Earth Song (Medieval Song 3) - Page 73

“And he took me.”

“Aye, and you, wench.”

So Kassia—perfect small Kassia—had saved him. Hadn’t she other things to do? Like saving her own husband every once in a while? Curse the woman, she was a thorn in her side, nay, a veritable bush of thorns.

Well, there were those who’d wanted her as well, and she said now, “Why did Walter want to marry me?”

“Are you certain that he did?”

“Unlike you,” Philippa said, her voice as bitter as the coarse green goat grass that grew beside the road, “he was most desirous of it. Indeed, he would have ravished me to ensure it, had I not escaped from him when I did. But it makes no sense to me.”

“The man’s mad.”

Her elbow trembled, wanting to fling itself back into his belly. Finally she could bear it no longer and allowed her elbow to have its way.

He said nothing, merely grunted; then he closed his arms more tightly around her, higher now, his forearms resting under her breasts. He raised them a bit until they were pushing up her breasts, very high.

“Stop it, your men will see!”

“Then bait me not, wench.”

She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip, then said suddenly, “When the woman came to kill me, she screamed at me, something about how he—Walter—didn’t want me, really, but the riches I would bring him. What could she have meant? My father must have visited Walter and promised him coin if he found me. I can think of no other reason.”

“I don’t know. We will find out soon enough. Your family must be told, once it is over.”

“Then my father will come and cut off your manhood.”

“Don’t sound so vicious. ’Tis my manhood that endears me to you.” To her surprise and to Dienwald’s own astonishment, he leaned forward and kissed her ear. “I will give you pleasure, Philippa. And not only my manhood. The pain last night was necessary—‘twas your rite of passage into womanhood, ’tis said.”

“Who says?”

“Women. Who else?”

“Some arrogant male.”

“Acquit me, wench. I want only to give you pleasure and to teach you how to pleasure me.”

“I didn’t give you pleasure last night?”

He grinned at the hurt tone of her voice. “A bit, I suppose. Aye, a bit. At least you were willing enough.”

He felt her stiffen, and very slowly he eased his hand upward to cup her right breast. He caressed her, his fingers circling her nipple until he could feel the slamming of her heartbeat beneath his palm. “Shall I call a halt and tell my men that my bride wishes to have me here and now? Would you like that, wench? Shall I slip my hand inside your gown to touch you

r warm flesh and feel your nipple tighten against my palm?”

Her breathing was ragged, her breasts heaving. She wanted to feel his hands caressing her body. She wanted his mouth too, and his manhood, and so, without thinking, she said on a soft sigh as she leaned back against his chest, “Aye, if you will, Dienwald, ’twould please me very much, I think.”

He forgot all his baiting, forgot everything save his desire for her, his seemingly endless need for her. The more she yielded to him, the more he seemed to want her. It was disconcerting and it was vastly annoying and it was so enjoyable his brain reeled.

He very gently eased his hand into her gown and cupped her breast. He could feel her breathing hitch beneath his palm. He saw her lips part, and her eyes never left his face. He knew it was ridiculous, what he was doing. Any of his men could come upon the mat any time. Northbert could draw alongside to tell him something . . . his son . . . St. Peter’s toenails!

He pulled his hand out of her gown and slapped the wool back over her. “There’ll be time for this later,” he said, and turned her away from him. “Watch the trees and the hawthorns and the yew bushes. Colors are coming out now. Life is renewing.” His words stopped abruptly, for he suddenly realized that he’d spilled his seed deep inside her but hours before—a new life could have already begun. An image flashed in his mind: a girl child with wildly curling hair streaked with many shades of brown and ash colors, tall and hardy, filled with laughter, her eyes a vivid summer blue.

He growled into Philippa’s ear, “I suppose you’ll give me more children than I can feed.”

She just turned and gave him a beautiful smile.

Windsor Castle

Tags: Catherine Coulter Medieval Song Historical
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