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

  But on that evening, for the first time in thirteen years, Helene opened her eyes as she leaned over the water in her washbasin and stared at the shadowy reflection of her face.

  Was it improved, as Elyce claimed? Hard to tell. But she did feel something different.

  She just didn't know what it was.

  Chapter Ten

  Following the visit from his brothers, Salvador hoped to be left alone. Alas, it was not to be. Three of their wives now converged upon him, bringing food and wine— as if he might be starving in his own home— and a new tunic they'd sewn for him.

  "I hope you are taking care of yourself," exclaimed Princesa. "Out here all by yourself with no woman to look after you."

  He was puzzled by this apparent belief that he needed a woman around. Who the devil came up with that idea?

  Isobel and Jeanne forced him to try on the new tunic. Then they insisted he needed a shave and a hair trim, which they immediately took in hand without waiting for his permission.

  "Look at his grim scowl," Jeanne laughed. "Anyone would think he's not happy to see us."

  Isobel grabbed his hands and studied his fingernails, shaking her head. He tried reclaiming his fingers, but he was outnumbered. Before he could even protest they had begun scraping the dirt out from his nails and filing them down evenly. As if he was a damned horse.

  "Who sent you to me?" he demanded, cross. "Dom, I suppose?" That meddlesome oaf.

  "Nobody sent us, you dour old curmudgeon," Princesa replied. "You are our responsibility and our burden to look after, since you married us. All of you married us. Therefore you are our husband just as much as any of the others." She shot him an arch look, "Even if you don't think you need a wife."

  He glowered stormily at her. "I'm no one's responsibility. And no one's burden."

  They merely laughed at him, peppered his face with soft kisses, patted his hair, and turned their attention next to his feet.

  It occurred to Sal that he was being prepared, like some sort of sacrifice.

  "You must come back to your father's castellany tonight and dine with us," said Isobel as she scrubbed at his bare, newly soaked feet with a piece of grey stone.

  It felt quite pleasant actually, so although he wanted to protest he did not. "I have plans tonight," he managed tightly, thinking of Helene and the next gift he planned to send her. He'd been up all night thinking about a good present— something she could use, something significant too. She wasn't the sort to want jewelry or anything like that. She had no time for it.

  "How can you have plans when you are all alone here," said Jeanne with a pout. "We have missed your visits. You neglect us. Perhaps you have fond a woman of your own."

  At once Isobel and Princesa nudged her into sharp silence.

  Sal forced himself to pay attention to the wives. "All right, women. What the devil is going on? You may as well tell me before I feel inclined to spank it out of you."

  All three exchanged glances and returned to the scrubbing of his feet.

  "I see," he grumbled. "Who wants to be spanked first then?"

  The three pretty women began to laugh, apparently vastly amused by his attempt to uncover the mystery.

  He knew he should have threatened them with something else, because they all enjoyed a good spanking. Himself included.

  * * * *

  As it turned out, the d'Anzeray wives had come to see his "milkmaid" with their own eyes, since Dom had told them all about her. They were eager for Sal to end his "lonely exile" and hoped he had finally found a bride to join them. Their excitement was such that they'd not been able to contain themselves and so they rode over to visit.

  He calmly assured them that nothing about his life had changed and they were premature in their well wishes.

  "But Dom said you are smitten," Isobel exclaimed. "He said he saw it in your eyes."

  "Dominigo would see hearts and rainbows floating out of a mule's arse these days," he replied wryly.

  "We had all begun to think you would never find a wife for yourself," said Princesa. "And we need a seventh wife."

  "You need a seventh?"

  "Yes," she said firmly, not elaborating.

  He couldn't imagine what the reason was for this sense of urgency they suddenly had. "I am quite content as I am," he exclaimed, as all four lay naked together on a fur by the fire. "Why would I not be content with my brother's wives to share?"

  "But we must have seven," said Princesa, licking his nipple with her gentle tongue, her hot bottom— still no doubt throbbing from the spanking— cupped in his hand.

  "Your father decrees there should be seven," agreed Isobel, licking his other nipple, her long dark hair caressing his chest as she sprawled over him. "It is a mystical number."

  "Plus," said little Jeanne, kneeling between his legs, her hands on his thighs, "one wife for each husband." She lowered her pert lips over his cockhead and he closed his eyes, sinking into the blissful sensation.

  It was a splendid way to be nagged.

  "Tell us about your milkmaid," Princesa whispered.

  He scowled. "She's just a plaything, that's all. A temporary plaything. 'Tis nothing permanent."

  "A plaything. Like all women to you?"

  Princesa, he decided, was getting too bold. When Raul first brought her home with him she was meek, obliging and quiet, but apparently she'd now shaken off the remnants of her old life as a slave and transformed into a mouthy wench. "I'm no worse than my brothers," he growled. "Women are for pleasure."

  "But your brothers have all found love. Why do you resist it?"

  Oh, she was intent on spoiling the excellent sucking he was getting from Jeanne's sweet mouth. "Love," he grunted, shifting his hips and stroking Isobel's hair, "might be for them. Not for me." His brothers, he could have reminded her, were not supposed to fall in love. They were supposed to share their wives equally and therefore not lose their hearts or become weak, careless and stupid.

  Their father's idea of a harem was a practical one. There was never supposed to be individual love involved, for then there would be jealousy, possessiveness, tried loyalty — all things that could render a strong family asunder. Their father knew that and he wanted better for his sons. The children born of these women could be sired by any of the brothers, and thus they were all fathers, all responsible for the offspring. Their bonds would never be broken by doubt, suspicion or envy.

  But even as he thought all this, Sal knew what Princesa was telling him. But your brothers have all found love. Against their father's wishes and intentions, they had singled out their own favorites.

  Sal had observed the tide turning. His younger brothers had all found their special wife among the six and spent more time with her than any other. It was dangerous and he'd warned them against those feelings, done his best to discourage it. The damned fools had succumbed.

  "You have been the elder brother all these years, caring for the younger, overseeing the family," Princesa whispered again. "Now let us do something for you and find you a bride. We cannot have you left out."

  Left alone, she meant, of course. Again, her way of thinking was against his father's idea. No one was alone in his father's plan for the seven brothers and their brides were meant to be an impenetrable force, standing together, inseparable.

  "I am content the way we are now," he grunted.

  Isobel and Jeanne swapped places and he closed his eyes again. "Let us meet your milkmaid," whispered Princesa, gently licking his ear.

  He knew they were trying with all their might to make him purr like a cat and acquiesce to their demands. The wives were quite a ruthless force of their own, he mused.

  "No."

  "Why?" Jeanne sucked his nipple.

  "She's not wife material."

  "Bring her to supper and let us decide if she is suitable."

  He laughed, hoarse. Isobel was administering to his cock with a steady, determined suction, but he held back, stubborn, saving his semen for later.


  "I will come to supper, but alone."

  He'd have to alter his plans and go earlier to Helene's manor. And she'd better be ready for him, because he was going to touch her thoroughly. Outside and in. After the preparation he was getting now from the wives, he would be rampant as that small lion tattooed on his groin.

  "Is your milkmaid pretty?" Princesa asked.

  "Hmm."

  "And she is unwed."

  "Hmm."

  "It is strange for you to keep a woman to yourself, Salvador," said Isobel, sitting up.

  "Hmm."

  The women laughed to one another that he was being "tight-lipped" on the subject and they set about teasing him further with their lips and fingers and tongues, trying to worm more details out of him about his mysterious milkmaid. Eventually, however, they grew frustrated for Sal was a master of willpower. He could put himself into a higher plane of thought and consciousness to resist those urges that his brothers never could— or never wanted to. The only woman Sal had not been able to resist in the end was that damnable widow in the next manor. When she boldly strode up to him and made him drop his mallet in the grass he was lost.

  Truth was, he didn't want to spend with his brothers wives that day. There was only one pussy he wanted at that moment.

  Let these women try with all their might, but he would save it for Helene. For his Hellion, as he'd called her. Since she slyly invaded more and more of his thoughts, and other organs— all while pretending that she didn't really want to— the name seemed ever more appropriate.

  He sat up so abruptly that the three wives all rolled off him and onto the fur blanket with startled cries and yelps.

  Oh, yes, he thought, Helene de Leon had better be ready for him today because he'd have a great deal of energy built up.

  But although he did not ejaculate himself, Sal did the polite thing and saw to it that all three of the visiting wives each enjoyed a hearty climax before he saw them off again.

  "By the way," said Princesa as she mounted her horse, "we have news for you, husband dear. I almost forgot! Your father heard from the king that the troublesome widow on your border is about to be married again. That should keep her from bothering you, once she has a husband to keep her busy once more."

  He grabbed the horse's bridle. "Married again? The widow Calledaux?"

  "Of course. What other widow causes you such consternation as that old lady?"

  Waving and shouting that he was not to be late for supper, the three wives rode out of his gate with their now empty baskets.

  Sal stared at the dust cloud they left in their wake.

  Helene was to marry again, but she had not informed him of this.

  Of course, she was young and fertile so she must marry again whatever her feelings about it.

  Why should that news take him by surprise? And was it surprise he felt?

  * * * *

  "My lady, d'Anzeray has sent you another gift," cried Elyce, hurrying into the stables where Helene stood talking with the grooms.

  What was it this time, she wondered, her heart skipping a few thumps. He did like surprising her, it seemed.

  She gave her favorite mare a quick rub on the nose and then followed Elyce out into the yard, where she found a spectacularly large and very well-fed boar grunting and snouting around in the dirt. Wiping her hands on her gown, she walked up to the bent, elderly old man who had come with the pig. "This is a very generous present, from my neighbor," she muttered, feeling every eye upon her in the yard. "I'm not sure I can afford to keep such a—"

  "It is yours on loan, my lady," the old fellow croaked. "Just until he does his business for yon sow." He pointed with his stick toward her pigsty. "This boar is a champion breeder and will give you a good litter. As you discussed with my master last evening."

  "I see." Oh, yes, she saw alright. The symbolism of this gift was not lost on her. But rather than be appalled, as she should be, Helene wanted to laugh. "Very well, since it is only a loan."

  The Boar-walker bowed to her and said he would stay until the beast had performed its service and then he would take it back again to d'Anzeray's castellany. Helene asked that the man be taken inside and given refreshment while he waited, for she did not like to think of the poor old fellow having to walk the distance back and forth on such a warm day with no sustenance between.

  He seemed very grateful for the offer and hobbled inside with Elyce leading the way. Helene went back to her work, slightly puzzled that no other message had come with the boar. Perhaps he would send Harold later, telling her where he wanted to meet this time.

  Soon the sun was at its highest peak and everyone was sluggish, trying to find spots in the shade while they took a break from the day's work. Helene went into the cookhouse and found all the usual activity happening at a slower than usual pace due to the muggy heat.

  "Where is the old boar-walker?" she asked, looking around. "I thought he would be here resting."

  They all looked at her blankly, and Elyce admitted she'd been too distracted by her chores to notice where the man went. She would, no doubt, have paid more attention if he was young and handsome, thought Helene with a sigh.

  "I'm sure he has found somewhere cool to take a nap," Elyce assured her, yawning as she fanned herself with a corner of her apron. "I can't remember a day in June ever being so warm. But 'tis good for the haymaking."

  The conversation then turned to the weather and harvest. Feeling wilted herself and longing to lie down for a while, somewhere quiet and cool, Helene slipped away to her private chamber. But when she opened her chamber door a few minutes later, all hopes of staying cool were instantly lost.

  For there was the boar-walker, stretched out on her bed, waiting for her, his tunic discarded. Along with that long, false grey beard.

  Now she knew why there had been no message sent with the boar, for Salvador d'Anzeray had come himself to tell her what he wanted in exchange.

  Chapter Eleven

  "You took your time finding me," he said, eyeing her from his lounging pose.

  His words seemed heavy with meaning. Yes, she had taken her time gathering the courage to walk up to him with her suggestion. She wished she had done so sooner. And she also wished, suddenly, that she was not sweaty and wearing a stained gown. For possibly the first time in her adult life she yearned to be one of those graceful, elegant ladies, she previously only scorned for having nothing useful to do with their time.

  Helene approached the bed warily. "We cannot be caught here together. You take a great risk."

  "And you haven't done the same these past few nights, Hellion?" He smiled slowly, lazily, his head resting on his arms and turned to face her. "It was my turn to come to you."

  But despite his languid smile there was a sharpness in his gaze, as if he held back some anger. Perhaps he was still smarting from the two slaps she gave him last night.

  "What do you want from me in exchange for the services of your boar?" she asked, as if she didn't already know.

  Salvador sat up and swung his feet over the edge of her bed. "While my prize boar services your sow, I'll service you." That was confirmed then. As if she might still be in some doubt, he added a terse, "I want to fuck you. As many times as I can today."

  "Thank you for being so...clear."

  He smirked. "I didn't want to take a chance on you misunderstanding. Thinking you might get away with a little bit of touching again. This time I'm going in. I'm fucking you. And spilling inside you." His point made, he stood and began stripping off his chausses. "Bolt your door. We don't want to be disturbed. I don't want your guards running if I make you scream."

  Helene briefly thought of leaving, calling for help to have this handsome sinner removed from her chamber. That's what she should do if she was a real lady, delicate and chaste.

  Lucky for him she was neither. Just as she hid her hair under a plain wimple, she had hidden her true desires under a pious mask.

  With him, there was no need to hide.


  So she bolted the door and began to remove her gown.

  * * * *

  She complied rather easily, he thought. Remembering what Princesa had told him about another husband coming there for Helene, he felt his anger burst anew. Damnable woman wouldn't tell him that, would she? Now she planned to get what she could from him, before this other man came. To use him like a stud horse. Well, then he'd treat her the same way.

  Get his fill of her while he could.

  Hopefully he would get this strange need out of his blood, because he feared it would weaken him, soften his edges. She was like the sun melting the block of ice in which he kept his feelings.

  He picked up the walking cane that had aided him in his disguise and tapped it smartly against the palm of his hand. "First, I must punish you, Lady de Leon."

  Her eyes widened, flooding with those warm waves of lavender. Sal breathed in her scent deeply, his nostrils flaring.

  "Bend over. I will give you a sore arse to remember me by later."

  "I don't—"

  "Pay attention, wench. Obey me, or I'll make it worse."

  She looked at him as if she might flee, but then, slowly she walked to the bed. "Punish me for what?"

  "Slapping my face. Forbidding me to touch you." He paused. "Lying to me."

  She quirked an eyebrow.

  "You have lied to me, have you not?" he demanded, trying to contain his temper and keep his voice low. Her manor seemed to be napping lightly around them in the drowsy afternoon heat and he didn't want to disturb their shallow sleep.

  "No," she said, frowning quizzically."What would I lie to you about? I have no reason to do so."