Purebred (9 page)

This time he made her laugh. It was a
soft, shy sound he had never before heard and it lifted his
heart.

When she suddenly tossed the remains
of her apple down to him, he saw she had scratched a word in the
green peel.

Yes.

What it meant he had no idea. Yes to
what?

Above his head her shutters closed
with a bang, leaving him with her apple. Alonso placed his mouth
over the print of her teeth and took a large, greedy
bite.

It did not matter what she meant. It
was a 'yes’. That was enough for him, because he already knew she
was a woman who found it much easier to say 'no'.

* * * *

He was, of course, quite thick-headed,
she thought. The man might not realize that her simple word meant
she intended to meet him later in the stables.

As she slipped across the yard an hour
later, rain beating on the hood of her mantle, she feared he would
not be there. Perhaps he went to her chamber instead. Would that
not be a comedy of errors? But there was not enough room on that
remaining apple peel to explain herself and with Jeanne's footsteps
approaching her chamber she'd had no chance to shout down to him.
She had to keep this secret from her maid, for what Jeanne didn't
know could not cause her harm.

Oh, what was she doing? This was
madness. Sheer madness.

If the Baron found out it would be the
end of this "servicing" and very likely the end of her heartbeat. A
few months ago she had not felt as if there were many reasons to
cling to life, but now, suddenly she had several of
them.

She walked quickly through the rain,
her head down. But she did not run. That might draw attention to
her and make folk look twice. Fortunately, in this dismal weather
most residents of the manor took shelter in the great hall where it
was warm, so she succeeded in crossing from one side of the yard to
the other without meeting a soul who stopped to curtsey or even
look at her face.

By the stable wall she paused to sniff
the wild climbing roses that thrived there. Today they held
raindrops that nestled amid their petals and made the leaves shine.
When wet their fragrance seemed even softer, more poignant somehow.
Here in this place of war and dirt and violence, that such a thing
of beauty should survive always amazed her.

Once inside the stables she paused and
inhaled a great breath of hay and horse. Familiar smells that
reminded her of childhood on her father's castellany, when she hid
in the stables to avoid her chores. And her prayers.

A row of horses peered out at her,
some neighing when they recognized her, perhaps hoping she brought
them a treat as she often did. She loved horses. Fine, noble
creatures and not at all the dumb beasts many thought
them.

Was that when her opinion of Alonso
d'Anzeray had first begun to change, she wondered — when she saw
him take such diligent care of his horse? He took the same care of
her now too.

"My Lady Isobel, is that a smile on
your face? Sakes be, I never thought to see one on your sullen
lips!"

He was sitting in the hayloft, his
legs dangling above her head. She could reach up and pull him down
by his muddy boots. How could he see her smile from up
there?

"I am glad you came," he said. "Very
glad." And a wide smile split across his wickedly handsome
face

How easy it was for him to say when he
was happy or sad, she mused. He did not seem to mind showing his
feelings, yet she'd always been taught to keep hers well
hidden.

Isobel asked if there was anyone else
there and when he assured her they were alone, she mounted the
rickety ladder to the hayloft. The hood of her cloak fell back as
she looked up at him. "I hope you realize what a risk we both
take."

His smile did not falter. "I'm not
afraid of Louvet."

"But he could put an end
to...things...as they are now."

He took her hands and pulled her down
beside him in the warm hay. "You mean to say you do enjoy your
nights with me, woman? That you would miss me if I was sent away
from you?"

She swallowed, nervous
suddenly.

"There is no one here but me," he
whispered, still smiling. "You may admit your weakness for this
uncouth mercenary and no one but the two of us will ever know. So
you can deny it later if need be."

"Oh, hush!"

Suddenly he leaned in and kissed her
on the mouth. Isobel was one and twenty years of age and had never
been kissed on her lips. Never. Not by anyone.

And this had been strictly forbidden
by her husband.

But now he was not there.

It was just the two of
them.

She raised her hand to his face and
felt the stubble of an unshaven cheek. He was warm and so full of
life it brought foolish tears to her eyes again. This man was an
unstoppable force and he had claimed her. Not just her body. Her
interest. Her curiosity. Her amusement. Perhaps even her heart? No,
she could not believe that. Could not afford to think that, for
this would not last forever, would it? He would leave soon, his
tasks done. Then she would probably never see him again. Pain
ripped through her. The only way to stop thinking was to kiss him
back. To kiss him with all her strength and desire, to cling to the
time they had left.

His tongue tangled with hers, hungry,
eager, needy. Together they fell back into the soft hay and she ran
her hands over his broad, muscular shoulders, down his arms, linked
her fingers with his.

As their mouths parted at last she
whispered shyly, "I like what you do to me, mercenary."

"Oh, you do?" His brow arched. another
slow, sensuous smile working over his fine lips.

She reached the leather binding that
tied his hair at the nape of his neck and loosened it until most of
his dark, straight hair spilled free. "Yes. And you may do it to me
again now, if you wish."

"Oh, may I?"

She nodded, trying to remain
solemn.

"Only if you call me by my name," he
said, his dark gaze playing over her mouth and then down to the
side of her neck where she feared he must see the erratic pulse
beating.

Isobel took a deep breath. "Alonso.
Make love to me, Alonso."

His eyes opened wider and then he
kissed her neck, her chin, her lips again.

They rolled together, fumbling for
laces and hooks, getting hay in their hair, not caring in the
least.

He slid his hands up over her
stockings and cupped her pussy with his warm hand. "I want you to
bear my child, Isobel. Christ, I want it. I want it more than I
ever thought possible."

She wrapped her arms around his neck
and drew him down for another kiss. "Yes. Give me a babe." It would
be a part of him, of them both. A lasting treasure she would see
grow into his image, long after he had left her. He would leave one
day, of course. It was inevitable. He made his living by traveling
from place to place and fighting for those who hired
him.

The thought of watching him leave was
like the thrust of a sword through her heart.

Quickly she reprimanded herself for
pondering his departure again. No dour thoughts, no sadness. Not
today.

"I need you," she
whispered.

He laughed softly, his head bowed.
"Well, in truth you need my cock."

She tugged on his hair
until he looked at her. "I need
you
. Alonso."

He blinked and she thought she read a
tender question there, lightening the usual dark shadows of his
eyes. But instead of speaking, he entered her swiftly. She was more
than ready. The thick ridges of his cock slid into her as if they
kissed her inner walls and she clung to him, gasping in delight at
this stolen pleasure. Alonso hooked her leg over his arm and plowed
deeper still, grunting her name, planting damp kisses along her
shoulder and then back up the side of her arching neck. Despite the
urgency of their desire, there was gentleness today, a new warmth
that filled every inch of her.

They kissed until their lips were
numb, making the most of their chance, breaking all the
rules.

Was this what it felt like to be
enthralled by a man? To want his touch and his kiss at the risk of
her own life? She feared it was so. He had tricked her into it. The
bastard!

Later, as they lay in the hay, legs
wrapped around each other, she asked him about his infamous
brothers.

"First there is Salvador, then
Dominigo, Raul, then me, then Sebastien, Antonino and Ramon." He
paused. "Hmmm, maybe Ramon then Antonino. I forget who is
youngest."

"You all share the same
mother?"

He nodded. "My father never married
her. He had a wife already."

"You are close with your
brothers."

"Very. We are loyal,
steadfast—"

"And you share your wives."

Alonso smiled. "This is uncouth to you
no doubt."

"I do not know what it is," she
admitted frankly.

He tried to explain. "When we find
something good why not share it with the brothers we love? Why be
selfish? Besides we cannot all be home at once. This way they
always have a husband to help." He winked. "A husband to shout at.
Would you rather have one man to protect you or seven?"

Isobel thought about it. "It's not the
protection part that puzzles me. It's the seven men sharing me
part. In bed."

"Not just in bed, Isobel," he replied
with a wicked grin.

She feigned disgust. "And all seven at
once?"

"Sometimes. It depends."

Her pussy was moist again already and
since he had just slid his hand between her legs again, he would
know it. "Six more all like you?" she murmured
throatily.

"Uh huh. Some even more handsome than
me."

She looked askance.

He laughed. "Truly."

"I don't believe that for a moment,
Alonso d'Anzeray." A few moments later he was still laughing, and
she had to remind him to be quiet before someone heard them in the
hayloft.

Chapter Seven

"My lady, you look very happy today,"
observed Jeanne as she poured water to rinse Isobel's
hair.

"Do I? Goodness," she replied wryly,
"I cannot think what has come over me." But she knew what had come
inside her, many times now.

"Are you cold, my lady?"

"Not at all. The water is
warm."

"Oh, I thought I saw you shiver, my
lady."

Isobel leaned back against the side of
the wooden bathtub and took in a great breath of lavender and sage.
"Perhaps I did."

Jeanne set the bucket down
and knelt beside the tub. "Is it because of
him
?"

Isobel turned her head. "Him? What can
you mean?"

"The Blackheart," Jeanne whispered,
her eyes full and round. "The things he does to you."

A quick spurt of laughter shot out of
Isobel. She simply could not hold it back in her current giddy
mood. "He makes me happy, Jeanne. There is no other way around it.
I tried to resist his allure, believe me. No doubt this is how he
enchants all his female victims."

The maid sighed, her shoulders
slumped. "I thought so, my lady. But now he will go away and you
will be sad again."

The water suddenly felt colder. "Have
you heard talk of him leaving?"

"I heard the Baron say that Blackheart
has almost fulfilled his duties here and will not be needed much
longer. Good riddance, I say."

Of course. It would soon be known
whether she was pregnant or not. If there was a child in her belly
the Baron would not want Alonso hanging around any longer. He would
be paid off quickly and given his marching orders.

She looked down at her breasts, just
visible above the water. They appeared a little fuller than usual
and her husband had remarked upon it last night when he watched the
mating ritual. He had handled them in his sweaty palms, bouncing
them, testing their weight. But a slight tenderness and increase in
size could also be due to her forthcoming flux, as she had pointed
out to him.

"Don't worry, my lady. You'll still
have me," said Jeanne gallantly. "I won't leave you."

Isobel smiled. "I know, Jeanne. I
could never manage without you. You are a dear friend to
me."

"And you to me, my lady."

She looked at the little maid and saw
tears in her light golden lashes. "Whatever is the matter? Why this
somber face?"

"It's just that..." Jeanne fussed with
her apron and wiped it over her flushed cheeks, "I always thought I
would never see you quite this happy and content. Now you are and I
know I was not the cause of it. I wish I had been the one to make
you smile, my lady. You never looked at me the way you do at him. I
wish—"