My Lady's Pleasure ~ Three Kinds of Wicked ~ Book 11

by Alice Gaines

  “Your name, troubadour,” Ulric demanded.

  The man rose. “Trey, my lord.”

  A murmur of feminine interest rippled through the room. Ahs and sighs, and why not? As stunningly golden as Ulric was, this Trey matched the Viking with a dark charm. His black hair gleamed in the flickering light of the torches, and thick lashes adorned his eyes. When he turned them on Josalyn, she fell under a spell of sorts. Lost in their obsidian depths.

  “My lady,” he said, pulling her back to reality.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  Trey stroked the strings of his lyre. “Would you like me to play for you?”

  She glanced toward Ulric. Curse the man, now he had her looking to him for approval.

  “If you wish it,” he said.

  She nodded toward Trey, and he gave her a smile that warmed her from the inside.

  As the revelers rose to put tables aside to make room for dancing, Josalyn sat, immersed in a strange feeling. Trey’s smile had moved her in a way she hadn’t felt before. No, that wasn’t right. She’d experienced that fluttering in her breast and only the night before. When she’d touched Ulric, when he’d caught her hand and traced his scar with it. When her cheek had grazed his shoulder and she’d had a glimpse of the male part of him–or at least its head poking out of the water–she’d felt shock but, if she was honest with herself, some fascination for the thing. And then, when he’d pulled her around to face him, and her lips had come so close to him, her heart had nearly stopped in her chest. Trey’s smile had had no more than half the effect that Ulric had had, but it was still shockingly powerful. Saints in heaven, she wanted them both.

  Impossible. She couldn’t have lust for either of these men. Her whole life, she’d dreamed of a noble suitor who’d approach her as he would a Holy Grail. Höhe Minne, courtly love. Pure devotion only consummated with the blessing of Holy Mother Church.

  She’d given up any hope for her reality to match her fantasies. She’d surrendered all that when her parents died and the mantle of stewardship at Randmead fell on her shoulders. Would she now also succumb to baser urges for two unacceptable men, one little more than a savage and the other a singer of bawdy ballads?

  Something touched her cheek, startling her out of her reverie. She found herself staring into Ulric’s eyes. He slowly drew the pad of his thumb across her chin as he searched her face for something. The sensation returned, as if she were standing on a cliff and imagining jumping off. Would she fly?

  A question hung between them, his first sign of uncertainty. Mentally, she took a step closer to the edge of the cliff.

  Nonsense. She pulled away and looked out over the crowd, her heart thumping in her chest.

  Trey sat on one of the tables and played his lyre as he sang in a strong baritone. A young girl sat next to him, as close as she could get without climbing into his lap. She followed along in a reedy voice.

  The rest of the crowd had formed lines and danced to Trey’s song. They executed their moves perfectly–clap twice, hop, spin, and back to their original places.

  The music had cast a spell over all of them, including Josalyn. Even Ulric seemed caught up in it. The glint in his eyes softened, and he tapped his fingers against the tabletop in rhythm with the dance.

  Josalyn had seen minstrels perform before, but none had ever held their audience as this one did. No magician charmed as Trey did. He had some power over people.

  Snatches of Trey’s song came to her through the haze he’d created around her mind.

  “In milady’s chambre d’amour

  “My happy cock doth strut….”

  Saints above, did he mean that the way it sounded? The crowd took his words at face value. The dance became more frenzied, the physical contact of the pairs more lingering and intimate. Now, a male hand touched a breast here and pelvises met there. As a maid skipped by one of Ulric’s men, he grasped her waist and pulled her onto his lap. Instead of objecting, she clasped his face and kissed him. As their lips and even tongues entwined, his fingers slipped into her bodice.

  She shouldn’t watch, and yet the display held her. The young woman’s skin flushed, and her breath grew ragged as her breasts rose and fell. The man shifted her closer so that her rump would press against his cock. He moaned and pressed himself against her again.

  He’d be hard and swollen now, like Ulric the night before. The image of the reddened head of his member came back to her, and for some cursed reason, the secret place between her legs grew warm and wet. It throbbed in rhythm with the strumming of Trey’s fingers on the strings of his lyre.

  She turned to Ulric and gestured at the couple. “Please. You promised.”

  “The girl is willing,” he said. “’Tis not rape.”

  “I know, but….”

  He stared at her, and the blue of his eyes went dark with hunger. Whatever trance Trey’s music had cast on the others had worked on Ulric, too. He’d be erect under the linen of his tunic. She wouldn’t look at his pelvis, no matter how the temptation bored into her. She’d remain calm until the song ended, and then she’d slip away with some excuse or other.

  The pace of Trey’s music picked up, and the dancers became frantic in their movements. Chivaree, the sort of dance meant to whip a new wedded pair into a rush of desire. Ulric’s man moved his hand beneath the young woman’s skirt. Clearly, he toyed with her pryvete. None of the others seemed to notice as her eyes closed and her head fell back against the man’s shoulder.

  Josalyn looked away, but the image of a man’s touch against her own queynt wouldn’t disappear. Rubbing, pressing in concert of the rhythm of the dancers’ feet.

  “Ah, my love,” Trey sang.

  “Now, take this yard that swells for you,

  “Ease it in your depths,

  “And let us come together.”

  The woman on the Viking’s lap let out a hoarse cry, and her entire body shuddered in his arms. The music ended, and the spell broke.

  The dancers stopped, mid-step, and some laughed. Others blushed and lowered their heads with embarrassment.

  Trey eased away the woman who’d sung with him and slapped her bottom as she walked away. It was a gesture of conquest. For those last few moments, he’d owned them all, and his smile said he well knew his power.

  After a few seconds, Ulrich stood and released a hearty laugh. “You know your skill, minstrel.”

  Trey stood and then deeply bowed, a splendid show of false humility. “At your service, my lord.”

  Ulric clapped slowly but loudly. Finally, the others joined in, and applause rang through the hall.

  Trey neared the dais again and bowed. When he straightened, he smiled at Ulric and Josalyn both, although his gaze lingered on her. “If I’ve pleased you, I’d be happy to stay here and entertain for a while.”

  Ulric bent toward her. “Do you want him?”

  How ironic that he would use the word want. Her body still thrummed with the energy of Trey’s song. Sinful as the desire might be, she did want him. But, how could she tell the man who claimed to own her that?

  “Whatever you decide,” she answered.

  “I asked if you wanted him,” he said softly through nearly clenched teeth.

  “I do,” she said before the meaning of her words registered. “That is—my lord—I—”

  “Enough,” Ulric snapped. “My lady wishes that you stay.”

  “As you say, my lord,” Trey said.

  “In fact, you may play at our wedding,” Ulric said.

  “Our what?” Josalyn started to rise, but Ulric’s hand on her arm held her in her chair. “Whose wedding?”

  “Hear you all,” Ulric announced to the throng. “The Lady Josalyn will become my wife as soon as the proper clergy can be found.”

  Silence followed that proclamation, and then applause built again, even louder than Trey’s song had received. They approved. Her people wanted her to marry the Viking. The man who had conquered her, conquered them, and stolen
all their lands and possessions. How many of their people had died in battle at the hands of these conquerors? More than she wished to contemplate. It was unreal that her people should want her to wed the warlord. Could it be true? Their hearty response claimed it was so.

  Ulric smiled at her as if he’d won a major point. In truth, he had. Much as she loathed the thought of this proposal, she couldn’t disappoint this happy crowd.

  Marriage. The Viking would take his rights as a husband. He’d made that clear when he’d exposed himself to her the night before. ‘Twas one thing to imagine his kiss, his touch. The invasion of his body into hers. ‘Twas quite another to actually experience them.

  Her gaze fell on Trey as if he’d pulled it there. He was smiling again, and the heat had returned to his eyes. Silently, he made her a promise that he’d be with her when she made this strange voyage. That he’d help her through it.

  Madness. One couldn’t read that in someone’s expression, especially a stranger. She shook herself free of his spell, and her situation fell over her like a shroud. What could she do? Holy Mother, what could she do?

  ***

  As Anne moved about, putting away Josalyn’s clothes and straightening her bedchamber, Josalyn sneaked out the miniature that she’d painted so many years ago and studied the image of the man she would never meet. With her limited talent, she’d left out some details and exaggerated others, but her imagination perfected the image in her mind’s eye. Her prince. She’d named him Harold. He’d been a hope and a dream when she’d first completed his likeness. Now he was an illusion. Someone other women might have, but not for her.

  Anne came up behind her. “Staring at your prince again?”

  She set the miniature aside. “I should destroy it. I did all the others when I became a woman.”

  Anne picked up the brush and pulled it through Josalyn’s hair. “I remember that day. How you cried as if your heart would break.”

  Strange to think of one moment marking the boundary from girlhood to womanhood. But she’d always entertained fantasies of a beautiful and just prince appearing at Randmead to petition for her hand. Instead, she’d overheard her parents discussing which of her father’s allies to give her to. When she’d confronted them, her father had snapped at her. She wasn’t to choose her own husband, and she’d get no help from her mother.

  “Is the Viking so terrible, my lady?” Anne asked, still brushing her hair.

  “Mayhap not for one of his own women, someone who could understand his ways.”

  “He’s cold, ‘tis true,” Anne said. “But he may have his own charm.”

  “Charm?”

  “Well, advantages.”

  “Pray God he does.”

  Anne scooped up Josalyn’s hair. “How shall I do this up for your wedding, I wonder."I could plait it and thread it with flowers.”

  “I doubt Ulric will give us much time for planning.” Merciful Heaven, she couldn’t do as he’d ordered. Bad enough he’d taken control here. Bad enough he’d made her touch his naked body in his bath. But to take him as her husband. He didn’t mean their marriage to be a chaste one. She’d have to join him in his bed and surrender her body to him.

  No. He asked too much. He could choose some other woman here, make her his wife, and allow Josalyn to retreat into obscurity with nothing but her dreams to keep her company.

  Anne caught a tangle in Josalyn’s hair, and she started.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” Anne said. “My mind wandered.”

  “We’re all confused. So much has happened in the last few days.”

  “Aye, and now to think you’ll take that handsome beast as your husband,” Anne said.

  Josalyn stared at Anne’s reflection in the glass. “A day ago you were terrified he might rape you.”

  “We didn’t know him,” Anne said.

  “We don’t know him now.”

  “He’s behaved justly,” Anne said. “None of his men have abused our women, although some of us have joined with them willingly.”

  “We saw that well enough tonight.”

  “Randmead’s been a prison for the siege. ‘Tis normal to celebrate freedom, even with bawdy play.”

  Why did celebration have to include drunkenness and fornication? Even Anne was a bit unsteady this night, and her skin had flushed from all the wine and mayhap more.

  “I swear, I might take one of the Norsemen myself,” Anne said. “The ones who have say they swyve with the same ferocity they use in fighting.”

  Josalyn pulled her hair from Anne’s fingers and rose. “Spare me the details.”

  “But why, my lady?” Anne said. “You above all should want to know what they’re like in bed.”

  “I wish I’d never seen the man.”

  Anne went to the bed and turned down the covers. “I envy you, my lady. My William satisfied me, may his soul rest in peace. But to have a handsome stud like the Viking….”

  “He is a feast for the eyes, I’ll admit.” Josalyn sat on the bed. “But that other thing, I don’t see how it’s possible.”

  Anne sat beside Josalyn and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Foutre?”

  “How can a man’s thing—”

  “His cock.”

  “Whatever you name it. I don’t see how it can fit inside a woman’s body.”

  “It hurts the first time. After that, such bliss.”

  “You wouldn’t lie about that, would you?”

  “You can’t tell by the size of the man, but if Ulric’s cock matches the rest of them, you have quite a carnal ride ahead of you.” Anne sat for a moment. “I wonder if there’s some way to get a peek at him.”

  Josalyn gasped. “Anne!”

  “’Tis natural to be curious about your future husband, unless you’ve already lain with him.”

  The image of the head of his cock sticking out of the bath water came back to her, and her skin grew hot. Curse her pale complexion. Even in the dim light Anne would notice. She turned her head away.

  “My lady?” Anne said. “Are you well?”

  “Fine.”

  “Let me see. You look flushed.” Anne grasped Josalyn’s chin and turned her head. Josalyn couldn’t return the contact but stared down in her lap.

  “You have lain with the Viking,” Anne said.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Saints above! Is he as commanding between the sheets as he is in battle?”

  “I haven’t known him, and don’t you dare tell anyone I have.” Josalyn took a deep breath. Shouting at her maid would only make her appear guiltier.

  “But you know about his size,” Anne said. “I can see it in your face.”

  “I saw him in his bath.”

  “In his bath?” Anne said. “He must have already been hard for you.”

  Josalyn got up from the bed and paced. “I suppose he was.”

  Anne’s eyes widened. “And is it as huge as the rest of him?”

  “I won’t discuss it.”

  Anne held her hands apart. “This big?”

  “This is nonsense.”

  “Bigger than that?” Anne moved her hands a few inches. “This big?”

  “Stop. You’re embarrassing me,” Josalyn said.

  “Even bigger. How about this?” Anne added a few more inches, and Josalyn stared at the space. Impossible as it might seem, he would have had to have grown that large for the tip to come out of the water.

  “Oh, sweet heaven.” Anne fanned her face. “And thick, too?”

  Josalyn only nodded.

  Anne looked as if she’d faint from excitement. “What I wouldn’t give to have a man like that.”

  “Fine.” Josalyn threw her hands into the air. “Take him. Marry him. You’ll make him a better wife than I can.”

  “But he doesn’t want me.”

  That was it! By the saints, why hadn’t she thought of that before? Ulric wanted the lady of the castle. Any woman in that position would do. She’d give the whole thing over to Anne, an
d he’d want her. She could disappear into a convent. Perfect.

  She sat on the bed and put her hands on Anne’s arms. “He wants a marriage that establishes his rule here, no more. If you were the lady of the castle and everything around it, he’d be happy with you, and you’d have your huge stud.”

  “But I can’t,” Anne said. “I don’t know anything about running the household or caring for the peasants outside the walls.”

  “You know more about Randmead than you think. Ulric will take control of everything outside, and everything will be fine.”

  “No,” Anne said. “It’s not right.”

  “I’ll draw up documents right now.” She got up and went to her writing desk. How would she know the right words to transfer Randmead to her servant? Such words probably didn’t exist. No matter. Ulric would take anything that gave him dominion over the keep and all the lands here.

  Before she had written more than the date, a soft knock came at the door. Anne went to it and opened it a crack. “The lady is preparing for bed.”

  “Who is it?” Josalyn asked.

  “Some people from the village,” Anne said. “I’ll send them away.”

  “My lady?” A slurred female voice came from behind the door. “We don’t wish to disturb but only to thank you.”

  “Lady Josalyn isn’t dressed,” Anne said.

  “We thought as much. The men sent only women.”

  Josalyn knew that voice. The wife of one of the tenant farmer. A stout, honest woman, and usually a sober one. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge her.

  “Let them come in,” Josalyn ordered.

  Half a dozen females entered, some women and some girls. The farmer’s wife went to the front of the group, swayed a bit, and then cleared her throat.

  “We wanted you to know, my lady, that we don’t blame you that the walls were overrun and the Vikings came,” the woman. “’Twasn’t nothing you could do, and it all ended well.”

  One of the younger women curtseyed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’ve always taken care of us, even when your father lived. That Ulric frightened us near to death, but you tamed him, Lady Josalyn,” the farmer’s wife said.

  “Hardly tamed him.”