by Alice Gaines
“Adoration bordering on worship,” Olaf answered. “’Twould seem she was the reincarnation of the Virgin herself, the way some spoke.”
“How so?”
“They told of good deeds. Always a hand out to the poor and sick. They tolerated the father when he ruled, but they cherish the daughter as one of their own.”
“She runs the castle well. Fresh rushes, and well stocked, considering how long we lay siege here. She’ll do well as my lady.”
Olaf straightened, pushing away from the wall. “You plan to bed her?”
“I plan to marry her.”
“I thought you’d take a wife from our own people.”
“I’m half-English.”
“Ah, yes,” Olaf said. “Your mother taken in a raid by your father.”
“Aye.” Taken but not held. That wouldn’t happen to him.
“This Englishwoman didn’t seem eager for you,” Olaf said. “In truth, she seemed loath to touch you.”
“I’ll bend her to my will,” Ulric said. “I’ve won the battle. She’s my spoils.”
Olaf barked a laugh. “No woman cares to think of herself as mere spoils.”
“I know nothing of women’s cares. Nor do I wish to learn.” He reached out toward his second-in-command. “Give me your dagger.”
“You need a weapon to bathe?”
“I do if the Lady Josalyn is to wash my back.”
“What trick are you playing?”
“No trick. A test. Your dagger, please.”
Olaf shrugged and handed him the weapon, which he then placed in the tub, hidden between his thigh and the side. “Now, send her in to me.”
“Well enough.” Without further questioning, Olaf left. Ulric stared into the remnants of the cook fire and waited for the woman who would soon share his bed.
She’d already passed one test for a wife. She’d run the household under the worst conditions and kept things in order and put at least some food into her people’s stomachs. If she’d had more fighting men, she might have even beaten back his assault. Clearly, all within the castle walls would have laid down their lives for their lady. A wife like that could prove his greatest strength in ruling here.
Then, too, she inspired such lust in him. The mere thought of her fingers on his body, even his back, had his cock hardening. Fighting always awakened the male beast inside him. By now, he’d usually have found at least one willing wench to ease his lust. But with this woman, his sex would have to find some patience. Virgin, given away by the fear she’d tried to hide. He knew the look and walk of a well-swyved woman, as he’d often done the swyving himself. He wouldn’t take the lady’s maidenhead until their wedding night, and his blood already ran hot wanting her. Tonight, he hadn’t ordered her for sex but to see if he could trust her. If she had any sense, she’d bring a knife with her. If she planned to rid herself of him through treachery, she’d use it. He’d give her the opportunity, showing her his unprotected back and throat, but keeping Olaf’s dagger near at hand in case she decided to strike.
“The kitchen, my lord?” Her voice came from not far behind him. Lost in thought, he hadn’t heard her enter. A fatal flaw for a warrior. She did, in truth, affect him more than was good for him.
“Why haul hot water when the fire’s here?” he answered.
“Logical.” She approached but didn’t come around the tub where he could see her, keeping her place behind him. “Why did you call me?”
“Scrub my back.”
Her breath caught. Softly, so that he almost didn’t catch it.
“I told you I don’t like to repeat things,” he said.
“But why scrub your back?”
“Because I can’t reach it, and I want to feel your hands on me.”
She did nothing for long seconds, neither moving closer or farther away. She might have been fumbling in her skirt for a weapon, or she might have decided to defy him. He should have known she wouldn’t obey simply because he’d issued an order. No woman who’d stared out a window on a battle or stood calmly to greet the invader who’d just slain her fighting men frightened easily. He was testing her mettle now, and he’d test it again in his bed. But, by all the gods, Christian and Norse, he would take total possession of her.
She moved, finally, but not to his back. She walked around the tub to face him, her hands folded in front of her and her gaze fixed firmly on his face.
“My lord, I ask your leave to serve Holy Mother Church,” she said.
“Is this a convent, then?”
She scowled at him. “You know it’s not.”
“Then keep your prayers to your chamber.”
“You misunderstand,” she said. “I hope to join the Benedictines.”
“I misunderstand nothing,” he said. “Why would you want to abandon your home?”
“I had responsibilities here,” she said. “Now that you rule Randmead, I can leave it all to you.”
“Absolutely not,” he said. “You’re far too comely to hide behind convent walls.”
That did frighten her, enough for her to take a small step backward.
“And you have too much value to me here,” he added.
“What do you intend for me?” Her voice came out in little more than a whisper.
“I intend for you to scrub my back.”
“Your back only?” She did her best to blend back into the shadows.
“God’s blood, woman, do it.” Curse her eyes. He’d shown more patience with her than he would with a child. He’d spared her the fate many conquered ladies suffered, rape and mayhap murder. She would obey him. Now.
She emerged into the light of the fire, her features grim but not fearful. She didn’t hesitate but went behind him. He reached for Olaf’s dagger, curling his fist around the hilt, as she went to her knees with a whisper of skirts. He grunted his approval, found the soap with his free hand, and held it to her over his shoulder.
His body tensed, ready for battle. She’d already had plenty of time to pull a weapon from the purse that hung from her waist. If she had any knowledge of the body’s vulnerable spots, she’d go for a vein or artery in his neck. He needed to prepare himself for the first prick of her blade.
Instead, her hands went to his shoulders. Slick from the soap, her fingers worked the muscles there. Her touch had some kind of charm in it, forcing him to soften whether he willed it or not.
He still held the knife fast, but the hint of threat from her dissolved under the pressure of her touch. A long sigh escaped him as she moved lower over his shoulder blades.
“Are you a witch, my lady?”
Her hands stilled. “I’m a Christian, as I’ve told you.”
“Your fingers cast a spell.”
“I know no spells,” she said softly.
“Good. Then continue.”
She moved lower, splaying her fingers over his ribs while digging her thumbs into his spine. She could swear she knew no way to enchant him, but his body put the lie to that claim. His muscles turned liquid under the press of her fingers. Tiny but strong, they continued plying his flesh until his eyelids dropped with pleasure.
More than his back responded, though. As that grew limp, his rod stiffened, growing long enough for the tip to peek out of the water.
His clothing had hidden his state that afternoon, when he’d instantly hardened in her presence. Now, she’d stirred him to the point where she’d have him fully aroused in an instant. Granted, he sat naked before her, and granted, battle fever still ran hot in his blood. But, no woman–least of all a virgin with pretensions to join a holy order–had ever bewitched his cock as thoroughly as this one did now. His plan to take this land as his own had delicious consequences he hadn’t expected, a lifetime of this woman warming his bed.
Her fingers found the old scar that traced one rib with a gash so deep it had almost killed him. Then, he’d scarcely survived the blood sickness that had followed.
She gasped. “How did this happen?”
> “Treachery. A rival meant to pierce my heart. He got close with his dagger while I was unarmored.”
“Your heart?”
“I turned. The wound went all the way from there to my side.” He grasped her hand and pulled it all the way around him until her palm rested over his chest and her face rested against his shoulder. He held here there, inhaling her scent as her breath warmed his skin. He could guide her lower now. Through force too powerful for her to defy, he could wrap her fingers around his shaft and feel their strong grip there. Instead, when she tugged backward, he released her.
Too late to diminish her effect on his rod, though. With her head on his shoulder, she could have seen the front of his body. His cock responded to the idea by swelling proudly for her view. Now fully erect, it couldn’t know it wouldn’t find satisfaction within her body this night. Curse her innocence.
“What happened to the man who tried to kill you?” she asked.
“He didn’t survive to practice his evil purpose on others.”
She gave out a soft gasp. “You killed him?”
“He made an example to any others with the same intent.”
“Would you deal the same with a woman?” she asked.
“Are you thinking of betraying me, lady?
“I only meant it as a general question.”
“There are better punishments than death for the fairer sex,” he said. “Now, continue.”
“Continue?” she repeated. “I’ve done as you ordered.”
“Lower.”
“I’ve nearly reached your rump,” she said.
“Then, wash that.” She ought to learn his body now, for surely, she’d feel it later. She’d know the weight of him on her, his chest rubbing her nipples, as he sank his staff into her queynt. As her hands went lower, he pictured them stroking his back as the two of them coupled. The warmth of the water surrounded his cock the way her moist inner walls would. Oh, to have her muscles grip him as he pumped into her. Slowly, making as little disturbance as possible, he moved a hand to his sex, gripped it at the base, and squeezed. He might have meant to throttle the disobedient flesh, but the action only caused it to throb. He had to find some control. This woman’s help would smooth his path with the villagers and farmers. He wouldn’t force his way with her, at least not before she’d wed him.
As she leaned forward, her hands inched along the outsides of his thighs. No longer shy, she moved with purpose as a lover might. Near his aching cock. God’s teeth, he wouldn’t press the issue, but if she welcomed a hearty coupling, he’d take her here on the kitchen floor.
Instead of his cock, she grasped Olaf’s dagger, pulled it out of the water, and touched the tip just under his chin.
“I wondered what you had in this hand,” she said. “I had a fair idea about what you held in the other.”
“Well done, mouse.”
“Mouse?” She pushed the knife harder against his skin, almost enough to draw blood. “Do you still think me a mouse?”
“A clever one, aye.” She’d distracted him again, as she had during the heat of battle. His brain deserted him where this woman was concerned. She wouldn’t kill him, though. If she’d intended murder, he would be dead already. No, she meant only to make a point, and she’d succeeded. Already, she retreated, the prick of the blade easing. He’d do better to be on his guard with her. Not let his rod think for him.
He made a quick grab for her arm and pulled her around so that he could face her. Now her mouth lay only inches from his. Her eyes widened in fear. He could study the golden flecks among the green irises. His breath caught as her lips parted. So plush, the devil’s own temptation.
No. He’d have the blessing of her God before he knew her, else she’d view all the different ways he’d use her body as sin.
He eased her away from him. “Drop the dagger.”
She hesitated, staring at him.
“You’re not going to use it,” he said. “Drop it.”
She did. “May I be dismissed now?”
“I gave my men orders that none of your women be ill used,” he said. “If they’re willing, that’s another matter.”
“Thank you.”
“They won’t disobey me,” he said. “Have you heard reports of rape?”
“None,” she said.
“There’ll be no punishment of the kind we spoke of earlier as long as your ladies behave themselves.”
Although still kneeling, she pulled herself up to a regal posture, shoulders back, chin high. “I imagine you include me in that edict.”
“As I said, clever mouse.”
Her jaw tensed. “Then, pray, may I be dismissed, my lord?”
“You may.”
She rose stiffly and left the kitchen in an angry swirl of skirts. He stared blankly into the fire, but his mind only saw the images of her hands sliding over his thighs and her lips close to his.
God’s blood, she could command his body far better than he could command her mind. He’d take the haughtiness out of her. On their wedding night. He’d take out his needs on her willing queynt as she writhed beneath him begging for more and more until they came together in orgasm. He wouldn’t have to wait long, as he already had one of men scouring the countryside looking for anyone who could unite them in holy bliss.
Until then, he couldn’t even look for an amiable woman among the household. Word might get back to the clever mouse and sour his plans. He could only depend on himself for relief, as inadequate as that would be. So for the first time in years, he took his cock in his hand again and began to stroke.
My Lady’s Pleasure: Chapter Two
Somehow, in little more than a day, the main hall changed from the dreariness of siege to the joy of a feast. She didn’t want to study the details too closely, but if Josalyn hadn’t known the lavish gatherings Randmead had hosted in its prime, she’d never imagine her household anything less than splendid in its celebration.
Ulric had certainly made free with the wine. Everyone, from the castle household to the villagers to the tenant farmers, had turned very merry, indeed. Heads would throb in the morning, but tonight, they’d earned some happiness after the long siege.
Ulric sat in the lord’s chair on the dais, looking with keen eyes over everything. True to his word, his men behaved themselves. They mingled with her people, sharing drink and bawdy laughter.
Ulric placed his hand over hers where it sat on the arm of her mother’s chair. “Have I pleased you, my lady?”
Her mind tumbled back to old images. Her father sitting where Ulric now sat. The lord of the keep with his life mate beside him. He’d touched her mother in this exact way so often. Have I pleased you, my lady?
“It’s a wonderful feast,” she answered.
“Everything here runs smoothly,” he said. “That’s your doing.”
“My duty, no more.”
He took a bit of the sweet pudding from his plate and held it up to her mouth. “Your cooks are very talented.”
“I know. I ate my own pudding.”
He rubbed the sticky morsel against her lips until she had no choice but to take it into her mouth. Heat flared in his eyes for an instant, and then, he gave her a lazy smile. No more than a curl to his lips, something private between them.
“I’ve complimented you,” he said. “A courteous hostess would return the favor.”
“Am I your hostess? I thought you owned everything here. That would make me your leman.”
“Tonight, I choose you as my hostess,” he answered. “The compliment, if you please.”
“Your men haven’t looted the place nor raped anyone,” she said. “I’ll give you that.”
“That was our agreement, not a compliment,” he said. “Don’t you think I look rather regal tonight?”
He did, indeed, impress the eye in the robes he wore. He must have brought them with him, as no man here approached him in stature. The scarlet linen of his tunic created a jewel-like contrast to the gold of his hair, an
d the embroidery around the collar emphasized the width of his shoulders. He might have been one of his Norse gods personified, come down from Valhalla to make his English subjects appear puny in comparison.
“I have a similar gown in a woman’s size,” he said. “You might like it.”
So, now he offered gifts, as though he could purchase her favor with feminine trappings. He must think her a light-headed female, easily distracted by trinkets. She stiffened her back. “Odd. I hadn’t expected a Viking raider to carry women’s clothes with him.”
“God’s blood, woman, I’m trying to make you happy.” He picked up his chalice and drank deeply of his wine. “Why must you resist?”
“Where did you learn to swear in the English fashion?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” he replied as he stared straight ahead of him, his jaw clenched in displeasure.
“I suppose not.” If anyone in her household had used such language, she’d have schooled them in proper piety. She had no control over this man, though.
“Well enough,” he said. “If conciliation doesn’t work with you, I’ll continue with orders.”
One of his men approached the dais and bent toward Ulric’s ear.
“You may speak freely before Lady Josalyn,” Ulric said.
The man gave her a slight bow. “There’s a minstrel outside. He said he’d entertain for room and board.”
Ulric’s brow went up. “No gold?”
“He said something about other payment,” the man answered.
Ulric glanced at her. “Your doing?”
“I know nothing of minstrels,” she answered.
Ulric nodded. “Bring him in.”
The man scurried to the back of the hall and returned with a stranger. A hush started from where he stood and spread throughout the crowd.
The minstrel wore colorful clothing, deep blue chausses and a doublet of forest green. Wide sleeves tied tight at the wrists gave him an almost jester-like appearance, but his dark good looks and a cunning gleam in his eyes, gave the lie to that impression. No fool, this one, as he walked slowly through the crowd, his lyre on his arm.
All assembled followed his progress as he approached the dais and then bent into a deep bow.
