Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (6 page)

Tears filled her eyes afresh so that his image swam before her. She hated what she was doing. ’Twas shameful that she’d had her servants truss this man up like a beast and had a village woman bring him to arousal with her mouth. ’Twas wicked that she did this without his consent and she was not certain she could proceed. When Lisette had hatched her plan, she hadn’t thought through all the ramifications. She’d been thoroughly focussed on her own need to survive and had prayed God and this stranger would pardon her for her wrong-doing because of the desperateness of her situation.

Her soul was lost. She would burn in Hell. ’Twas what she deserved.

Death would almost be preferable to this, but her death would not save Genevieve and that was the whole reason she must keep going.

His arms pulled fruitlessly at the bindings.

Nay. He would not break free. The thought of her sister strengthened her resolve. Lisette had come this far. There could be no turning back.

“Forgive me.” She needed him to stay where he was until she had finished with him.

Despite her own abhorrence at her plan, she was determined to complete her mission. Insistent on quelling his attempts to resist her and escape, Lisette gritted her teeth and pushed down. Impaling herself on the full length of his erect shaft, burning, tearing pain seared through her. Her body became paralysed—too afraid to move in case she rent herself apart.

She must have done something wrong. Surely she must be split in two as punishment for this sin? Straddling him, unwilling to move for fear that the stabbing pain would begin again, she looked down at the place they were joined. The curls at the juncture of her thighs were blond against the darkness of his.

Ysabel had said the pain would ease.

Lisette waited and tried to block his muffled growl of protest from her brain. She placed her hands on his thighs as he tried to buck her off.

“Pray, hold still,” she hissed as each of his movements increased her discomfort.

Although he ignored her, it didn’t take long before the pain faded. Lisette’s whole awareness focussed upon the foreign sensation of being filled by him in this recess of her body she’d never known existed. She was strangely full. Each time he thrust up to unseat her, the sensation where he was joined inside her was...interesting.

Thankfully, he was still hard inside her. Leaning forward over his body now, supporting her weight with her knees and hands, she thought about what she had to do and began to rock her hips—taking his shaft deep within her, then easing it out. In. Out. In. Out. She found a steady rhythm. Gradually it became easier as her passage was moister and less impervious.

Relief surged through her. The difficult part was surely over, and he was no longer pulling at his bindings. He no longer gave any signs that she hurt him. She could do this. ’Twas simply a matter of moving her body in a steady rhythm just like she did when she timed her movement to the trot of her horse. The man’s appendage slid in and out of her quite fluidly now, and there was no more pain for her—just a subtle friction with the movement and slight tenderness of her inner flesh as she stretched to take him in. Tenderness and then...something a little more—something impossible to name. A sudden yearning that struck her without warning—a need to feel him deeper, to have his thickness move in and out of her slick feminine sheath faster.

Oh, Saints above, what was happening? What was this?

As she intuitively picked up pace, the male groaned again and the tension and opposition of his body vanished. His hips beneath her began to thrust up as she thrust down, to pull away as she lifted herself up—working with her instead of struggling against her.

Aye. This must surely be pleasurable for him now just as Ysabel had said it would be, for his resistance had ceased.

The hard, male strength of him hit a sweet spot against her inner flesh and she craved more. Thoughts emptied from her brain as she became mesmerised by the sensation of their coupling and the rhythm of their movement. Her body strived for the promise of something special that seemed just out of reach no matter how much she strained to attain it.             

Their mating went on until finally his massive frame went completely rigid, shuddered and he let out a deep, guttural cry that was muffled by the sack. At first she panicked, wondering whether he was having some sort of fit—whether he was in fact suffocating with his head in the sack.

She was about to call out to her servants, climb off him and rip the sack from his head when she felt the warm spurt of liquid deep within her.

His seed!

Lisette sent a prayer heavenward as she realised all was well with the man beneath her. She pumped up and down for a little longer. Then, she almost collapsed against him in relief. She had achieved her goal. God be praised! This man’s seed now bathed her womb. Provided they were both fertile, she may even be impregnated by this first joining.

She rested for a moment, listening to his laboured breathing, and did not move until she felt his rod begin to lose its strength. As she shifted and his member eased out of her, ’twas accompanied by a sticky wetness. Lisette had never been more grateful.

Lord Collins would not claim her maidenhead. She had given away her virtue, and she had surely just given her soul to the devil, but in so doing she may have just saved not only her mortal life but Genevieve’s as well.

Relief warred with remorse and guilt over the magnitude of her wrongdoing as the detachment she’d worked so hard to achieve, receded. There was no doubt her act had been sinful even if her motivation had been borne of desperation.

Would the man lying beneath her forgive her if he knew he was her only chance?

Self-reproach would not alter the crime she’d just committed. In time, God would punish her. Until her day of reckoning she must live with her conscience knowing that she had done what was necessary. Ultimately she would drive herself mad if she continued to dwell on her actions, and that would not be of benefit to Genevieve.

The stranger would be well compensated for the moral crime she perpetrated against him. When they returned him to where they had found him, John and Frederick would leave him with food and silver coin which would be generous payment for the use of his body and robbing him of his seed.

When she left this hut and faced those she had enlisted to help her, she would hold her head high and show no shame to them. If they knew how badly she felt they would insist that she abandon her plan. They would admonish themselves for not having been able to dissuade her from this path and she would not let her own guilt become theirs.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the man.

He gave a short, terse growl back.

Carefully, she stood up. Still with her skirts pulled up, she made her way to the small basin and dampened a cloth to wipe away the stain of blood which marked her inner thighs.

She’d cheated her guardian of his victory in witnessing her deflowering, although Ysabel had provided a solution to that so neither Lord Collins nor Lord Blake would ever guess the truth. In keeping with tradition, there would be a blood-stained sheet from her wedding bed to drape in Lord Collin’s great hall and none would be any the wiser.

All was progressing exactly according to plan.

So
, she reflected, casting a glance over to the powerful male frame that lay unmoving on the hay bed,
that was what mating was all about.
It must definitely be more pleasurable for the male than it had been for her, for men to want to repeat it. The act had only left her strangely physically dissatisfied and sore.

She moved toward the outstretched male figure and reached for a blanket to both warm him and cover his nakedness. Pausing in the act, she drank in his powerful thighs and snatched a glance at the masculine appendage that now lay dormant on its soft bed of hair. She prayed fervently that such a strong, masculine body would prove fertile.

Her gaze drifted upward over the coarse woollen shirt covering his wide chest and shoulders and she wondered about him. Large hands. Strong forearms. What did he do? Judging from his dress, he was a peasant—probably a farmer rather than a blacksmith because his upper arms were very strong but not overly bulging like the village smithy.

Did he have a family already? A wife and children who would be missing him?

Forcibly she closed her mind on her curiosity as the thoughts made her throat clog once again with sadness. His identity mattered not to her mission. It mattered not if he had a family and they missed him, for he would return safely to them soon enough and he would be much richer. The only thing that mattered was whether John and Frederick had chosen wisely and that this man could help her conceive a child—an heir for Lord Collins—when all the other Collins’ brides had failed.

“I promise all will be well for you,” she told the man on a sob. “You will be looked after while you are here and will be back where you belong in the next few days. I vow you will be none the worse for your time here.”

In desolation she knew her future would never be the same again. Her soul would be forever blackened by her shame and guilt.

As often as possible over the next few days leading up to her wedding, Lisette would make the short trip into the village in pursuit of her goal. She would revisit this stranger to milk him of his seed in the hope of becoming with child.

Chapter 4

Collins Keep

“You are so beautiful Lisette,” Genevieve told her wistfully. “I hope I will be a bride as beautiful as you!”

Lisette stiffened at the innocent words. Her younger sister would make a far more beautiful bride. She only hoped that what she had done before she left Bridlemere proved fruitful so Genevieve would never become Lord Collins’ bride.

“You are beautiful, m’lady. You are the image of your mother.” Ysabel agreed.

The mention of her mother made Lisette bite down on her lip to try to stem the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. Would her parents be ashamed of her or would they understand that she had done the only thing she could think of to save both herself and Genevieve? With her parents gone, the burden of responsibility for her sister pressed down on her acutely. The threat of having Genevieve as Collins’ next wife was now in God’s hands. Lisette had done all she could in that regard. But, after their guardian’s disgraceful behaviour, Lisette worried about leaving Genevieve in his household—even though Ysabel, John and Frederick had promised to do all they could to keep her out of harm’s way.

Mayhap if she pleased Lord Collins, Lisette would be able to convince him to have Genevieve stay here at Collins Keep and try to influence a suitable matrimonial match.

“The cornflower blue shade of your gown exactly matches your eyes,” Genevieve went on, completely oblivious to the agitation churning in the cauldron that was Lisette’s stomach. “Your shiny blonde hair must make all the angels in heaven jealous.”

This time the child’s words added weight to the already heavy state of Lisette’s conscience. The angels would not be jealous, but were they standing by her as she went to her marriage? She prayed the company of Heaven had not turned their backs on her. Every day she would strive to do good in other ways and hope to make up for what had already consigned her to an eternity in Hell.

The man she had so sorely used was most likely back with his family now celebrating his good fortune, but the knowledge that he would be freed a richer man had brought her little consolation as she had continued to visit him. The dark circles under her eyes were a testimony to her sleepless nights and her troubled conscience. A few times she had been at breaking point, sure she could not continue with her plan, and then she would see Genevieve and force herself to make the trip back to John’s hut in the village.

“Come, Genevieve,” Ysabel directed. “We must away to the chapel.” Then, giving Lisette a motherly hug, she whispered, “I will ’ave what you need at the wedding feast. I will slip it to you then.”

Left alone, Lisette sank to her knees and prayed again for both forgiveness and protection. In her complete naivety, she’d thought procuring the seed she needed would be easy—a sheer physical act. She hadn’t thought of the man she rode as a person, just as a body that would provide her with what she needed. In reality, even though she could not see his face and did not know his name, she was eaten alive with remorse. Ysabel had found her crying the day before they left Bridlemere and knew she carried the burden of her guilt. Lisette’s only consolation was her maid’s assurance that in the act of emptying his seed into her womb, the stranger experienced physical pleasure. When there had been no turning back, Ysabel had done her best to cheer Lisette, reminding her that the man had been well compensated with food and silver coin upon his release.

’Twas not long before the door to her chamber burst open and her guardian strode in. There was satisfaction and malice in his expression.

“Praying will do you no good,” he scoffed. “Your betrothed awaits and he has been warned about your fiery temper.” With a rough tug Lord Blake dragged her to her feet. “He assured me he will punish you if you so much as put a foot out of place.”

Cold dread leeched through her, making her throat dry at the thought of the threat which awaited her. With firm resolve, she pushed her fears away.

“I doubt Lord Collins will be well pleased if I present at his bed with bruise marks from your fingers.” She looked pointedly at where Lord Blake’s fingers bit into the soft flesh of her upper arms.

Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer. The stench of his body odour repulsed her.

“He won’t be worried about that part of your body.” His gaze travelled to the swell of her breasts and she heard his breathing quicken. “Were you the daughter of a serf and not bound for marriage to a lord, I would enjoy my
Droit du Seigneur
. Observing the boundaries of honour is vastly overrated, I fear.”