness. Giving into the urge, he skimmed a hand under her hair to caress her nape.

  Aeschine's proud back obsessed him. There was her backbone. He mused, drawing the wet linen down the straight and uncompromising length of it. Then, there was her bottom, lush and rounded and seductive. What man could resist that unusual blend of strength and sensuality?

  Not him. He had gorged on her in the cave. Their coupling was melting-hot, blistering hot, and somewhere in what he had left of a soul, he knew that Aeschine was his true mate, and nothing, neither the promise of heaven nor the threat of hell, would keep him from her.

  He squeezed the cloth over her breasts. Beads of warm water raced down the small slopes to drip off the pointed peaks. Whimsically, he cupped his hands underneath, catching the falling moisture. Laughing, he did it again. Only this time, instead of using his hands, he caught the water droplets in his mouth.

  “Let your anger go, milord,” she said, her body pliable under his mouth, under his hands. “I wish, oh how I wish, that your wife still lived and that your night terrors were forever banished. I have no power in either domain, but I shall sleep with you at night and awaken with you in the morn. I shall hold you in my arms when you grieve for your wife, when the demons encroach and terrorize you in sleep. By making a life together, by our peaceful example, the senseless killings will end."

  “ ‘Tis a dream, Aeschine."

  “Nay, ‘tis not...” She shivered.

  “Cold?” He went to the hearth and threw more kindling into the fire. “This will warm you."

  “Naught will warm me this night,” Aeschine said brokenly.

  As dry wood flared to flame, Sage bent to her lips. “I shall warm you.” He kissed her soft and giving mouth.

  “We are doing things in reverse order, I think,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle afterwards. “The kisses should have come before the furs."

  “We must accept the lot we are given in life,” Aeschine said philosophically.

  He agreed. He had not loved his wife, and he should have loved her. Had he loved her, he would not have gone to the Crusades and she might still live this day. That was his lot, the guilt of which he must bring himself to accept.

  “Take love, for instance,” Aeschine offered, somehow seeing his thoughts again. “There is no rhyme or reason to whom we love, no help for the condition either.” A tear fell from her eye.

  Sage pushed the mind reader's wild tangle of hair away from her wet cheeks. “For whom do you cry?"

  “I cry not for Joan, for she is out of her misery and is gone to a better place. And for myself, I have no tears left to cry. I cry for you, Captor, for all the pain you carry inside you. I beg you, let the pain go. Let me help you let the pain go. You deserve to find happiness."

  If life were just, Aeschine and he would have gotten to know one another the usual way, through conversation and sighs and kisses. As life was not just, they had come together because of a dark purpose, and from that dark purpose, a wild passion had grown. If he were a whole man, her dream might have had a chance even then. Alas, he was not a whole man. At times he was crazed. He might very well harm her during one of his night terrors. Yet, selfishly, he could not let her go. Aeschine gave him solace in a world gone mad.

  He was a one-woman man. A committed man. A responsible man. He made no apologies for his dull ways. Court debauchery was not for him. Never had he found excitement in flitting from one pair of open thighs to another. He desired Aeschine. Only Aeschine. And he would have her, every way that LaTourne had her.

  She whispered, “If LaTourne is found guilty of treason your king will have me beheaded."

  “You do not go to the block,” he said gruffly. “Vows, priests, wagging tongues, an army of soldiers, or anyone's idea of what constitutes sin—none of it matters to me. You are mine. This is mine,” he said cradling her shorn mound. “And neither your king, nor my own, will take you from me. If I decide you deserve punishment, I alone will see it through."

  He had not had her since the cave. Fearful that DuFont followed them, and knowing he would have to take her on the ground out in the open, he had resisted. Now they were safe in a warm chamber and he would have her again. There was no reason not to have her, save one.

  “Will said you might have intercourse, but what say you? Are you too sore for me to come into your belly?” he asked, holding his breath, his palm resting now on the small of her back as was proper. Even a woman as experienced as Aeschine would feel the aftermath of the excess of the cave.

  “Sore, but not too sore,” she whispered. “Never will I refuse you, milord."

  His hand slipped to cup her bottom, a thumb stroking along the crease. “Are you sure? You have only just climaxed..."

  “I am very sure. There is no need to delay. Only, please, milord, do not take me impersonally this time.” She reached up to him and wound her fingers in his hair. “This time, come into me, breast to breast, belly to belly, breath to breath. Let us share the joy."

  His thumb stopped its intimate stroking; his eyes narrowed menacingly. “You think to set conditions?"

  She shook her head. “I was betrothed to a cruel pervert and now I am whore to a self-righteous overlord. I cannot say which is worse."

  “I am not my cousin! I am not LaTourne!"

  “You say the words, but do you understand their meaning? You are not a killer by nature. You are a good man forced to make hard decisions. Make the right choice now. Do not spurn me."

  “I do not spurn you..."

  “You spurn my feelings for you, which is the ultimate rejection of all! You give an evil slant to my intentions, which shows your lack of trust. I have a need for physical closeness with you. Yet you twist my need, my weakness, treating it as something vile. My passion for you is pure. Let me share my body with you. I ken the gift is insignificant but ‘tis all I have."

  “The gift is not insignificant,” he mumbled. He would not tell her the gift was everything.

  “Then, if my body has some small significance to you, let me see your pretty dark eyes light up with joy when you come with me."

  Pretty dark eyes...

  His face heated at the compliment.

  She grinned. “Milord, you blush!"

  “ ‘Tis arousal. Animal lust. Warriors do not blush.

  “There is more to this than animal lust. Why will you not admit it? You are the mate of my soul as well as the mate of my body."

  “I will admit you please me.” Moving the curtains aside, he placed her on her back atop the bed. He toppled down beside her, powerful arms thrown over his head in an attitude of surrender. “Do with me as you will."

  At the invitation, Aeschine scrambled to her knees, contemplating him with big blue eyes. “You give me full control?"

  Why not? What harm would it do? So long as her safety was not jeopardized, he could afford generosity. Loosening his authority over her—at least in the bedchamber—might even be enlightening.

  “Full control,” he said gallantly. “I am your submissive love slave."

  “I may ride atop you?"

  He eyed her keen excitement. Had he created a monster?

  “Aye. Ride me hard. No whips, though. This hide of mine is easily bruised."

  Worrying her bottom lip, one inquisitive finger stroked his manhood. Gently. As if the corpulent beast needed such tende
rness. She took her sweet time about her perusal, lifting him up, weighing his stones, girding him. Two fingers circling the shaft, she judged the circumference. He thought he might come in her hand when she polished the plum head of his cock. Did she think him a piece of fruit?

  Teeth clenched—to maintain his pained stoicism—he gave nothing away. He refused to acknowledge her power over him, refused to ask, to beg, to plead for her to take him. Not that his stoicism served a purpose, for the witch most likely knew his thoughts. With a smug smile, she swung her leg up and over him, taunting him, rising above him, her moist heat within thrusting range. One flex of his hips and she would sheath him.

  He kept his hips rigidly fixed. He stayed there passively underneath her, but his eyes burned into hers. Now. Take me now, woman!

  Grinning from ear to ear, she teased him some more. Unmercifully too. Wiggling her luscious tight bottom, jiggling her breasts, shaking her head until her fair hair bounced, destroying him with her smiles.

  “I believe I like the superior positioning,” she offered.

  Why did this not surprise him?

  “Now that you have my attention, puss, what do you think to do with me?"

  “Ravish you, naturally!"

  “Have to,” he said, hands clasped behind his neck. “Ravish away."

  “ ‘Tis so big,” she fretted, contemplating his largess. “And it must all be stuffed inside?"

  He laughed until tears poured down his beard-roughened cheeks. Hers was a problem he well understood. “Aye,” he guffawed. “If you would have your joy, it must all be stuffed inside."

  He stopped laughing when she looked woebegone. “Aeschine, what is wrong? I meant no harm by my levity..."

  “ ‘Tis only...” She looked down, began again. “To me, this is making love. To you, this is something else altogether."

  “Let us be frank. You enjoy what we do, do you not?"

  “I do. Very much."

  “And you are experienced..."

  She looked away. “To me, you are the first."

  He sighed at her romanticism. “Well, thank you. You have swelled my conceit as well my cock. But you must understand that this, that fucking, is all that we have. All that we will ever have."

  “I wish for more,” she said obstinately.

  “So do I. Alas, I am not getting it.” He raised a brow. “Well?"

  “Well, what?” she asked with a pout.

  “I am merely curious as to what you are about."

  “About?"

  Her wiggling and jiggling and flouncing and pouncing made him more crazed than he was already. “Are we done here, Aeschine?"

  “Not by a javelin's long throw.” She finally lowered herself. “I feel it go in.” This was said with a squeal as she gleefully took his all.

  Stretching up off the pillow, he kissed her lips. In gratitude. In epiphany. Then he fell back onto the pillow, unable to think, to reason, to resist. Surrendering himself to her, he shouted to the turrets as ejaculate shot out of him.

  Screamed hoarse, his companion in lust toppled to her belly on the bed beside him.

  “Are you all of one piece?” He gasped; his own breath had yet to be restored.

  “Aye,” she croaked. “Shall we go at it again?"

  With his remaining strength, he reached over and swatted her bottom. “Be good now."

  She rubbed at the smarting spot. “I think you prefer me to misbehave."

  Aye, she was fair wondrous when she misbehaved.

  “With practice, I am sure to improve,” she said impishly.

  Improve at misbehavior? She needed no such improvement.

  She gave him an adorable wink. “At one point during the ride I feared losing my balance. Unseated from my mount I would have landed upon the floor. I felt myself falling..."

  He felt himself falling too. And not to the floor. And practicing what they had just done would only worsen the situation.

  Sage flung himself from the bed. “I must go."

  She came up on an elbow. “Do you return to me later this eve?"

  “Nay. And because of the danger, you will stay in this chamber. Do not venture downstairs until and unless Will or myself grants you permission to leave."

  She rolled to a cross-legged sit on the bed. “I will stay put tonight, but not indefinitely. There is much work to do. Cleaning the great hall. Stables too. And the downstairs bedding must go. Then there's my sheep. They will need quarters..."

  While she counted off chores, turning on his heel, he raced from the chambers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “What a lazy bedbug you are, Lady Aeschine! I thought you would never awaken."

  Aeschine opened a sleepy lid and squinted at the big-bellied maid who bustled about the chamber.

  This was the servant from the barracks. Sage had kept his promise to her! “I did not ask before—what is your name?"

  “I am called Ellen, milady.” The servant attempted a curtsey but her belly got in the way. “Himself assigned me to look after you.” Her maid opened one of her many large pockets and dropped a key within.

  “Does that key unlock the portal to this chamber?"

  “Aye. And do demand it. If I give it o'er, it will be out on my arse for me. You would not have me, a poor mother-to-be, returned to the barracks, would you?"

  Nay, Aeschine would never put the woman in jeopardy that way. But it galled her that the captor thought to exchange one form of imprisonment for another. “How long have I slept?"

  “Off and on for three days. The warlord had me check on you periodically. You were exhausted, poor lass. Himself wore you out, did he?” Ellen asked, but evidently expected no answer, as she continued right along with the one-sided conversation. “That is a bonnie lover you have there. And I should know, as I have had an abundance of experience in the area."

  “You, a whore too?"

  Ellen placed her hands on her well-padded hips. “Was a whore. I have the bairn to consider now. ‘Tis time to stiffen me spine, close up me thighs, and get on with the rest of me life. A good Christian life ‘twill be too. No more up all night carousing. No more tankards of ale, one aft’ t'other, down me gullet. No men in me bed, either! I intend to support this child with respectably earned coin."

  “What of the bairn's father?"

  “What of him?"

  “Is he to wed you?"

  “Wed a whore? Ha! I should think not. No decent man weds a whore.” She shrugged. “No matter. This bairn is not the first born without a father. I would have liked things done different, you understand, but wishing does not make them so.” Ellen let out a resigned sigh. “What choice do we women have but to go on?"

  “No choice. We must all go on."

  Ellen sniffed into her sleeve. “That we do. That we do.” The maid's face crinkled into a tearful smile. “A gift came for you at daybreak. From the warlord. To show his thanks."

  “A gift! For me?” Aeschine flung back the furs.

  Sheep!

  “Where are they? In the stables?” Unmindful that she was as bare as the day she was born, she jumped from the bed and ran to the arrow loop so that she might look out upon the courtyard.

  “Ah,” Ellen said. “I see now what the warlord has to thank you for. So many love bites! I am well acquainted with the sins of the flesh, but never have I seen such proof of ardor. Methinks himself spent a fair portion of a day placing those hickeys on your rosy bottom."

  Aeschine covered the area with her hands. “He never complained about the time spent."

  “I imagine he did not! Well, I have a tincture that will soothe the bruises of ecstasy. I will fetch it while you bathe. When himself returns, the evidence of his man's passion will have healed, and he may start right in again to give you new ones."

  “Returns? The warlord is gone?"

  “Since two mornings past."

  “But ... but he said no goodbye."

  “He certainly did, ninny. He be all fool's drools when he looked in on you."<
br />
  Taken aback by this revelation, Aeschine asked, “When did you see him drool over me?"

  The servant plumped the now vacant mattress. “When I checked on you that first morn. ‘Twas right as the sun came up. Himself stood over this very same bed, a wolfish light in those dark eyes of his. I thought he would have you again afore breakin’ the fast."

  “He never did!"

  Ellen tutted. “If you do not give to him, there are plenty here who will. That man will have all the whores spreadin’ their legs for him. Save you,” she said disapprovingly.

  “You think I refused him?” She shook her head. “He never disturbed me."

  “The man must certainly love you! No prisoner gets that kind of consideration. You could be in chains down in the dungeon. Instead, you are ensconced in the lap of luxury, undisturbed in your sleep. There is a tale here, to be sure. Tell me true, how did you come to be the warlord's light ‘o love?"

  “I am the warlord's whore. Not the warlord's light o’ love.” She waved a hand at the juncture of her legs. “See? He scraped me bald with his blade, proof that he thinks of me only as a whore."

  Ellen's nod was wise. “Men have been known to fall in love with their whores."

  “Mayhap. But as you just now related, men never wed their whores."

  “There is a first time for everything. Keep the lord happy and you may just find yourself lady of this keep."

  Aeschine lowered her voice. “Ellen, the warlord is—well—huge. He takes up all of me. Is that the usual way of it?"

  “Only if you be lucky. And if he keeps it up, in no time a'tall, you will be looking like me.” She began filling the bathing tub with water warmed on hooks over the fire. “While you soak your hinny, I will go see about having your gift brought upstairs to the solar."

  Sheep in a solar? Aeschine thought as she folded up her long legs and sank up to her chin in the warm bath water.

  “Methinks your gift is new gowns,” Ellen apprised her. “Best wear them straight away. Soon, you might not squeeze into them.” Prosaic advice given, Aeschine's new maid wobbled out of the solar, big belly leading the way.

  Not sheep, then. Gowns. Well, she supposed she did need something to don—though the delay in the arrival of her promised flock did disappoint her.