How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel (9 page)

On his way to the manor, he paused by the well in the center of the square where a wee girl fought with a bucket. He bent to help her. She said bravely, “Would you eat me, Sir Beast?”

“No, no. I don’t prefer little girls. They’re too thin.” He winked.

Her eyes widened as he turned the crank, then carefully poured water into her carrier. “Will you be all right to carry that home? Tis a heavy load for such a wee one.”

“Yes, sir.” She dashed across the green and into a small stone house while her water spilled over the edges of her bucket.

He frowned, pondering the interaction. It was well and good to be The Beast of Thornhill while fighting in the crusades; quite another matter to head a town of shepherds and tradesmen. He followed his nose to the smell of roasting pork and spices wafting from the manor. How would he ever earn the hearts of this gentle folk?

When he entered the great room, a small crowd cheered and again his purse cringed. He’d need to broach that subject with her later. Right now, all he wanted was good food, good mead, and good company. He sat at the main table in the largest of carved oak chairs.

The sweet young ladies served root vegetables. A fine pig was roasted to perfection and spiced with saffron. He tried not to calculate the cost of the meal as he dined. Dame March poked her head out of the kitchen to see if all was well and he waved at her with a smile.

After cups had been refilled several times with strong mead, a young man took it upon himself to pull out a stringed instrument and sing a bawdy song. After six verses, all had learned the chorus and joined in the never-ending tune.

Suddenly, the music stopped and all eyes went to the great staircase. His lady stood at the top, wearing a gown of green wool, with bright yellow ribbons and edging. Her dark hair was pulled into a net of spun gold and she had lined her already thick lashes with black, making her appear more foreign and mysterious than the Sultan’s daughters.

Regally, she curtsied to him when she reached the landing, “My Lord, I’d dine with you if you would have it.”

It seemed as if the whole room held its breath. She wasn’t a witch and not a general. She was a goddess. Her sparkling, mischievous green eyes matched the shade of the dress. He stared, temporarily stunned by her beauty and grace. Up until now, he’d seen her only in boy’s tunics, in muslin, or covered in his blood and mud. Now, here she stood, a fine noble woman. His wife.

Thomas, at his left, nudged him. “God’s blood, say something, man.”

Ignoring his injury, he vaulted over the table and dashed up the stairs. “It would be fine, indeed, to have you at my side.”

He took her hand and held it high. The townspeople and his men cheered and hooted while he led her around the master table and sat. His eyes stayed upon her, spellbound. She’d come to him, by all that was holy, and he was undone.

Like a summer thunderstorm in the offing, noise rumbled back into the great room. Men pounded their knives on the table and the women clapped their hands. He nodded for the makeshift troubadour to start up again. If possible, the songs were even raunchier than before and the crowd rowdier. Mead flowed freely.

He robbed Lady Anne’s plate from the serving girl, cut the meat into fine pieces, and placed a bit on the tip of his knife. She opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her. Grinning, she cleaned her own knife and slipped it back up her sleeve. He rolled his eyes but laughed.

With cheer on her face and roses in her cheeks, she was beauty itself. Every time she moved, her hand slid against his, and his rod sprang to attention. He reached for a sweet fig covered in soft cheese and held it in front of her plump lips. She licked them and opened for a half bite. He brought the rest to his own mouth and her eyes followed. Moving in closer, he lightly brushed his lips against hers while his heart pounded louder than the tambourine.

While they were so engaged, a raucous jig began to play in the background. One of the miller’s daft sons approached, bowed low, and requested her hand, missing Marcus’ perfected scowl. When the boy’s eyes raised for permission, what else could be done in front of all? He nodded and she joined in the dance. Her tiny slippers flew and strands of her hair fell out of her net. Her breasts heaved with the exertion. Before the boy could take her for another go, Marcus stood, frowned, and held forward his hand. The crowd hushed and parted like the red sea and she came to him.

“Go on. Play.
I wish to dance with my fine wife. A bit slower, if you would.”

Pure tones of a flute blended with the tenor voice. The crowd circled them and watched. “It seems we’re to dance alone.”

Twinkling like a star in the desert, she took his hand and placed it to her lips. “‘Tis customary for newlyweds.”

“Ahh. Let us not disappoint.” He put his good hand to the small of her back and slid her to the space in the middle of the room, where the tables had been moved aside. “Is that what we are? Newlyweds?”

She nodded, stepped back, and curtsied in time to the music.

In the appropriate places, he bowed and led her around the hall. A few others joined at the second verse. “Are you ready? To be my wife?”

“I thought my back . . .” Blushing brightly, she curtsied, and the alabaster skin above her ample bosom heaved. “I’ve not danced for a very long time. I may not remember all the steps.”

He grinned. When they should’ve merely touched elbow to elbow, he feigned to slip, causing him to pull her close and steal a kiss.

“You did that on purpose,” she said when the movements allowed them to approach each other again.

“That’s enough. Come.”

Some of his men hooted when he led her up the stairs, but he lifted a hand for silence. “Fare thee well. We’ll see you all on the morrow. Guard well my keep for me.”

Giving the crowd a wicked wink, he bounded up the stairs and waited in silence at the accursed door. The enchanting Lady Ann had come willingly to dine and laugh with him. And now there was going to be more. Even if she didn’t wish to join with him tonight, he couldn’t remember being happier.

“I’d like to kiss you again.”

She tried to sink into the doorframe and turn away. A large tear dropped down her cheek. “Why? I’ll cause you nothing, but disgust. ‘Tis not my fault, you know.”

With both her soft hands in his, he brought them to his lips. “Believe me. Disgust is not how I feel when I hold you.”

Her charcoal-lined eyes glistened and another drop fell down her cheek, leaving a black stripe. “But there’s more. I’m not right.”

Gently twisting a wayward strand of black mane in his hand, he lifted her chin. Endless wet green meadows flickered in the candlelight. “Did your first husband damage you such that you can’t breed?”

Sighing, she turned an even brighter shade of red. “No, not that. Worse, I suspect. I don’t arouse a man into his, his . . .”

Taking a deep breath, she blurted, “My last husband told me his pintle would not stand for me. I was the cause of his inability to make an heir.” The floor became her primary focus.

“Ann. Sweet, sweet Ann.” Eyes closed, he pulled her dainty hand away from his mouth, down the length of his torso, and helped her fingers to curl around his throbbing staff. “It can’t be so. If you made me stand any straighter, I’d go mad.”

Her short nails dug into him and he moaned. “Open your chamber door and invite me in. All will be well, I promise you. I’m not your last husband, nor do I suffer from the same malady.”

“What?”

After a sharp inhale, he held his breath to gather another grain of self-control. Wrapping his good arm around her waist, he brushed her lips gently with his own. “A lady as beautiful as you could not be the cause of a man’s inability to become full.”

“Then why would he say such wicked things to me and beat me so?”

He nibbled on her chin and held her even closer. “I don’t want to speak of the old bastard. Instead, let me show you how it should be between a husband and a wife. Will you trust me?”

In his mind’s eye, he shouted triumphantly, then blew a horn of victory when she opened the large oak door wide. The flickering light from the fire in the hearth cast orange dancing shadows along the stone walls and across her gentle face. He kissed her cheek before turning to the door and closing it with a thud.

She gasped and edged away.

“I promise, you can run at any point. I just want some privacy. Come, let’s stand by the fire. It’s a cool night.” He walked her over to the hearth with a hand to the small of her back. Gently, he removed the gold net binding until hair fell like a waterfall, cascading down her back. Ignoring his injured arm, he pushed both hands through her silky mane and groaned.

“Are you in pain?”

“Shush. There are many kinds of pain. This one is the sweetest.” He placed his lips on hers and tried to open them with his tongue. “Have you never been kissed, m’lady?”

“Only by an impertinent weaver.” She grinned mischievously and opened her eyes.

“Ne’er before that?” He brushed his lips across her face.

“Why? Am I doing it wrong?” She tried to pucker her lips and he almost laughed out loud.

“Your kisses are more than fine. I’ll show you. ‘Tis simple. I kiss you first until something stirs and tightens, and you do the same to me.”

“How will I know?”

“You will.” He pulled her into his body and slipped a hand to her derriere. He put his mouth over hers and laid siege with his tongue to her teeth until she opened for him. He plundered the prize, thrusting in and out. In his mind’s eye, his hardened rod was doing the same.

Her tongue found his mouth and emulated him perfectly. She let out a little moan and her pelvis arched into his already painful staff. Her body, naturally more knowledgeable on the subject of mating, rubbed up and down his until he could feel the nubs of her breasts through their layers of clothes.

“Careful or this’ll be over before we set forth.” Stepping back, he circled behind her. His tongue laved her neck and teeth played with the ribbons on her tunic. The dress fell down in a green pool on the floor, and her hands shot up to cover her breasts. Rather than pull them away, he reached around and let his hand guide hers over her chemise. He showed her how she could caress herself.

“Thou art so beautiful, Ann of the Meadows. So sweet and lush, like a garden. Let me touch what thou hast already.” He moved her hands down to her waist. Remembering her response to their wedding, he let one finger wander up and bother a nipple until it pointed.

She inhaled and leaned back into him and let him have access to the other breast while turning her head, her lips in search of his. He complied. He tasted her neck, her ear, whatever piece of skin he could find that wasn’t clothed. When it was no longer enough, he turned her, lifted her arms, and pulled her under-shift over her head.

He laid her upon the wool-covered pallet. “I’d finish what I tried to start in the baths. But I’m afraid I can’t.” He sat beside her and lifted a foot.

Smiling angelically, she nodded and straddled him with her sweet derriere close enough to bite. One clean boot released with a mighty tug. When she fell back with the second, she landed snug in his lap. He chuckled, wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of lavender escaping her hair. Then he groaned softly.

“All is well with your arm?”

“It’s not that appendage which draws my attention at the moment. Would you help me with my shirt?”

“Aye.” She turned on her knees with her open passage inches from his bulging staff, she heaved his tunic up and away. Fascinated at his multiple scars, she touched each one.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly until he could endure no more. God’s blood, he wanted to plunder her. “You see why your body causes me no alarm? I, too, am maimed.”

He turned her so that her derriere rested near his rod, and her inner thighs caressed his outer. “I’ll place my hands on your wounds as you did to me.” He rubbed the scars of her back while opening his legs wider. Her wet core dampened him and his fingers found the space between the curls.

She tried to squirm away. “Sir?”

“Trust me. Thou art mine, and I’ll let nothing that is mine go to harm.” He backed his finger away and massaged her inner thighs. He circled his hand close to the dark triangle of hair, to the core of her sex, until she arched toward it.

“Thou art so ready for me. Let me tend to your needs.”

“What’re you doing to me?” She whimpered.

He chuckled, kissed the back of her neck, and drew her off his lap. Laying her down on the pallet, he said, “Look at me.”

With green eyes almost black with passion, she arched her back and opened her legs further. Pride surged as he caressed her ever-hardening core. She was so close to her need. “That’s right. Just give into the pleasure and let it go.”

Her nub tightened, her breathing stopped, and she screamed, bucking into his hand. He stayed there, enjoying her passionate release. Before the pulsations ceased, he eased his rod into her swollen, wet core. Too late, he felt the virgin muscle give way. Shocked, he stopped.

She pushed hard into his chest “Mayhap thou art too thick? You need to get off.”

How in the hell was the woman still a virgin?
“Wait, slow down. I will.”

“Thou art very large
, m’lord
. Her voice was small and strained as she tried to topple him off her body.

“Give yourself a moment to adjust. I promise we’ll fit.” He kissed her collarbone and tried to steady his own breathing. “Open your eyes. Trust me.”

And she did.
Thank God.
If only he’d known, he could’ve readied her better.

The light from the fire was almost naught, but he knew the instant she gave into him. She opened her legs, moaned, and he slid in further. A bead of sweat rolled off his face and onto her chest while he waited.

She sighed out his name and arched up with an innocence that drove him mad with desire. He waited for her to take her need again, rocking with blind abandon until she tightened, shuddered, and screamed. With a fierce shout, he finally let go and plunged into her. So. Tight. So. Good. He shouted, reached a height he’d never thought possible, and his seed burst out, filling her.

When he came to his senses, he opened his eyes and let his fingertip circle her body. He blew on her and little chicken skin bumps caused her to gasp and open her eyes to meet his gaze. She smiled and he was undone. His chest grew tight. He’d protect her through the fires of hell if that’s what it took to see her smile like that for all his days.