Read Online How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel by Stella Marie Alden - Free Book Online
Authors: Stella Marie Alden
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“Aye. Go back to your chambers the way you came. Put a lamp to the parapets, so I know when it is safe for me to return. We should not be seen entering the keep together.”
She pointed high and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. For being so sweet. Look to that wall. The top slit, that is my chamber.”
Chapter 11
She thanks me?
After Fay disappeared, Nicholas moaned and fell to his knees. He truly was damned. It was one thing to seduce a queen for his grandfather’s connivance, but he would never hurt a woman so ill-used. ’Twas no wonder she shot arrows into suitors and was so confused about the ways of men and women.
He sighed, utterly undone. That kiss, before she’d mauled him, was beyond any delight he’d ever known. The next time she offered her lips, he’d not let go until they both were fully sated and then God help them both.
Tomorrow, I will tell her the truth and woo her as myself; Nicholas, the bastard son of Bruce, and almost-knight. Oh, that sounded noble. Who was he kidding? He was but a serf to his grandfather’s whims. He went onto all fours and repeatedly banged his forehead upon the sand.
Loki, thinking his actions a wonderful game, frolicked and licked a soft tongue over his face. The dog was right. Self-loathing was not a thing to be tolerated. Once again, he ran into the cool ocean, and swam. Loki followed with short legs paddling madly.
A flicker of light eventually appeared in a slit in the upper wall. By then, he was too numb and too tired to feel the ache in his chest. He walked across the green where sleepy sheep woke, stood, and bleated their displeasure.
Loki followed happily, and greeted the shepherd’s dog, nose to butt.
At the sight of the raised drawbridge, Nicholas cursed all the saints. The moat lay between him and a warm pallet. To call out, would be suspicious. Too damp and too chilled to sleep, he found a heavy branch for sword and went through his drills throughout the long night.
In the orange of the early morn, he took another quick swim. When the iron gears groaned, and the wood of the bridge clunked, he entered the keep. Eaton was already dressed and met him at the stable door. The rest of the false-monks were out and about the castle.
“So? Did you fuck her?” Eaton loomed, anxiously awaiting the news.
Nicholas groaned and sat into a soft pile of new hay. He lay back, and closed his eyes. “Christ’s nails. Nay.”
“I just assumed . . . being out all night.”
“I’ve been practicing swordplay, just out of eyesight of the parapets. I grow too soft in the garb of a priest.”
When Eaton eyed him as if he’d gone daft, Nicholas explained. “She kissed me. Like a wild cat without warning, she tore into me with tooth and nail. Then she cried like a babe while I held her in my arms.”
“Is she possessed?” He crossed himself.
Nicholas grabbed a nearby pottery lamp and threw it, which Eaton caught deftly midair.
“Be serious. During the last uprising, she was raped by her stepbrother, while her dead mother lay nearby. A deed most foul. She was but ten and three.”
Eaton put the lamp gingerly on a table, began to shovel a pile of manure into a barrel, and shook his head back and forth. “It changes nothing. You still must do as Annandale says, or die. If you don’t succeed, I’m to try next, or share whatever fate he has in store for you. His methods of torture make for a most convincing argument.”
Nicholas clenched a fist. No one, other than himself, would ever touch her fair skin. “What we are about to do is not right. ’Twas one thing when I believed that by sending her to a nunnery I would save her eternal soul, but this, this is entirely different.”
“Did you at least convince her that there is a heavenly Father?”
“In truth? Right now, I am not so convinced.” Nicholas scattered clean hay onto the stable floor and sat. His skin itched from the drying sea salt.
Eaton made the sign of the cross. “Tempt the devil and he will
She pointed high and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. For being so sweet. Look to that wall. The top slit, that is my chamber.”
Chapter 11
She thanks me?
After Fay disappeared, Nicholas moaned and fell to his knees. He truly was damned. It was one thing to seduce a queen for his grandfather’s connivance, but he would never hurt a woman so ill-used. ’Twas no wonder she shot arrows into suitors and was so confused about the ways of men and women.
He sighed, utterly undone. That kiss, before she’d mauled him, was beyond any delight he’d ever known. The next time she offered her lips, he’d not let go until they both were fully sated and then God help them both.
Tomorrow, I will tell her the truth and woo her as myself; Nicholas, the bastard son of Bruce, and almost-knight. Oh, that sounded noble. Who was he kidding? He was but a serf to his grandfather’s whims. He went onto all fours and repeatedly banged his forehead upon the sand.
Loki, thinking his actions a wonderful game, frolicked and licked a soft tongue over his face. The dog was right. Self-loathing was not a thing to be tolerated. Once again, he ran into the cool ocean, and swam. Loki followed with short legs paddling madly.
A flicker of light eventually appeared in a slit in the upper wall. By then, he was too numb and too tired to feel the ache in his chest. He walked across the green where sleepy sheep woke, stood, and bleated their displeasure.
Loki followed happily, and greeted the shepherd’s dog, nose to butt.
At the sight of the raised drawbridge, Nicholas cursed all the saints. The moat lay between him and a warm pallet. To call out, would be suspicious. Too damp and too chilled to sleep, he found a heavy branch for sword and went through his drills throughout the long night.
In the orange of the early morn, he took another quick swim. When the iron gears groaned, and the wood of the bridge clunked, he entered the keep. Eaton was already dressed and met him at the stable door. The rest of the false-monks were out and about the castle.
“So? Did you fuck her?” Eaton loomed, anxiously awaiting the news.
Nicholas groaned and sat into a soft pile of new hay. He lay back, and closed his eyes. “Christ’s nails. Nay.”
“I just assumed . . . being out all night.”
“I’ve been practicing swordplay, just out of eyesight of the parapets. I grow too soft in the garb of a priest.”
When Eaton eyed him as if he’d gone daft, Nicholas explained. “She kissed me. Like a wild cat without warning, she tore into me with tooth and nail. Then she cried like a babe while I held her in my arms.”
“Is she possessed?” He crossed himself.
Nicholas grabbed a nearby pottery lamp and threw it, which Eaton caught deftly midair.
“Be serious. During the last uprising, she was raped by her stepbrother, while her dead mother lay nearby. A deed most foul. She was but ten and three.”
Eaton put the lamp gingerly on a table, began to shovel a pile of manure into a barrel, and shook his head back and forth. “It changes nothing. You still must do as Annandale says, or die. If you don’t succeed, I’m to try next, or share whatever fate he has in store for you. His methods of torture make for a most convincing argument.”
Nicholas clenched a fist. No one, other than himself, would ever touch her fair skin. “What we are about to do is not right. ’Twas one thing when I believed that by sending her to a nunnery I would save her eternal soul, but this, this is entirely different.”
“Did you at least convince her that there is a heavenly Father?”
“In truth? Right now, I am not so convinced.” Nicholas scattered clean hay onto the stable floor and sat. His skin itched from the drying sea salt.
Eaton made the sign of the cross. “Tempt the devil and he will
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