Hellion (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 7) Read online

  "Tell me first, woman!"

  She laughed, and his pulse quickened again. "Move the posts four feet," she repeated, snatching her wimple out of his tight fist, "and see."

  Turning, she walked away down the slope.

  The woman was toying with him, as no other woman would ever dare.

  Oh, this was bad, he thought morosely. He should be holding a hard line and telling her she could expect no more than he would deign to give her. Yet there he was, thinking about her hair and what it would feel like to wrap his body in it. Wondering all sorts of things about her. Whether she liked soft fucking or hard fucking. Whether she was a screamer in bed, a howler like a wolf, or a pigeon that cooed. Whether she tasted as damn good as she smelled.

  The sun was getting hotter by the second.

  She had now reached the bottom of the slope, and her hair was covered again by the wimple. She hadn't bothered to re-braid all those tumbling waves, but the luster was safely, properly covered again. Good, it better be. He didn't want other men's eyes admiring that beauty. Sal coughed, needing to ease the tension in his throat. He wiped a hand across his sweating brow and drew his palm down over his face, hoping he hid the sheer lust that must surely be marking his expression at that moment. Not that she could see his features clearly from that distance, but if she realized how much he'd been thinking about fucking her lately, he would lose— end up giving her the very boots off his feet before he'd got as much as he wanted from the woman.

  And this was too good a game to risk losing. Yes, she was playing with him, gambling with him, but he didn't mind it. Not. At. All.

  He couldn't help but admire her bravado, her fearless spirit.

  Still, he was confused about what had brought her to him that day with her negotiating game. Helene de Leon had never hidden what she thought of him— that he was her inferior, because he was the bastard born grandson of a blacksmith and had none of that noble Norman lineage that was so important to her sort.

  However, they both had something the other wanted, didn't they?

  Now he'd have to trust her. If he moved those posts as much as she wanted, he could be left looking a fool. On the other hand, she would know she'd found a way to win herself something from him and doubtless there were other things she wanted. Other things for which she would bargain.

  Chapter Five

  There was no reasoning with the tumultuous feelings coursing through her body, she'd decided. Therefore she would concede to this terrible, lusty desire to play with Salvador d'Anzeray while she still could. The morning sun, merry birdsong and that glorious expanse of blue summer sky had cheered her spirit that day, made her feel invincible.

  Before a new husband was sent to her and the walls of her prison closed in, she must make the most of it.

  Later, when her guards reported back that the fence posts had been moved to give her four feet of additional land at the end of her field, she felt a skip of excitement. He had complied, taken her bait. Now she must fulfill her side of the bargain.

  She wrote him a message and sent it via the boy, Harold, a slim, freckled lad who could approach d'Anzeray's gates without fear of being shot at with arrows. The only one of her servants he had ever allowed near his fortress.

  Only after Harold had gone did she pause to wonder whether Salvador could read. Oh well, too late now. Hopefully he could.

  She ordered a bath and had Elyce rub her body from head to toe with perfumed oil. And then all she had left to do was wait for the lowering of the sun.

  * * * *

  Send all the guards from your gate at dusk and wait there.

  Was she mad? He should send his guards away from the gate? And then what? Her soldiers would storm them perhaps?

  He looked at the boy Harold, whose face was open and merry, expectant and eager. "You like working for your mistress, boy?" he barked.

  Harold grinned. "Yes, sire."

  "She's a good mistress? Treats you well?"

  "Of course, sire."

  "Perhaps I would treat you better, if you came to work for me."

  The boy's grin faltered, and he scratched his chin. "For you?"

  "That's right. I'll pay you twice whatever she does and feed you well too."

  Harold seemed to consider this for a while, but then his smile sparked again. "No, thank you, sire. I'll stay with Lady de Leon. She's the kindest of ladies and looks after me."

  Apparently her servants were loyal. Or else the boy didn't understand the concept of coin and what "twice" his wages might mean, he mused. He looked at the boy thoughtfully as he crumpled the message in his fist and tossed it into the ashes of his fire.

  "Tell me more about your mistress, boy."

  "Why, she is clever and witty. Always looking to make life at the manor better for all of us. She never raises her voice to me or her hand." Then he added proudly, "She's teaching me to read and write." Clearly the boy liked talking about her.

  "Anything else?"

  "What else would you like to know, sire?"

  Sal leaned back in his chair. "Since Calledaux died, she has lain alone, has she not?"

  The boy's eyebrows drew together. "Lain alone, sire? She goes to her private chamber at night with her maid, sire. I sometimes carry up her bath water and then carry it back again." He shifted from foot to foot. Was that because he felt discomforted by the subject, or because he'd been told to stay quiet and he did so out of loyalty to his wondrous mistress?

  "How old are you, boy?"

  "Twelve, sire."

  "Then you are old enough to know what I mean when I ask whether she is chaste."

  A light flush suffused the lad's cheeks and then his ginger eyebrows straightened. His small chin was up, indignant. "Sire, my mistress is an angel and the best—"

  "But perhaps she favors one of the guards above any other. Spends time alone with him. It may not be in her bed." He stopped, realizing his tone had grown angry and the boy looked fearful. "Worry not. Whatever you tell me will remain a secret."

  Harold bit his lip and his little jaw became very square and determined. "She treats everyone with the same kindness, sire."

  Frustrated, Sal pushed himself out of the carved chair and prowled to the window of his chamber, peering out on the courtyard and the guards by his gate. A recent wound incurred in a skirmish was starting to smart again, and he glared down at his arm where some fool Saxon's blade had cut his flesh. It was not healing well. "Can you tell me with certainty that no other man has been with her since her husband died?"

  "Been with her?"

  "I know you understand me, boy. Has she been fucked?" He knew she would be furious if she found out that he pressed the boy on this subject. She would say he had no right to know, of course. But it had become a matter of importance to Sal. He had to know she slept alone. She was bold enough to think she could get away with a secret lover, or two.

  "My lady sleeps alone, sire. She has no time for men."

  Sal spun around, glaring at the boy.

  "That's what she says, sire. I heard her tell the maid once that she doesn't want another man to manage."

  "When did she say this?"

  "The maid asked her if she would marry again. My lady said she has already had one husband, sire, and that was enough."

  Suddenly, Sal thought he might laugh out loud. He turned back to the window hastily

  and cleared his throat.

  "Is that all, sire?"

  "Yes. Go back to your beloved mistress."

  "No message in reply to hers, sire?"

  He stared out at the sun as it was drifting down below the far trees. "Tell her I'll be there. As she asked."

  And now all he need do was wait for the coming of the dark.

  * * * *

  The soldiers stood to attention as she rode up to the gate in her hooded cloak. They were obviously surprised to see her going out so late, and when she made it clear that she was riding out alone, they were concerned.

  "I will be back very soon," sh
e told them, "and quite safe." She had a sword and a knife under her cloak, and knew how to use them both. Besides, it was only a half mile she had to travel, it was not yet dark and a full moon was due. The rush torches of d'Anzeray's fortress would also light her way across the fields. She had not undertaken this idea without thought.

  Helene knew that if her message had asked him to meet her somewhere half way, he probably would have thought she meant to have him ambushed. At least, this way, he was in his own territory and need not be suspicious. There was also the fact that his tall, barred gates would be between them. She didn't want him taking more than she was willing to give for those four feet of field.

  But the guards were insistent and, finally, just to prevent an argument that would rouse the attention of others, she allowed one of them to ride alongside.

  "You are going to the demon's castle?" the guard exclaimed when he realized their direction.

  "He's not a —." She stopped and reconsidered. "Yes, which is why, when we get there you must not look upon his face or you will be enchanted by the evil light from his eyes."

  The guard shot her a frown.

  "It is worse at night," she added hurriedly, "when the moon is full like tonight, his powers are at their highest and most dangerous."

  "Then why do we go there now, my lady?"

  "I have some business with the villain." She sighed. "I wish I did not, but the sooner it is over with the better."

  "But... will his demonic eyes not enchant you, my lady?"

  "I shall be very cautious." And then she would say no more about it, for what right did the guard have to ask her anything about her mission? She reminded herself that she was the lady of the manor and he should simply obey her. Sometimes it was too easy to forget all that because she spent her days working among the people of her castellany and since she'd never been one for airs and graces they tended to look upon her as a sister, a mother, or even a daughter, rather than their mistress. Robert used to warn her she should keep herself apart from the people to remind them of their place, and hers, but Helene had lived a childhood of loneliness in a family of distant, cold, uncaring folk. Now she liked to know everything about the lives of those around her— their happiness and their sadness. She liked to celebrate their joys with them, to grieve when they suffered loss, and to comfort when it was needed. What use could she be to the people if she knew nothing about them and they were too afraid to come to her when they needed help?

  "Surely, Robert," she used to say, "a servant will be more loyal to his master if he feels it is reciprocated."

  He would reply in his weary drawl, "We give them a roof over their head, a fire in winter and food in their bellies. What more could they want?"

  They were almost at the gate of Salvador's manor, and she could see a brazier flicking in his yard. Night had not yet swallowed the land, but the daylight was no more. It was that point in time when color was gone and only layers of grey remained, broken by the occasional flutter of amber flame.

  She squinted. No one there as far as she could see. Her heart was thumping hard.

  Beside her, the guard stiffened in his saddle and laid one gauntled hand on his sword hilt.

  There was Salvador, quite suddenly standing on the other side of the gate, feet apart, hands on his hips. It was if the shadows had stretched out to form his shape on the other side of the gate. To her relief he wore no chain mail, no battle garb— just leather chausses, a tabard and a belt. His arms were bare, the muscles more evident than ever as he moved to fold his arms across his chest.

  "He is quite alone," she whispered to her escort, "I am safe, as you see."

  A quick but thorough assessment of the yard behind Salvador assured her that all the other men were inside. From the noise and laughter, they were enjoying a good supper.

  Helene instructed her guard to turn his horse and face the way they had come. He looked as if he might argue, but then, after one more anxious glance at the "Demon", he obeyed. She dismounted and walked up to the gate.

  * * * *

  So she came, and alone but for one body guard. Interesting. What did she plan to give him?

  When she arrived at the gate, Lady de Leon slid the hood of her cloak back and he saw that her hair was loose again. He glanced over to be sure the guard was still turned away. He was.

  Sal had opened his mouth to speak when Helene suddenly put a finger to her lips and frowned hard at him between the bars. He scowled back and she raised her right eyebrow in high, slender arch.

  This was another first for Sal; he'd never been silenced by a woman before.

  She looked him up and down swiftly and then pointed to a strip of cloth he had tied around his arm to cover that recent wound. What the devil—? Impatient, she gestured that she wanted it, so he untied the cloth and passed it through the bars.

  His makeshift bandage was then taken to the man on the horse and he was ordered to tie it securely around his eyes as an added precaution.

  "But keep your horse turned away," he heard her command.

  Mystified, Sal watched all this, thinking perhaps the woman had lost her mind after managing so long alone.

  What she did next, however, made him understand her need for all this and also caused him to stop thinking about anything for several minutes.

  For Lady de Leon returned to the gate, stood close and opened her long cloak.

  She was stark naked beneath it.

  "See," she whispered. "I told you, if you moved the fence, you would see."

  His gaze moved slowly, painstakingly, from her face, down that proud neck to her breasts, her belly, her pubic mound, her legs. Inside his breeches that over-eager beast was instantly called to attention again. He made a move closer to the bars, but she backed up a half step.

  "See!" she whispered again, eyes flaring. "That is all."

  It felt like she'd reached through the bars and grabbed him by the balls.

  Ah, the wench was indeed cunning. And confident too if she thought one glimpse of her body would pay for four feet of his land. As if he hadn't looked at many female bodies of all shapes and sizes. What was special about hers?

  But since she was there he looked anyway. Why not?

  Yes, her tits were perky, full orbs with dark nipples. Very nice. The cooler night air made those little berries taut, hardening as he watched. She had just moved slightly and her breasts jiggled.

  Sal winced and sucked on his tongue where he'd bitten it. His cock filled and stretched as he imagined rubbing it between those glorious, milky bubbies. How dark his skin would look against hers. There was a light sheen to her body, he realized. And it was fragrant too.

  Her belly was softly rounded, her hips well curved, and there, nestled between her legs, hidden by a little pelt of silky hair—just a little darker than the hair on her head—rested treasure. He stared down at it, at the shining, tight curls where he wanted to bury his face.

  Damn woman kept her legs together, but he wanted more. Needed to see more. He made a motion with his hands, showing her that he wanted her thighs parted.

  Helene glanced back to be sure her escort was still blindfolded and turned away.

  Sal growled through the bars as he gripped them with both hands "See!"

  She glared crossly, but he didn't care. The darkness of night was about to close fully in, and then he had only the moon and a few lit rush torches to see her by. There was no time to waste. He'd given the woman what she wanted. Now it was his turn.

  Apparently she agreed. Looking at the ground, she found a spot of grass between the dry ruts left by carriage wheels. Here she arranged her cloak to sit upon it and then, her hands resting on the earth behind her, she parted her legs. The breath caught in his throat. He felt like a twelve-year old boy again, thrilled just by a glimpse of a naked woman. But there was something about this one— perhaps it was her bossiness, or that noble mien which shone through even when she was covered in filth. Perhaps it was the way she took control of this game.
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br />   Clever of her to have the bars between them, he mused.

  She did not spread her legs like a whore, but held them slightly apart, as if it was casual— a sunny day in a meadow and she thought she was alone, unobserved. Helene leaned back and tipped her head to look up at the moon. Her hair, all that rich velvet, tumbled down over her shoulders to the ground.

  The hunger growing quickly and fiercely, Sal hunkered down on his side of the gate and tried again to reach through the bars, but she was just a few inches too far. Her pussy was there for him to see, not touch, and he was left clawing at the air like a caged beast.

  He stared at the pink lips of her cunny. They looked moist, as if she was aroused by this too. With a soft grunt, he reached into his breeches, unable to stop himself. She must have heard the sound for her head came up again to see what he did and then her eyes widened when she laid them upon his cock and saw him holding it, rubbing it furiously, fingers curled around it. If he was not mistaken her legs just parted an inch more, almost as if it was instinctive at the sight of his erection.

  He licked his lips and swallowed another groan. Did she just smile at him? The brazen, teasing wench! So much for piety, he mused. Well, he could certainly attest to her charity at least. She was indeed generous to this common, lusty oaf she honored with a sight of her noble cunny.

  With one hand she now explored her own body, cupping and squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, then letting her fingers slip slowly down betwixt her thighs. She stroked the glistening, fragrant curls and toyed with her pussy lips.

  The heat of his need was close to boiling over as he watched her press a finger between her folds. He slowed his hand, not wanting to come so soon. What was wrong with him that he should be on fire just from this?

  How many women had masturbated themselves for his pleasure? More than he could count. But not like her. Not like this.

  Her finger moved upward to the crest of her pouty labia and circled the pink pearl, that little "man in a boat" as one of his brothers had named it. He couldn't remember which one. Now he saw her getting slicker and her hips rolled slightly. Soon he'd smell her musk.