Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

He felt her fingers in his hair, tugging, and he lifted his head from her breasts and smiled up at her, a painful smile because he hurt with need.

He said, “What do you feel?”

“It is strange,” she said, and blinked and looked very worried, yet interested at the same time. “I want you to touch me—my belly—as I feel very hot there, sort of hungry, I guess, and I hurt and I do not know what to do.”

“I know what to do,” he said, and kissed his way down to her belly. He laid his head there, feeling her muscles tighten, relax, feeling her smooth flesh. Slowly, he thought, coming down further between her legs, parting them. When he touched her with his mouth, she froze solid as the small lake at Camberley in February, then lurched up and yelled to the beamed ceiling of the bedchamber. He both heard and felt her pants, for they were deep inside her, making her shudder and quake, and he felt the building tension in her. Yes, he thought, yes. She was straining against him when he slowly eased his finger inside her. By the saints, she was small, and he wanted to weep with the wonder of her.

She grabbed his head between her hands, her breaths raw and harsh, her back arching off the bed. He pushed her over the edge, and she wept with the force of the feelings making her body fly out of her control. She was crying with the immense joy that filled her, the wonder that one could feel such an amazing thing. Then she felt his weight, felt his fingers on her flesh, and she lifted her hips, excited, wondering what more there could possibly be.

At least she wanted more until he came hard into her, and she screamed again, this time in pain, trying to fling him off her, but he was heavy, and so deep inside her, she felt helpless, and all the grand feelings faded into oblivion, and she continued to cry, only this time it was the pain that bowed her.

Jerval stopped. He balanced himself on his elbows, looking down at her beloved face, at the tears staining her cheeks, and he said, his jaw nearly locked from the grip he had on himself, “I am sorry, sweeting. But the pain will fade quickly. Just lie quietly and I will try not to move. By all the saints, you are more than I have ever imagined in my benighted life.”

She opened her eyes and stared up at him. He was deep inside her body. It was something she had never imagined. She had seen men rutting women, but she simply hadn’t imagined it being done to her. The pain was receding. But still she burned deep inside. She was stretched by him, and it was still hard to believe that he had made himself part of her. She said, “Am I really more?”

“Aye,” he said and dipped down to kiss her nose, and just that one small act did him in. He looked into her eyes as he roared to the heavens.

He felt as though he’d been clouted in the head. He fell onto his back, brought her with him, holding her tightly against him, and he was breathing in the scent of her hair,

and then he knew no more.

CHAPTER 12

He awoke slowly, his mouth smiling even before he remembered the incredible release that had felled him the night before and sent him into a deep sleep before he could make love to his bride again. Ah, but it was morning, early still, and . . .

“Chandra,” he said, his voice low and hoarse with sleep and need, and turned to gather her against him. He was warm and hard and ready.

And she was gone.

It was worse than being doused by a bucket of cold water. He sat up in bed, his sex still as hard as the handle of his sword, saw her virgin’s blood on the coverlet, and again, he smiled. He’d hurt her, aye, but he’d given her pleasure first, and that had to fill her mind, not the brief pain, so small it had been, truly, so insignificant, not even worth a thought or a mention. Aye, mayhap she had awakened smiling just as he had and gone into the Great Hall to fetch him some bread and cheese, even a small flagon of ale.

It was a nice dream, one he didn’t believe for more than one crazed moment. He shoved the covers back and rose. He saw her blood on his sex, and frowned, but only for a moment. He had actually pleasured a virgin before he’d come into her and caused the inevitable pain. Ah, but scarce more than the veriest prick, surely, so quickly gone, nothing at all to a strong girl like his bride. He washed her blood off himself, dressed quickly and went down into the Great Hall. It was very early, and the hall was nearly empty. He imagined all the men and the guests hanging over buckets, leaning off the ramparts, ducking behind the practice field, heaving up all the wine and ale they’d drunk the day and evening before.

He wanted his wife. He wanted to haul her over his shoulder and carry her into the forest just beyond the castle, to the east, to the large cluster of thick pine and spruce trees, hidden within from the bright sunlight, soft and dark. She would stand against a tree and he would lift her and bring her legs around his waist and he would part her with his fingers and . . .

Mark came in, slapping his gauntlets against his leg. “I could not sleep and I wanted to, but it was not to be. I shared the last watch with Roul and Abel. At least my head isn’t splitting open like every other guest’s at the wedding feast. Why are you here so early? Where is your wife? She has not left you already, has she?”

Jerval grinned and rubbed his hands together. “ Naturally not. I am here to find her. She is a happy wife, Mark. I pleased her. Aye, I pleased her well.”

“By God, you are all puffed up. You are bragging and preening. I haven’t seen you like this since our visit to London three years ago when—”

“Forget that,” Jerval said and laughed again. He couldn’t seem to help laughing. He felt very good. “Aye, perhaps it is true that I am very pleased with what I accomplished last night. Now it is morning and there are other things I wish to do.”

“Like what?”

“I want to leave this morning.”

Mark stared at him. “Leave? Leave Croyland? But we are to remain here for at least three more days. There is more feasting and more sport, and your parents surely need to spend more time with Lord Richard and Lady Dorothy.”

“They will. We will take only three or four men with us and return to Camberley. I wish Chandra to accustom herself to her new home before my mother returns. It is a very big change for her, Mark. I would rather begin it without my mother’s—ah, forceful help.”

“Do not forget Julianna. She cannot seem to wipe the malignant look off her face.”

Jerval frowned, but just for a moment. “I will speak to my father about it. It is time he found her a husband.”

“You are doubtless right about Julianna,” Mark said, “but still. Leave this morning? When did you think of this? Surely not until after you and Chandra—well, I need not be quite so clear about what I mean.”

“Nay, you do not. Actually, it came to me all of a piece, a whole cloth all intricately sewed, all formed in my mind, just five minutes ago. Now, is it possible? Can you have three or four of our men ready in an hour? Are there three or four men who won’t vomit on their boots or fall off their horses?”