The Valcourt Heiress (Medieval Song 7)

“No, you are not at all like them. You would never force me to wed you. Indeed, you wouldn’t have to force me.” She thrust up her chin, stared him straight in the eye. “I would agree willingly. I would not mind being your wife.”

“You are mad,” he said, appalled, turned on his heel, and strode out of the small solar, his back straight as the new barrack door.

Merry picked up one of the jars that held Miggins’s infusion, shook it, watched bits of anise and sundew dance in the liquid, then settle to the bottom. The jar was cool to the touch. Time to give it to Miggins.

What to do?

And then she knew.

29

Merry knew Gilpin slept on a pallet outside Garron’s door. Even though she’d slipped a sleeping draught in his ale but an hour before, she cupped her hand around her candle and removed her slippers before she very carefully stepped over him and slowly opened the lord’s bedchamber door. Gilpin didn’t stir. Thank St. Agnes’s crooked fingers Garron hadn’t set the bar on the door. She nearly fell over when she heard Gilpin whisper, “Let me cleave his head, Lord Garron, let me cleave his head.” She jerked about to see he was still asleep. He had sounded enthusiastic.

She closed the door, picked up the stout wooden bar, and eased it into place. The room wasn’t as dark as the bottom of one of Bullic’s cooking kettles, since Garron had tied back the deerskin that hung over the now-open window, and moonlight poured into the room. She paused a moment and breathed in the still, sweet night air. She looked toward the bed, saw no movement, but she could clearly see his outline.

She walked to the great bed and stood over him, raising her candle until she could see his face. He looked very young in sleep, a slight smile about his mouth. Was he dreaming of cleaving someone’s head, as was his squire?

He lay on his back, his legs spread, the blanket pulled only to his waist, leaving his chest bare. She knew the rest of him was bare, too, a good thing, since that step on her list had no instruction. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew what lurked beneath that single blanket.

She was here and he was here, and he was naked. The bedchamber door was barred. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know how men and women mated, but making the mating happen was something she wasn’t quite sure how to bring about. On the other hand, she’d heard Lisle say to Elaine that Lady Anne had often remarked that a man was always randy, and a woman had naught to do but spread her legs and think about a new gown or perhaps a new bauble as she bounced up and down and moaned.

She looked down at his chest, saw the scar high on his shoulder, another one, long and puckered, on his arm, yet another disappeared beneath the cover over his belly. She saw his new bathing tub in the corner. She leaned down and breathed him in. The smell of him was so familiar to her.

She reached out her hand. Mayhap if she touched him—touched him where? What would he do?

He made a sound deep in his throat, and his head twisted back and forth on the pillow. He flung his arm over his head, then stilled. What was he dreaming?

She drew her hand back and looked again at him. He was big. Big was not bad. Big meant he could meet an enemy head-on and cleave him in two. That made her smile, but only for a moment. Big also meant he could hurt her. But who cared? Time to get it done.

Merry set the candle on the floor, steadied herself, slipped out of her robe. She then pulled her shift up to her waist, and slowly and carefully climbed on top of him. His eyes flew open. He jerked up onto his elbows. “Are you the enemy?”

“Nay, my lord, I swear I am no enemy.” He sighed deep in his throat, his eyes closed, and his breathing deepened. She lightly shoved him back down. She carefully straddled him, and realized she didn’t know what to do now. He had to come inside her, but how, since she was sitting on top of him and there was a blanket between them? She wished she could waken him and ask how to continue. He stretched beneath her, stilled again, and began to snore lightly. He would never compete with Miggins.

She leaned forward, kissed him, then straightened up, fast as a shot arrow.

The kiss was nice, more than nice actually, even though it had lasted but a moment. Again, she thought, leaned down, and this time her mouth stayed on his. His mouth was warm, but it was more than simple warmth, it was something about the feel of him that sent a touch of heat straight to her belly. She wasn’t expecting that, frowned when she felt her heart speed up. She knew mating was enjoyable to men, at Valcourt she’d heard them bray and brag about it all the time, and at court as well. Nothing else interested them that she could see. To be honest, it wasn’t just the men. At home and at court, she’d heard the women giggle and whisper behind their hands when a comely man was near, but what exactly were they saying? About how wonderful he smelled? How they wanted to touch him and never stop? Curse her for a fool, she should have listened, but she hadn’t, she’d always slithered away. It was clear she’d been shortsighted. She had not considered the future.

She kissed him again, this time pressed her mouth harder against his. To her shock he opened his mouth and his tongue touched her. Never had she thought about a man’s tongue touching her mouth, roving over her bottom lip, and her legs tightened around his flanks. Suddenly, his tongue slipped into her mouth. She nearly leapt off him she was so shocked. She lurched up, and he moaned. He raised a hand, cupped her cheek, and whispered, “Blanche, have you come again to kiss me awake? You know I love the taste of you.”

Who was this wretched Blanche? She came to him when he was asleep and kissed him awake? If the bitch were here, Merry would clout her head.

“Come, Blanche, come closer, I’ll give you whatever you want. Aye, give me your breasts.” He began humming the sad angel song she’d once sung to him as his hands moved to cup her breasts. How could he hum her song when he believed he was touching that bitch Blanche? He stopped, frowned. “What is this? I want nothing between your sweet flesh and my hands.” He jerked up her shift. Merry helped him pull it over her head.

“Ah, that is much better. Give me your breasts, sweeting.”

She was naked and sitting on top of a man who was running his hands over her arms, her shoulders, dipping to cup her breasts again. His hands were callused, hard, and warm, and the way he was touching her made her want to

sing. It was astounding, mayhap a bit frightening. “Ah, that is very nice. Bring me your mouth, Blanche. Aye, come down to me. Then you may have your way with me.”

Even as she lowered her head, Merry never stopped looking at him. His eyes were still closed. How could he sleep through such a cataclysm? She wanted to kiss him until her mouth was numb. He moaned as he raised his head and nuzzled her breasts, then licked her flesh. When his mouth closed over her she wanted to leap straight to the ceiling, but only for a moment because she wanted his hands and his mouth to touch more of her, and she wanted what was beneath that single blanket.

His hands slipped beneath her, and his fingers skimmed inward until they touched her. She sat atop him, horrified and frozen, feeling his fingers probe.

“You are so soft and warm. But you are not wet for me, Blanche. What is wrong?” Wet? What was this? When he raised her hips with his big hands, she splayed her palms on his chest and closed her eyes and waited to see what he would do. What he did was ease a finger inside her. It hurt, but not all that much. Now what would happen? Whatever he would do next, she only knew she wanted it very much. As he pressed further, she realized she was beginning to pant, her heart speeding. It hurt, but not for long. She wasn’t stupid. She knew he wanted to come inside her, not just his fingers, but what was beneath that blanket. His fingers left her. He eased her upright again, still holding her with one of his big hands, and with the other he pulled down the blanket. She wasn’t about to look at him, even though she wanted to, desperately. It was going to happen. She raised herself more, and felt his fingers, then felt him enter her. He heaved out a huge groan and pushed. He pushed and pushed, not that he got very far. She gripped his shoulders, closed her eyes and seamed her lips to keep from yelling. He would tear her apart, she knew it, but she had to let him do it, no choice. Pressure, too much pressure, and it didn’t stop. How far could he push?

She couldn’t bear it, simply couldn’t. Just as she was about to pull off him and run from the chamber, he moaned, grabbed her waist in his hands, and pulled her down as he shoved upward.

She yelled and tried to jerk away, but it was no good.