Malia Martin (4 page)

She must do it now. She had let him feel her breast. His member was hard. Now she must put it inside of her. Quickly, before she could think of what she did, Aleene pushed her husband onto his back. He flopped over, his arms spread wide.

She would have to get atop him. With a deep breath Aleene swung her leg over his and straddled his hips. She felt the hair on his legs brush at the inside of her thighs. Her breath came more rapidly.

Cynewulf’s eyes remained closed. At least they looked closed. Aleene strained to see him better, but shadows shrouded his form. Her back now blocked the moonlight from revealing anything. Staring intently at the darkness that was her husband’s face, Aleene lowered herself until her most private place pressed against the length of his hard member. Gritting her teeth and steeling her mind from what she did, she rubbed up and down as Berthilde had said.

His member jerked again, and she stopped. She could not believe that it moved on its own, as if it were an arm or a leg. It was passing strange. Aleene shook her head, took a deep breath, and rubbed against him again.

This was different. Perhaps because he was asleep? Or maybe because she did not lie beneath a rutting boar of a man, but sat atop, with a feeling almost of power? Aleene was not sure, but she knew that this rubbing had actually begun to feel—she stopped, thinking. Nice, it felt nice. And she did not like to stop. Her body wanted more and so she assuaged that want.

Aleene arched her head back. Her hair swung rhythmically around her shoulders, and she knew that it dragged along her husband’s legs. The image summoned a strange moan from deep within her chest and, suddenly, she felt herself convulse. That dark hidden place of her seemed to clench.

Aleene gasped at the tremors that traveled along the inside of her skin. She shook her head and couldn’t help but smile in the dark. She was learning much this evening. Men’s members danced of their own accord and her own private place seemed to want to grab hold.

And it was not abhorrent.

She stopped suddenly. But she was not done. She must put his member inside of her. Aleene closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She looked down. Cynewulf’s member still pointed toward his chin, trapped between their bodies

Aleene pushed herself up slowly on her knees. Her hand stroked down Cynewulf’s glistening chest almost as if she caressed him. It happened without her thinking, and now she curled her fingers into her palm and pressed her balled fist against her own belly.

Invasion. She was going to be invaded. Only this time she invited it, needed it. She could hear her own breathing, sharp and tense in the silent room. She did not want it, though. She could not want this. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong, and smoothed her hand against her husband’s chest once again.

She found his member and closed her hand around it. Then she lifted it, holding it against her woman’s place. Aleene gasped, her chest heaving with the breath that she had been holding. Fear made her tense, but still something strangely compelling made her legs feel like melted wax.

She made herself lower down onto her husband’s shaft. The tip moved easily against her, taking her breath, and then slowly it began to penetrate.

“God’s teeth!” she said heavily between breaths.

And then brutal memories crashed against her mind like the fall of a heavy sword cleaving through flesh. She convulsed with the fear and ugliness of it, her hands coming up to cover her face. It was terrifying and dark and came from deep inside her.

A cry of sheer agony pierced her ears, and she realized it came from her. She dropped forward, only then remembering that her husband lay beneath her. Her forehead encountered his hard chest, her hands slid down his sides.

She cried out again, but strong warm arms wrapped around her and pulled her down. She fought against it, terror welling again in her throat, threatening to spill over. She stopped fighting as the dark memories overcame her again, stilling her very heart with their intensity. She felt ugly, dirty, and terribly afraid. Her body quivered violently and she squeezed her eyes shut and rocked. Only she wasn’t rocking herself. Strong arms held her, a crooning sound thrummed in her ears and another body rocked hers.

Her mind let go and she sank into the safety, pulled away from the terror. She heard a song, a child’s song, a lullaby. “Mother,” she wailed, but she knew it was her own voice singing. Her mother was gone. The song came again and she let it, her mind shaping the long-forgotten curve of her mother’s cheek and softness of her mother’s breast.

A
leene awoke slowly. For a few sweet moments she remembered nothing. The only thought that skittered through her head was that it had been an unusual summer, uncommon northerly winds making it much warmer than usual. And then she remembered what had happened the night before. Her chest tightened painfully, and she sat up, trying desperately to drag air into her lungs.

With a pitiful whimper, she rolled off the bed and tried to stand. She must run, leave. Her legs would not support her, though, and she leaned against the bed.

She saw her new husband then, staring at her with wide blue eyes. Terror gripped her and she squeezed her eyes shut against it. The darkness flooded her mind. “No!” she cried, trying to stop them. But they came at her like arrows from a conquering army. She could only put her arms across her face and crumple to the floor for protection. But nothing could protect her. She was young again, and Tosig was there, her mother’s new husband, hurting her, making her feel so lonely and sad, and completely vulnerable.

Aleene leaned her chest against her knees and her forehead to the rushes that littered the floor. She breathed in the heavy scent of herbs and crushed flowers. Her stomach rolled violently.

The darkness opened and took her inside. It was ugly and deep, terrifying and lonely. Her head whirled with the broken visions of earlier years, the good safe times when both her parents lived, combining with those evil days her stepfather ruled over her. Her heart thumped a broken, terrible beat against her chest.

She felt a hand, large and warm against the back of her head, but didn’t move. She knew. He was there. Gathering all of the strength she had, Aleene straightened and then pushed up from the floor.

She was naked. The realization took her breath and her dredged up courage. With a sick groan, Aleene wrapped her arms around herself and bowed her head.

Rough wool scratched her shoulders. She jumped, but one large hand held her still as the other wrapped a blanket around her. Those hands, those large, work-roughened hands, had touched her body. They had touched her where other, smaller, slack, beringed hands had been. With a violent shudder, Aleene clutched at the edges of the woolen blanket.

A sob rose in her chest, but Aleene swallowed it. She had not cried then, and she would not now. As if tears would ever bring back her innocence, bring back the naïve days before all those she loved had betrayed her.

The thought brought a memory of her mother. The woman who was supposed to protect her. Her frail little mother, sitting in a rocking chair in her chamber, the sound of the wood creaking and echoing in the room. The memory brought more bitterness than those
of Tosig, for she had trusted in her mother, not Tosig.

Again, she felt her husband’s hand against the back of her head. She stilled, breathing deeply, trying to find her control. Closing her eyes, she saw what she must look like in her mind’s eye, naked, trembling, and on her knees.

She could not allow herself to be like this, to show her weakness so blatantly. He would use it to hurt her as everyone else had. Clenching her fists, she fought the memories and the hurt that came with them.

She pushed herself up from the ground, opened her eyes, and took a deep breath. She must remember the woman she had forced herself to be. The strong woman she showed to all, who could not be defeated.

And now she must face her husband. She faltered. He had seen her weak and cowed. She hadn’t let anyone see her thus since . . . Aleene stopped the thought quickly and straightened her shoulders, then she turned toward her husband.

His beauty hit her like a blow to her stomach. She blinked, fear and something else making her blood move crazily in her veins. The little girl she had been long, long ago clutched at his beauty. She remembered dreaming, running through green fields, lying among the flowers and staring at a clear, summer sky. His eyes were that sky. The clearest, bluest of blues. It hurt her heart to look at them. His golden hair, so opposite her own, shone in the sunlight like molten honey. And his face was strong, his jaw chiseled; he was godlike.

He dipped his chin to his chest, breaking the brief eye contact, and shuffled his feet in the rushes. Aleene caught herself wishing he would look at her again.

She gritted her teeth against the useless wandering of her thoughts. His actions brought back to her in full force exactly how stupid it was of her to regret the weakness her new husband had witnessed. He would not know, could not know, what he had seen. And he certainly could not tell anyone.

Still the newly relived memories of her stepfather’s abuses against her made the floor beneath her feel unstable, her knees weak, and her need to be alone acute. “I must wash.” Her voice caught on the last word and she turned sharply away from her husband just as a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.”

“Milady,” Berthilde opened the door slightly and peeked in. “Would ye have me bring food on a tray for ye to break your fast?”

“No, Berthilde.” Aleene hugged the blanket tighter around herself. “I need to bathe, now.”

“Yes, milady.” The maid backed away.

“Take Cynewulf.” Her voice had a distinct hint of desperation. Aleene breathed slowly and battled for control. “Take my husband with you, Berthilde.”

Berthilde nodded and came all the way into the room. Snaring Cynewulf’s arm, she smiled at the tall man. “The children are playing in the yard, Lord Cynewulf. It is delightful to sit and watch their silly games.”

Aleene turned away and closed her eyes.

Another knock heralded Berthilde’s return. Quickly, Aleene went to stand at the other side of the room, staring out the window before she bade the maid enter. Aleene listened as the servants filled the old tub and left.

“Leave Berthilde. I shall bathe myself.”

“But, milady . . .”

“Be gone!”

The maid was silent for several moments, then Aleene heard the door close. With a relieved sigh, she realized she was alone. Dropping the rough blanket to the floor, Aleene went to the deep, wooden tub and stepped into the water. It was tepid and refreshing after huddling beneath the warm blanket.

Aleene dipped her hand in the scented bowl of soap and began to scrub herself. She washed every inch of her body, ruthlessly. While she bathed, Aleene allowed herself only to think of the security she would find when she knew no other would take Seabreeze away from her. Her thoughts turned then, inevitably, to her father.

She had been seven when he had died, so sheltered with love that she had not even realized how very different she was from the people around her. How those people looked upon her dark Spanish looks with suspicion and hatred. Those people had rejoiced when her Anglo-Saxon mother married again, this time to one of their own.

And Aleene had mourned. She had mourned right up until Tosig had fallen from one of the jagged cliffs that surrounded Seabreeze. And now she would mourn no more. For she was the lady of Seabreeze. None controlled it or her. She would be able to live as she once had so many years before, when her father had protected her.

Only this time, she must protect herself.

When she finished her bath, Aleene dressed in a clean white tunic and covered it with a light green kirtle. Once, long ago, her mother had told her she looked pretty in green. Aleene hooked a gold-link girdle around her slim hips, took a deep, steadying breath, and went in search of her husband.

Loud, raucous laughter greeted Aleene as she entered the large deserted hall. She followed the sound outside to the yard and saw that the children were playing. A deep yearning stole through Aleene, for the innocence of being a child. With a slight smile she remembered her childhood, having the security of love, the ability to play with all her heart, and the freedom to dream and believe.

Another shriek of laughter grabbed Aleene’s attention from her musings.

In a doorway opposite her, she noticed Berthilde. The maid stood wiping her weathered hands on a piece of linen tucked at her waist. They stared at one another for a long moment, time receding. Berthilde had been with her from the beginning. She alone, among the many people at Seabreeze, knew of the trusting girl Aleene had been once.

She could remember many times laughing and amusing herself in this very spot under the ever-watchful eye of Berthilde. Aleene could not help the small chuckle that tickled her throat as she also remembered the many times she had run into Berthilde’s warm embrace when the dogs became too playful or a bee came too near.