Knight of Seduction (14 page)

“I’m a lord tonight,” Henry retorted, clutching his cock and giving it a stroke. 

The girl giggled and folded a towel around his waist.  The other sidled over to Hugh.

“What’s it to be, my lord Hugh?” she asked.  “Will we wash you or not?”

“Yes, Hugh”—Henry’s words were slurred—“shed your breeches.  Show them that massive rod of yours.”

They were snickering, slapping their thighs and guffawing, and Hugh might have spun and walked out, but the door behind him slammed open.

He whipped about to find Anne storming in like an ocean tempest. 

“What is going on in here!” she demanded, and Hugh flushed with mortification.

It wasn’t her business to interfere with his personal life, wasn’t her business to tell him what he could or couldn’t do, but he was terribly embarrassed.

Henry was, too.  Suddenly appearing much more sober, he straightened and slid away from the girl who had been attached to him like a leech on a thigh. 

As for the two girls, they were panicked, frantically peeking at Hugh, hoping he would rescue them from Anne’s wrath.  But Hugh wasn’t about to shield them.

“You harlots!” Anne fumed.  “Why are you in my home?  Get out!  Now!”

She was clutching the leather strop he used to sharpen his razor.  She raised it and began raining down blows on them.  They yelped with terror and ran out, Anne slashing and whacking at their bottoms until they were beyond her reach.

Then she turned to Henry and Hugh.  They hung their heads in shame. 

“Master Henry,” she seethed, “if you ever bring a whore into this castle again, there will be consequences.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Lady Anne.  I apologize.”

“I will not say anything to Father Eustace this time, but should I catch you again, I will request that he have you scourged in the village, while the whole town watches.  Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Lady Anne.  Yes.  Again, I most humbly apologize.”

Henry slithered out, giving Hugh a glance of commiseration as he passed, then Hugh was left to face Anne all alone.

Anne looked like an ancient goddess, like a female warrior.  Her veil was off, her auburn hair flowing down her back.  In her fury, she seemed taller, invincible.

“Am I your wife, Lord Hugh?” she spat.  “Am I your wife, or am I not?”

“Yes, Anne, you are my wife.”

“We were married in a church, before God and His priest.”

“Yes, we were.”

“Then you will never—I repeat,
never!—
ask another woman to wash you.”

“I won’t.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize it would upset you so much.”

“Not
upset
me?  You know my father’s history.  You know my history.  I was forced to abandon the convent for you.  I have assumed my role as you commanded.”

“You’ve done very well,” he half-heartedly offered, not sure where her defense of Cadel mixed into the mess.

“Is this to be my reward?  Am I to spend my years as Blodwin did, constantly humiliated by every loose harlot who tickles your fancy?  I won’t have it, I tell you.  I absolutely won’t have it.”

Tears sprang into her eyes and flooded down her cheeks.  She swiped at them with her hand.

“Anne…I…”

He reached for her, but she slapped him away. 

“Take off your breeches.  You wanted to bathe, and bathe you shall.  Get in the tub.”

She pitched the strop on the floor, then slammed about, banging cupboard doors as she retrieved soap and cloths. 

He observed, frozen with consternation.  He’d seen weeping females before, crying over their dead husbands on a battlefield, cursing as an army stormed through and marched off with the last of the food.

    But he’d never seen tears like these.  He’d never hurt a woman like this, where he was close to her, where he was the reason she was so angry.  Who cried when they were angry?

It made no sense, and it disturbed him on many levels.  As a man.  As a knight.  As her husband.

She’d knocked over a stack of towels, and as she was crossly folding them, he walked over and laid his hand on hers.

“Anne, would you stop and listen to me?”

“Remove your breeches!” she shouted.  “Get in the tub, Lord Hugh.”

For a moment, he hovered, anxious to draw her into his arms, to hug her to his chest, but with the state she was in, he didn’t think solace would be welcome.

At a loss, he was eager to console her, to mend what he’d done, but he had no idea how.  He went over to the tub, stripped, and settled into the water.  The heat instantly soothed him, and he shut his eyes and sighed with pleasure.

He heard her approach, heard her pull up a stool and plop down.  He would have liked to look at her, but was too much of a coward.

He lounged, letting her tend him, her soft fingers roaming over his skin.  She was muttering under her breath, and the main essence seemed to be that he was an inconsiderate oaf, a thoughtless brute.

Since he generally agreed, he didn’t contradict her.

When he made out the words
lying dog
, he was spurred to comment.

“I’m not a liar.”  He opened his eyes and frowned at her.

“Liar.”

“I’m not!”

“Ha!  A liar tries to claim he’s not one.  It’s not much of a way to win an argument, Lord Hugh.”

He hated how she kept calling him
Lord
Hugh—as if his title was a curse.

He wanted her to calm herself, wanted her to smile and fondly gaze at him as she had in the past, but he didn’t know how to bring them back to that spot.

“How have I lied to you?” he asked.

“You spoke vows,” she said.  “Mind, I didn’t speak any. 
You
did.  You promised to be faithful.  You promised to honor and cherish me.  And you being the king’s favorite knight!  You’re despicable.”

She’d been scrubbing his hair, and she dumped a pail of water over his head.  He sputtered and wiped the droplets off his face.

“I admit it,” he mumbled.  “I’m a liar.  It’s my worst fault.”

She scoffed with disgust.  “What are we to do now?  Is this how I am to carry on with you?  Am I to tiptoe around you, having no authority, dodging your temper, saving the people you wish to kill, and chasing off your whores?”  She threw a cloth in the water, causing another huge splash.  “Is that to be my lot?  For if that is your plan, you should be aware that I will not live like this.”

She was wearing only her shift, and she’d rolled up the sleeves.  The steam in the room had wetted the front so the fabric was stuck to her shapely breasts.  Her hair had curled in the heat, whorled strands of auburn sticking to her cheeks.

“You’re very pretty when you’re furious,” he said.

“Be silent.”

“I love how your eyes flash when you’re scolding me.”

“Don’t flatter me, my lord husband.  It won’t work.”

Won’t it?
he wondered.   Every female in the world liked to be flattered.   

He clasped her wrist and drew her to him.  “Why don’t you join me?”

She scowled.  “What?”

“Disrobe and get in the tub with me.”

“Bathe with you?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him, then at the tub, and her scowl deepened.  “Men and women…they bathe together?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“You swear this to be true?  You’ve done this before?”

He shrugged, looking sheepish.  “Well…”

She snorted with annoyance.  “Whoring dog.”

“I was hardly a virgin when I married you.  Don’t expect me to pretend that I was.”  He lifted a wet finger, placed it on her chin, then traced a hot trail down her neck, her chest, stopping at her cleavage.  “Climb in, Anne.  You know you want to.”

She pushed him away and rose to her feet. 

“If I oblige you—I’m not saying I will—but
if
I do, we’ll fornicate?”

“Yes.”

“In the water?”

“Yes.  Haven’t you missed me?”

She was such a bawdy vixen at heart, and she was clearly transfixed by the notion of what he’d suggested.  She ran her tongue across her bottom lip, pondering, calculating.

“Tell me something first,” she said, and he grinned, knowing he’d ensnared her.

“What?”

“While you were away, were you sampling tavern girls at every inn on the road?”

“No.”

“And how about this evening?  Did that whore put her mouth on you?”

“No.  I was hoping you’d arrive and do it instead.”

“Lying dog,” she muttered again.

His gaze dipped to her breasts.

“Strip for me.  Let me see you.”

“On one condition.”

“What?”

“Now that you’ve returned, promise me you won’t hang Cadel.”

He’d already decided he wouldn’t.  Cadel would leave for London when Hugh’s other knights rode off.

He sighed, appearing greatly aggrieved.  “Oh, all right.  I won’t.”

She studied him, searching for any indication of deceit, but it had eluded her.  The little fiend.  She wasn’t as astute as she imagined herself to be.

“Your clothes, Anne.  I’m tired of waiting to have you.”

“You poor, spoiled child.  We wouldn’t want your command to be ignored, would we?  You might throw a tantrum.”

Shocking him, she reached for the hem of her shift and drew it off.  She stood before him, naked and not concerned in the least that she was.

A bolt of desire shot through him that was so potent, he was lucky he was prone.  If he’d been standing, he might have been knocked over by the power of it.

She walked to the edge of the tub, then she stepped over the side and dropped to her knees, her thighs straddling his. 

He took her hand and guided it to his rod, and she skillfully stroked him.  He toyed with her breast, playing with her nipple, the slight pressure making her arch her back and purr.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

“Your cock has anyway,” she grumbled.

“Some of the rest of me has, too.”

“Are you still glad you married me?” she asked.

“I’m still glad.  Why would you think I’m not?”

“You were so enraged with me over Cadel, then you left without a good-bye.”

They stared and stared, and she seemed as if she might add something more, but whatever it was, she couldn’t spit it out.  As for himself, he was caught on the verge of chatter again.  He wanted to tell her that he’d been lonely on the road, that he’d regretted their quarrel and should have handled the situation differently. 

He wished he knew her better, how to talk to her, how to reason with her.  But he didn’t know much about women, and he most especially didn’t know much about
her.
 

The silence grew and stretched, becoming profound and intimate.  Any secret might have been shared, any story told, but it wasn’t.  If they started unburdening themselves, they might never stop.  Then where would they be?

She broke off the weighty exchange, falling forward, her body stretched out across his.  She buried her face at his nape, and he wrapped an arm around her, his palm caressing her back.

“Forgive me,” she pleaded.

“Of course, I forgive you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you so angry.”

“I realize that.”

“Be kind to me, Hugh.”

“Always, Anne.  I’ll always be kind to you.”

He might have said more, but didn’t.  There were so many words on the tip of his tongue, begging to spew out, but he simply couldn’t speak them aloud.  He could communicate with her in only one fashion, that being sexual copulation.  He could show her—physically—how much he cherished her.  They would fornicate.  They would bathe and romp.  They would ease the tension that had festered. 

It was all he could give her.  It was all he could do.  He kissed her, urging her into the carnal games he’d taught her.  She was on top, and he would let her have her way.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I don’t wish for you to choose my daughter’s husband.  Neither does my daughter.”

“Then you should have seen to it years ago.  You’ve surrendered your chance to handle it yourself.”

Blodwin peered up at Hugh.  He was sitting on the dais, ensconced in the spot that used to be hers and staring back with his usual cool expression.  She’d like to find a way to rattle him, to generate an emotion besides bored disdain.

They were in the great hall, and Hugh holding his daily audience.  The room was filled with tradesmen and farmers.  They were agog, listening as she discussed what should have been a private family matter.  Hugh was humiliating her in front of everyone, and she’d never forgive him for it. 

After Cadel had confessed his attempted murder, Hugh had declined to meet with her on any topic.  Whenever she tried to approach him, his vapid cousin, Henry, would step in her path. 

She hadn’t been able to get within twenty feet of Hugh.  She’d sent several messages through Henry—with questions about the castle, her status, his plans for Cadel, for Rosamunde—but Henry always returned with the same answer. 

Hugh had no reply.

She’d been effectively neutered, and she couldn’t abide her fall from power. 

Her role as mistress of Castle Morven had suited her.  With Ranulf away, chasing heathens in the Holy Land, Blodwin had garnered an authority and clout rarely enjoyed by a woman.

But with Hugh’s arrival, it had all vanished.

Anne had seized control of the castle.  The few times Blodwin had given orders, she’d been bluntly informed that servants were to follow Anne’s commands and no others.

In the past, when Blodwin was stymied, she’d had her dear Eustace to bolster her influence, but he’d been trounced, too.  Hugh had no respect for the church and refused to accept guidance or advice from Eustace.

Hugh’s behavior had forced Blodwin into the untenable position of publicly begging him for favors as if she was no different than a milkmaid or a tanner.  She took a deep breath, struggling for calm, knowing that a spurt of temper would get her nowhere with him.

Rosamunde stood in the rear, seething with resentment, and Blodwin was afraid she might explode as Cadel had.  Blodwin would lose them both to rash conduct and imprudent thinking.

“I’m told,” Blodwin said, “that you’ve heard from the king’s clerk regarding your request that Rosamunde wed.”