“You want to kill me, that’s fine. I’m not intimidated by your game. But the next time you involve my family, I will claw into your pretty brown eyes and drag you by your eye sockets to the dirtiest street I can find, where I will use a dull hand ax to cut through your pretty little neck.”
He shoved me back, turned, and walked down the steps and through the hall, followed by all his men.
I ran down the steps to the wounded. “Edgar!”
The mercenary gave me a weak grimace. A bolt stuck three inches out from his liver. Randall choked, holding his neck just below the puncture. Nanna was beside me with her bag of herbs and tools. I looked back to see a grim-faced Paul at attention behind us. He scowled at me but said nothing.
“Nanna?”
She shook her head. “Not much I can do. They’ll die the cruel way—eventually.”
“You have to do something.” I started rummaging through her bag. “They’re here because of—”
“Hush, child!” Nanna slapped my hands. She pulled out a cutter and gauze. I sat back, not knowing what to do except watch and pray. These two men were going to die, but they’d die for their king, my father. When I asked them to kill Darrin, they’d accepted the job. I’d given them all the information and payment I had, telling them in a note that after the deed they’d be on the run. Now I’d sell the jewelry and clothes on my back to save them. So much death. But it looked like I’d have to be the one to kill Prince Orphan-maker. He’d pay his weight in pain for this.
8 - Goththor
I pushed Yeger to run faster. But this time I didn’t outrun my company. Stiagwor, Paul, and a handful of guards that kept their mouths shut accompanied me. It was said a brothel of some stature lay beyond the wall of Allsveil and we’d gone to investigate. The cottage was tucked in an alcove of pine. Astride Yeger I turned to my man-at-arms. “Paul?”
Senior Cartell was not stupid. He knew what I wanted, and dismounted. My man-at-arms would enter first, search for the quarry I desired, and secure the brothel. His eyes betrayed pity before he turned and knocked on the door.
A hypocrite I was. Silently I prayed there wasn’t a woman who fit my desires or that Paul would lie and tell me there were none that matched my preference. There weren’t many women that could pass as my Brie. But fucking the real thing wasn’t an option. I needed someone I didn’t care about that was used to being treated—in ungentlemanly fashion. I wanted Brie, and I’d almost ridden her hard enough to break her last time.
She denied I’d hurt her. But that tiny voice and choked sob made me feel like a monster. I couldn’t do to my wife what I wanted. So, a whore that could take me would have to do. The door opened and Paul stepped inside.
Stiagwor, forever silent, kept his distance. The smell of his disgust never failed to wash over me in times like this. “A damn fine swordsman,” he’d called me. I owed him many times over for the days and nights I’d bade him to challenge me. Not because I wanted to better my swordplay, but because I couldn’t sleep after endless frustrated nights. My need grew worse when Bridgette was within my reach.
Stiagwor believed swordplay with him or Paul was better than bedding a whore. But I could only handle so much training before I got worn down and ached for the one I desperately wanted. Stiagwor pulled his horse next to Yeger and handed me an old worn leather bag. We called them beggar’s pouches. The cord tying the bag of coin was thin and easy to rip from my belt. Every so often, it was better to throw money on the ground than fight a horde of beggars with farm implements. Paul returned, jaw clenched, standing under the eaves of the two-story cottage.
I sighed. “You can lie to me, Paul.”
“If you don’t want to go in, then let’s leave,” Paul snapped.
I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward. After knowing a man for so many years, there were hardly any secrets between us. One might think my accusations of Paul sleeping with my wife would tear a man-at-arms and his king apart, but when you fight and kill back-to-back, everything changes. I knew deep in my heart that I could never hate Paul. We were brothers to the end. We even loved the same woman. It was harder for him, I could tell, because every whore I’d slept with, Paul would as well. And I only chose those who had Brie’s blonde hair, blue eyes, height, and lovely figure. “Would you stay?”
He ground his teeth. “Yes.”
It was the answer I both dreaded and yearned for. Handing Yeger to Stiagwor I went.
“Why?” Paul ground out.
“Do you want to stop me?” I jutted out my chin. “Go ahead. I deserve every blow you’d deliver.”
“You hurt her. You torture yourself. It’s not necessary.”
That made me angry. Not necessary? Brie was a lady. But then I didn’t expect my man-at-arms to understand the difference between making love and fucking. In fact he probably didn’t know there was such a thing as making love.
“You think you could treat her better?” My heart began frosting over.
Paul remembered himself and aimed his eyes toward the ground. “No, sire.”
“Good.” I spoke low and calm while my body trembled. “Now get out of my way.”
Paul stepped aside and I went in. Outside, the cottage was well kept, but rough around the edges. Inside, wear and tear peeked through corners, the banister, and a floorboard that squeaked. As I walked in, ladies of all shapes and sizes sat in prim attention on couches and plush chairs. A mature landlady dressed in rags wrapped by an old corset pushed the one intended for me forward. I could see what had Paul on edge. Before my eyes stood the exact double of Bridgette—when she was fifteen.
My heart lurched, trying to hand itself to her. My cock responded in record time. Her blonde hair was pulled back at the sides but left down in back, and she had the sparkling blue eyes of an innocent, with clear skin and a lush mouth.
She smiled nervously and took my hand. There was no way I wouldn’t follow. When we got to the room, she sat on the bed and wrung her fingers together. The image of a fifteen-year-old Brie, shy and innocent, sat before me. My mind and heart tore apart from the pulsing need of my body. I became two beings. One of me stood in front of this stranger that looked like Brie, and the other me returned to my own years of innocence when I’d first met my wife. That half stood before a goddess of laughter, mischief, and fun.
The goddess took my hand and led me down the path of my life. My triumphs of battle. The wars won. Kingdoms I united under my banner. My mistakes of missing my son’s younger years. Failed negotiations that led to bloodshed. A marriage starting in fulfillment and joy only to fall apart. All laid out for judgment.
The scared child that looked like Brie could not handle the tribulations that Bridgette so effortlessly navigated. The other self, the older self, tugged me forward. I reached to touch golden curls. The sight of my weathered hand slapped me back into who I was, what I was, where I was. I was a king. An adulterous king. I gritted my teeth. I was owed a wife and my wife was owed a husband. Brie had asked me for no more bloodshed, no more absences, and I still intended to fulfill her request.
“How old are you?” I asked the frightened girl.
Her eyes widened and she answered in a squeak. “Thirteen.”
My hand dropped. Tiny muscles under my right eye twitched. “Have you any experience?”
I prayed the answer wouldn’t make me kill her landlady. I might anyway. The poor child was in a brothel. The endless wringing of her hands ceased. “No.” Her voice, small and frightened, moved me to action. Thank-the-gods.
I grabbed her waist and swept her to my sword-side, making sure the weapon could be freed. Grabbing the latch on the door, I swung it open in a crash. She wheezed a sound that made me think I’d knocked the wind out of her. At least she’d be silent. Crashing my boots down the stairs, I made enough noise for the both of us. I was met by the old landlady.
“Where are you taking her?” The hag screeched and grabbed my new charge by the arm.
I sneered. “Let go of her, you wretched c
hild-torturer.”
“She’s mine! She owes me!”
“She owes you nothing.”
“Nothing!” The landlady growled. “Who raised her after she’d been orphaned? Who paid for her dress? Who fed her?”
Paul’s announcing voice rang out. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”
The landlady cried, “If it wasn’t for his war, she wouldn’t be here. He’s not my king.”
Paul snarled at the landlady and reached for his sword. When it came to me, Paul was quick to take offense, but I wanted this girl out of here safely. I tore my beggar’s pouch away and threw the thing at the landlady. It bounced off the boning of her corset and gold pieces exploded on the ground. “That’s for the dress,” I spat.
Whores leapt for the coins still rolling on the floor. I scooped up Brie’s twin and walked around the scrambling women. Holding the girl and grabbing Paul, I got us out before the situation escalated.
“Stiagwor.” I shoved the girl in his arms.
His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. “She looks exactly like—”
“Take her away from Allsveil, Stiagwor.” I pointed away from the city I’d conquered. “Make sure her needs are met and that she marries into a good home. Don’t,” I stressed my words, “ever tell me or Paul where she is.”
Paul looked furious with me. I wanted to punch him in the eye. Strangely, not for wanting to sleep with a Brie duplicate, but for wanting to take advantage of an innocent who clearly didn’t want to be in a house of ill repute.
“If Paul asks you where you left her,” I whispered to Stiagwor, “give him the nastiest black eye you’ve ever given.”
Stiagwor smiled broadly.
“But bruise only one and leave the other eye for me,” I growled. That wiped the smile right off my guard’s face. Holding the girl tightly in his massive arms, he turned his horse away from Allsveil. I slapped his horse on the rear and the steed went charging. We watched man and girl leave. Clods of dirt flew from the horse’s feet as Stiagwor spurred away.
Paul sighed. “Sword practice it is.”
I chuckled. The man knew me well. “Shall we?”
I sprung upon Yeger and made a mad dash back to Allsveil. This time, I let Paul and my guards keep up with me.
* * *
It was past nightfall when I dragged my tired carcass to my room. I started undressing before the door swung closed.
Paul, Stiagwor, and many of my guard had a claim over my body with new bruises, cuts, and aches. Yet my cock remained unsatisfied. Stiff from head to toe, cock included, I peeled off my clothes, letting them drop where I stood.
The room I’d chosen could house a small family but was stripped of most of its belongings. Dust markings betrayed evidence of paintings on the wall and water stains on the wood surfaces attested to a life with small, clumsy children. Heavy objects, such as the bed, the armoire, and a table and chairs, were left.
Two chairs were strategically placed to take advantage of the fireplace. The bed sat in the middle of the large room, close enough to the fire. But the piece of heavy furniture that held my interest was the tub located in the alcove in the back.
The smell of my wife’s perfume identified her. Her shadow loomed just shy of the fireplace, her body hidden within a chair. If Brie thought she could hide from me in my quarters she was sadly mistaken. Still, it didn’t stop me from shedding all my clothes and slipping into the hot bath. Parts of my body stung when I sat in the soothing hot water. I liked my baths a little too hot, where the steam rose in the air and wrinkled your skin too soon. I’d just gotten comfortable when I heard the rustling of heavy cloth. The rustling of a queen.
“You didn’t come to dinner,” she said.
Stifling my automatic response, I didn’t think you’d notice, I took a handful of soap-root shavings from the standing dish and rubbed them into the wet washcloth. Suds erupted and I started rubbing my arms clean. “I wasn’t hungry.”
Brie clenched her hands. She was holding back that scathing tongue, which meant she was talking to Aighta. Most importantly, she was taking her advice.
“When I’m here, I’d like to have dinner with you—” She cut herself off and stopped.
I waited for the tornado to strike. It was coming. It always came like this. “Very well. I shall. My apologies for being rude.” Yes, my apologies for not taking you on the dining room table and fucking you in front of every dignitary for miles around. That visual strengthened my erection. Bridgette over the table, flat on her stomach, skirts tossed over her head, me driving into her, proclaiming her mine in front of other men. I scrubbed my arm harder.
“When I said I wanted you to set up a fund for the refugees, I didn’t mean for you to save them one by one yourself.”
I stopped scrubbing. She knew about the girl. Damn. Gods-be-damn you, Paul. I laid back and closed my eyes. “Just drive your misericorde through my heart and be done with it.”
Silence. I opened an eye. Bridgette was staring down at me, I daresay, with carnal interest. I blinked. Yes, she looked like she was admiring my physique. Not a cursory glance, but a look of craving. I might not be twenty, but my body had the chiseled angles of a warrior, proving that I worked hard for what I attained. Her eyes met mine and she shied away. Wait, look at me, I screamed in my head. Was I so starved for her approval that a look could fulfill that need? I started to get up.
“No, I’ll sit by the fire and let you bathe.” Brie turned and headed for the other side of the room. It made me want to grab her and pull her in with me. But she had already crossed the room as if seeing me naked was the most embarrassing moment of her life. I quickly scrubbed, hoping I could gain another glimpse of that raw need I saw within Bridgette.
Desperation breeds contempt, Aighta had said. But there is a difference between desperation and need. Desperation is a perceived need. Need, but do not be desperate. You have enough. You are enough.
Invigorated, I stepped out of the tub and slipped a towel around my waist. The cloth was barely long enough to cover my thigh, but I wanted Brie’s reaction. I walked over to the chair next to her and sat.
My prim queen kept her eyes on the fire. “I can wait till you dress.”
My erection thickened, pressing against the towel. “Then you’ll be waiting all night.” I hung a leg over the chair’s arm. If she looked she’d get a full view of how enamored I was with her at the moment.
Bridgette blushed. “Are you hungry? Should I send for food?”
This was the most fun I’d had with her since our ride a few days ago. The knot holding the towel together loosened. “Even if I wanted food, I wouldn’t dress for servants either.”
“Well, I have a report for you.” She sat up tall in her chair.
“Oh?” My queen wasn’t just a pretty face. She knew how to find the right gossip, track it down, and bring me proof of its reality. Sometimes the rumor mill was steeped in truth. She might loathe me sometimes, but she still loved me. She showed it by warning me of potential dangers. But I had a feeling I knew what she was going to say. Watching Brie’s lips move, my cock made its way out from under the towel. In her full view, my most enamored part stood up like a man who proclaims victory with chest out and hands on hips. Draping a hand over my excited warrior, I stroked myself in nonchalance, watching Brie. Masturbation lost its allure a long while ago, but here exposed with my wife, it felt like a brand-new experience.
Bridgette turned her head, “Are you listening to me?” Her eyes fell to my busy hand. “What—what are you doing?”
“I’m listening. Keep going. I don’t have questions yet.”
Her eyes remained on my cock. “Stop—stop that.”
I pumped a little harder. I felt a bit foolish, very exposed, and more vulnerable than I had in years. But the thrill of seeing her uncomfortable, out of her sorts, letting me know I still affected her, kept me going. That, and it felt gods-be-damned good. It’d been years since my hand could give me relief. With Brie watchin
g, self-gratification renewed the act.
“You’re going to hell if you keep that up!” Bridgette never took her eyes off my jerking hand.
“I already am in hell.” I pumped and could feel the rush of ejaculation starting to build. “But this brings me to heaven.”
She looked at my face. I saw not horror, but excitement. She was aroused, watching me. But there was confusion in her eyes. She leapt up, but I was faster. I blocked her movement by holding the top of her chair and using my body to block the passage. True, she could turn, go around her chair, and leave me standing, but she stayed riveted to my performance. I pumped myself full force. I couldn’t stop her if she left, my orgasm had hold of me now.
“This is what I want to do to you.” My words sounded lame. I had no other coherent sentence to explain. “This is how I want you…only you.” My breathing labored; this display was going to end in a huge explosion. Bridgette stared at my cock with a gaping mouth.
“Kneel, Brie.” It was the only warning I could get out. Of course, she never obeyed and remained standing.
I saw stars. My release came in a forceful wave that was borderline painful. Cum sprouted wings and landed in droplet patterns on Bridgette’s red lace dress. Stream after stream shot out and landed on her corset. Brie stood there, bathing in my semen.
Crouching down, I let the last of the dribbles spill to the carpet. The goddess in front of me, granting me my wish, looked down at my cock. She blinked and then looked down at herself.
“My dress!” Brie shrieked. “Aiden, my dress!”
Ready to crawl into bed, I mumbled, “I’ll get you another.”
My queen stormed out of the room. A pang of disappointment filled my heart. I wanted nothing more than to curl up next to her, soiled dress and all, and fall asleep. Instead, I saved my dignity, struggled to my feet, and tucked myself under the covers. Sleep came before my head hit the pillow.
9 - Alexia
The Spoils of Allsveil: Dark Heart Heroes #2 Page 6
