Make Me Beg for It (2 page)

“Well, I’m afraid I could use a little more gold just now, so we shall have to see you give it another try. If you can,” he added, the grin falling away as suddenly as it had come. “You can manage the same feat again, surely.”

Not trusting his voice, Freawine nodded and tried to swallow past a lump of fear.

The prince and his entourage ushered him up to the same room again, filled with even more straw. He collapsed on the stool once the prince and his bevy of attendants left. What if the odd little man didn’t return?
I’ll lose my head, that’s what.
Freawine reached for his charm, his fingers grasping at nothing. Ah, yes, he thought. That particular comfort was gone forever.

Was the prince really so greedy for gold? His mother, the queen, did not seem to be suffering any. She always gave away huge cartloads to the monastery. What he had seen of the castle seemed more opulent than the new Jerusalem Brother Jacob rhapsodized about in the square on feast days. It was a puzzle. He remembered how the prince had held his chin and he reached up to touch the spot. He was lucky to be beardless yet or the game would have been up. Freawine took after his mother’s people. His uncles had barely any face hair at all while his father’s grizzly chops grew like laurels.

The scars on the prince’s face intrigued Freawine. All those battles he must have faced. He could picture the scenes even now: swords plunging, horses screaming, that magnificent brow wet with sweat. With a jolt, Freawine realized how his knob had stiffened as he thought about the prince in action. He glanced over his shoulder at the door. No one would disturb him before morning.

He reached under his skirts and gripped the reassuring hardness. Some things in life were reliable. As strange as this adventure had proved to be, he took comfort in something so familiar. With his thumb, Freawine smeared the wet fluid at the bellend, closing his eyes to enjoy the tingle. He moved his hand up and down as he thought of those eyes as blue as a morning sky after a storm, wondering what it would be like to bury his fingers in that beard and trace the scars marring his cheeks. Increasing the speed of his strokes, Freawine pictured the prince’s broad chest mashed against his own, his cock just as hard as Freawine’s. He came with a ragged exhalation, smearing his wet trophy against his underskirts. If he had to die tomorrow, Freawine thought sheepishly, at least he’d some fun tonight.

But time crawled while Freawine paced back and forth across the small room, nauseated by the smell of the straw and worried that he might just lose his head this time. The darkest hour had arrived when the small, misshapen man appeared. “In another spot, child?”

Freawine nodded. The man’s sudden appearance, even though half-expected, made the hairs on Frea’s neck raise. “What will you give me this time?”

“I don’t think I have anything to give,” Freawine answered. “I gave you my only treasure.”

“Don’t be daft,” the crooked little man said. His tone sounded warm and friendly, but a cruel grin perched on his lips.

Something in that grin made Freawine want to shiver.

“A nice girl like you,” the man continued, stepping closer to him, “she’s always got something to give.”

Freawine froze. “No.”

The little man reached out to run his hand along Freawine’s arm, but Frea jerked away from his touch.

“Now don’t be like that.” The little man tutted. “You don’t have anything to give, you say, and I say you do. Better a little rumpy-bumpy now than a missing head in the morning, eh?”

Freawine shook his head. “No.”

The shadowed face leaned toward him. “Saving yourself for someone special?”

“No.”

The man pulled back. “Well, then. You must have something to trade.”

“The prince said he would give me half the gold I would spin tonight.”

The little man laughed. “Gold! Gold is meaningless to me.”

Freawine’s spirits fell, but then a sudden ray of hope lit the darkness. His hands flew to the purse at his waist. “Here,” he said, thrusting an object into the crooked man’s hand. “That came all the way from Rome; Brother Jacob said so. He gave it to me for learning the creed so quickly.”

The little man turned the pilgrim badge over in his hand. “Rome, eh? Well, I suppose this will do.”

Freawine saw a flash of teeth in the moonlight, but the expression looked more like a grimace than a smile. The little man sat on the stool once more to spin, and by the dawn’s light even more gold filled the chamber, casting a warm glow.

“Mind you don’t need me a third night,” the strange little man said. “I’ll have to ask for something very special if you do. Very special.” Then in the twinkling of an eye, he disappeared like the sun behind the clouds.

As Freawine digested the warning, he frowned.

The prince, however, grinned quite happily upon arriving shortly thereafter. “I’ll send half to your father now,” he said, gesturing for his men to carry away the neat skeins of gold thread. “Mathilde, reward this young woman with another fine meal. I assume yesterday’s food was to your liking?” he asked, turning to Freawine unexpectedly.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Freawine twisted his hands together. Embarrassment heated his cheeks as he remembered how he’d imagined the prince’s face in the night. His rebellious member stirred at the thought, and Freawine remained grateful for the full skirt around his hips. He stared at the prince’s hands rather than his face, but doing so only made things worse. The fingers were long and strong and Frea couldn’t resist picturing them gripping his ass, pulling the two of them together.
Stop it
, he scolded himself,
you can’t do this.

“Come along now.”

Freawine followed Mathilde with relief as she once more led him down the stairs and through the corridors to the same room, where he washed himself leisurely just to annoy her, enjoying the caress of the cool water and observing the room more carefully. The table upon which the jug and basin sat was carved with images from the life of Alfred. The tapestries on the wall showed merry groups of people hunting for stags. The opulence staggered him, yet he began to suspect this room might not even be the finest in the castle.

When he returned to the soft bed, Freawine waited for the grumpy seneschal to leave then crawled beneath the sumptuous covers. He sighed as he sank into the soft mattress. Much different from the straw pallets he’d grown up with. His own lumpy bed would never feel quite as welcoming after this.

He stole another glance at the door then settled down and let his thoughts drift again to Prince Eadwine. He imagined those hands caressing him and he grew quickly hard once more. “I want you,” he whispered as he stroked his knob with gathering momentum. He pictured the prince’s wide mouth upon his, stifling his cry when he came and smiling as he fell back spent.

His dreams were filled with an ever-changing series of images, from the prince fighting off warriors in the holy lands or boars in the forest, to more tender images of the man beside him in the bed, their arms and legs entwined. So it came as a bit of a surprise to hear the voice call to him as Freawine struggled up from his dreams. “Will you sleep the day away, girl?”

Freawine rubbed his eyes and moved to throw back the covers, stilling his hand as he realized he had grown stiff from his lascivious dreams. The prince did not seem to notice his anxiety. He paced around the room with an energetic stride.

“May I go home, Your Highness?” Freawine managed to stutter at last.

“Home?” The prince stared into the coals of the fireplace. “Are you so eager to return there? Miss your family?”

“There’s only my father and me,” Freawine answered, willing his erection to calm itself so he could rise.

“Your father who risks your life by making drunken boasts?”

Freawine flushed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Doesn’t seem like much to miss.” He turned to regard Freawine. “What is your name?”

“Frea.”

He nodded, as if it were the right answer somehow. “Well, Frea, I have an offer for you.”

Freawine studied him. Something about the man seemed different that day. He looked as if he’d slept badly. His hair stuck up in different directions, his beard seemed even more unruly.

“One more night.” The prince returned his stare.

Freawine winced. The erection had gone now.

“If you can spin all the straw into gold tonight, I have a special reward for you.” He turned and looked at Freawine like a fox at a chicken. “I will make you my queen.”

Whatever he had expected, it certainly wasn’t that. Freawine stared, open-mouthed, at the prince. “Your Highness?”

Prince Eadwine turned away again, staring into the fire once more. “My mother thinks such a connection would be a good idea. She believes my taking a commoner to wife would make me a more acceptable monarch.” He kicked at the remnants of a log, splitting the thing in two and sending up a shower of sparks. “What do you say, Frea?”

“I hadn’t really thought about marriage,” Freawine said without thinking.

“Have you other offers?” The prince looked up with surprise evident on his face.

“No, no,” Freawine said with speed. “I just hadn’t ever considered it.”

“Well, do so,” he said irritably. “Let us go.” Without another word, the prince turned and left the room.

Freawine scrambled out of the bed and followed His Royal Highness’s swift steps back to the gloomy chamber where an even larger stash of straw awaited him. He dreaded the return of the strange little man and wondered what he would ask of him.

“Spin all this straw into gold,” the prince repeated, “and you will be my queen. There is no better reward, surely.” His lip curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Freawine boldly stared at his face, searching its lines for answers, but finding none. He simply bowed and watched the prince walk out of the room again, observing the taut perfection of his body as he stalked away. Despite the tempting sight, Freawine did not have the least desire to repeat his reverie of the day before.

Marriage! Impossible. What would the prince do when he found out his bride wasn’t even a woman? Surely Freawine’s head would be the price for perpetrating such a deception. He sighed. But what a way to die! He imagined himself stripped before the prince, and despite the danger of his position, felt his knob rise to the occasion once more.

He had already satisfied himself and fallen into a doze when the little man reappeared. “So, another night, another favor. What have you got for me?”

Freawine rubbed his eyes. “What can I give you that you want?”

The man cackled. “You know what I want.”

“No, not possible.”

“I know. I hear the prince has offered to marry you. You were waiting for bigger fish after all.”

“No,” Freawine argued. “It wasn’t that at all.”

He waved away the objections. “No matter. One must do what must be done, eh? Well, I have a solution to both our problems.” He smiled and there was something cruel and frightening in the look that made Freawine draw back. “I will help you marry the prince, but in return you will owe me the fruits of your labor.”

“The gold?” Freawine said, uncertain.

The old man shook his head. “No, girl. You will have to give me the first born child of your union.” He leaned back and regarded Frea’s face closely, as if expecting Freawine would cower before him.

Frea laughed. He couldn’t help doing so. Impossible to say which would be more absurd—the idea that the prince would marry him or the ludicrous idea that he could bear a child. “Agreed,” he said at last.

The little man stared at him, doubtless thinking he’d gone mad, but at last he turned and set about his task and once again by morning the room swelled full of shiny treasure.

As the sun filtered through the tiny window and cast a warm glow, the little man turned to Frea. “Remember,” he said, and disappeared into thin air.

“I promise.” Freawine spoke to the now-empty room, his heart momentarily weightless. But in the next moment the prince arrived and the full enormity of his situation returned.

“Well, there you are,” the prince said slowly, looking around the room. “Mathilde, take my bride to her rooms and prepare her for our wedding.”

This time the seneschal did not sniff at her charge with disdain. Instead, she and a bevy of maids bustled him along to a different part of the castle.

If Freawine had found the first chamber sumptuous, he had no words to describe the room to which they brought him on the third day. Mathilde insisted on a bath, but Freawine used all his charm to convince the three women his modesty forbade their seeing him fully naked. He managed to dress behind the screen that protected the bath from drafts, slipping on the new linen shift before allowing them to help him dress.

The clothes! Silks, red and blue, ruffles and gold threads wove through the fabric giving a rich glow. A set of rubies hung around his throat and Freawine admired his reflection in the mirror held before him.
If I’ve got to die
, he thought,
let it be as a queen
. A knock came at the door, which opened to reveal his prince. Eadwine looked him up and down with obvious surprise.

“One might think you were born to this life,” he muttered, walking around Freawine to assess the clothing. “My mother will be pleased.”

“Your mother, Highness?” A new rush of panic overwhelmed Freawine.

“Indeed,” he said, straightening a ribbon of red silk, which lay across the skirts. “You would not expect me to marry without her approval?”

Freawine had no time to think. The prince marched him down the corridor once more until the reached what had to be the throne room. Prince Eadwine led Freawine forth and bowed low before the queen. Freawine tried to employ a curtsey without much success. The queen looked at him with interest and leaned over to a counselor who stood next to her chair. “A bit unusual, this one. Not least because she spins straw into gold. A very good accomplishment for a young woman,” she added, looking at Freawine. Though haughty in demeanor, her face seemed kind and Freawine took comfort from her wise eyes.

“Do you approve, Mother?” the prince asked with another slight bow.