Savage Want (Wicked Wants, #3) (2 page)

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C
ecil, I would learn soon enough, had quite the erotic appetite. Though I was no chaste maiden, having been married before, I still wished to hold off consummation until we were proper man and wife. This did not deter Cecil, who had me over numerous times for brunch, i.e., sensual liaisons, during which he put my hands to work in a different way.

Our families, eager to forge the bond, expedited the date, until all seemed a blur. The day stalked me on cat’s-feet, only to pounce upon me.

“Our wedding day is tomorrow,” I said, my voice shaking from the jerking motions I made with my hand encircling his cock. For all his noble blood, his penis was no larger than I’d experienced before, that being only Phillip besides. I was equal parts relieved and disappointed at the same time. It had been a good amount of time since I had felt a man inside me. But I had urges of my own. Each orgasm Cecil experienced, I shared in part. Only my portion left me more frustrated than satisfied, even as he would lie with his head on my chest, his hardness easing back into compliance.

“Tomorrow,” he said, twirling my loosened golden hair around a finger, “you will be all mine. And we will go into the bedchamber and not come out for many days.” He laughed, amused by the idea, so it seemed.

At least I could manage my own satisfaction, rather than pleasuring him with nothing in return except excessive moisture between my thighs and a thorough rubbing of myself in the bath.

Ultimately, I harbored a fear of losing a husband once again for Cecil invited danger every time he went to hunt. My heart wavered, unwilling to fall in his favor, yet my duty as his soon-to-be wife would not change. Whether I wanted to participate in his carnal acts was negligible. Cecil would expect me to and I would comply.

Cecil purred slightly under his breath as he undid his breeches. Our breaths were the only sounds in that moment, his gaze meeting mine before I was thrown onto the bed.

“I need a bit more like the actual act,” was his graveled commentary as he straddled my body. His member bobbed close to my face.

“What am I to do with this?”

He paused to look down at me. “I want you to suckle it.”

I started to laugh but quickly stopped when I realized he was serious. And my cunt was filled with warmth as my womanhood responded to this treatment. Suckle that? Phillip had never made such a request. Couldn’t be all that difficult.

I wrapped my hand around his hot shaft and relaxed my jaw to admit entrance. His cock was hard in its engorgement. As my fingers slid over it, I could feel the pronounced veins that stood out along its length. Once he slid in carefully, he slid it back out. And back in. Deeper and deeper until the tip bumped against the back of my throat. This did not seem to concern him, for he eased in pace, encouraging me to tickle it with my tongue and apply suction.

“Mm, Lady Elena,” was his deep response, as he moved faster. He was fucking my face in simpler terms and the weight of him on my breasts, along with the inability to do much else but claw my fingernails into his buttocks was quite the excitement. I twisted my face a half-turn on his cock’s return and nipped at little at the base.

He had ceased talking altogether and seemed primarily focused on his impending orgasm. He pulled my hands from around him to pin me by the wrists as he pounded his cock into my mouth, without care that I could not draw breath. Still, I could not deny that his arousal in turn sparked mine and lit my body afire with need.

When he was not looking, I reached for and spit his seed into a handkerchief.

Many would have called me most fortunate to have been matched to the son of such a powerful lord. I felt grateful, really I did, but still mourned my husband’s passing. Phillip had been a determined worker with a well-muscled body that fit perfectly to mine as we engaged in the act of love. Not that my betrothed was guilty of sloth, only that he had a tendency for subtle cruelty to others and seemed to imagine himself far more important than he truly was. I made no mistake in ever questioning his decisions, and only played the part of the doting woman, best seen and rarely heard. And Cecil had the soft skin of a lord, shining hair and magnificent clothes, so foreign to what I’d experienced. If we stood together, he could tuck his chin just over my head.

I dressed myself again as Cecil was buckling his sword back on. He seemed revived by the bedsport—invigorated even as I struggled to think of anything besides finishing the act with him deep inside me.

“Your lady-in-waiting will be up to see to you shortly,” he said, and disappeared out the door.

A strange stillness enveloped me with his abrupt absence; the quiet was not a bad thing, but a sort of unwinding within. Perhaps I was merely on edge due in part to the fact it was to be our wedding day. After a few false starts and negotiations on the conditions of our marriage, that date had finally come and yes, I was most certainly tense at the entire affair.

In addition to tales of Cecil’s misdeeds, rumors had circulated adrift on the wagging tongues of a few drifting drunk sailors that the Northmen had turned their wrath to this part of the kingdom. Mysterious, dangerous and brutal, they had ravaged the port city of Bull, torn down their walls, and wreaked havoc on the townspeople. The savages were pillagers, their destruction cutting a wide swath into our proud green hills and killing innocents by dozens upon dozens. The Northmen had historically clung to the coast, perhaps for ease of transport for their loot of war. Our town of Kiess was a ways inland, and so no one heeded the warnings. Bull was so far away and many still believed the Northmen to be fantastical stories told by mothers to chide their children and keep them in their beds at night.

Kiess lay to the east of Penbroke Estate, surround by gates, walls and fencing but close enough that the Duke enjoyed all nearby conveniences. The grand bell in Kiess Square sounded; the clang was sharp even at that distance, as if the pull-rope was being tugged hard and fast in a panic. If Cecil hadn’t left yet, I might have not heard the alarm at all. The bell was my first and only warning.

I
hurriedly threw a robe over my dressing gown and unlatched the windows. The distinct odor of burning wood greeted my nostrils. Cries of anguished men and women, along with frightened children, were carried to my ears on the slight breeze. Through the pointed conifers, I caught a glimpse of tongues of flame as they licked along the eaves of the closest houses. Further away, shops belched cones of black smoke like squat dragons.

What caused such an uproar? I could think of nothing, short of an invading army. A flood of terrified people rushed toward the Penbroke gates, but were closely pursued by big, darkly-clad men with red and white painted faces. The Duke’s men worked in vain to close those gates, but were too late. The invaders chased their prey onto the grounds of Penbroke Estate. Invaders, indeed, but none like I’d ever seen before. These were not the elegant, organized formations of a neighboring kingdom, but a horrifying array of barbarians, it seemed. The men were broad of shoulder and wore their hair long and wild. Wild men. Beasts on two legs. What had been a relatively tranquil morning had deteriorated into pandemonium. I gasped. It was as if the Horned One himself had landed to plunder and pillage the town with his hellish army.

Milanra, my lady-in-waiting, rushed into my room.

“My lady! You must hide! Quickly!”

Milanra pressed her stout form against the door. Her eyes bulged in terror as she trembled

“Are we being raided?”

She nodded quickly. “Aye, it be the Northmen.” She swallowed hard, panting for air. “They’re slaughtering the whole town. Only the pretty women escape their sword.”

The fabled Northmen? But they were only frightening tales! I looked down at my dressing gown. I was in no condition to flee, and where would I hide? The cellar? The kitchen?

My breath caught in my throat.

The stables.

I grasped her by both shoulders. “Is anyone else in the house?”

She halfway shrugged, her mouth a small
o
of shock and terror. Perspiration beaded at her graying temples. The poor dear was in a state of disbelief. Inaction would invite death into this house.

“Where is Lord Penbroke? Where is Cecil?” I shook her hard, desperate for an answer.

She only shook her head and began to cry.

I became aware of my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arms and let go.

“Check the house for anyone left here and meet me at the stables.”

She agreed and opened the door. Smoke wafted and curled in the air. Part of the house was already on fire. I only needed to find the back door and make it to the horses. Perhaps in the mass panic, I could slip out of the gates unnoticed. Once I’d found my father, we could form a plan for escape. Perhaps some of the men could regroup and return the fight. I could only assume that the raiders had taken the town by utter surprise, and rendered us all nearly defenseless.

I covered my nose and mouth with one of my sheer sleeves and proceeded through the rooms. Everything was connected, save the storage areas. My eyes burned and I struggled not to cough, should invaders already be inside.

The kitchen stood untouched, thanks to the door kept closed by custom. Past that lay the entrance to the cellar, two storage rooms, and the back door. From there, I would have to cross a short distance to reach the stables. The horses were kept close enough to be convenient, but animals are animals, and no lord wanted to smell his own steed’s shit.

My hands met the rough wood of the servant’s entrance to the house. I was nearly free.

The invaders certainly had to be demons called from the darkest depths of Hell. Their war-calls were those of vicious animals, accompanied by carnage of their sharp blades and flashing axes.

The Duke’s men had come to aid, and the clashing of swords along with the gallant cries of men rang in the charred morning wind. A day like any other, except today was not like any other. It was to be my wedding day. A wedding that would not take place because of the barbarians.

The sky did not seem to care that death reigned over the land. The sun rose higher in the sky, contrasting sharply with the grim scene. The grass crisped under my soft slippers, and I turned to look back at what remained of a once peaceful, idyllic village. A falcon soared overhead on the rising heat from the fires, indignant on wings of safety high above the destruction.

A rotund man shrieked to my left. I turned in my steps to see him chased, as if by hounds. His little feet could not carry him fast enough. The man I faintly recognized as the village baker was slain not one hundred yards from me. I gasped and my heart pounced on my ribs.

The intruders were monstrous men with long, braided beards. Spotting them in the chaos that had ensued was quite simple; their long, flowing hair, mostly red or black, gave them away as they sliced through one dear acquaintance after another. The coppery smell of blood was pungent in the air. These warriors on foot were well-versed in the art of sword and axe combat and ultimate brutality.

A handful of town soldiers had arrived to fight in the losing battle and were quickly overtaken, pulled from their horses and hacked to pieces by the Northmen. Even their coats of mail were no match for the long thin blades of our new enemy. I covered my ears to block out the sounds of agonizing death and ran as fast as I’d ever run in my life to reach shelter. Breath could not come quickly enough. My feet felt suspended in air.

A voice boomed. A quick glance over my shoulder informed that I’d been spotted at last. Three Northmen gave pursuit. I slammed into the stable door, trembling hands too stupid to open the latch. They were coming. I did not want to die. I whined, despite not wanting to and tugged on the handle before trying the mechanism again. The thing finally opened for me just as an incredibly strong hand grabbed my loose, long hair. My face crashed into the hard wood of the stable door then everything went black.

––––––––

C
ool water brought me back around to consciousness again. My vision wavered into clarity for me to find myself in a dark enclosure. I closed my fingers on thick fur beneath me. I tried to bring my knees to my chest involuntarily and realized that my ankle was tied with a coarse rope. I had been stripped of my dressing gown and left wearing only the flimsy shift, which had been for Cecil’s benefit. Where was I? A strange wizened woman’s face gazed down at me, her expression unreadable in shadow cast by a nearby fire. She dipped the rag she’d been using into a rough-hewn bowl and reached for me again, muttering in a guttural language.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “Why have you brought me here?”

Was I dead? My headed pounded something fierce and my mouth was as dry as bleached bones. The woman brought a horn of something to my mouth. I batted it away, sending the cup flying across the small space.

“Release me at once!” I shouted. The rope around my ankle chaffed my delicate skin.

To be laid half-naked in restraints while a stranger attempted to what? Clean me?

The memory of having my head dashed into a door returned. That explained my horrid headache. The raiders. My people.

My gaze trailed over the objects in the room. Animal skins. A table, set with another horn. And at that table, a mountain of a man. He supped as if none of this were out of the ordinary. Our eyes met. He spoke to the woman in the same language and she responded, harshly. They bantered back and forth in words I couldn’t understand until she threw the rag at my face and left the room in a stormy rush.

The man waved ringed fingers at the door she’d just disappeared through.

“An old mother,” he said in English, though highly accented. “She does not like her help refused.”

“And who are you?”

I rolled to my side, remembering the sheer material that covered my breasts and body. The rope gnawed deeper into my ankle. “Why am I here?”

“You ask too many questions, woman.” He tore into a hunk of meat with his teeth.  His hair wasn’t exactly black as I’d originally supposed, but a deep brown, and wild as it trailed down his back in an assortment of different-sized braids. His dark gaze returned my stare.