Knight of Seduction (16 page)

His cheeks flushed with color, and he glanced away and started walking again.  She had no choice but to match him stride for stride.

“What about Rosamunde?” he said.  “Am I being an ogre for finding her a husband?”

“That depends on what sort of man he turns out to be.  If he’s a drunkard or a violent lout, then shame on you.  If he’s handsome and dashing and brave and true—“

“Like me?”

“Yes, just like you.  Then you’re wonderful for picking such a valiant fellow.”

She stopped and wrapped her arms around his waist.  He seemed astonished, as if he was confused by the gesture. 

“Who have you selected?” she inquired.  “Have you made a decision?”

“I’m considering a knight with whom I’m acquainted.  He’s a third son, but he’s accumulated some wealth in his travels.”

“Is he handsome?”

“Women would think so, I suppose.”

“Is he even-tempered?”

“He can be—unless he’s provoked.”

“So he’s just like you.”

He laughed.  “Yes.”

“If he’s so marvelous”—Anne was skeptical—“why would he marry Rosamunde?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“He owes you a favor?”

“Yes.”

“And is he a drunkard?  Is that his problem?”

“No.  He’s actually quite a fine man.  More than Rosamunde deserves, probably.”

It was her turn to steal a kiss.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“For what?”

“For being kind to my sister.  For choosing someone suitable.  She’s been afraid that you’d deliberately hurt her.”

He scoffed.  “She’s fortunate I’m fussing with her, at all.  I could have let her take your spot at that blasted convent.”

“The nuns wouldn’t have been happy about it.  Rosamunde is very spoiled.  I can’t picture her spending her days on her knees in devout prayer.”

“Lucky I found her a husband then.”

“Yes, very lucky.”

“What about Blodwin?” he asked.

“What about her?”

“What should become of her?”

“I have no idea,” Anne said.

“Neither do I.  She can’t stay at Morven, though.  Her presence creates conflict and festers divided loyalties.”  He peered down at her.  “Has she been pestering you?”

“No,” Anne lied.

He snorted with amusement.  “Between the two of us, you’re the pious one, Anne.  Isn’t it a sin to tell a lie?”

“Well…yes.”

“Then you shouldn’t.  You’re awfully bad at it.”

She frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Blodwin hounds you constantly.  Why didn’t you confide in me?”

“She just needs to complain to somebody who will listen.  It’s been hard for her, losing Ranulf and Morven.  I don’t mind her grumbling.  If she bothers me, it keeps her from bothering you.”

“So you’re doing me a favor by heeding her?”

“Always, my lord Hugh.  I’m always doing you favors.”

He smirked, as if he doubted her.

“Promise me something,” he urged.

“What?”

“If she upsets you, or goads you too stridently, promise me that you’ll speak up.”

“I will, but don’t worry about her.  She’s harmless.”

“Harmless like a venomous snake.”

“Harmless like a lamb,” Anne countered, causing him to smirk again.

He was in such a happy mood, and it made her like him more than she should.  Would she come to love him?  Could it be possible?

She’d heard that married couples sometimes grew to love one another, but she’d never believed it.  Would it happen to them?

She wished they never had to return to the castle.  What would he say if she begged him to ride off with her?  What if they climbed on his horse and took off to lands unknown?  He’d been everywhere, but she’d been nowhere, not even to the next town beyond Morven.

It was thrilling to imagine the two of them cantering away, having an adventure.  The anticipation of it, the romance of it, was unbearably tempting.

Instead, she snuggled herself to him, her body pressed to his all the way down.  He was humored by her brazen advance; he chuckled and laid a hand on her bottom.

“May I ask a boon, my husband?”

“If you keep touching me like this, you’ll get more than a boon.”

She could feel his cockstand poking her belly, and she smiled, liking that she had the power to arouse him, to make him desire her. 

“Be serious,” she said.

“I am being serious.  You’ll be lucky if you get out of here without my having you over in those woods.”

She glanced about, scowling, wondering if he meant what she thought he did.

“Men and women…do they…?”

“Yes.”

“Outside—in the light of day?”

“Yes.  Shall I show you?”

Her eyes widened with a combination of excitement and alarm.  “No, you shall not.”

But he’d already decided.  He dropped his horse’s reins and clasped her wrist, leading her into the grass.

“Hugh!”

“What?”

“Someone might come by.  Someone might see us.”

“No one will come by.”

He pushed her against a tree, the bark rough against her back, as he grabbed her and guided her thighs around his waist.  She was precariously wedged, but not afraid of falling.  He was too strong and balanced her with ease.

He raised the hem of her skirt, exposing her legs, to find her center.  With one hand, he held onto her, while with the other, he loosened his breeches and tugged them down.

Then he was inside her, and she squealed with astonishment.  He kissed her, swallowing the sound.

“Hush, my little virago,” he scolded, “or the whole village will hear you.”

“You are so wicked.”

“Not wicked, but obsessed.  If I see you, I want you.  You’ve bewitched me.”

“Not intentionally.”

“It’s all that red hair,” he grumbled.  “I can’t resist.”

He thrust once and twice and spilled himself.  But even though he was finished, he kept on until she joined him in pleasure.  

They were so physically attuned that it was over much too quickly, but he continued to hold her as he nibbled a trail across her cheek, her throat, till his face was buried at his nape.

He struggled to control his breathing, to slow his pulse, and he relaxed, his weight crushing her, but she loved the feeling.  He’d been so aroused, and she was ecstatic to be the woman he turned to when his lust needed satisfying.

“You’ll be the death of me, Anne.”

“I hope not.”

“You have to stop enticing me.”

“Why?”

“You’re my wife; I’m not supposed to be so attracted to you.”

“And are you…attracted?” 

“Oh, yes,” he responded, “I’m definitely
attracted.”

He pulled away, his cock sliding from her sheath, and he guided her down his body till her feet touched the ground. 

They were grinning like fools, snorting with mirth over what they’d done.

“What was the boon you mentioned?” he said as he straightened his clothes.

“Summer is flying by, and autumn will be here before we know it.  What would you think of having the harvest fair this year?”

“A harvest fair?”

“It used to be an annual festival, but with Ranulf gone so often, it dwindled to nothing.  Blodwin hated the effort involved, so eventually, we ceased having it.”

“It’s important to you?”

“Not so much to me, but the people in the castle and the village might…”  Their burst of passion was spent, and she was shy again.  “Never mind.  It was a silly request.”

“No, no, we should restart it.  I want it for you.  I want it for the people at Morven.”

“But…it might be expensive.  The purpose is to celebrate our bounty, which would mean banquets and feasting and perhaps a tournament.”

He leaned down and kissed her again.  “I am rich, my dear Anne.  If you wish to host a grand party, please host a grand party.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Whatever will make you happy, I would like you to do.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.  Now come.”

“To where?”

“To the castle.”  He whistled for his horse.  The animal had wandered away, and it trotted over to them.  “I’m not about to leave you out on the road alone.  There’s no telling who you might run into.”  He raised a wicked brow.  “There’s no telling what you might attempt up against a tree.”

“Ah!  It was your idea!  I was a fine, respectable girl before I met you.”

“Aren’t I lucky to have been the man to corrupt you?”

He grabbed her and lifted her onto his horse, and he leapt up behind her.  With an arm across her chest, and a kick to the horse’s sides, they cantered to the castle, Anne laughing with joy all the way home. 

CHAPTER NINE

“It’s fine construction.”

“Yes, it is.”

Hugh glanced over at Henry.  They were in the cottage Ranulf had built for Bedelia, evaluating its condition. 

“A pity to have it standing empty,” Henry said.

“I agree.”

“Will you bring her here?  Will you give it to her?”

Hugh considered the question, finally responding with, “Perhaps.” 

“I can’t imagine she’d complain over it.  Then again, with Charmaine, nothing is ever grand enough for her.”

At Henry’s apt description of Charmaine, Hugh chuckled. 

Any woman in the kingdom would be grateful to receive a house, but she was different than most.  She had bigger dreams.  She’d likely roll into Morven and immediately begin inquiring as to when she could have the castle, too. 

She thrived on greed and cunning, and he’d been intrigued by her voracity, by her blatant hunger for more and more and more.  He’d hungered for much in his life, too, so he understood the cravings that drove her.

But that was before he’d met Anne. 

Anne was content with what she had, and she never asked him for anything.  Except to host the annual harvest fair, but she hadn’t wanted it for herself.  She’d wanted it for the people of Morven.  To make them happy.  To make them love Hugh even more than they already appeared to.

“If I let Charmaine come,” he asked Henry, “what would the villagers think?  I rather like how they hold me in such high esteem.  How would they react to her?”

“They wouldn’t like it, but what could they do?”

“Tar and feather her.  Run her off with torches in the middle of the night.  Burn her as a witch.”

“You’re their lord and master.  They wouldn’t dare.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Besides,” Henry added, “isn’t that precisely what Ranulf did with Anne’s mother?  Didn’t he bring her to Morven?”

“I’m told she arrived on her own.  She was a performer in a traveling troupe.  Ranulf saw her and was besotted.”

“He definitely must have been.  He built her this cottage and played cozy with her while his lawful wife glared down from the battlements.  The man must have had nerves of steel.” 

“Or he just didn’t worry over her opinion.  He was married to Blodwin, after all.”

Henry gave a mock shudder.  “If that old battle axe was my wife, I’d find a pretty tart to keep me warm, too.  She could have any damn thing she wanted—so long as I never had to go home.”

Hugh laughed and shook his head. 

Henry was under no pressure to wed.  He had no father to arrange a union, no mother to insist on it.  He was an orphan, as was Hugh, and with his own dispensation from the king, he could marry whenever he felt like it.

He had earned plenty during their years of fighting, and he was wealthy enough to proceed, but he hadn’t yet landed at the bottom where Hugh had fallen.

Hugh had finally stood on a precipice with the king where he simply couldn’t jump over it, no matter how eloquently Richard had coaxed him.  Henry wasn’t perched at that desperate spot.  If the king tempted him with the right amount of coin, or if his need for adventure started to flare, he’d trot off in an instant. 

“Marriage makes everything so complicated,” Hugh said.

“It certainly does,” Henry agreed.  “A man takes vows and swears to be true, but there are so many beautiful women in the world.  How can a fellow settle for just one?”

It was a question Hugh had been asking himself over and over the past few weeks. 

After he’d left the Holy Land for England, he’d stopped in Normandy, which was where he’d met Charmaine.  His intense affair with her was the main reason he’d delayed in his journey to Morven.  He’d been in no hurry to leave her bed. 

In his travels, Hugh had seen the greatest palaces mankind had to offer.  Morven was located at the very ends of civilization, and he’d wanted to surround himself with the trappings of culture and society so that Morven would be more interesting, more uplifting for him.

Charmaine had been raised in the French court, with King Phillip rumored to be her sire.  She was very sophisticated, would deliver the style and grace he sought in his new environs.

When he’d made his plans for her, he had known he would wed in Morven, but the idea of his taking a bride hadn’t seemed real.  She’d had no face, no name.  She’d been a cipher, a phantom, and he hadn’t fretted over her.

But now, he was married to Anne.

He didn’t have to ponder what she would
think
of Charmaine.  He was well aware of what her opinion would be, and he didn’t want to quarrel, didn’t want to deliberately hurt her.

Yet he was lord and master at Morven.  If he kept a paramour, if he chased the maids or rolled around with the tavern wenches, it wasn’t Anne’s business to complain.  A wife had no right to protest her husband’s habits, so he was sorely vexed. 

His men were expecting Charmaine to join Hugh, and to his chagrin, he would hate to appear foolish in their eyes. 

His pride was the very devil, and he couldn’t bear to have others realize he’d bowed to his wife’s feelings—especially when they went counter to his own.  It was a major facet of how he believed men should carry on—that the man’s word prevailed, that the man’s desires were paramount—and he couldn’t move beyond his desire to live as he had before he’d wed.

Charmaine was more adept at carnal games than any whore Hugh had ever encountered.  She was extremely limber, extremely decadent in her tastes, extremely compliant and amenable to any risqué suggestion.

But she never smiled as Anne did when she saw him walking down the hall.  She never laughed as Anne did when he pulled her into a secluded alcove and kissed her.  Charmaine never fussed over him, was never concerned if his bones were aching, never offered to rub a salve into his throbbing joints.