The Ever Knight (6 page)

Well, she supposed seducing Remy
was
her idea, even if he did make it easy. Explaining to them about her Ever Knight would be pointless of course. They would laugh at her. Or Remy would laugh; his brother would probably just stare at her in that challenging, annoying manner. Men had no romance in their souls.

Renard gripped her chin in his hand and lifted it to make her eyes meet his. Suddenly she saw something there, something struggling to get out and yet held back. “Did my brother please you?”

She thought about lying. His grip tightened until it almost bruised her jaw.

“The truth,” he added, his voice low, restrained. “
Jisella
.” The way he pronounced her name made the skin on the back of her neck prickle and tiny tremors skipped down her spine. His ‘J’ was soft, the vowels lingering on his tongue so that it came out as “Shee-sell-lure”.

With both hands she pulled on his arm and he released her. “Yes,” she snapped. “He fucked me. He fucked me good and hard and I liked it. There now! Content?”

His left eyebrow rose in a high arch and his eyes flamed. Aha! She had made him show emotion. He was not impervious after all. He shook out his fingers and let them hang at his sides. She was shocked that he did not strike her. She’d felt her father’s wrath for much less insolence than that and the nun’s were not adverse to correction in the same manner if the need arose. Jisella had known bloody noses before and even a blackened eye.

Remy drew closer. “’Tis true. It is my fault, Renard. Take a knife to my throat if you desire it.”

For a long moment all was still. She felt her heart swell with gladness to hear Remy take her part, willing to sacrifice himself. Then he
was
her Ever Knight. He was. She’d been right all along.

A mouse could be heard scratching away in a damp corner. “I don’t desire to shed your blood, brother,” Renard replied finally, never moving his gaze from hers. “But I do desire this woman and I will have her.”

Jisella tore her gaze away and found Remy observing his brother in bemusement. Then he too turned his attention to her. She softened under the lusty heat of their joint fierce regard. It was overwhelming to know they both wanted her —and she had made Renard confess it out loud. From the look on Remy’s face his brother rarely, if ever, did that.

The thought dampened her sex, made her breasts feel hot and heavy.

“So what do we do about it?” she managed, her breath shallow, burning in her throat. “You can’t both have me, can you?” Her voice rose in a question at the end when it should have been a statement. She felt her face flush.

Renard jerked off his gloves and raised a hand to her right breast, holding and weighing it through her gown. “Let me think about this dilemma.” His thumb rubbed her peaking nipple and she arched her back just enough to press it more firmly into his palm. “What do you think, brother?” he murmured.

Remy waited for no further invite, but touched her other breast likewise and growled, “She’s in heat.” He licked his lips, a wolf waiting to pounce, as if he could smell her musk. She’d already scented the sexual need in them both, but then she had extraordinarily strong senses because of what she was, a Child of the Full Moon, born under it on All Hallow’s Eve.

Which one of them now had claim? One had taken her dowry, the other her maidenhead. How would they manage her? How would
she
manage
them
?

They stood fondling her breasts, smoothing and spreading the cloth with their fingers to make her nipples more pronounced, comparing one to the other, as if to see whose touch aroused her more.

“You will abide by my decision?” she demanded, her throat dry. It must be another trick, she thought. He only let her think she could choose.

But he inclined his head a half inch. “My lady Jisella, we await your decision. You may come with me today and we shall be married, as it was planned. Or you can go with Remy, wherever his horse takes him.”

She looked at Remy. He seemed paler, but he stood brave and nodded to her. Then suddenly he smiled, as if he could no longer hold it in. Last night he had assured her he could not take her with him. Had he changed his mind now? He stood by his brother and awaited her decision. For all his bluster, was he now ready to make room for a woman in his life? Ready to love her, even on bad days when things did not go his way, or she was in a less obliging mood? He had enjoyed everything his way until now. Would he adjust to sharing his uncluttered life with another soul?

Then there was his brother, setting the rules of this game, giving her a chance when he might otherwise have turned his back and left in disgust.

Remy was easy to read; his brother was not so willing to show his thoughts upon his strong face. In fact, Renard de Robynet frightened her a little, made her heart beat faster. One would always know when Remy was angry. Not so with Renard. He swallowed his emotions as if it was unmanly to have any, good or bad. That spelled trouble in any language.

But, like her father, she was a survivor. Rather than be swept down by the tide of circumstance, she would swim with it. Gathering every ounce of courage, she said firmly, “How can I decide between you… since I’ve only known Remy?”

A stiff muscle tugged Renard’s lips upward, first one thin corner and then the other. It was apparently the best he could do for a smile. “We can amend that.”

He pulled on the ties at her throat and Remy stepped up behind her to catch the cloak as it fell. There was no objection voiced aloud from anyone. The two men were prepared to let her make her choice, even though she was “only” a woman and therefore her wants and needs were usually of no concern. She felt invigorated by the sudden power they placed in her hands.

And then by the jutting cock placed in them immediately afterward. Renard was ready in the blink of an eye and just as well endowed as his brother.

“What about the Mother Superior?” she muttered, stroking her fingers over the head and down the thick vein to his balls in their furred sac. Renard ignored her question, gathered her skirt and shift to her waist and thrust his large hand between her thighs, so forceful that she almost lost her footing.

“The lady insists you stay, Remy.” He laughed—the stark, unexpected, mirthless sound cutting the heavy atmosphere like a blade through a heart. “Perhaps she wants you to see how it should be done, eh?”

So there
was
competition between them. At least on Renard’s side. A quick spark burned in his eyes, hastily snuffed. It must have been hard, she thought, to grow up with a half-brother so capable and strong like Remy—a half-brother who, due to his illegitimacy, probably had greater freedom to do as he pleased with fewer expectations on his shoulders. Remy was obviously popular with his men. He fit in. Renard, on the other hand, was treated with somber faces and chilly deference by the soldiers in the yard that morning. There was no witty, friendly banter. His expression didn’t welcome it.

Now he hid the momentary lapse and his eyes were dark again, betraying nothing. He pretended he didn’t care about many things. Oh, but he did. That little glimpse, as he let down his guard, had shown her.

Fox. In his tongue “Renard” was the name for a fox, according to Sister Annuncia who was the first to tell Jisella of her father’s marriage arrangement with the Normans.

How apt it was, she realized now. Sly, lean, hungry. One of nature’s wildest creatures, untrusting of man, untamable.

Like Remy, he too had long, black lashes and uniquely beautiful eyes, although his could be scornful and demanding. His features were strong, his jaw firm, roughened with stubble.

She heard the clang of the bolts and then Remy’s heavy footsteps quickly returning. No one would come to her aid. Mother Superior would assume she was getting her “comeuppance” at the hands of her cuckolded betrothed. As indeed she would be, just not quite the way they could ever dream. She was now his property to do with as he pleased. The nuns handed her over with scarcely another thought.

Renard kissed her mouth. He pulled her gown up over her thighs and his long fingers played with her sex, slipping inside, testing her capabilities. Behind him Remy whispered something in French and he answered in English, “Don’t worry. If she is sore from you, I will go slow.” He was a little resentful of the advice, but again he tried not to let it show. It occurred to Jisella that Remy, who must know his brother better than she, used this subtle way of crowing over Renard, reminding him that he’d had her first and thoroughly.

Or perhaps, after all, it was just a well meant warning, for Renard rushed in like a young bull showing off. Where Remy had savored her, taken his time, Renard went straight at it, requiring and giving no preparation. She gasped, keening, her mind protesting his haste, her body ecstatic. Once fully sheathed, he licked her cheek, moving a long strand of hair aside with the tip of his tongue to whisper in her ear that she was beautiful, that his prick had lifted for her at first sight. And then, that pretty flattery disposed of by rote, he held her wrists over her head and proceeded to swive her roughly as if she was his slave. As if he had a point to make.

“I wager…you say… that… to… all the… girls,” she panted between rapid, shuddering thrusts. He paused; another light flickered deep in his brown eyes. She saw she’d amused him and it seemed he was not often amused. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Resuming that pounding rhythm, he slid his hands under her bottom, at least thoughtful enough to save her tender flesh from splinters. She wrapped her legs around his flanks, clinging on for dear life. His cock was not as thick, but even longer than Remy’s. They were both talented. His flesh moved slickly in and out of her clean, freshly-bathed pussy and the friction jolted through her sharply, bringing her to a peak that was almost too savage in intensity.

Before it was completely over, he lifted her from the table and off his cock. She was still trembling inside, little quakes rippling through her, one atop the other so she couldn’t catch her breath. He hadn’t finished, she thought sulkily, eyeing his powerful staff, wondering why he waited.

She reached for his balls, grabbed them and squeezed, looking into his eyes. “If you don’t know what to do with me,
my lord
,” she said softly, “then you don’t deserve me. For your brother knew well and good.”

From his perch at the end of the table, Remy laughed huskily.

The gauntlet was laid down. Renard smirked at her, but his eyes remained fierce, pitiless. He beckoned with one curling finger and Remy slid from the table, drawing closer. “The Lady Jisella asks for trouble.” Renard paused, hands on his hips, still letting her hold his heavy balls. “Trouble she will get.”

She let him go and spun on her heel, but Remy caught her by the braid, chuckling. “The Saxon Princess fears for her life.” His quick fingers were already loosening her hair, setting it free from the ribbon Sister Annuncia had bound it with that morning. Jisella thought of making another run for the door, but her feet would not comply and soon even her mind objected to the idea.

“Let us try to win you,” Remy whispered, his breath soft on the side of her cheek. “We won’t harm you. Trust us.”

Her heart thumped hard against her ribs and then Renard was there too, helping untie her braid, his fingers more dexterous.

What was a girl to do? Yesterday morning there were no men in her life. Today there were two gorgeous specimens competing for her favors. No tiltyard could host a better tournament or provide more exciting entertainment.

With his brother’s help, Renard set her kneeling on a bench, rolled her gown up over her hips, remarked casually to Remy on the beauty of her pussy, and then mounted her from behind, sliding in again between the dewy lips he’d left shortly before. He paused a moment to strip off his tunic and shirt for better freedom of movement and she felt his belt fall, the heavy buckle grazing her thigh, probably leaving a mark.

A set of fingers untied the laces that ran down the back of her gown, but they were not Renard’s fingers, for he held her hips while he fucked her steadily, his booted feet standing astride the bench. Wave after wave washed over her, each one of his slyly positioned, slow-grinding thrusts starting a new shiver. She mewled softly, biting back the urge to scream with pleasure.

Remy’s hands meanwhile tugged her gown and shift over her head. The brothers exchanged a few sentences in their own tongue and then Renard withdrew. She sighed, not with disappointment but anticipation. They would not leave her wanting, she knew that already. For a while they just touched her, the two pairs of hands all over her, stroking and petting until she arched her back like a kitten, frantic for more. Remy ran his fingers through her hair while Renard stood back to look at her, muttering about her wantonness as if this was entirely her doing and not their fault at all that she was so hot with desire, so ready to do whatever they wanted. Finally they helped her feet to the ground on either side of the bench, but kept her bent over it. Suddenly Renard was pressing that long organ between her ass cheeks. She gasped, flinching, thinking he meant to plow his way forward. But he rubbed the wet tip over her anus and then drew his fingers through her sticky slit, before using them to moisten his path. When she opened her eyes Remy was sliding under her on the bench.