Lord Grim's Witch (a medieval romance novelette) (6 page)

For a long moment, he stared at her. Then his lips curved into a smile. “Why, mistress, you sound as though you care.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I would care for even the lowest of creatures, Sheriff.”

His smile broadened. “Tibor, mistress. Since it looks as though we will be spending time alone—again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Must everything be about bedsport?”

He shrugged. “I’m a man—you’re an attractive woman.”

“You are cursed, sir, and still you find time to play games?”

One eyebrow rose. “I’m cursed, but not yet dead.”

Relieved his friend had regained his wit and a measure of hope, Geoffrey interrupted their sparring. “We’ll take horses. I’ll let the men know we are leaving.”

Gisele caught his arm as he turned. “You mustn’t tell them why. If they suspect, they might take matters into their own hands.”

“What?” Tibor murmured. “You wouldn’t like to see me swinging by the neck? You do care.”

“Hush, you fool,” she shot back without taking her gaze from Geoffrey. “Milord, tell them to burn the body, but they mustn’t touch it. They’ll have to burn the entire cart.”

Geoffrey nodded and strode away, shouting to his men to assemble, glad to have something to do to push away thoughts of the coming day.

“Was he gentle
with you?” The sheriff’s voice was soft. For once, it held no trace of mockery.

Unable to meet his searching gaze, Gisele dropped hers to his wide chest. “Gentle wasn’t what I wanted,” she answered honestly.

“I knew it!” he crowed.

She scowled and raised her chin. “I don’t know why I assume you can behave like an adult.”

“My immaturity is part of my charm. Admit it, the games you and I play amuse you. You spend countless hours thinking of ways to make me itch or reek.”

Her lips twitched.

“I knew it! You little witch!”

At her renewed scowl, he raised his hands. “I say that with the greatest affection.”

She arched a dark brow. “Remember your fate is in my hands.”

His eyebrows waggled. “I’ve waited forever to hear you say that.”

Lord Grim returned with three horses. “I’ve told them we wish to be left alone for the day.”

“Good lord,” Gisele exclaimed, “they’ll think you both intend to—”

“If this is to be my last day…” The sheriff’s lips stretched into a wicked grin.

“I don’t care if you have only an hour left to live, you can get those thoughts out of your mind.”

“Of course.” But he shot a glance at the dark lord that was laden with mischief.

“Have a care that she doesn’t turn you into a toad,” Lord Grim drawled.

“Too late for that, milord,” she quipped.

Both men laughed as she stood beside her horse. Lord Grim cupped his hands and swept her easily up into the saddle. His hand rested on her thigh for a moment, and he gave her a squeeze. “Whatever you can do, please do it. He’s a brother to me.”

Seeing his love for the sheriff softened her toward him. “You have my promise I will use everything in my arsenal of cures to help him. I have no wish to see him destroyed.”

“Good Lord, haven’t you had your fill of her?” Tibor called out.

Geoffrey shook his head, gave her a quick smile, and then vaulted into his saddle.

Together, they rode through the gate, the full moon lighting their way.

*

“I’ll take care
of the horses,” Lord Grim said, as they drew to a halt in front of her small hut.

The sheriff dismounted and reached her first. His hands closed gently around her waist as he helped her to the ground.

Her heart fluttered, and she kept her gaze averted, glad for the darkness that hid her blushes. She’d managed for so long to keep him emotionally at a distance. Now, she knew they’d share intimacies that would strain her ability to keep things light and her heart unaffected.

She led him into her hut and went straight to the hearth, reaching for the poker to stir the embers. Thankfully, a few still smoldered, so she added kindling, one small branch at a time until the fire blazed. Only then did she turn back to him.

“I need for you to remove your clothing.”

A smile tugged his lips. “The scratch is on my shoulder.”

She drew a deep breath. “I must be sure. Please.”

His brows rose high. “Be sure to tell Geoffrey this is your idea.”

“Do you fear him?”

He pulled his tunic over his head, taking his undertunic along with it. “No, but I wouldn’t want him to think I poached where I wasn’t invited. Not after he’s laid claim.”

“I’m not pledged to him,” she said softly, trying not to stare at what he revealed. The night before, they’d come together in darkness. Tonight, she feasted on the sight of him.

His torso was leaner than Lord Grim’s, but just as well-muscled. She struggled to keep her breaths even, and her body unaffected, concentrating instead on the three angry scratches that marred his shoulder.

“You’re not pledged to him… Does that mean you’d not be averse to keeping me as a lover?”

“What?” Good lord! Had he seen her interest? Flustered, because the thought of having both of them as lovers didn’t seem such a bad idea, her protest was a little too ardent. “Of course not! I only meant, he shouldn’t feel any possessiveness toward me. Besides, I’ve heard you two have often shared your conquests.”

“You’ve heard that, have you? Are you shocked?”

“Shouldn’t I be? The rumor has it you don’t simply pass them between you, you take them together.”

His mouth curved into a devilish smile. “I suppose on the surface that appears a bit…decadent.”

“Sinful is more like it,” she said, adding a tart bite to her tone. “The very idea!”

“And yet, your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are sparkling with fire. I think the idea excites you, mistress.”

She gave him a baleful glance. “Your trousers, sir.”

His laugh was low and tinged with wicked delight. His fingers made quick work of the knot at his waist, and as fast as she could blink, he’d divested himself of his clothing and his boots.

His arousal took her breath away. Darker than the rest of his sun-browned skin, it was capped with a ruddy crown. It rose from a nest of dark crinkly hair and seemed to strain toward her. While she stared, his hand closed around his staff and rubbed up and down once. “Be careful. He does bite.”

Her reply was a croak. She swallowed to wet her dry mouth. “Turn slowly, so that I can see every inch of your skin.”

“Every inch is right here,” he taunted, stroking himself again.

“You know damn well what I mean. Turn so that I can inspect you for more scratches.”

His hand dropped from his cock, and he gave an exaggerated sigh. “Wouldn’t you know, the woman prefers to gaze upon backsides.”

He was right. His was perfect—rounded and hard. She remembered grasping both globes in her hands and squeezing with all her might as he’d rutted against her. She cleared her throat. “I see nothing of interest. You may turn around.”

“You sound as though you’ve swallowed a frog.”

Ignoring his taunt, she ground out, “Lie down on the bed. I have a salve I’ll rub into your wounds.”

“Shall I dress?”

She halted and stared at him. The prudent thing would be to tell him to put on his trousers, but it had been an odd night all the way around, and she wasn’t her usual stern self at all. With ruthless honesty, she admitted to herself that she wanted to gaze upon his naked form, and perhaps touch him intimately. “Please don’t,” she said softly.

All trace of arrogant humor bled from his expression. Quietly, he strode toward the bed and lay down on it, his cock pointing toward the ceiling.

She gathered a crock of ointment and a bundle of herbs and crossed the room, settling beside him. “I’m going to make a poultice and rub it into your wounds. Then I’ll place my hands over the scratches and let them heat the medicine. Afterward, I’ll wrap it.”

“Will this save me, mistress?” he asked, his tone light, but his gaze almost pleading.

“Gisele,” she whispered.

“Will this save me…Gisele?”

When he wasn’t being clever, his voice had a pleasant rasp. She hadn’t noticed that before. “It is only part of the cure.”

“What else must you do?”

“It is what
you
must do that is most important.”

“What is that?”

She lifted her fingers and brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead, not questioning the appropriateness of the tender gesture. “Believe that you’ll be cured.”

“You didn’t see the beast,” he said, anguish slipping into his voice. “You ask me to have faith
that
will not happen to me, and I tell you I don’t think I can.”

“Then believe in me. Believe in Lord Grim… Believe in God. It’s up to you whether you let the demon take up residence in your soul.”

His gaze fell away. “I’m not a coward.”

She removed the lid to the crock that held a healing cream and set it aside. “I know that.”

“But I’m afraid of dying like that—like a maddened beast.”

“Fear will rob your soul of faith.” She poured herbs onto her palm and crumbled them between her hands, letting them fall into the crock.

“This might be my last day on this Earth.”

Gisele stirred the ointment with her fingers then slathered a dollop of it over the angry red scratches.

He winced but gave no protest as she smoothed it over the wounds.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “My hands will become very warm, but I promise you will not be burned.”

His gaze snapped back to hers as she laid her palms over the stripes and leaned her weight into his shoulder. Already, she felt the heat flowing from her heart, through her arms to her palms.

Air hissed between his teeth, but he didn’t draw away. His gaze remained fixed on her face.

When her palms began to cool, she removed them and quickly wrapped his shoulder with linen bandages.

“You are a wonder, mistress.” His gaze slid away and a faint smile curved his lips. “As I started to say, this might be my last day on this Earth…”

She suppressed a grin, knowing he was already recovering his mischievous humor. “Since it might be your last, do you have any special requests?”

His eyelids dipped, and his gaze focused on her mouth. “Did he kiss you?”

She started and thought back. “No, we were in rather a hurry.”

“I would never be so neglectful. Let me correct his oversight.”

‡

H
is hand fisted
in her hair and brought her head closer. “Will you open for me?” Tibor asked, his gaze searching hers.

This close she could see that the color of his eyes wasn’t at all the same as the sludge in the bottom of her bucket. It was a vibrant green, like the tender leaves of a young oak in spring time. Sighing as she surrendered to his appeal, Gisele parted her lips and sank against him, letting him guide her closer until their lips met. His mouth devoured hers hungrily, gliding over hers until she gasped, and he thrust his tongue inside her mouth.

When she returned the lustful stroke, an approving murmur rumbled in his throat.

He pulled her closer until her breasts grazed his chest. Her nipples ruched. He broke the kiss. “Come over me.”

She shook her head, helpless against the passion rising inside her body. She must resist—he was in her care. And what of Lord Grim? “We shouldn’t do this,” she said, licking her lips while staring into his hungry gaze.

“This might be my last day.”

His hoarse plea shattered her any wisp of resistance she still held. She climbed over his body, straddling his hips.

His hands reached out and pulled up the hem of her shift. He glided his hands beneath her skirt, smoothing them over her naked thighs and higher until he grasped her bottom, squeezing her gently, igniting a flame that drew moisture to her sex.

His cock rutted between her legs, and she murmured only a half-hearted protest.

“No, no,” he moaned. “Give me this.”

He shifted her then thrust upward, spearing into her, and she was lost.

“Ride me, Gisele!”

Unsure how to proceed in this position, she braced her hands against his shoulders and lowered herself to meet his upward strokes again and again, his cock not filling her quite as snugly as his master’s had, but stretching her deliciously just the same. She moved easily, shuddering at the delightful sensations that produced ripples all along her channel. The hot spike of his cock created a friction that melted her inner walls and aided her quickening movements.