Droit De Seigneur (11 page)

When he finally descended again, his fingers lingered at those moist, swollen crests and continued tugging and twisting them, filing away each moan and coo for future reference. But when he tried to capture her again in his mouth, she succeeded in scooting herself away from him, arching her butt into the furs enough that he couldn’t latch onto her as he had previously.

He didn’t bother to make a rule, though, which was what Amber had been expecting.

Instead, he brought his left arm down between her legs. He dipped his index finger into the font of her juices, christening it for its further purpose, then bringing his bold hand to lie beneath her bottom, in wait.

When his mouth returned avidly to try to suckle her engorged button, she made the same move, arching back into the furs, only fur wasn’t the only thing waiting for her there, and her gambit had a quite different result from the one she was intending, he was quite sure, when he heard the squeal she emitted as his finger ended up, on her own accord, buried within those two well roasted bottom cheeks.

Piers let her buck and writhe and try to dislodge that very well seated finger, but to no avail. It wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was she.

Amber was beside herself. She’d been driven there by his hand and various implements in his hand, but nothing like this had ever happened to her. She could not abide that his finger was inside her. She had to get rid of it.

When he tired of her gyrations, Piers said one word, quietly but firmly. “Enough.” And he expected that that would be it – enough. No more fighting him. She was to submit. And he had to give her credit. Her body stopped its overt movements immediately. But he could still feel her clenching internally, as if she thought that was going to coax him out of her.

“If you hadn’t fought and done everything you could to avoid my mouth, Amber, then you wouldn’t have backed yourself into the situation you’re in right now.” He didn’t want to argue with her, and he could feel how tense she was, and he didn’t want that either.

So he simply placed his mouth where he’d wanted it to be all along – directly over the most acute point on her body, smothering it with his lips and his tongue, suckling and licking and flicking and plucking until he knew she could take no more.

When he felt the beginnings of her orgasm, Piers adjusted his position and laid himself on top of her, finding her entrance easily and claiming her with a move that was as smooth as he could make it, having occupied her body with something much more pleasurable when he seated himself within her.

He knew it still hurt her; he was sensitive to everything about her and caught that quickly indrawn breath while she was still riding the wave of her own paradise, but he hoped that it was much less that it might have been, considering the multiple distractions he’d provided.

Amber looked up as Piers loomed over her. He was physically a part of her, and she didn’t like either of those things. Until he began to move. That great sword of his seemed to scrape the insides of her in such a way that was almost as pleasurable as his mouth or his finger on that other spot he knew about, and, soon, she was near to another one of those strange culminations he always brought her to.

And she didn’t like it. Oh, she liked it plenty, but she didn’t like liking it at all.

This time, he was so close that she couldn’t keep herself from grabbing onto him. She didn’t know if she was hoping to control him or the rhythm or just anything about the ride he was taking her on, but at least he provided a solid point from which she was being catapulted about.

She lost count of the explosions he put her through before he threw his own head back and roared in a way she couldn’t and envied. And then he collapsed a top her, lungs like a bellows in her ear, his bulk forcing her deep into the furs, but even that wasn’t keeping her from suffocating.

“My . . . Lord . . . “ she could barely get out while tapping on his shoulder. “Get . . . off!” Piers was stunned by the violence of his own release, and didn’t begin to listen until she began pounding on his shoulders.

Coughing and choking, Amber got up from the bed and nearly wretched all over one of the newer carpets.

That was a wonderful way to start a marriage, Piers thought, whacking his wife on the back to help her try to regain her breath. Try to kill her by your sheer bulk. That would be good.

He knew better than to do that. He was a big guy, and she was a little woman. He usually had to make adjustments like that, simply moving a bit to the side as soon as he was done, so that she didn’t have to bear his weight when his arms weren’t supporting him.

But he’d been caught off guard by the violence of his orgasm. Stunned was the better word.

It didn’t help, though, if he killed his wife the first night they were married. He’d end up with Josette, and that thought was no longer appealing.

When she seemed as though she was going to live, he carefully lifted her off the floor and brought her back to bed with him, sitting up against the wall and curling her against his chest, examining her in minute detail to make sure he hadn’t done any permanent harm.

She was fine, but cantankerous, as usual, moving his hands and not being particularly cooperative. She seemed sleepy, and to his surprise, she curled up on his chest like a kitten and went to sleep.

It was hours later when someone knocked on the door that he was going to have strung up by their genitals. When he found out it was one of the maids, sent by Mrs. Tulane with a tray of food from the ongoing feast, he retracted his thought, took the tray, and thanked the wide eyed girl.

He’d hoped to keep from waking his wife, considering everything she’d been through today, but that was too much to ask for, apparently, because when he turned back to bring the provisions into their room – their room, no longer just his – she was awake. Still yawning, but sitting in the middle of his bed and looking at him almost accusatorily.

“I hurt,” she said bluntly.

Piers put the tray down on the bed and proceeded to feed her morsel by morsel, not allowing her to do it for herself and slapping her hand the one time she tried to grab some for herself. He liked the idea of feeding her by hand, as if he was training some wild animal to his hand. “I should think your bottom would hurt.”

“I didn’t say it was my bottom,” she informed him with a deep blush.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.” Piers reached over to the table next to the bed where Mrs. Tulane’s magic potion had taken up residence. “Perhaps I ought to put some of this on you now. It couldn’t hurt, I wouldn’t think, and it might help.”

Amber reached for the vial, but he held it away from her. Amber was indignant. “I can do it!”

“I’ve no doubt you can. But I will see to things like this for you from now on, Amber.” He tapped her on the shoulder, and she frowned, but lay back on the bed. “After all, I am your husband.” He tipped the vial and wet the tip of his middle finger, then transferred the liquid to that part of her that was most recently damaged in the course of their lovemaking. “Did it hurt terribly at the time?”

“Did what hurt?”

Piers had to smile. He guessed that was a good answer, if she didn’t even know that he’d hurt her during the process at all. He applied the potion liberally, frowning when he withdrew his finger and found blood on it. He kept that sight well away from Amber, lest it upset her, somehow. He knew she was a hunter and all of that, but one could never tell how a person was going to react to the sight of their own blood.

They were silent for a few moments, each eating thoughtfully, until Amber said something Piers never expected. “I’m sorry you ended up having to marry me rather than Josette.

I know you she was the one you’d asked to marry you back in France, and she’s got to be unhappy with this turn of events.”

He was somewhat taken aback. He hadn’t expected to speak about the subject, much less receive an apology from his wife about the fact that he’d had no choice but to marry her. What could he have done? The King had decreed that they would be married. There wasn’t anything either of them could have done about it, one way or the other. The only thing they could do was make the best of it from here on out.

And that’s essentially what he said to her. He didn’t tell her that he was intrigued by her and half in love with her already, but then neither did she confess those things to him about herself.

In fact, he knew that she probably still considered that she was married to the enemy.

But what he said was, “It’s not Josette being unhappy that’s the problem. It’s her mother, and she’ll raise a big stink. Their family’s not that important, but they could cause trouble for the King if he doesn’t do something to make it right, especially at this delicate point.” Amber took the mouthful of cheese he offered, thinking. “What about Fitz? Wouldn’t being married to the King’s son – bastard or not – be considered a coup? The King will see Fitz well titled, won’t he?”

Leave it to his wife to come up with the perfect solution. Lady Constance could hardly cry fowl about their arrangement not working out when her daughter was being offered a much better one. He’d suggest it to the King in the morning.

. . . in the late, late morning.

Chapter Eight

It turned out that the King was in complete agreement with Amber’s idea. Piers did not put it to him as her idea, of course. He didn’t want to give him a reason to reject it. When the two had been married for a while, he might reveal its origins, but not until then.

The Lady Constance was brought to them in the great hall, and her face was as parched and pinched as Piers remembered as she sat down opposite them, but it lit up when Fitz newly created title of Duke of Umbridge was mentioned. Piers didn’t even think that she was dismissed or curtseyed to them before she turned tail and left to run upstairs to her daughter to share their turn of good fortune. The entire keep could hear Josettes squeal of delight, and all Piers could think was that it was nice that she wasn’t too terribly heartbroken after losing him.

Luckily, King William had a sense of humor, and all he did was turn to Piers and laugh about the vagaries of women, as he was well known to be demonstrably in love with his wife, Matilda.

But he wasn’t above teasing Piers about his wedding night. “So, was the English flower worth all your efforts, Sir Piers?” he asked with a sly smile.

Piers colored. Unlike most men, he didn’t, as a rule, discuss his women. But this was the King, and he, not unlike Amber in most situations with him, didn’t have a choice. He grimaced at the comparison that his mind had just drawn. “More than worth any effort, my liege.” And he was pleased to realize that he meant it.

“Good, good.” The older man rose and began to walk about the hall a bit. “I should like to see the site of the new fortress.”

Piers was going to protest, especially since the workers were still barely laying the foundation and there was very little to actually look at, to say nothing of the fact that that area wasn’t the most secure, but the King forestalled him.

“I know there’s not much to see, but it would be a chance to see more of my Kingdom.

Your wife hails from that area, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. She does.”

“Then we should bring her along. Perhaps she might have a chance to see her family. It might make a nice wedding present, and it wouldn’t leave you short of coin.” Having settled on an idea, William wasn’t a man to dawdle about it, so it was settled that they would move out as soon as they could get things arranged.

The lady in question was pacing upstairs, having been given explicit instructions by her new husband that she wasn’t to leave their chamber until he returned to collect her, and he’d gone so far as to lock the door when he’d left. He’d even given her a mocking smile as he moved a huge wardrobe in front of the door to the secret staircase that lead down to her old room, so there was no hope of escape that way, either.

He’d told her last night that she would have new rules, and she’s suspected as much as soon as she found out she was going to marry him. She’d known from the time she was a girl that marriage meant the death of her freedoms, which was one of the reasons she’d carefully remained single. No man wanted a woman who was quite as uncomfortably wild as she was.

Accomplished in the female arts was one thing. Accomplished in the male arts was quite another, especially if one was skilled enough to beat one’s husband at his own games.

She sank down onto the dusty window cushions, gazing out into the courtyard wistfully.

Amber couldn’t imagine that countesses were allowed to roam the woods at will. She sniffed.

Technically, she hadn’t been allowed to do so for a while, and disobeying Sir Piers had gotten her most severely punished. But she would have been content to have endured a thousand punishments and have gone right back to the safety of her beloved woods.

But as a countess, she would be more of a political and criminal target. She could be kidnapped and held for ransom. No one would have looked at her like that in the rags she normally wore. Oh, she could use her boy clothes, or even just the clean but tattered clothes she wore yesterday, but she wasn’t about to bring any sort of disgrace to Piers’ name. She knew he thought he had to educate her about these things, and that he must think she was going to be a distinct liability, with her strange compulsions and skills, but Amber was determined to be an asset to him, and she had resolved to be as obedient as she possibly could.

But she wasn’t at all sure how long her vow would last when put into practice, but at least she’d made it, and she would do her level best to stick to it.

If she let herself think about it, and she rarely did, she was beginning to realize that she was falling in love with this man, this one man in her life that was strong enough to exert his will over her, to hold her to account for her actions, to impose his rules on her and then his consequences when she chose to disregard them.

She shook her head, literally, to clear those thoughts away. She didn’t want to be in love with him, especially since he had had a previous love that was lodged somewhere under their own roof. She wasn’t exactly sure where Mrs. Tulane had squeezed them in, because as far as she knew, there were no bedrooms left, but the nasty thought ran through her mind that she hoped it was above the distinctly odiferous stables.