Her mouth, she realized belatedly, flapped wide open. Pulling
herself together, she exclaimed, "You try to tell me you would be a
faithful husband content with one woman? Do I look like a fool?"
"I do not try telling you anything, woman. I tell."
She folded her arms. "I know about men and their need to sow
seed widely."
"What means this?" He scowled now, the faint smile gone. He
moved closer to where she stood. "Speak plain woman and not in
riddles."
He wanted plain words? She'd give him plain. "Women do not
want a man as often as a man wants a woman. Men are beasts who
enjoy fucking more than women do. That is why men can never be
satisfied with one partner. A sensible wife encourages her husband to
take mistresses, so that she may have peace from his crude fumblings
and the constant toil of childbirth."
As she spoke he advanced again, each one of her angry words
apparently drawing him in rather than chasing him away as she'd
hoped. With every forward step he took, Elsinora backed up. His eyes
were hot, hard. "And what gives you all this knowledge of men and
fucking? Your father assured me you are a maid. Is this not so?" He
stared at her crossly, branding her again with his mark of ownership.
"Tell me now if you are not."
Aha! This would be her chance to chase him off, but before
she could speak, he added in a calmer tone, "Not that it matters. I
should like to be warned, however."
She stumbled back. He followed again.
Don't think of the way his body fits inside those breeches.
Look at his scar instead and remember how ugly he is, how he
frightened you last night when he loomed out of the dark.
He raised his hand and captured her chin, his thumb pressed to
her lips, the ring on his finger cold against her jaw. She tried to pull
away but found herself trapped by a low stone wall. On the other side
of it there was the dung heap. The Norman widened his stance,
penning her in against the wall. His thumb pressed down on her lower
lip and then his mouth claimed hers.
She raised her knee between his legs but he was ready for her.
Showing off his warrior's reflexes he dropped his tunic and blocked
her thigh with his free hand, pushing it down and then sliding
immediately between her legs. Her gown was in his way, but he
fondled her through the material, trying to work an insistent finger
through the weave. She gasped, and as her mouth opened he thrust his
tongue into her mouth, taking it roughly. Elsinora tasted his
breakfast—ale and something else—mint leaves? He must have been
down to the herb garden early this morning and plucked mint for his
breath. Few men she knew would bother.
"I'll see for myself if you are virgin," he growled into her lips.
She was too shocked to fight. Yes, that must be the reason
why she went limp and let him kiss her again. Let him lift her gown
aside and push his hand between her legs to touch her quinny. The
stone wall pressed into her lower back, but he did not care apparently
about her discomfort. When the callused pad of his finger slipped
between her labia, she almost forgot about it too.
This was a secluded corner of the yard and wreathed in
shadow as the morning sun, not yet reaching its highest point, moved
around behind the buildings. Here no one came unless to heave a
barrow of dung after cleaning out the barns and stables, but that
would not be done again until evening. Spring plowing had just begun
in the fields however, and the manure would occasionally be fetched
by cart, so there remained a small chance of being disturbed. Her
heart kept a scattered pace, her gaze shifting to the corner of the barn
over his shoulder, watching just in case.
He stroked her daisy, working it with a gentle fingertip. Again
his lips covered hers, kissing her as she'd never been kissed, not even
by Stryker Bloodaxe. His tongue wound itself around hers, tugging
and insistent. He moved closer, his strong muscular thighs holding
hers apart while his hand explored her pussy. She imagined her
mother's voice, scolding and harsh as it was most often, telling her to
stop him.
Elsinora what are you doing? Down on your knees, this
instant, and repent girl. Repent!
But how could she get down on her knees with this man's hand
between her thighs?
When his lips released hers, she glanced downward and saw
the stiff bulge in his breeches.
"Stop," she gasped belatedly.
His fingertip was poised within her. He waited, breathing
hard, his eyes black, staring down into hers.
She perused his scarred cheek, her conscience trying to remind
her of his evil. But a spark of wanton desire and curiosity flamed
inside her loins, too hot to be ignored. "Oh, very well then. See for
yourself if I am a maid. Have your proof. If you must."
At once his finger moved further and she tensed against the
intrusion. She stared at the muscle flexing in his shoulder and felt the
finger at the end of that arm penetrating her another short distance
until he felt her hymen. Finally he pronounced, "No man has been
here."
"Now let me go, filthy swine!"
He chuckled and she felt that too, tickling her tender petals.
She gasped. "Just like any other Norman pig, forcing himself
on a woman."
He leaned back a little, but kept his hand on her sex, his finger
in her damp cleft. "I will not take your virgin blood unless you are my
wife. And then you will be my only woman, from that moment on, as
I told you once already."
"Of course!" She turned her face away. "You'll never look at
another pair of titties"
"I might look. I might even admire, but I won't touch. Not
once I have a lawful wife. This I swear."
"I don't know why you bother telling me this," she groaned, as
he worked his finger lightly and teasingly over her blossoming flower.
"I don't care what you do with your cock, Norman." She wanted to
run away, but her legs felt useless. The heat he conjured between her
thighs was fierce, scalding, mesmerizing. His entire hand possessed
her now, the heel of his palm pressed into her pubic mound. Slowly
and carefully he added a second finger to the first.
He leaned over her again, watching her lips as if they were a
small treat held out and he a mastiff fixated on that promise.
"Remember my name?" he growled. "Coeur du Loup. Heart of the
Wolf."
Elsinora had not known what his name meant, but she
shrugged, trying to ignore the fingertips sliding in and out of her now,
slick with the wetness of her passionate, shameful arousal. His touch
was far more tender than the stream and yet the sensations he lured
out of her were much deeper, much hotter.
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