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Authors: Virginia Henley
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the night.
It did not, however. It was replaced by a second dream, which he remembered now with discomfort. That dream had been hot, sexual,
explicit
He had taken her maidenhead, and her cries of pain were soon replaced by cries of pleasure as she writhed beneath him. He felt shame for his lust for a fifteen-year-old girl.
He quickly changed the subject. “You did not bring your ladies along. I assure you Odiham is large enough to accommodate them.”
“Eve de Braose and Margery de Lacy are leaving me to be married. They are busy with wedding plans at the moment. Fortunately I’ve inherited Margery’s maid, Brenda, who has elected to remain in my service.”
William could hardly credit his little nieces were to be wed. “Eve and Margery are children,” he protested.
“They are my age,” Eleanor said pointedly. “Their mothers —your sisters—certainly think they are old enough to become wives, if you do not.”
Now that he thought about it, he realized he’d given his approval for the matches, but he also recalled their bridegrooms were no more than sixteen.
Behind them Isabella wore a worried frown. “Richard, your boldness terrifies me,” she murmured. “If my brother suspects your motives, I will die of shame.”
“And I will die of night starvation if you don’t yield to me soon. I won’t make do with servants and sluts any longer.”
“If I yield to you whenever you will, I too may be branded a slut!” she hissed, tossing her pretty chestnut curls.
“Not by me, my heart’s desire,” he coaxed lovingly.
Farther down the line Brenda had big eyes for Sir Michael de Burgh. Mick was aware of the copper-haired wench’s hot glances, and he was not impervious to the invitation he saw writ plainly in those eyes. The darkly handsome knight rode between Richard’s squire and Eleanor’s groom Toby, who grinned at each other knowingly as if they shared some secret knowledge.
“All right, you two, what’s the jest?” Mick demanded good-naturedly.
“Shall we warn him for his own good?” asked Richard’s squire, Geoffrey.
“Let him learn the
hard
way, no pun intended. It brings the male conceit down a notch or two.” Toby laughed.
“This concerns the fiery wench with the luscious tits, I presume,” Mick said.
“She devours men as if they were dessert,” Geoffrey said.
“If she had as many pricks sticking out of her as she’s had stuck in her, she’d look like a porcupine!” Toby joked.
“An experienced wench can be rewarding.” Mick grinned.
Geoffrey’s tone changed and became earnest. “There’s something wrong with her. She’s insatiable … can’t be satisfied.”
“Well, there’s a challenge, if ever I heard one,” said the virile de Burgh, licking his lips.
“So we all thought until each of us took her on, followed the well-worn path to her bed, and came away almost emasculated,” Toby confided.
“Even Richard couldn’t give her release; he admits it quite frankly,” said Richard’s squire. “He had us heels in the air with laughter when he told us of the king’s dilemma when she tempted him one evening. Poor Henry couldn’t walk for two days, and it was a month before he had an erection again.”
De Burgh was one step ahead of his companions. “A wager,” he proposed. “Five gold crowns for both of you if she isn’t replete and sated by morning. She’ll be the one who won’t be able to walk.”
They took the bet knowing it was the easiest money they’dever make. Mick de Burgh slackened the pace of his destrier until the ladies’ maids rode up beside him, then he bestowed a speculative smile upon Brenda.
“You are Rick de Burgh,” she said huskily, mentally measuring the bulging muscles of his thighs.
“Mick,” he corrected, caressing her breasts with his eyes.
“I don’t suppose you could bribe the castellan of Odiham to let me have a chamber of my own, do you, Mick?” she asked, her eyes sliding all over him.
“That very
It did not, however. It was replaced by a second dream, which he remembered now with discomfort. That dream had been hot, sexual,
explicit
He had taken her maidenhead, and her cries of pain were soon replaced by cries of pleasure as she writhed beneath him. He felt shame for his lust for a fifteen-year-old girl.
He quickly changed the subject. “You did not bring your ladies along. I assure you Odiham is large enough to accommodate them.”
“Eve de Braose and Margery de Lacy are leaving me to be married. They are busy with wedding plans at the moment. Fortunately I’ve inherited Margery’s maid, Brenda, who has elected to remain in my service.”
William could hardly credit his little nieces were to be wed. “Eve and Margery are children,” he protested.
“They are my age,” Eleanor said pointedly. “Their mothers —your sisters—certainly think they are old enough to become wives, if you do not.”
Now that he thought about it, he realized he’d given his approval for the matches, but he also recalled their bridegrooms were no more than sixteen.
Behind them Isabella wore a worried frown. “Richard, your boldness terrifies me,” she murmured. “If my brother suspects your motives, I will die of shame.”
“And I will die of night starvation if you don’t yield to me soon. I won’t make do with servants and sluts any longer.”
“If I yield to you whenever you will, I too may be branded a slut!” she hissed, tossing her pretty chestnut curls.
“Not by me, my heart’s desire,” he coaxed lovingly.
Farther down the line Brenda had big eyes for Sir Michael de Burgh. Mick was aware of the copper-haired wench’s hot glances, and he was not impervious to the invitation he saw writ plainly in those eyes. The darkly handsome knight rode between Richard’s squire and Eleanor’s groom Toby, who grinned at each other knowingly as if they shared some secret knowledge.
“All right, you two, what’s the jest?” Mick demanded good-naturedly.
“Shall we warn him for his own good?” asked Richard’s squire, Geoffrey.
“Let him learn the
hard
way, no pun intended. It brings the male conceit down a notch or two.” Toby laughed.
“This concerns the fiery wench with the luscious tits, I presume,” Mick said.
“She devours men as if they were dessert,” Geoffrey said.
“If she had as many pricks sticking out of her as she’s had stuck in her, she’d look like a porcupine!” Toby joked.
“An experienced wench can be rewarding.” Mick grinned.
Geoffrey’s tone changed and became earnest. “There’s something wrong with her. She’s insatiable … can’t be satisfied.”
“Well, there’s a challenge, if ever I heard one,” said the virile de Burgh, licking his lips.
“So we all thought until each of us took her on, followed the well-worn path to her bed, and came away almost emasculated,” Toby confided.
“Even Richard couldn’t give her release; he admits it quite frankly,” said Richard’s squire. “He had us heels in the air with laughter when he told us of the king’s dilemma when she tempted him one evening. Poor Henry couldn’t walk for two days, and it was a month before he had an erection again.”
De Burgh was one step ahead of his companions. “A wager,” he proposed. “Five gold crowns for both of you if she isn’t replete and sated by morning. She’ll be the one who won’t be able to walk.”
They took the bet knowing it was the easiest money they’dever make. Mick de Burgh slackened the pace of his destrier until the ladies’ maids rode up beside him, then he bestowed a speculative smile upon Brenda.
“You are Rick de Burgh,” she said huskily, mentally measuring the bulging muscles of his thighs.
“Mick,” he corrected, caressing her breasts with his eyes.
“I don’t suppose you could bribe the castellan of Odiham to let me have a chamber of my own, do you, Mick?” she asked, her eyes sliding all over him.
“That very
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