Purebred (8 page)

* * * *

The next evening he did not see Lady
Isobel until dinner in the great hall. All day spent on the
training field, putting the Baron's soldiers through their paces,
he thought of her. Just as she'd told him, she was not afraid. She
had great inner strength and the will of a survivor. He admired her
for that too, not just her delectably welcoming body. She was a
woman whose silences meant as much as her words — if not more.
There was intelligence and wit behind those startling green eyes
and her husband mistook it for witchcraft.

Alonso, seated on his horse to watch
overfed soldiers gallop up and down a field wielding clumsy swords
at bales of straw, wished suddenly that he was a man of more
learning and wisdom. Something more than a plain-spoken warrior.
Lady Isobel made him experience self-doubt for the first time in
his life when she looked at him with scorn upon her face. He wished
he might impress her in a manner she could appreciate, but he was
no poet or minstrel. Therefore he must hope to melt her proud
exterior in bed.

It was unsettling to feel this much
uncertainty and desire, yet the newness of it was alluring and kept
him looking forward to the night ahead of them.

At dinner her husband made a toast to
"fertility", but that was the only reference made to what had
occurred. And what would occur again that night.

Impatient to finish dinner, Alonso
drank little and ate quickly, his mind traveling constantly to
thoughts of fucking her again. If only Louvet did not insist on
watching. An audience had never bothered him before. Indeed, he was
accustomed to sharing women with his six brothers. But the Baron's
comments and commands were intrusive. If he struck Lady Isobel
again tonight Alonso was not sure he could hold back his venom. Of
course, if he did not, he would be replaced. Louvet had made it
plain that he must follow orders completely or he would not be
required again.

It was difficult,
frustrating.

In order to try and forget the Baron's
presence at the foot of the bed, Alonso decided to concentrate his
thoughts on taming Isobel, making her trust him completely. She was
a woman bound up by invisible ribbons that kept her from enjoying
life as it should be enjoyed. Such a waste of a beautiful
woman.

Yes, she was beautiful. Even when she
frowned and tried not to be. It might surprise her to know it, but
he would not care if she was a witch. He found her intriguing, like
a riddle. Usually, once he'd had a woman Alonso could quickly
forget her and any mystery she might once have held. It was not so
with Isobel. A man might never get to the bottom of all her
secrets.

But he could damn well try.

* * * *

When she laid upon her husband's bed
that evening Isobel noted there were extra candles lit. Apparently
Louvet had complained he could not see well enough the night
before.

Alonso tied her wrists again to the
bed, but this time she began on her back.

"I have the gift I promised you," he
said as he knelt over her. "Something for the little cherries atop
your sweet titties, my lady."

He had two wooden clamps, little
devices that looked as if they belonged in a torturer's
dungeon.

"That's a gift?" she exclaimed
skeptically.

Grinning, he leaned down and took
first one nipple and then the other between his lips, teasing and
tugging on them until they stood proud. She wished it was possible
to stop her body from reacting to his touch this way. Her nipples,
however, submitted eagerly to his wretched sucking and tonight, as
he licked around her dark areolas, he whispered, "One day my babe
will suckle here."

Behind him her husband grumbled, "It
won't be your babe, d'Anzeray. It'll be mine. Just get on with
it."

The man leaning over her
looked deep into her eyes, and she read his thoughts there as if he
spoke them aloud.
Mine
, they said.
My babe. My
woman.

Isobel caught her breath and looked
away, anxious that her thoughts might appear on her face
too.

"Make haste, d'Anzeray! There is too
much of this useless preparation. Who cares if she's ready or not?
Fuck her, spill your seed."

"Perhaps you'd like to show me how
it's done," Alonso snapped over his shoulder.

Isobel froze. Alarm swept through her.
Oh, no. This was not good. Not good at all. Her husband could end
this here and now. Her heart almost ceased to beat and before she
could stop herself she had looked into her lover's dark eyes again.
Deep into them.

There was a heated pause.

Finally, Alonso muttered an apology
and blamed his terse words on his own impatience to rut. "You are
right, my lord," he added. "I spend too much time preparing the
wench. I thought that was what you desired to see, but I will do as
you wish. Whatever you wish."

"Good. Get on with it." Louvet
stumbled around the bed. "Give those titty clamps to me and I'll
put them on her. You just do the fucking."

Isobel took a careful breath and
closed her eyes. Almost instantly she felt her husband's rough,
swollen fingers fumbling at her sensitive nipples, his ragged
unkempt fingernails scratching her tender skin. He clamped first
her left nipple and then the right. Fierce pain ensued. He had
clamped them too tight, of course, and when he laughed and jostled
them with his clumsy fingers her breasts ached, her nipples
throbbed. She wanted to scream but somehow bit it back. Now he
shouted at Alonso to fuck her.

She opened her eyes as she felt his
hard cock pushing between her legs again. At least that sensation
would soon overcome the pain, she thought hopefully. But Louvet
remained at the side of the bed, pulling on the clamps while Alonso
did his task. She groaned, her nipples burning, the screams
building.

Then, to her intense relief, her
tormentor decided he needed more wine. Losing interest in her
breasts, he fell back to his chair. While he was busy pouring his
wine, Alonso speedily and efficiently loosened the screws on the
wooden clamps.

Isobel was so grateful she felt
obliged to mouth a "thank you". He smiled and licked around her
aching nipples to bring them further relief. Then he resumed the
fucking as ordered, rough and hard. But he kept his eyes on hers
and this time she did not look away.

Chapter Six

For the next two nights the couplings
continued the same way. The Baron was always present, shouting
commands from the foot of the bed while he got steadily drunk. On
each occasion Alonso was expected to spend twice at least and he
had no difficulty with this rule. The Lady Isobel's body had
charmed him as if she was indeed a witch, and he had a never-ending
supply of seed.

But one rule he did not
like was the Baron's insistence that the lady get no pleasure from
the mating. In defiance Alonso made certain Lady Isobel enjoyed
just as many climaxes as did he, although he had to be careful in
doing so, for her husband watched them like a hawk. He did not mind
how the Baron might take out his anger on
him
, but he didn't want Isobel
punished for enjoying herself. Nor did he want another stud
randomly picked out to take his place in bed with her. Suspicious
of Louvet and his motives, he sent a message to his brothers.
Hopefully one or two would arrive soon and provide reinforcements
should the Baron talk of calling on other men to service his
wife.

Each night he sent a tray of food and
drink to the lady's chamber with the same discretion.

Since the Baron had decreed no words
would be exchanged between them during the daylight hours, Alonso
kept out of her way to avoid temptation, but this only increased
his eagerness for the nightfall when he would see her
again.

One morning, while he stood in the
yard, talking to a groom, he glanced up at her window and saw her
looking down again. She wore a simple gown of emerald wool that
matched her eyes. Even from that distance he could admire their
brilliant color. Her hair that day was tied in two braids and she
looked youthful. While he watched she bit into an apple and chewed
slowly, her eyes thoughtful, studying him.

His first thought was gladness to see
her eating, but then the sight of her pink lips settling over the
juicy flesh and her small, white teeth tearing into the fruit made
his cock pulse and stretch in his chausses.

When she licked her lips and took
another bite he could hear the crisp sound as if she stood right
beside him.

By now he expected her to close her
window with a haughty flourish, as she usually would whenever she
saw him watching her, but instead she leaned her shoulder to the
open shutter and, if he was not mistaken, she had almost
smiled.

The third bite was larger, greedier
and made Alonso completely forget his conversation with the groom.
He glanced hastily around the yard and seeing no one else watching,
he moved closer until he was directly under her window.

He was still thinking of something to
say, when she began to hum a soft, lilting tune. One he recognized
as a tune the minstrels often played. Then she began to sing in the
tongue of their conquered land.

Bryd one brere, brid, brid
one brere,
Kynd is come of love, love to crave
Blythful biryd, on me thu rewe
Or greyth, lef, greith thu me my grave.

Alonso leaned against the wall below
her window, looking out into the yard in case the Baron should
appear.

"You are the bird on my briar, Lady
Isobel," he said as she paused her song.

"You, mercenary, should not speak to
me," she replied softly, her voice falling through the air to where
he stood, like petals tossed to a serenading lover. "My lord Louvet
would not like it."

"I do not care what
your lord
likes." He
paused. "I care what
you
like."

She sang on,

Hic am so blithe, so
bryhit, brid on brere,
Quan I se that hende in halle:
Yhe is whit of lime, loveli, trewe
Yhe is fayr and flur of alle.

"I need to see you without him," he
said suddenly, surprising himself and apparently her too. She
paused her song on a hiccup.

"That is impossible, as well you
know."

"Nothing, Isobel, is
impossible."

"How dare you address me
thus?"

"I thought you were no coward? Is that
not what you told me?"

Silence.

"Isobel?"

Crunch
.

"Isobel, I will come to your chamber
this afternoon, or you can come to the stables." Louvet would be at
his half-built chapel for a few hours, looking over the
construction progress and stealing coin from the donation plate no
doubt. He had installed a statue that he claimed contained the
blood of several martyrs, and with this lure to draw pilgrims from
across the land he hoped to collect a tidy amount for his own
coffers. It was one of the few times when he left the safe walls of
his manor and therefore it would be a rare opportunity for the two
of them to be alone together.

The more Alonso thought of it, the
more he wanted it. There was much he could not say or do under the
watchful eye of her husband.

But she resumed her song
through a mouthful of juicy apple.

Mikte ic hire at wille
haven,
Stedefast of love, loveli, trewe,
Of mi sorwe yhe may me saven
Ioye and blisse were were me newe.

"Isobel—"

"Stop calling me that."

"‘Tis your name."

"But I do not call
you...Alonso."

He liked the sound of his name on her
lips. "You should." He chuckled. "Better that than
Bastard-son-of-a-whore."

"What do you want from me? You know
what Louvet expects. You heard his rules."

"The d'Anzeray do not care for
rules."

"I wonder what you
do
care about,
mercenary."

Alonso had no immediate answer, at
least none that made any sense. He could hear her scornful comments
already if he ever suggested his feelings for her had grown beyond
lust. "You will find out if you meet with me in secret, my
lady."

He heard her sigh gustily. "How
tiresome you are to stand beneath my window and tempt me with vague
promises. Anyone might think you a lovelorn suitor."

He grinned. "In that case I would be
the one singing to you, my lady, not the other way
about."

"I sing not to you, fool!
I sing for my own pleasure. Purely that and for no other
reason."
Crunch
.
"In any case," she mumbled through another mouthful of apple, "I'm
sure I sing better than you."

"Indeed, Lady Isobel. You would not
want me to sing to you, I fear. You would be forced to cover your
ears or feel them bleed."