He literally could not wait to get the woman on her back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman, a paid woman to satisfy a man’s needs, so his arousal was very stiff and almost painful. Even his testicles were inflamed and swollen, as tight as cat gut, so he eased Courtly down onto the bed with the intention of burying himself in her tender folds as soon as he possibly could. She was compliant and his tender kisses helped a great deal. At least she had unwound her arms and now her naked breasts were against his broad chest. Maximus could feel them, soft and round, and it nearly threw him over the edge.
Once he had her on her back, his hands began to wander. He went straight for her beautiful breasts, listening to her gasp with surprise when a big hand closed around one. She even stiffened up in his arms, fearful of the new sensation, but he worked her breast gently but firmly, toying with her nipples until she began to relax underneath him again. He was fairly certain she was enjoying it from the kitten-mewling sounds she was making. But those sounds were driving him mad with lust. His roving hands move lower.
Her skin. Like silk it was beneath his rough hands. He almost felt guilty for touching such pristine, gorgeous skin with his rough and calloused hands. Hands that had killed. He was oh-so-worshipful of her as he touched her, however, knowing he hardly deserved this fine creature but grateful just the same.
Her smell. Like lavender and honey, or angel’s hair. There was something sweet and pure about her smell, something unbridled and intoxicating. As his hand moved down her torso and to her right thigh, he grasped her gently behind the right knee and pulled her legs apart, wedging himself in between her legs. He began to drag his lips over her neck, tasting her beauty, feeling the warmth of her flesh against his tongue. It was too much to take. He had to have all of her. He had to quench this thirst he’d had for her since nearly the moment he met her. He well remembered the day she fell on him and how he’d come into contact with that beautiful, quivering flower between her legs, the sight and scent that was so utterly beautiful to him. Now, he would have it for his own. He would claim her.
He rubbed his arousal against her pink core, coaxing forth her warm wetness that would prepare her body for his entry. She was already wet. He could feel it, so he drew back and thrust into her firmly but slowly, pushing his way into her body, taking possession of this woman as he had never taken possession in his life. He could feel her tightness around him, giving way for him, those honeyed walls that would give him life’s greatest pleasure and be the path by which his children would be born. It was a silken sheath meant only for him.
He drew back again, thrusting harder, making headway into her tight and virginal body. Beneath him, Courtly groaned, a sound somewhere between pleasure and pain. Maximus took it as pleasure and thrust again, harder, listening to her gasp as the sting of losing her virginity echoed throughout her body, but by now, Maximus was realizing the greatest coupling he could have possibly imagined. It was time to make his wife his very own and to put his seed in her, marking her. He found himself dreaming of blue-eyed sons in his image.
He began to move within her, stroking in and out, coiling his buttocks and thrusting again and again as Courtly lay beneath him and softly moaned. She didn’t particularly try to touch him. She simply lay there with her legs spread open and her hands gripping the bed until Maximus took one of her hands and put it on his buttocks. Courtly took the hint and put both hands on his buttocks as something to hold on to, feeling his flesh in the palm of her hands and liking it, but the minute she squeezed, he spilled himself deep into her virginal womb.
But he didn’t stop moving, at least not right away. He continued to move within her until withdrawing and rubbing the tip of his phallus over the wet, swollen exterior of her woman’s core. It was enough of an action to cause the overly-stimulated woman to experience her first climax and the moment she started gasping, he thrust into her again, feeling her tremors around his manhood, loving the sensation of it. He remained embedded in her simply because he wanted to, because if felt good and it felt right.
Pinned beneath his massive warm body, Courtly wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck, holding him fast. For several long minutes, neither one said a word. Neither one had to.
They were one.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sixteen Miles southeast of Oxford
Village of Watlington
He could see the army on the horizon, clear as day. Under skies that were clouding up, promising rain, Garran could see a good-sized army encamped near the village of Watlington. Riding with his father and his father’s four men-at-arms, Garran eyed the gathering in the distance suspiciously.
“What is that?” he asked his father, pointing. “Can you see it?”
Bose, calm and collected and dressed in full battle armor, nodded. “I do indeed.”
Garran was still looking at the cluster on the horizon but he couldn’t help noticing his father hadn’t answered his entire question.
“Papa,” he said, turning to look at him. “What is that?”
Bose didn’t answer for a moment. His black eyes were riveted to the same thing his son was looking at. Finally, he spoke.
“It looks to be an army,” he said. “In fact, that is the army we shall be joining shortly.”
Garran’s eyes narrowed. “Henry’s army?” he asked. “Are we traveling with them to London?”
Bose shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “At least, we are not going to London at this moment. We have a task to accomplish first. That is what the army is for.”
Garran didn’t like the sound of that. “What is the army for?”
Bose looked to his son. “The army is to retrieve something that belongs to Henry,” he said. “Hughston de Russe’s cousin, Christon de Russe, is claiming Warborough Castle for his own. Henry wants it back.”
Garran was stumped by the entire conversation. “Christon de Russe has been constable at Warborough for years,” he said. “Moreover, he is a great supporter of Henry and, if I recall correctly, also his treasurer. Why are we going to Warborough?”
Bose flicked a drop of sweat from his eyes. “Christon de Russe has decided to side with his cousin and, subsequently, de Montfort,” he said. “The man has turned against the king and not only has he switched allegiances, he has taken some of the king’s money with him. Henry wants his money, and his castle, back.”
Garran was starting to understand quite clearly now. A battle. His heart sank. “How long have you known about this?” he asked.
Bose returned his focus to the army in the distance. “Since before I arrived at Oxford,” he said. “Why do you think I came to Oxford, Garran? I have been called to fight with Henry’s army against Warborough and I can promise you that all of de Montfort’s supporters in Oxford, including the House of de Shera, will be arriving shortly to prevent Henry from regaining his castle. I knew we would be fighting on opposing sides, my son. That is why I wanted you with me.”
Garran grunted with disbelief. Aye, he understood everything now. A battle had been looming for quite some time and Bose had used the opportunity to remove Garran from the de Shera stable. He did not want to fight against his son.
“I see,” he finally said, sounding disgusted. “You could have told me. You did not have to make it seem as if you had come to Oxford for me alone.”
“I did,” Bose countered in a tone that left no room for debate. “I came to collect my son.”
Garran simply rolled his eyes and looked away. Now, so much of this was making sense. Still, it was concerning. He was fairly certain that Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius knew nothing about Warborough Castle because they surely would have said something. Their only concerns had been to resolve Maximus’ issue with Lady Courtly and then move on to London for the king’s council. It concerned him that the king’s army was going to be laying a trap for those who would come to defend Warborough.
But he said nothing as they plodded along the road, heading for the army
in the distance which soon became quite a large group. Hundreds at the very least, perhaps even a thousand or more. They were met by sentries on the outskirts of the encampment and when Bose announced himself, he was taken directly to a large tent bearing the de Winter crest. Garran recognized it, he knew it well. The House of de Winter and the House of de Shera, before the madness with Henry and Simon, were close allies and friends. In fact, they still were. But the divisions of state had their public loyalties known to opposite sides.
Grayson de Winter came out of his tent as Bose and Garran rode up. A muscular man for his advanced age, he smiled at Bose as the man pulled his steed to a halt and dismounted. As Grayson moved for Bose, a younger knight emerged from the tent and Garran immediately recognized Davyss de Winter. He was Gallus’ best friend and had been since they had been children.
Davyss de Winter was a legendary knight with legendary skill, even at his young age. Handsome and well-built with dark, curly hair, he looked very surprised to see Garran standing with Bose. Davyss knew that Garran was a de Shera knight and his confusion was understandable. He also appeared as if he very much wanted to say something but he kept his mouth shut, his hazel eyes fixed on Garran in a most perplexing way. Garran stared back.
“De Moray,” Grayson said with pleasure, putting a hand on Bose’s broad shoulder. “I was told to expect you soon. Your men arrived two days ago and told me you had business in Oxford.”
Garran’s attention moved away from Davyss, now focusing on his father with some shock on his features. It was occurring to him that his father had somehow duped him, playing on family sympathies in order to obtain his son’s fealty. But Garran knew his father wasn’t manipulative. He was a very truthful man. Still, he felt as if he had somehow been lied to by omission of certain truths. He felt as if his father hadn’t been completely honest about the situation. But he said nothing as Bose spoke.
“Indeed I did,” Bose said, looking into the face of an old acquaintance. “I had to go and retrieve my son. He was in Oxford.”
Grayson turned his attention to Garran, a mirror image of his father, and the smile on his face faded somewhat. “Garran,” he murmured, as if remembering things about the young knight. “You are a de Shera knight.”
Garran shook his head. “I have pledged to my father, my lord,” he said. “I have been released from my de Shera bond.”
Grayson lifted his eyebrows. “That could not have been an easy thing,” he said. “Once a de Shera, always a de Shera. You know the saying.”
Garran looked at his father. “De Moray blood supersedes de Shera friendship.”
Bose detected some bitterness there and he could imagine why. His son wasn’t happy about committing to the king’s cause. But he would get over it. He returned his attention to de Winter.
“You have quite an army assembled,” he said. “How many men?”
Grayson looked out over his military empire. “Almost two thousand,” he said. “Henry has provided French mercenary troops. I have told the English troops to keep watch on them because they like to raid and steal from the countryside. I will not permit the French to run amuck even if Henry did send them. But now that de Moray has arrived, they will be forced to behave themselves.”
He said it in jest and Bose smiled thinly. He didn’t like the thought of French mercenaries on English soil, either, but he had to go along with what the king dictated. He would never admit to anyone that supporting the king these days had him the slightest bit disgruntled. He gestured to the tent.
“Let us retreat inside and discuss strategy,” he said. “Warborough cannot be more than a few miles away. What are the plans?”
Grayson began to lead Bose into the tent. “Warborough is approximately seven miles away,” he said. “Now that you have arrived, we have orders to move swiftly. De Montfort is distracted with the rumors of Henry’s council convening in London so the time to move is now.”
Bose looked at him, a light of understanding coming to his eye. “Are those rumors, then?” he asked. “Henry is not convening his council?”
Grayson nodded. “Not so soon, at any rate,” he said. “We spread those rumors that the meeting was imminent because we knew de Montfort was in Oxford. It is a ruse to turn his focus away from Warborough, at least for now. There are many barons in Oxford and if they gather to defend Warborough, it could be very bad indeed. These French mercenaries would like nothing better than to kill English barons.”
Bose sighed heavily. He couldn’t help but look at his son now, realizing that he had not realized the full scope of the move against Warborough. But Garran was emotionless as he gazed at his father and Bose turned back to Grayson, realizing he might have some damage control to do with his son after all of this was over. Garran did not appear happy in the least in spite of his impassive stance. The man was heading straight into a battle against men he considered brothers. Nay, Garran didn’t like it in the least.
As Bose and Grayson moved into the big de Winter tent, Davyss put out a hand and stopped Garran before the man could follow. In fact, he pulled him away from the tent flap so their fathers could not overhear their conversation. When they were a safe distance away, Davyss turned to Garran.
“What are you doing here?” Davyss hissed at him. “I thought you were with Gallus.”
Garran cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I was until my father came to town and begged for my fealty,” he said. “He told me he did not want to lift a sword against me in battle and that was what this entire situation was coming down to. What he did not tell me was that there was already a battle on the horizon that he knew about.”
Davyss shook his head, his frustration evident. “My father has objections to attacking Warborough as well,” he admitted, “but he leads the king’s armies so he has no choice. He hates these French mercenaries under his command. They are vile, foul men. I feel as if they are the enemy more than de Montfort is.”
Garran thought the entire circumstance sounded uncertain and dangerous. “If you will forgive me, your father made the choice to side with Henry,” he said. “He is bound to do whatever the king wishes and fight whomever he is told to fight, and that also means commanding the men the king chooses for him to command. He has no right to complain.”
Davyss eyed the knight. “The de Winters have served the crown since the days of William the Bastard,” he said. “My father did not make that choice. It was already made for him two hundred years ago. He simply carries on the family tradition.”
“As do you?”
“Gallus has asked that same question, many times.”
Garran wouldn’t argue the subject of free will. As far as he was concerned, the entire de Winter family had made the choice to serve a king who did not deserve their loyalty. They were great warriors, and very rich and powerful. It was nearly the only great power from England that the king could count as a supporter.
“Gallus and his brothers are in Oxford,” Garran said after a moment, given that the subject of Gallus had entered the conversation. “You know when they hear of Warborough, they will be leading her defense. We will meet them in battle.”
Davyss tried not to look sick about it. “I know,” he conceded. “But there is nothing we can do about it. The path is set.”
“Will you lift your sword against them?” Garran wanted to know. “Gallus and Maximus and Tiberius? Because I know for a fact I will not. I cannot. I will go kill French mercenaries instead.”
Davyss smiled faintly. “As I will I,” he confessed. “You know I cannot fight Gallus. My father knows it, too.”
“What will we do, then?”
Davyss sighed heavily. Then, he gestured to the tent. “Go inside and listen to our fathers discuss what you and I will not do,” he said. “Come along before they come looking for us.”
Garran followed Davyss into the tent without another word. Inside, Grayson and Bose and a few other senior English commanders were bent over a leaning table with a map spread across the surface. A
s Garran listened to the talk of taking Warborough, one thing was certain. He would not fight against the Lords of Thunder. Perhaps it had been a mistake to pledge fealty to his father in the first place, but his choices, now, were both terrible – either fight against his father or fight against the de Shera brothers. Either way, the outcome, for him, could only bring him to heartache.
Already, he was aching.
Oxford
“It is a very large army, my lord,” the soldier said. “Thousands, at least. Lord de Russe has sent word to de Montfort and de Montfort has sent me to find you to tell you that you must come to Warborough.”
It was late in the afternoon at The One-Eyed Raven. About an hour before, Maximus had emerged from his chamber to discuss departure plans with Gallus. The problem was that Maximus had a lazy smile on his face and was having difficulty focusing, which set Tiberius off into a fit of giggles. Marriage, already, agreed with him. All Gallus could do was look at his middle brother, snort ironically, and shake his head as if to say, I understand completely.
Nonetheless, they had plans to make. With their departure imminent, Gallus had awoken his wife and, even now, Jeniver and Courtly were in Jeniver’s room, packing their possessions in preparation for traveling to Isenhall. It gave the women something to do while the men finalized the plans for their journey to London. But those plans came to a grinding halt when an exhausted messenger bearing the colors of de Montfort arrived at the inn. The sight had been concerning enough since de Montfort was on his way to London, but the news the man bore was even more shocking.
“Clarify this for me,” Gallus asked de Montfort’s soldier after he had listened to the man’s breathless story. “The Lord of Warborough is an ally of the king. He is also the king’s treasurer and constable of the castle. And you are telling me this is no longer true?”
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 24
