by Jaide Fox
A part of her wondered why Wolfe obviously spent so much money on caring for the gardens, when he lived in the dark and during the night. But she supposed that he could simply enchant those delightful orbs of light that he had at his fingertips and have them swoop over the grounds so he could see the beauty of his land.
This was definitely the place that she wanted to sit and so, she turned around and looked at the salon. Her eyes darted about the room and she spied a lightweight chair that would do very nicely. Isabeau part-dragged and part-carried it to the landing outside of the now-open French doors and took a seat.
She sighed in pleasure as the sun touched her face and warmed her body. Isabeau could tell by the power of the rays that she'd been wrong in her earlier estimation. They were quite weak, glorious, but not at full strength and she discerned, from that alone, that it was almost mid-evening and soon the castle would be buzzing and teaming with life.
The thought made her smile.
She had never known anywhere that had a routine akin to the one here. It was more than topsy-turvy that was most apparent!
Deciding to risk being caught, she quickly raised her skirts and balanced her legs so that they touched the thick slab of stone that was the stair rail. When the sun kissed her limbs, she sighed again in pleasure. It would be worth having a maid pop in and spy her ankles to just feel the blissful warmth against her flesh.
As she relaxed, Isabeau realized that there was a real irony in the fact that she could simply walk out of these doors and never come back if she so wished, but the thought never even crossed her mind. Well, only to scoff at the idea!
A restful peace overcame her. For the first time in four years, she didn't have to think about running away. She could just sit here and relax. For the most part, anyway.
Having being hounded for many years by someone, anyone...to finally learn who and why, filled her with both relief and conversely, more fear.
Although she could relax, realizing that Wolfe's parents had been caught and murdered here hardly inspired confidence in the castle's defenses. But having seen one of Wolfe's dreams, hearing him read out that letter, she realized that Wolfe's father had been arrogant and over-confident in his capabilities of protecting and securing his wife and child's safety. But something instinctively told her that Wolfe would not be so lax.
Isabeau intuitively knew that Wolfe would never allow the Milesians anywhere near him. If any were foolhardy enough to enter his grounds, then they would find themselves sans head! Or grievously injured in another way. They would not be allowed to leave alive, of that she was fully aware.
The thought settled some of her nerves and she reposed in the chair, far more comfortable looking out on to the woods and sitting in the sun than she was sitting in the expensively decorated and delicately appointed sitting room.
Resting her head against the support, she sighed and looked over the tranquil forest and the heavily landscaped gardens and realized that this was one of the most peaceful places she had ever been.
She sat quietly and even ignored the opening of the door and the footsteps that led into the room. Uncaring if one of the servants happened to see her unshod lower limbs! The thought made her lips twitch--how rebellious she was!
Isabeau remained silent until Wolfe, for she had known that as soon as he walked out of the French doors, knelt beside her chair and asked, “Would you like something to eat, Isabeau?”
Opening her eyes to smile sleepily at him, she stretched a little and nodded slowly. He jumped to his feet and walked over to the bell. Tugging it, he returned to her side within moments but with the matching lightweight chair in his hands.
The sun was almost entirely gone by now. Only purple and pink shards of light remained to slice through the darkening sky and Isabeau's blood literally whined at its loss. But, another part of her, a part that she hadn't even known existed until last night, started to buzz with life.
She licked her lips and turned to him, wondering if he'd expected her to be here or if he'd expected her to have attempted to escape.
Deciding to keep the mood pleasant, Isabeau determined not to ask. Instead, she lowered her legs and resettled her skirts as she said, “Did you rest well?”
Wolfe nodded and murmured, “I had the best tonic for a good night's slumber.”
“You should keep your skirts up. I enjoy the sight of your bare legs.”
Something about the way he said it had heat climbing up her chest and neck.
“I like them even better wrapped around my waist. Why don’t you come here and sit on my lap, my lady?” He tugged her by her hand and pulled her to him.
She went without a fight, almost too eager to see what he was about, though deep inside, she knew what he wanted, almost as much as she.
Grasping her hips, he pulled her onto his lap, hiking her legs up as she came. Her legs hung over the arms of the chairs, leaving her splayed wide against him and utterly defenseless to protect her from any intentions he may have.
The feeling of vulnerability was a heady aphrodisiac. She found she liked the way he commanded her and bade her do his will.
She bit back a moan when he pulled his hard cock from his breeches and grasped her hips, pulling her hard down onto his erection.
She was barely moist, and the friction of him entering her tender hole without lubrication made her jerk. He held her still, impaling her fully, digging his fingers into her hips as he claimed her body.
He kissed the base of her neck, swirling his tongue over her skin, his lips nibbling and tasting her as he settled comfortably inside.
She arched her back, grinding down onto him, grateful when her natural juices flooded her center to ease his passage. She rose up and down with the leverage of the chair arms, delighting in the rough feel of his possession. The ridge of his cock was immense, stretching her tight. Her nether lips felt swollen and tender, aching with need.
He gripped the small of her back to support her, moving his other hand at her front to roughly caress her clit, bringing it to life with his deft fingers. The maddening circular rub he performed on her soon had her clenching and unclenching on him, grasping for the ecstasy of his loving. He pushed himself up and dragged her down, increasing the hardness of his strokes, bumping her cervix with nearly bruising force.
She felt the tremors begin in her core, driven there faster by the constant attention he paid to her clit. It claimed her sudden and fast, drawing a whimper from deep inside her that was soon echoed by his muffled groan as he buried his face in her bosom and dragged his teeth across the tops of her breasts.
Shivers of delight skimmed through every nerve, leaving her drenched in passion as she milked his cock and he exploded inside her, washing her slick channel with his seed. He jerked and shuddered, removing his hand from her sex to hold her tight against him.
She kissed the top of his head, willing her heartbeat and breathing to return to normal, though it was slow to return with his flaccid member trapped inside her. She liked having him there, even like this. Her body singed with his heat.
Moving off his lap, she pulled free and felt a sucking pop as he came out and left her empty. She was a mess and needed to be cleaned up again, and he offered her a kerchief for that purpose.
She couldn't stop the smile or the slight blush that overtook her cheeks at what they’d just done outside of the bedroom. She could not believe his boldness…or her own. “I decided to make the best of the evening sun,” she said, trying not to dwell on it.
“I can see.” He reached over and traced a finger along the slight breadth of her forehead. “You're a tad pink here.”
“Curse of the skin, I'm afraid. Even in the dimmest of sunlight,” she replied with another faint smile. “Oh, and the hair as well.” She watched as he lifted a strand of her auburn-red locks and curled it about his fingers. There was something curiously intimate about the gesture. Something that had her heart skipping a beat and her teeth nervously nibbling the flesh of her lower lip.
Her eyes dropped from contact with his and she trailed a finger in a circle on her knee.
“Come,” he said and stood. “We'll eat in the breakfast room and I'll show you around, if you'd like?”
She looked down at her knee again and said, “I'd like that, Wolfe, but if you're too busy, then I understand.”
He sounded amused and hearing that, she looked up at him and noticed the slight smile. “I can afford to dedicate a few hours to showing you around the castle. This is my most favorite of homes.”
Nodding, she reached for the hand that he held out for her and smoothly got to her feet. He tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow and walked her to the room in which they'd be dining.
She asked curiously, “How many homes do you have?”
Isabeau realized that it was an impertinent question, but she didn't care. Simply wanted to know as much about him as was possible.
“Homes? Well, I suppose that I used the wrong word to describe this place. This is the only home I have. The place where I always try to spend the majority of my year. But I have around six other properties on this scale and a myriad number of townhouses in London and Bath.”
“Bath?” she questioned and wrinkled her nose. Although she had known he was wealthy, she hadn't known the exact scale. Messrs.’ Darcy and Bingley were obviously paupers in comparison to this man's fortune! It was a wonder that he was not pompous!
He laughed. “My grandmother loved Bath, I'll have you know!”
Isabeau hid a smile. “I'm glad she did.”
“I take it that you, on the other hand, do not?”
“Not particularly. I went there once, as a young girl. Perhaps my opinion is biased by that. But come, you cannot deny that you dislike it also! I remember my mama telling my papa that the people were so inelegant and seemed to try and hook themselves upon those with a title! She thought I had fallen asleep in the carriage at the time, otherwise I know she would never have made that remark.”
He grinned down at her. “You're right. Bath is not my most favorite of places, but you should be kinder, Isabeau!”
“Twas not I who was being unkind! But my mama!” she retorted, amused.
Wolfe simply nodded, but she caught the continued twitch of his lips once or twice more and deeply liked that she had managed to tease him into laughter. At times, he was far too somber. It was understandable, but she did not like to see him that way.
As the light was dying, the castle literally glowed with the orbs that Wolfe powered and because of that, halls and corridors that should have been drab and dreary were filled with light. She saw classic pieces of art that inwardly made her gasp and she saw decorations that would have made her mother sigh with their sheer beauty. From what looked like an original Grecian marble sculpture that one of the ancient Goddesses would have blessed, to gilt and rococo styled mirrors that enhanced the light.
They broke their fast, regardless of the time, on muffins and freshly churned butter with tea, which she chose over the chocolate. But there was also a selection of meats and some coddled eggs, which Wolfe ate. He’d kept her up all night with his love-making, and though her normal schedule had been thrown off, she found she could not fault him for that.
He was a creature of the night, after all.
After they'd been served and had finished eating, Wolfe led her around the ground floor of the castle and gave her a slight tour of what felt like a small township!
She visited a chapel, but one styled with ecclesiastical instruments that she had never before seen and could only assume that it was no religion of which she had ever heard.
More than likely, a pagan place of worship, if the murals and sculpted stonework was anything to go by.
Inquisitively, she murmured, “What religion is this chapel for? It's certainly not Catholic or even Anglican!”
“The chapel is very old. We hardly use it anymore. But it was for Sidhe rituals and ceremonies.”
“Are all of your ascendants Sidhe?”
He nodded. “A part from a few great Grandmothers, who were human. But the Sidhe line was restocked countless times,” Wolfe finished with a sardonic lift of the brow.
There were numerous chambers, another corridor lined with armor and another still with paintings. The more she saw of the castle the more she realized the true scale of the castle and again, how rich Wolfe was! It seemed vulgar to be so focused on his wealth, but it was astounding! Even to Isabeau!
Whilst she had been born to wealthy parents, who could have furnished her with whatever she required and when, it was nothing in comparison to this. It was almost obscene, the amount of funds Wolfe had at his fingertips to plough into this castle.
Although, from the amount of staff that she had seen around the castle, Isabeau realized that the castle gave many a person a living.
It wasn't that the state of his riches were attractive to her or that she was mercenary in anyway. It was simply that she found it incredible. Having never been to court or visited any of the Royal palaces, she could not say for definite, but a part of her was sure that they could not be as resplendent as Sinclair castle!
There were six towers and four of these were decorated in different styles, with the remaining two seemingly styled in the original mildewed décor of the medieval ages.
“But why?” Isabeau asked, puzzled as she stared at a gruesomely green embrasure.
He shrugged. “It is tradition.”
“What kind of tradition?”
“The wife of the Duke decorates one of the towers upon the announcement of her pregnancy.”
“Why?” she asked again, confused all the more!
“It is merely a gift. Of sorts. It is said that the Duchess who brings her son and the Sinclair heir into this world in one of these towers shall lead a long and fruitful life.”
Instantly, curiosity beset her and although it was insensitive, she had to ask: “Which tower is your mother's?”
He snorted. “Surprisingly, that does add some credence to the so-called tradition. The last four Duchesses, prior to my mother, all lived for many a year with their Dukes fighting on into the golden age of seventy at their side. With a handful of children and ultimately grandchildren to comfort them in their loss of youth!
“Mama, on the other hand, refused to select a tower room. Declared it as a piece of nonsense. But in reality, the little I remember anyway, I knew that there was no love lost on her part between my father and herself. And the tower rooms, well, once they were decorated, thereafter both man and wife unfashionably slept together here.”
“That is most unusual,” she commented with raised brows, for even her own parents had kept up the pretense of two sleeping chambers. She only knew differently from those cold winter mornings as a child, when she'd escaped her nanny's clutches and headed for the room in which they had always shared.
The horrid formality that existed between some children and their parents, whilst perfectly normal, had never subsisted in her family. While Isabeau was fully aware that childhood experiences, such as Wolfe had known before his parents' death, were more common than rare, it still saddened her greatly to think that he hadn't experienced the wonder that she had.
The total and utter security of knowing that one is loved and for oneself. That one exists and has been borne from a love so strong that one's life is a manifestation of feelings and sentiments that two people felt for another.
Not because one is a ducal heir, nor that one has no other purpose apart from learning the role and becoming a perfect suitor for the ducal coronets.
“Yes. Indeed. Well, mama apparently refused and the rest as they say is history. She lived a short life that ended with violent death. Perhaps that is fodder for the traditions. According to some of the staff here, not all of which are Dark Sidhe but of the Light as well, my grandparents were known for their great love for each other. I think, perhaps, that is why my father was so madly infatuated with my mother.
