women when it came to sex, he
realized. Out here they bred them lusty and forward. But this woman must have
been raised in a sheltered environment. She was a proper lady, not a plump
little mud-lark he might tumble in the hayfield while she giggled and thought
it an honor. In this woman's eyes she did him the honor.
Perhaps she was
right, he mused. Perhaps he was nothing more than a barbarian who got lucky.
Her dew, when he tasted it earlier, was sticky and sweet as honey, her skin the
softest he'd ever felt under his palms. It took all his willpower to keep from
claiming her fully that afternoon in the forest. And Stryker did not possess a
vast deal of willpower. The sooner this wedding took place the better if she
truly meant to cling to her maidenhead, because he wasn't sure how much longer
he could wait.
"But of
course," he added with a sigh, "you are a lady. I cannot expect you
to behave like a whore. Our coupling is for duty's sake, not for desire."
After a moment she
reached for the blanket folded nearby. "Are you done now then? The water
will soon be cold and I'd like to bathe."
Stryker leaned
back. "I have a thought in my head."
"Treat it
gently," she quipped, "'Tis in a strange place, no doubt."
He ignored the
slight. "Why don't you climb in here with me, my lady?" He would like
that, he thought—to have her naked there with him. He could wash her hair for
her. This was a strange idea to come into his head for he'd never felt such an
urge as that before, but his imagination dwelt on the image, took a liking to
it. He would unravel his tightly bound lady, bring her down from her lofty,
superior height. Touch by touch, inch by inch.
She clutched the
blanket to her chest. "I would rather bathe alone."
Slowly he smiled.
"You are quite safe. I just spent. My cockerel sleeps content."
Still she stared,
unsure of him, wary as a wild animal.
"I will not
take your virginity before the wedding. There, you have my word."
"I still
would like my own bath."
"No more
water will be heated tonight," he assured her. "Bathe with me or not
at all." Was it his dirty water that made her object? Or his presence?
She'd just have to get used to both, he reasoned.
She tipped her
chin up. "Then I will forgo the pleasure. Thank you."
"You don't
trust me?"
"After what
happened in the forest, why should I? Trust is earned."
She had a point,
he supposed, chagrinned. Perhaps he had been too rough with her, too anxious to
show off in front of Ifyr.
But she was not as
delicate as she looked, nor was she so frigid. Her juice had flowed just as
readily as her curses when he had her on her back and worked her oyster open
with his tongue. She was tightly bound up in distrust and suspicion. Stryker
was frustrated, but with himself as much as he was with her.
Suddenly the doors
groaned open and a gust of wind blew through the cookhouse, almost knocking the
wooden screen over. "They're here! They're here! The whores are
here," Ifyr's excited voice rang out. "My lord, the whores from
Marazion are here."
He glanced up at
his bride-to-be. She stood beside the bath, holding the fleece out for him.
"It seems you have company."
Awkward. Although
why it should be he couldn't imagine. Whatever signs there had been of any
softening in her expression were now wiped away. Her portcullis was lowered,
her drawbridge raised again.
Chapter Four
Thus she spent her
first night in her new home, listening to the raucous celebrations in the great
hall, while she and Villette were shut away for their own "good" in a
small private chamber adjoining the main building. It was little more than a
cupboard and smelled strongly of wet dog. A brief perusal of the place by
candlelight turned up scattered remnants of armor, a few dented shields, a
rusty mace hanging on the wall and a row of helmets that looked as if the
person who last wore them had not lived to tell the tale.
Two small, narrow
pallets were laid out for them, covered with furs and
realized. Out here they bred them lusty and forward. But this woman must have
been raised in a sheltered environment. She was a proper lady, not a plump
little mud-lark he might tumble in the hayfield while she giggled and thought
it an honor. In this woman's eyes she did him the honor.
Perhaps she was
right, he mused. Perhaps he was nothing more than a barbarian who got lucky.
Her dew, when he tasted it earlier, was sticky and sweet as honey, her skin the
softest he'd ever felt under his palms. It took all his willpower to keep from
claiming her fully that afternoon in the forest. And Stryker did not possess a
vast deal of willpower. The sooner this wedding took place the better if she
truly meant to cling to her maidenhead, because he wasn't sure how much longer
he could wait.
"But of
course," he added with a sigh, "you are a lady. I cannot expect you
to behave like a whore. Our coupling is for duty's sake, not for desire."
After a moment she
reached for the blanket folded nearby. "Are you done now then? The water
will soon be cold and I'd like to bathe."
Stryker leaned
back. "I have a thought in my head."
"Treat it
gently," she quipped, "'Tis in a strange place, no doubt."
He ignored the
slight. "Why don't you climb in here with me, my lady?" He would like
that, he thought—to have her naked there with him. He could wash her hair for
her. This was a strange idea to come into his head for he'd never felt such an
urge as that before, but his imagination dwelt on the image, took a liking to
it. He would unravel his tightly bound lady, bring her down from her lofty,
superior height. Touch by touch, inch by inch.
She clutched the
blanket to her chest. "I would rather bathe alone."
Slowly he smiled.
"You are quite safe. I just spent. My cockerel sleeps content."
Still she stared,
unsure of him, wary as a wild animal.
"I will not
take your virginity before the wedding. There, you have my word."
"I still
would like my own bath."
"No more
water will be heated tonight," he assured her. "Bathe with me or not
at all." Was it his dirty water that made her object? Or his presence?
She'd just have to get used to both, he reasoned.
She tipped her
chin up. "Then I will forgo the pleasure. Thank you."
"You don't
trust me?"
"After what
happened in the forest, why should I? Trust is earned."
She had a point,
he supposed, chagrinned. Perhaps he had been too rough with her, too anxious to
show off in front of Ifyr.
But she was not as
delicate as she looked, nor was she so frigid. Her juice had flowed just as
readily as her curses when he had her on her back and worked her oyster open
with his tongue. She was tightly bound up in distrust and suspicion. Stryker
was frustrated, but with himself as much as he was with her.
Suddenly the doors
groaned open and a gust of wind blew through the cookhouse, almost knocking the
wooden screen over. "They're here! They're here! The whores are
here," Ifyr's excited voice rang out. "My lord, the whores from
Marazion are here."
He glanced up at
his bride-to-be. She stood beside the bath, holding the fleece out for him.
"It seems you have company."
Awkward. Although
why it should be he couldn't imagine. Whatever signs there had been of any
softening in her expression were now wiped away. Her portcullis was lowered,
her drawbridge raised again.
Chapter Four
Thus she spent her
first night in her new home, listening to the raucous celebrations in the great
hall, while she and Villette were shut away for their own "good" in a
small private chamber adjoining the main building. It was little more than a
cupboard and smelled strongly of wet dog. A brief perusal of the place by
candlelight turned up scattered remnants of armor, a few dented shields, a
rusty mace hanging on the wall and a row of helmets that looked as if the
person who last wore them had not lived to tell the tale.
Two small, narrow
pallets were laid out for them, covered with furs and
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