Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)
Page 106
For some strange reason, she suspected he counted his drives, which struck her as absurd, so she dismissed the thought. But then the oh-so-tempting heat swirled and soared within her, providing fortuitous distraction, and she yielded to the sensations he incited, as he set his lips to hers. And just as she gained momentum, and her muscles tensed, Arucard threw back his head, contorted his face, and emitted another dramatic roar, which well nigh terrified her. Then, huffing and puffing in time with tempered thrusts, his pleasure evident, he draped atop her.
Thirsting for something as yet unknown to her, she remained strangely unfulfilled by their coupling. But she would not apprise him of that fact, as she feared the fault rested with her.
“I am late for weapons practice.” He trailed his tongue along the curve of her neck. “But thou art a sorceress, and thou hast cast a spell over me, so I am thy most obliging prisoner.” As he shifted and withdrew, she vented a plaintive cry. “And I have used thee without compunction, when I should have moderated our first union. Forgive me, Isolde.”
“Thither is naught to forgive, as I am thy wife, and it is my duty to please thee.” He could not possibly know what his declaration meant to her, as no one ever cared whether or not she was injured, much less expressed remorse for her pain. As she slipped from their bed, she took a single step, flinched, and toppled to the mattress. “Oh. I ache in places I did not know I could ache.”
“God’s blood.” In seconds, her husband came to her aid. He flung back the covers and halted, as his gaze lit upon the small but distinct crimson stain that sealed their bond for all eternity. When he stared at her and brushed his knuckles to her cheek, she spied regret in his countenance. “I should be horsewhipped for abusing thee on our special occasion.”
“Nay, my champion.” As he tucked her in with care, he kissed her forehead, and the customary yearning blossomed anew, in spite of her discomfort, which rendered her confused. “If thou would send for Margery, I will soak in a soothing bath and regain my strength for my lord’s taking, this eventide, as I would not disappoint thee.”
“Thou dost employ my pet name, which I have yet to compose for thee, as it must be perfect, just like thee. And given our consummation, thou dost know that is not possible.” How she adored his blush and boyish grin. “But I would grant another deferment until thou hast recovered, before I take thee again, if thou art amenable.”
“Nay, I do not accept, as I am not amenable to any further deferment.” To her relief, his man’s yard grew hard, offering irrefutable proof of his passion, and she worked his length, as she yearned to discover what she had yet to experience. “And thy body agrees with me.”
He studied the ceiling. “Isolde, I must partake of weapons practice.”
“Indeed, I concur.” A drop of moisture seeped from the tip. “As thy primary weapon beckons.”
“Thou dost know what I mean.” He closed his eyes.
“As doth thee.” She yelped when he jumped her.
And so they ended up right whither they started—back in bed.
The next thing Isolde knew, she woke just as Arucard bent and kissed her.
“I have sent for Margery, and I have given orders that thou art to remain in our chambers and rest.” Again he claimed her mouth in a lengthy and thorough affirmation of his regard, and Isolde wrapped her arms about his neck and held him close. “Thou dost make it difficult to leave thee, but I shall return in time to sup with thee.”
“But thou wilt not stay away too long.” As he made to withdraw, she tightened her grip. “Promise.”
With nary a word, he seized her lips in a searing demonstration of his ardor, which left her breathless and in no doubt of his affection. Then he marched into the solar, closed the doors behind him, and she sighed and stretched. Almost immediately, visions of a heretofore-impossible future sprang to life, and she clutched the sheet to her chest, but a knock intruded on her fanciful thoughts.
“Come.” She burrowed into the pillow and laughed.
“My lady, how art thou this fine morrow?” Carrying her usual bag of potions, Margery perched on the edge of the mattress. “Thy bath is ready, and I had cook prepare a light meal.”
“Trust me, after last night, I could eat a heavy meal.” Scooting to the side of the bed, Isolde accepted Margery’s proffered hand and stood. “Oh, dear friend, I am not certain I can make it to the ancere.”
“I would have had it placed in thy inner chamber, but I did not wish to disturb thee, given Sir Arucard had not yet appeared in the courtyard.” The steward wrapped an arm about Isolde’s waist for support. “Take it slow, my lady. Thither is no rush.”
“Tell me the truth, is this normal?” At the tub, Isolde moaned as she lifted one foot and then the other and sank into the unusually hot water. “I can hardly walk, and I feel as though I have been run over by Arucard’s destrier.”
“I know not if I can describe it as normal.” Situated at the rear, Margery chuckled and used a basin to wash Isolde’s hair. “But it is a very good sign. And thy husband’s commands show concern for thee, which is God’s work, as thou art finally safe from thy father’s schemes.”
“That reminds me, I have yet to read his latest letter.” Isolde peered over her shoulder. “It rests on Arucard’s bedside table. Wilt thou fetch it for me?”
“Of course.” Margery dried her hands and returned seconds later with the correspondence. “How I wish he would leave thee alone.”
Sitting upright, Isolde scanned the contents.
Isolde,
Wherefore hast thou not written in accordance with my commands? Dost thou willfully disobey me? Must I remind thee of thy obligations? As thy father, thou dost owe me thy allegiance. I must know the origin and location of Sir Arucard’s fortune, and how is he connected to His Majesty? I expect a response from thee, posthaste. If thou dost continue to disobey me, thou wilt live to regret it.
Thy father, Lord Rochester
“What does it say?” Margery massaged Isolde’s scalp. “If I may inquire.”
“Arucard was correct.” Isolde dropped the parchment to the floor, reclined, and resumed her soak. “Father repeats his demands, though he hath abandoned the false endearments that never fooled me.”
“Dost thou intend to respond?” With a towel, Margery dried Isolde’s hair. “Hath Sir Arucard instructed thee on a proper reply?”
“Nay.” Savoring the bath, Isolde closed her eyes, revisited the glorious morrow, and savored the memory of her knight’s ardent attention. “My husband will deal with it, so what have I to fear?”
#
It was well past noon when Arucard, garbed in his mail coif and hauberk, and sword secured in his grasp, sauntered into the courtyard. Three days after the memorable consummation of his vows, wherein he surrendered his virginity in the very same moment he claimed Isolde’s innocence, and he had yet to report for weapons practice on time. As his marshalsea had correctly predicted, Arucard could not keep his hands off his wife.
The hour mattered not, as he sought her company and took her without compunction. That should have satisfied him, yet he craved her body the instant they parted, which always drove him back to her arms. And while she never turned him away, he could not elude the unsettling suspicion that Isolde did not derive as much pleasure from their interludes as did he. It was a disconcerting deficiency he intended to amend, without delay.
“Someone is distracted.” Waggling his brows, Morgan assumed a provoking stance. “Mayhap I can help thee focus.”
“And it appears that very same someone hath trouble abandoning his bed.” To Morgan’s left, Demetrius brandished his sword and adopted a goading pose. “Perchance a sound defeat will improve thy commitment to duty.”
“Thou dost challenge my dedication and abilities?” It was to their misfortune that Arucard was in no mood to play—unless his partner was his delectable bride. So the sooner he dispatched his antagonists, the sooner he could broach the topic foremost on his mind with his chief advisor
in matters of the flesh. Planting his feet wide, he bent his knees, squared his shoulders, and lowered his chin. “Gird thy defenses, brothers.”
Metal clashed with metal, as Arucard engaged his fellow Nautionnier knights in spirited combat neither facetious nor serious. When Demetrius charged, Morgan attempted a flanking maneuver, but Arucard deflected the gadling with a wide swing and then followed with a vicious molinetto, which caught Demetrius by surprise.
As Arucard was briefly distracted, Morgan moved in with a wicked riverso, but Arucard spied the oncoming assault from the corner of his eye and turned aside the attack with a brutal taglio, which wrenched the weapon from the youngest brother’s grasp, and he splayed his palms in submission. “I yield.”
In a flash, Arucard whirled about and discovered Demetrius with his sword leveled in preparation to strike, but just as he initiated his advance, his fingers tensed, which signaled Arucard. Lightning quick Arucard shifted to the right, inverted his sword, stomped his brother’s foot, and clipped his chin with the hilt. Demetrius dropped to the ground, and Arucard rested the pointed end of his blade to his friend’s throat.
“Capitulate.” Arucard bared his teeth. “Now.”
With a mighty scowl, Demetrius nodded once. “I concede.”
“That did not take long.” With fists on hips, Geoffrey frowned. “Mayhap thou should concentrate thy efforts on thy own skills, and allow our fearless leader to tend his affairs.”
“Indeed.” The voice of reason, Aristide rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. “Demetrius, see to thy injury, and be grateful Arucard only toyed with thee, as the last time someone challenged his prowess on the field of honor, the ignorant soul lost his head.”
“I thought we were merely exercising.” As he stood, Demetrius dusted off himself and then rubbed his jaw. “And we meant no offense.”
“Perchance the Lady Isolde keeps thee busy in thy bed.” With an exaggerated strut, Morgan thrust his hips. “And Arucard doth not sleep much, which hath fouled his mood.”
“Do not gainsay what thou hast not tried.” And that otherwise unremarkable comment brought Arucard full circle, as the pithy battle heated his blood, which pooled in a particular part of his anatomy, and he pondered a swift return to his chambers and his wife. Just then Pellier appeared in the courtyard. “Marshalsea, I require thy services, as Demetrius and Morgan have surrendered the fight.”
“That is because they do not know thy weakness, as do I. And from what I hear from my fetching Margery, thy enthusiasm is possessed of black hair, green eyes, and tender flesh.” Pellier guffawed and waved at the four other knights. “Entertain thyself near the stables, as Sir Arucard and I have important matters to discuss.” As soon as the men were beyond earshot, Pellier scowled. “Hast thou lost thy mind? Art thou no better than a boothaler that thou would treat thy gentle wife with such callous indifference, as if she is naught more than a poxy-cheeked strumpet?”
“I beg thy pardon?” Arucard scratched his temple and slumped, as he recalled her wince and grimace when he took her in the faint dawn light. “I have shown great deference to my bride.” Even as he voiced the claim, he knew he did not speak the entire truth.
“Of course, thou hast.” The marshalsea slapped the flat of his blade to Arucard’s arse. “That is wherefore Margery tends Lady Isolde every morrow, and thy wife cannot walk to the great hall without a noticeable teeter. Thou hast used her roughly.”
Arucard opened his mouth and then closed it.
“Well?” Pellier folded his arms. “After I offered thee my best counsel, what is thy excuse?”
Denial danced on the tip of his tongue, but Arucard was no liar, and his friend had correctly assessed the situation. “I am a terrible husband.”
“Nay, thou art fallible, as art we all.” The second in command sat on a bench near the well. “And it appears the great Templar is but a man with the usual inclinations, and thither is no shame in that.”
“Thou art correct in thy assumptions, as I ache for her, Pellier. Isolde is the most fascinating creature of my existence.” In his mind, Arucard envisioned her as she looked at sunrise, with her raven locks splayed across her pillow and her luscious breasts jostling in time with his thrusts, as he claimed her. “I burn for her, and it is as thee didst warn. I cannot defend against her charms, and she hath not once denied me.”
“That is because thy lady is a good and dutiful woman.” The marshalsea narrowed his stare. “But thou art her caretaker, her owner, responsible for her health and welfare. Thou must learn to control thy lustful appetites.”
“In that respect, I am an abyss of unknowing, but I would argue she owns me.” Disheartened, Arucard plopped beside his friend. “While I have killed untold numbers in battle, and I have maintained an austere and faithful life, when it comes to Isolde, I am her devoted servant. Regardless of my intent, I am but clay in her hands, and I am powerless to resist her. Nay, I do not wish to resist her.”
“Well, if she celebrates thy union, then who am I to argue otherwise?” In that instant, Pellier smacked Arucard on the shoulder, stood, and then furrowed his brow. “What is it? What bothers thee?”
“Thither is something I need to ask thee.” The nagging question, the original source of his quandary shot to the fore, and he shuffled his feet to ease the awkwardness. “How dost thou know whether or not thy mate enjoys the pinnacle of thy coupling? Not that I am unsure.”
“Oh, my poor friend.” With a snort of mirth, Pellier wiped his face. “Trust me, if thou must ask, thy lady hath not enjoyed it.” Then he burst into a fit of chuckles.
“I find naught funny about thy observation.” And Arucard’s confidence flagged, but he cared not for his pride when it came to Isolde’s satisfaction, or lack thereof. “And as thou art a trove of information on the subject, I would avail myself of thy recommendation.”
“What hast thou tried?” Pellier inquired with a grin. “Owing to discretion and my respect for thy wife, know I shall never betray thy confidence, so thou mayest speak with frankness.”
“I did as thee instructed.” Arucard shrugged. “Naught more.”
“Art thou joking?” When Arucard indicated otherwise, Pellier sighed and rested his forehead in his palm. “Dost thou mean to tell me thou hast spent a fortnight in thy wife’s bed, thou hast claimed her maidenhead, and thou hast not explored her body?”
“I have touched her.” In haste, he searched his memory. “We have kissed, we have engaged in intercourse, as thou didst dictate, and I followed thy instructions to the letter.”
“And that is it?” Pellier furrowed his brow. “My friend, my directions were intended as a start on thy quest for carnal knowledge, the journey of which thou hast yet to complete. Hast thou not surveyed the paradise between her thighs? Hast thou not kissed her nether eye, spelt thy name in her most succulent flesh, suckled the pearl of her desire, or taught her to lick and nurse thy one-eyed horse?”
At the prospect of such arousing activity, Arucard stammered in disbelief, but his thoughts quickly turned to seductive strategy, with Isolde at the center of his erotic plans.
“What?” The marshalsea elbowed Arucard. “Art thou shocked?”
“I know not how to respond.” He swallowed hard. “Is such behavior permissible?”
“Noble sirrah, what happens in thy connubial quarters stays in thy connubial quarters.” Now Pellier collapsed in a full belly laugh. When at last he quieted, the marshalsea wiped a tear from his cheek. “Arucard, Isolde is thy mate, as charged by the sacrament. Thou hast promised to love and honor thy lady. How thou dost achieve that is up to thee. But if thou canst bring her sweet release and make her scream, the rest is simple.”
#
It was an unusually sunny and warm fall afternoon, when Isolde ventured from her chambers in search of food to quiet her grumbling belly. Something about Arucard’s lustful jousting between the sheets spurred a furious appetite. Just as she entered the great hall, she almost collided with her husband.
“My lady, thou art awake.” With a smile, he whisked a stray tendril from her face. “I had thought, mayhap, we might partake of a ride, as the weather is fine, and I desire thy unreserved company.”
“My lord, I would love to indulge thee, but I am famished and near wasting.” At that very moment, her tummy emitted thunderous proof of her hunger, and she rolled her eyes as he laughed. “It is thy fault, as thou didst exercise me quite thoroughly this morrow.”
All levity ceased, and he narrowed his stare, cupped her chin, and gifted her a whisper of a kiss. “Yea, I did, and I right enjoyed myself. But I have a solution that meets both our needs, if thou art amenable to my suggestion.”
“Oh?” When he took her by the arm and led her into the bailey, she started. “Do I have a choice?”
“Of course.” In a flash, he lifted her to the saddle of his destrier. “Thou canst come with me.” Then he seated himself behind her, pulled her close to rest against him, tucked his ermine collared cloak about her, grasped the reins, and nipped the crest of her ear. “Or thou canst come with me.”
“Arucard.” Biting her lip, she shivered, as his rich tone betrayed an underlying meaning she understood too well, and her gut clenched, as they navigated the barbican and then the outer gatehouse. “Thou cannot intend to engage in…that is to say…we cannot possibly…out in the open…oh, thou dost know what I reference.”
“My naughty wife, I like the way thou dost think.” Once they cleared the castle battlements, he heeled the flanks of his stallion and galloped to the main road, whither he set a blazing pace. “Thither is a nice hilltop with an impressive view of the ocean, from which we might dine on a meal of boiled chicken, grapes, fresh bread, wine, and the gyngerbrede thee dost favor.”
“What a wonderful idea.” Reclining in his embrace, she squirmed when he nibbled her neck. “My lord, thou art brazen, but I favor that about ye.”