The Devil of Nettlewood (The Anarchy Tales) (17 page)

“Aye.”

A less than enthusiastic assent from a female who had been the very epitome of ardency compelled him to he ask, “Pray, tell me how have I upset you now?”

“You have not upset me. ’Tis only that—being paraded about like this is disconcerting. Until just recently, I was extremely shy.”

“Those days are gone, Mitri. Gone the way of Lord Harold’s holdings. I suggest you embrace the future.” He drew a hand over her distended nipples, back and forth across the crowns, and watched her writhe as a new climax approached. She had always been quick to respond to a touch, be it one of pain or delight, and the aphrodisiac made her more so.

He pushed his own lust aside temporarily, and gave her fair warning. “Mitri—verily, I am taken with you, but ’tis best you know I intend to be a hard taskmaster, regardless of how you bewitch me.”

He kneaded her belly and smiled as she panted. “There is a back staircase, a private route to the baths.”

“There is?” Hope of a reprieve colored her voice.

“Aye. But I would prefer not to use it, as I would enjoy showing you off to my men with the dildo sticking out of your wet slit, with my semen dripping out from the plug between your buttocks, with your nipples as sharp as spear points. Call it a matter of pride, of conceit, but there you have it. Allowing them to see you like this pleases me.”

“I can never return to innocence,” she fretted.

“Would you wish to?” he asked and restored the leash to its rightful place on her leather harness.

Actions speak louder than words, and sometimes a young wench needs convincing.

He placed his hand at the small of her back.

Just that one touch and her pelvis tilted, as if to eagerly receive a lover’s thrust.

And they both had their answers. Brooking no further arguments, he led her to the portal and brought her outside. Before the admiring stares of his personal guards and other assorted vassals who patrolled the halls at night, he brought her down below the keep, to the communal hot springs he ofttimes shared with visiting dignitaries.

She appeared dazed, slumberous even, but still receptive to his attention. When he removed her anal plug, she turned away and presented him with her backside.

He chuckled at her wantonness. Her obedience filled him with pride. “Not yet. After I bathe you.”

“Aye, my lord.”

He removed the dildo from her front and, after stripping off himself, took her hand, guiding her down the stairs into the water, smiling fondly at her gasp of unadulterated pleasure when the warm waters lapped around her upper thighs.

“Feels good, lambkin?”

“Heavenly.”

“Good. I know I have used you hard.”

“I am fit, my lor—”

He hushed her with a finger pressed to her lush lips. “You have no need to hold back the truth. You are sore from overuse. What you need to know is this—I will have you again anyway, sore or not. A man does not inquire over his whore’s health before telling her to bend over and touch the floor. And neither will I make such inquiries of you. If it suits me, I will take you when you have the megrims or when your woman’s time is upon you. Some of your future owners will be less kind.”

“You will be my last owner, so I need not concern myself with the vagaries of other men. I love you, my lord.”

“So say all whores,” he said sadly and began to bathe her.

She remained silent throughout. Her lack of conversation appealed to him just as much as did her chatter. A surprise, how much he enjoyed her companionship.

After he had finished attending to her in the bath, he dried her off with one linen cloth and wrapped her up in another. This had naught to do with any consideration of her modesty, which she must certainly lose before beginning her new occupation, but about her health. He would not have her take a chill on the journey back to his solar.

Once inside his bedchamber, he removed the linen and stood her warmed and yielding body before the wall. After his intimate handling of her in the bath, all her hills and valleys, he knew he would have to take her again as soon as they reached his solar. With that in mind, he had not restored her dildo or anal plug. After oiling her anew, he undid his braies and got out his cock.

“Shall I bend over again, my lord?”

“Nay, simply loosen your legs.”

As he slipped into her buttocks, his every muscle tightening in anticipation of pleasure, he complimented himself on the deal he had struck.

Talon would be most pleased with the little gem he had brought back with him from Lord Harold’s keep.

Chapter Eighteen

“Get up!”

Her master’s order, abrupt and unexpected, startled Mitri. Not, however, enough for her to obey, not after last evening. My, but every part of her ached.

Smack!

No light, playful tap this, the hand that landed heavily on the fullest portion of her already bruised posterior had her cursing him under her breath. Aye, she would do his bidding.

When she was good and ready.

At present, she was determined to return to the dreamless sleep he had so rudely interrupted.

Last eve, no nightmares of flesh burning had plagued her. ’Twas the first restful sleep she had enjoyed since mercenaries had torched her home and changed her life forever. For once, her master was not getting his own way. She was returning to sleep.

“Leave me be,” she shouted.

Smack, smack!

Without looking behind her, she stuck out her tongue.

Too bad about him. Lord Devil might be ready for another serious go-round, but she was not.

Despite his cold words outlining what she might expect from him in the future, the Devil had a very seductive side and his claim on her body had taken her to heaven. More than once. In fact, too many times to count…

And she was turning a repeat down?

Time enough to sleep when they buried her in her grave.

Amenable, though still drowsy after only a brief respite from a night of uninterrupted carnality, she assumed an all-fours positioning on his bed.

“Not that, and not now,” he said brusquely.

She could hardly believe her ears. Apparently something other than her body occupied the nobleman this morn.

Yawning hugely and brushing the hair from her face, she asked, “Then why awaken me?”

“Because garbing yourself in your sleep would prove difficult. I left you lad’s garb at the end of the bed. We are under attack and severely outmanned.”

“Mercenaries?” she asked, guessing. Forgetting her new piercings, she hopped from the bed.

And winced.

“Presumably, ’tis mercenaries,” he answered and steadied her. “And half my men are off at my brother’s keep plowing his fields. I was on my way back from there myself when you and I first met at Lord Harold’s holdings.”

She’d had no idea. “Oh.”

“We reciprocate, Talon and I. At planting time, we lend each other our troops, farmers for the most part when not defending our walls. It goes without saying that I had not thought to be besieged so swiftly.”

No way to hide her discomfort, she collected her attire, each move measured. Their bed sport had left her a tad battered. And the new piercings at her nipples and the one within the folds of her privates burned.

Wincing again, she wiggled into the unfamiliar male tunic. No need to ask why he thought it necessary to disguise her true gender. The fierce warlord must think his remaining militia was in danger of losing this sortie, which meant rape for any surviving women within the barricades.

To the victors go the spoils.

That would be her.

Mitri blanched at the thought of servicing a full battalion of warriors. Though the activities of the prior evening had led her to discover she was in possession of a robust sensuality, she paled at the prospect of what lay ahead of her.

She took a deep breath. “What can I do to help?”

“Pray,” he said grimly.

“At the moment, I prefer something not done on my knees.”

He smiled, a thin substitute for the real thing, which could be breathtaking, she was coming to realize.

She stepped into the hide breeches, wincing a third time as the braies came into contact with the gold ring Lord Devil had inserted through her cunny’s delicate flesh. “Can a message be sent to your brother’s fortress?”

“Ordinarily, aye. But in this instance, I have not a man to spare. The mercenaries burned their way through the thorns.”

“Oh dear. Is that what I smell burning? I thought ’twas a memory from the destruction at Lord Harold’s.”

“Nay. The briars surrounding this keep are ablaze.”

Which meant a dire outcome for the keep.

Fortunately she had a solution to her master’s lack of a spare man. “Give me the message to deliver.”

“You?” he said dubiously.

“Do not doubt me. I can do this.”

“I have never doubted your capacity to do anything. I just never considered—” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Very well. I shall take you to the secret tunnel. Here.” He moved to his chest, took out a signet ring, and handed it to her. “Give this to Talon. He will know what it means.”

Sensual satiation had a way of making time stand still. She had been almost entirely nude for what seemed like weeks, not a matter of only a few days. The garb she had pulled on felt confining, especially after the liberating night of carnal excess she had enjoyed. Nonetheless, in the shake of a lamb’s tail, she was all dressed and ready to go. “Take me to the tunnel.”

The noble warrior took her arm and rushed her along.

“The secret passageway comes out at the river,” he advised her. “Under a mounded heap of tree boughs, you will find a reed boat. Have you ever used such a vessel before?”

“Aye. I am good with a paddle,” she replied with newfound confidence. A night pleasing him had done that for her.

“All you need do is stay afloat, and the current will take you to my brother’s demesne. A guard will sight you and escort you posthaste inside the gates—if you show the signet ring. Otherwise—” He slashed a finger across his throat and made a wet, slurpy sound.

Ominous.

“Otherwise, I will be killed,” she said, interpreting his gesture.

“More than likely,” he agreed.

Inside the small garden that he had shown her the day before—it seemed so long ago now—he rolled aside a boulder and pointed to the narrow opening in the stone wall. “Here we are. There is only one passage, and so you will not lose your way.”

Her knocking knees were not reassured. “And at the end?”

“Is another boulder. Put your shoulder to it. A child could move the rock aside.”

And she was no child, but a woman.

Nay, she was a whore.

“I am all set then.” She made to depart.

Before she could, he took hold of her shoulders. “I wish you Godspeed. And know you this. I am glad I marked you, glad you wear the gold rings. Especially the one I planted here.” He palmed her loins over her lad’s braies.

Despite her apprehensions, she melted into him, her body responding to the sexual power that had held her in sway right from the first. “I will not fail you, my lord.”

“This I know. I pity anyone who gets in your way.” He handed her a bejeweled dagger.

She would have found the blade a beautiful piece had its purpose not been so deadly.

“Use it without mercy,” he instructed as she secreted the weapon up her sleeve. “Go now. The mercenaries are ready to scale the walls, and there is not a moment to spare. At this rate, the gate will topple by nightfall.” With a hard kiss, he pushed her away, and she was racing into the dark passageway, sliding a hand along the rough wall. Touch was her only guide.

Squeaking mice scampered out of her path. Other pests crawled over her face. Fortunately no bats flew overhead. She could not tolerate the winged creatures. Other than those minor distractions, naught impeded her mission. In short order, she was back outside, rolling the stone back in place, and running for the boat. Without incident, she uncovered the craft and was on her way on this new leg of her journey.

A journey that ended at the point of a knife.

The blade was plainer than hers but made up for its lack of beauty with a keen sharpness. One nick would mortally wound her.

“State your business or prepare to meet your Maker, lad,” the guard said by way of greeting.

“Lord Spur of Nettlewood sent me with a message for Lord Talon.” She dug the token out from under her tunic. “See? His signet ring.”

The emblazoned image of a devil on the stone glittered in the sun.

“Come with me, lad.”

The sentry scooped her out of the reed boat and herded her over the drawbridge and into the walled settlement. Inside the keep’s Great Hall, the taciturn guard said, “Wait here, lad,” and departed.

In the presence of the waiting sentry, Lord Talon gave her an audience almost immediately.

The overlord of Ironguard came right to the point. “The guard says you have my brother’s ring. Show it to me.”

Once again, she popped the emblazoned stone out from its hiding place.

So like his brother, he grunted. “What is my brother’s message, demoiselle?”

“You knew?”

“That you are female?”

“Aye.”

“’Tis readily apparent, I assure you.” After sending her hood to her shoulders, revealing her loose hair, the overlord wiggled his brows outrageously. Then smiled a carefree smile, a warm and charming smile that reached his merry and changeably hued eyes, a smile not at all similar to his brother’s, which rarely appeared and, when it did, could hardly be construed as charming. This man, on the other hand, seemed comfortable with a smile on his face and touched a note of familiarity with her straightaway.

His light kiss, bestowed on her cheek, helped that familiarity along.

Ordinarily a roguishly attractive warrior of immense size would have sent her fleeing in the opposite direction. But after coupling with a devil, she no longer feared ordinary men.

She spoke right up. “Nettlewood is under attack. Your brother is outnumbered as the majority of his troops are here helping you with planting season.”

His smile vanished, and he became just at serious and somber as his brother. “I see. Very well. We leave at once. Guard!” he called to the sentinel posted at the portal. “Have the herald alert the troops. We march within the hour.”

He turned back to her and bowed, a courtier’s knightly courtesy. “That my brother entrusted you with the message and the signet ring means a great deal. During his recent stay, he never mentioned having a confidante…”

“We only recently became acquainted. And I am his whore, not his confidante.”

“Whore. Confidante. Same difference. The question is—can you sit a steed on your own?”

“Peasants do not own mounts, my lord, so I had no occasion to learn.”

“You will ride back with me, then.” He sent her another smile—this one as bedazzling as a cathedral’s glass window letting in the light—and presented his arm. “Come along, my dear. And have no fear. I will mount you.”

“Mount me? I beg your pardon?”

“Nay, I beg yours. A slip of the tongue only. I meant I will mount you
before me on the saddle
, naturally. Now come this way.”

Lord Talon lifted aside a large tapestry that hung from the ceiling against a rear wall. Upon doing so, he revealed a hidden portal of some sort.

He bowed. “After you.”

She hung back. “What is this?”

“A secret passageway. One of the many here at Ironguard. You were seen entering the keep, but I promise you, no one will see you leave.”

“Why is that of any import?”

“Simply put—alarming my people of trouble ahead does them no good. They are already fearful of what each day might bring.”

“But, my lord, peasants are not children to be sheltered from bad news.”

He shrugged. “Best they not know about the siege at Nettlewood. Plus, this route is faster than the one you took here.”

Lord Talon was correct on both scores—no one saw her leave, and her return on steed was far quicker. They arrived at Nettlewood long before nightfall. And happy to say, a burned edifice did not stand crumbled before them. Somehow Lord Devil and his diminished troops had managed to hold off the sortie.

The soldiers marched ahead whilst she and Lord Talon took up the rear flank, also on foot. ’Twas too dangerous for their steeds now; those they left with a guard in the reserve outside the main gate.

Save for a small portion where they had dismounted, the entire forest was ablaze. Whichever direction she looked, there was smoke. Covering her face, she trod on.

When a broadsword-wielding mercenary jumped out from behind a smoking knot of thorny vines, she reacted. No thought, without compunction, she pulled the borrowed dagger out from her sleeve and cut the ambusher’s throat.

“Bloody well played!” Lord Talon declared.

“’Twas either him or you, my lord.”

“I commend your choice,” he said with a wink.

And then they had arrived.

Her master greeted them warmly. “Talon! Your arrival is not a moment too soon.” To his troops, he said, “Men, take up your positions on the battlement.” To her he said, “I knew you could do it! You may just have saved us all.”

Under his praise, she glowed, her face warming with pleasure.

As the soldiers pushed on, Lord Spur introduced her formally to his brother. Though, he need not have done so, considering her lowly position in his life.

“Talon, this comely lad is Lambkin. Henceforth, I shall officially call her so.”

“And what was she called before,” inquired Lord Talon.

“Completely irrelevant,” Lord Spur replied.

“With that mouthful of a name, I can hardly blame you for calling her Lambkin.”

A “christening”, she mused, chortling at Lord Talon’s wit. To honor the occasion, for ’twas not every day a woman received a new name, she bobbed a curtsy.

“Your consort…er…
Lambkin
saved my fool neck. She killed a mercenary as the sod was about to end me.”

“My eternal gratitude,” said her owner and kissed her bloodstained hand. “Now off you go to my solar.”

“I would stay here and defend this keep. I can throw a lance.”

“Indeed. The question is—can you hit the target?”

She smiled wanly. “I forgot that part.”

“I will vouchsafe her aim, brother,” Lord Talon said and kissed her lips, a hot and seeking plunder.

She thought—make that,
hoped
—the kiss would enrage her master. But nay. He beamed. “You two—hold the mutual admiration for later,” he said. “We have a siege to fight now.”

“Just so,” Talon replied.

Off the brothers went, arms slung around each other, leaving her to trail behind, her thoughts on that hot kiss that stung her mouth still.