by Leila Snow
"Let's find out how much of man you are, knight." She encouraged him with a wiggle as he lifted her skirts over her bare rump. He was only vaguely aware of her moan of surprised pleasure when he drove into her. He withdrew and then thrust again. Whilst he pounded into her, he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut; with his eyes closed he could place himself in another time and another place, in another woman's bed.
There is no fire like passion,
there is no shark like hatred,
there is no snare like folly,
there is no torrent like greed.
~Gautama Buddha
CHAPTER 11
Geoffrey gloomily slumped down into his seat. He hadn't bothered rising to follow the newlyweds upstairs, though he was sure to hear a lecture from his uncle about it later. What did he care? He was finished. That damn sheet and the proof of virtue. He needn't have looked to know what it showed. He had heard the cheer of the crowd and Lord Endle's speech of satisfaction. Why hadn't someone got to her first? Particularly at her age. She was almost a spinster at eighteen. Mind, with Endle's pathetic soft-heartedness and obvious infatuation with the girl, he'd be just as likely to forgive her, as publicly shame her. He couldn't blame his uncle really. The chit was uncommonly alluring. Her hair glowed with reddish highlights and she exuded a sensuousness that drew men to her, like a moth to a flame. Too bad the old fossil hadn't been considerate enough to die, rather than deciding to make another attempt for an heir. His inheritance was disappearing before his eyes. He should be earl and currently upstairs bedding that beauty. He gave another sigh and readjusted his suddenly too-tight hose.
He groaned and put his spinning head in his hands. If not for that little incident with the steward's daughter, he'd still be looking at a long life of earldom. Damn the snivelling brat for running to her father. She had been making eyes at him for weeks before he decided to have a taste of her. And her efforts certainly hadn't been worth losing the earldom for. Geoffrey sneered. Endle had sounded so pious whilst he preached and moralized at him about the responsibilities of the title. Really, what was the point in being Earl if you couldn't use your position? Gulping down the rest of his wine, he launched the elegant pewter goblet across the hall where it landed with a clang in the rushes on the floor.
"Can I get ye another?" a passing servant asked.
Geoffrey growled the affirmative and eyed the blonde wench. She was one he hadn't tupped before and he suddenly felt the urge to forget his woes.
"Never mind the ale," he grunted. "I'm in need of differing refreshment."
She nodded and followed him obediently upstairs.
* * *
The blonde lay next to him on the bed a short time later, her mouth parted in sleep, and the red imprint of his hand on her bare bottom. Geoffrey curled his lip at her. Common strumpet. He'd place a wager that his uncle was deriving significantly more satisfaction from his lady bride. She'd be with child in a fortnight if the look in Endle's eye meant anything. He ground his teeth. Surely there was something he could do about it. He wasn't inclined to sit by whilst his title was given to an infant.
He reached a bejewelled hand for his wine and took a gulp. Eyeing the servant, he debated whether he wanted to have another go at her or kick her out of his room. She was of common stock, big boned, and coarse. Not like Lady Madeline or even her new maidservant. Now that one was a cut above the other servants. He might have to make a bid for her.
The idea hit him as hard as a knight's lance in a jousting tournament. The maidservant! She would be a valuable spy, having such close access to Lady Madeline. Perhaps they could think of a way to keep Endle out of his wife's bed. But how? He'd have to think on it further...it was imperative he find a way. His only other salvation at this point was if Endle suddenly died before he could father an heir. Unfortunately, the man was as healthy as a horse for his age. Wishful thinking, he pondered gloomily. But then again...perhaps the idea had some merit... he thought gradually, as the beginnings of a scheme formed in his mind.
"Get out," he ordered the peasant. A sudden shove pushed her off the bed to land awkwardly on the floor. He watched in disgust as she scrambled, flustered, for her clothing and then darted out of the room.
“Now this was a plan!” he commended himself. If he got rid of Endle before he could get an heir on his wife, then the estate would revert to himself as the closest male relative. It was simple. All he needed was to conscript the loyal services of the maidservant. And he knew just how to do that. By morning he intended to have his plan in action.
* * *
"Where did Nathaniel take himself off to then?" the knight inquired of Hugh, his rather taciturn companion. "I'm guessing he'll be wanting at least one of us posted outside Lady Madeline's door t'night."
"Dunno. The boy's been acting strange all day. Thought I saw him stumble out of the great hall sometime during the feast," Sir Hugh mentioned.
"Mayhap he needed a bit of a tumble, eh?" Sir Gareth snickered.
"Aye, I expect so," the older knight agreed. "He's the only lad that the ladies love more'n you, eh Gareth?" he chuckled.
The handsome young knight made a mockingly hurt face then grinned. "I'll tell you what. I'll take tonight and you can spell me off in the morning, sound all right?"
Sir Hugh nodded his agreement and picked up his pewter tankard. "Guess I might as well have one or two more of Lord Endle's fine ales then."
The younger knight grimaced but tipped his head to his companion and made his way to the stairs that led to the Lord's apartments. He climbed the steps and settled himself as comfortably as possible outside the wooden door. It would be a long night ahead. Only a few minutes later, Lady Madeline's maid emerged from the bedchamber with the blue bridal gown over her arm.
Sir Gareth nodded to the maid and allowed his eyes to rove over her. She was a fetching girl and a bit more refined than the rest of the womenfolk who served in the castle. Her hair was a shiny chestnut from what he could see under the veil she wore. She blushed when she caught his admiring gaze but fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly.
"Evening," he said.
The girl dropped into a brief curtsey at the big knight and then hurried on her way.
"No doubt about it," he thought to himself. "That one's ripe for the picking. Might see if I can interest her in some company another night." Then he turned back to his post and occupied himself with thinking of all the things he'd like to do with her.
* * *
Geoffrey had just emerged from his bedchamber when he caught sight of the maidservant scurrying down the hallway. “How convenient!” he thought gleefully. Quickly he caught up with her.
"Pardon me," he cleared his throat as he approached her. "You are Lady Madeline's new maid are you not?" he asked.
The girl startled at the unexpected honour of having the earl's nephew speak to her. "Yes, my Lord," she replied, her eyes downcast.
"I thought as much," Geoffrey smiled warmly at her. "Your name is..."
"Muriel," she supplied.
"Muriel. A lovely name," he simpered. "A lovely name, for a lovely girl."
He was gratified to see the girl blush and peek up at him from beneath long, dark lashes.
"I am Geoffrey, Lord Endle's nephew," he introduced himself with a brief bow.
She nodded. "I know who you are my Lord," she answered with a small smile.
"Tell me," he asked considerately. "How are you finding your arrival at Marbourne? Are you comfortable? Happy here? It is so difficult to move from one's home to another."
"Yes, everyone is very pleasant, my Lord, thank you," she said, then opened her mouth to say more but clamped it shut again.
"Please feel that you can speak freely with me, my dear," Geoffrey coaxed.
"It is an excellent position for which I am incredibly grateful. It's just that I miss my family and feel quite lonely at times," she confessed.
"Of course you do. It is to be expected," he nodded sympathetically. "Though I imagine a
woman as beautiful as yourself will not be lonely for long." Geoffrey almost chuckled out loud when he saw her blush and begin trembling.
"My apologies if I have spoken too forwardly," he said soothingly. "I find that I am rather taken with you and cannot seem to help myself."
He saw the glint of womanly satisfaction in her gaze and her coy smile as she looked up at him.
"I had just gone in search of wine when I happened upon you. How fortuitous. When you are finished with Lady Madeline's dress would you be so good as to bring a carafe to my chamber?"
She scrutinized him as if assessing his intentions then gave him a dimpled grin and a quick bob. "As you wish my Lord."
"Perhaps you could bring a goblet for yourself as well. We have much in common. I also left my family to move to Marbourne and am often lonely. But now that I have met you and gazed into your beautiful eyes I think I am well and truly at your mercy. Don't tarry, my dear." He gave her a wink and watched her expression of elation at having enchanted him.
* * *
She arrived at his door only a few short minutes later, flushed and breathless, a carafe of fine wine in her hands.
"Put it on the table my dear and rest a while. I'm sure it's been a busy day for you preparing for my new aunt's arrival," he said, gesturing at the two chairs he had pulled up in front of the fire.
Muriel blinked at him nervously but entered and placed the jug of ale and two goblets on the carved wooden table that stood between the chairs. She smoothed her hands down over her dress and for a moment he was afraid she would bolt. Quickly he walked over to her and took her hand in his own. "It truly was a fortuitous day when my uncle saw fit to bring you to Marbourne. I must admit to being very grateful to him."
The maid blushed and didn't remove her hand from his. He reached with his other to pour them each a goblet of the blood red wine, then handed one to her.
"It is a very fine vintage. My uncle had it imported especially for this grand day. I'm sure with your refined tastes you will find it delightful. Please enjoy," he said as he tipped the cup towards her lips.
She looked at the wine, then up at him, and swept her small tongue across her mouth. Geoffrey decided then that he would have her tonight, regardless of any protest. He tried to be patient as he plied her with wine and polite, considerate conversation, all the whilst hinting that he was developing a true tendre for her. He was enjoying his little game immensely. Women are so gullible, he ruminated. It's almost not fair.
She had only sipped once or twice from her third goblet of wine, when he saw her waver on her feet ever so slightly. He knew then the time was right. Taking the goblet from her, he pressed his lips to her hand and gazed adoringly up into her eyes. She blinked back down at him in stunned disbelief at having captured the affections of the heir to Marbourne. Greedy wench, he thought as he raised his lips. He lifted his hand to the veil on her head and whispered, "Will you take it off for me, my love?" She nodded and drew it off.
Geoffrey was disinterested with the pleasantries by now but tried to rein in his impatience. Her willingness and submissiveness was essential if his plan was to move forward. And so he kissed her lips gently. She pulled back a brief moment but his hands had begun to rove and were already undoing the laces of her kirtle.
"My Lord," she breathed against his mouth. "I can't. I haven't."
He grasped her arms and began to nibble the nape of her neck. "My love," he implored, "I am captive to your beauty and adore you already. I find myself overwhelmed by my burning desire for you. Do not deny me."
Without waiting for reply, he fought his own natural urge to tear the dress from her, and instead slid it sensually from her shoulders. She shivered, clad in only her camisole, but she did not take flight. A bolt of excitement coursed through his veins as he wondered if her response wasn't generated by fear. Genuinely aroused now, he lifted her to his bed. Quickly stripping off his hose and braies, he lowered himself on top of her and before she had a chance to refuse him, he thrust into her. Feigning sincere consideration, he kissed her gently and whispered soothing words of devotion into her ear. As the shock of his intrusion passed, she soon began to move in unison with him. A sneer of satisfaction creased his mouth as he contemplated how easily his plan was falling into place.
Every man has his secret sorrows
which the world knows not;
and often times we call a man cold
when he is only sad.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
CHAPTER 12
Nathaniel woke slowly. His temples pulsed and his mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton. He groaned and rolled onto his side, sharp ends of straw needling the skin of his bare flanks. Where was he? Gingerly, he sat up and realized with a flush of humiliation that he was laying in the straw inside a barn. Worse yet, his braies and chausses were down around his ankles. Nathaniel retrieved them carefully and painstakingly, his head spinning. It was then he noticed his companion in the hay. A woman lay sprawled next to him. The quality of her clothing told him she was a peasant. He struggled to place the wench in his mind but could find no recollection of her. With a grimace, he lay back down and prayed for both his head and stomach to stop swimming.
At the sound of his movement, the woman woke. Through half-lidded eyes he could see her peering over at him, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
"Head a bit sore, this mornin'?" she asked, and he cringed at the reverberation of her voice through his skull. He nodded dully. "I'll be right back, love," she replied with a less than compassionate chuckle. She rose and smoothed her skirts before she exited the barn. Nathaniel didn't care where she had gone or if she would be back. He was trying valiantly not to lose the contents of his stomach.
It may have been hours or only minutes when she arrived back to the barn. He hadn't moved from the straw.
"Sit up, knight. This'll help yer wee head," she said, grasping his arm and helping to pull him to a sitting position. He groaned and held his head between his hands. The peasant put a wooden cup to his mouth. Finding he was thirsty, Nathaniel took a tentative sip and almost spat the bitter contents into her face.
"What is that foul concoction?" he griped. "If it's poison I'll gladly drink it," he added morbidly, suddenly remembering the events of yesterday.
"Now what good is a dead knight to me?" she asked with an amused smirk. "Tis willow bark and will help with that pain in yer head. Tis not poison, though you drank enough ale the night past, to give one the notion that ye might wish it was. Rest assured knight, I prefer ye alive," she explained, tipping the thick cup towards his mouth again.
Indifferent to her honesty, Nathaniel drained the cup's contents, not much caring at the moment whether he lived or died.
"Lay yerself back down," she advised. "And give it some minutes to work."
He happily obliged her counsel.
"Ye were nay in good shape last night. Summat botherin' ye, I suppose," she continued as he put his arm over his eyes to ward off the sunlight that pierced through the thatched roof. "Ye passed right out, ye did. And there was no way I could move ye, being so big. So I stayed 'ere with ye so no one got any ideas about relieving ye o' yer gold," she said, nodding at the pouch still attached to his side.
He lifted his arm and peeked out from underneath it. "You're telling me you didn't avail yourself of it?" he asked astonished.
"Nay," she answered with an offended sniff. "Who do ye think I am?"
He shrugged then groaned at the pain the movement brought him. "To be fair, I have no idea," he confessed. "Did we..."
She threw back her head and gave a full-throated laugh. "Name's Brigit. And aye, we did." She grinned at him and winked.
Nathaniel rubbed his eyes and peered at her more closely. She was about his age and not unattractive, though certainly not nobility. She had a cheerful kindness about her that he liked. "Was I..." he trailed off. "Was it...erm, satisfying?" he asked apprehensively.
Once again, she gave a good-natured snort of l
aughter and Nathaniel was forced to grin back at her.
"Indeed it was all right, knight, have no concern," she chortled. "Now I must be going. Give that willow tea another moment or two and ye'll be right as rain, or close to it anyhow," she grinned at him. "P'haps ye'll pay me a visit sometime? When ye've got whoever she is out of your system," she said more quietly, with something that resembled compassion in her gaze. Then she stood up again and brushed the hay from her skirts.
"Wait," Nathaniel said, fumbling with the pouch at his waist. He drew out two coins and handed them to her. She took them with a raised eyebrow.
"I ain't that type, knight," she said shortly.
"I know," he answered. "It's payment for the willow tea."
She nodded and curled her fingers over the coins. "Alright. See ye 'round, knight," she uttered jauntily as she sauntered from the barn.
* * *
Nathaniel lay in the hay only a few moments longer before he pulled himself upright with the help of a barrel that stood nearby. He leaned on it and waited for the pounding to lessen before he attempted to move towards the door. He had to get to morning training. But by the time he had dragged himself to the abandoned training field he realised something was amiss. He raised his eyes to see the sun hanging high in the sky. It was much later than he had thought. Carefully he managed to shuffle to the keep and into the great hall where he could see that the inhabitants were almost finished breaking their fast. He made his way to the nearest trestle table and collapsed down on the bench next to Gareth, who looked at him archly.
