Purebred (5 page)

* * * *

Alonso hadn't planned to mention it to
her, but the superior expression on her face when she looked down
at him from the back of her horse prompted him into it. That woman
needed a lesson. Several lessons.

First, she must learn that
she
did
need him.
Apparently she thought she would be safe riding outside the gates
of the manor with her little maid and two guards. If Alonso was her
husband that would be out of the question, but then the Baron
seemed to take his husbandly role with a grain of salt. He did not
even bother correcting her sharp tongue, so why would he care if
she went out riding with only two lackadaisical guards? Some men
didn't know how to handle wives, he mused. Or they were too lazy to
bother.

Mounting his horse quickly— not even
waiting for a saddle—he rode after the small group. He kept enough
distance that they wouldn't hear him and then, when he knew they
were heading for the forest, he took his own short cut.

The trees were about to turn color,
some already showing an edging of gilt and copper. On that day
there was enough wind to rustle the crisping leaves and it covered
the sound of his horse moving over the dry bracken. Within half an
hour he had the riders in his sights again through the trees and,
as he suspected, they had stopped at the lake to let their horses
drink. Alonso waited until the two women had dismounted and the
guards were talking—one with his back turned—then he set his horse
forward at a sharp gallop.

The Baron's two guards were too slow
to react with any effect. Clearly they were so familiar with Lady
Isobel's routine that they had grown complacent and never expected
a challenge. Like most of the Baron's men they were fat and out of
fighting condition, which was why he had called upon mercenaries
like Alonso to keep his castellany safe.

He swung his club, neatly knocking one
man from the saddle. The other guard's horse reared up and his
portly form lost balance until he slipped back over the rump,
cursing wildly and swinging his sword in a futile arc.

Alonso swooped down on Lady Isobel,
grabbed her around the waist, and hoisted her up onto his own
horse.

* * * *

"Put me down! You great stupid oaf!
You will pay for this."

"I had to prove my point, Lady
Isobel."

His arm was like steel wrapped around
her, holding her on his horse as they galloped through the forest
at seemingly reckless speed. Isobel thought they would surely crash
into a tree and be killed. She closed her eyes and felt branches
tug at her gown, scratch her legs, and pull on her wimple. Still he
rode on, his body hard against hers, one of his thick thighs tense
under her bottom.

"I would say your damn point is
proven," she yelled, breathless. "Go back at once."

"No."

But he slowed his horse at last and
she could take a breath. "There was no reason for that display. If
you have hurt those men—"

"I wounded their pride, nothing more.
Perhaps next time they will have their eyes open as any man
guarding you should."

Little pinpricks of moisture scattered
through the canopy of leaves and hit her forehead when she turned
her face upward.

"See," he said proudly. "I warned you
it would rain."

"Then take me back to the
manor."

"Not yet."

"You will do as I say!"

"No."

Isobel was no longer afraid that she
would be killed, but she had no idea what else he had in mind for
her and his adamant refusal to take her back to the others hinted
that his intentions were far from good. Her heart thumped hard in
her breast, and she had begun to perspire under her woolen gown,
but the cooling spatter of rain was refreshing and somewhat
soothing. Whatever he planned to do to her, he had better be
prepared to face reprisals, she thought. "My husband will not find
this amusing," she exclaimed.

"Your
husband
, my lady, lies abed with his
guts afire this morning. I doubt he'll find anything amusing until
he's drunk again."

The horse halted and he swung down,
dragging her after him.

"And now you will apologize to me,
Lady Isobel, for doubting."

"Doubting
what
?"

"That you had need of me."

She tried to regain her dignity,
despite the fact that she'd lost a shoe and her wimple had been
dislodged, half torn off by the branches. The rogue was looking at
her hair, and she could have sworn there were flames leaping in the
depths of his gaze. Hungry, savage flames. "If you will not take me
back, I'll go alone."

"Say you are sorry, Lady
Isobel."

"Never." She spun around but had not
got two steps before he grabbed her, jerking the remains of her
wimple off her head. "How dare you touch me?"

"I will touch you as much
as I like. Your
husband
, my fine lady, has given me permission. In fact, he has
given me orders to touch you. To touch every part of
you."

Isobel struggled, but he held her firm
and backed her to the wide, gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. She
couldn't believe it. She didn't want to.

And yet she did.

This was what her husband had meant
when he spoke of her being "serviced".

Alonso d'Anzeray leaned over her,
shutting out the dappled light through the trees, sheltering her
from the raindrops that fell harder now. "He tells me you are still
a virgin."

Since he did not phrase it as a
question she gave him no answer.

Not that he needed one. "I'll find out
for myself," he muttered, eyes hot, staring down at her. He raised
the right hand to his mouth and used his teeth to pull off his
leather riding glove. "I need to know now."

"Don't," she gasped, shaking her head,
her long hair snagged on the rough bark.

He didn't listen, of course; she may
as well not have spoken. His bare hand was under her gown before
she could kick out in protest, his long fingers sliding between her
thighs. "Your husband intends for me to put a child in your womb,
because he cannot. So this rough, uncouth, bastard barbarian will
be putting his cock in you tonight. What think you of that, eh?"
His voice was low, deep, his breath blowing against her brow as his
fingers reached her trembling pussy and parted her nether
lips.

"I don't," she snapped, tense. "I
don't think of it at all."

"Why? It's going to happen, whether
you like the idea or not. Are you afraid? Anxious? Horrified?" He
laughed coldly. "Disgusted by the thought of my big common cock
filling your dainty cunt until it can take no more, fucking you
over and over?"

To Isobel's shame she knew she was wet
and he would feel it on his naked fingers. One of them was prying
between her labia now. His thigh was tight against her leg, holding
her back to the tree trunk while his finger explored.

"I have no feelings on the matter,"
she managed finally through gritted teeth. But the images his words
drew in her mind were impossible to ignore and her sexual needs had
been stifled so long that they were ready to betray her.

"I'll make you have
feelings," he hissed, forcing his finger farther, invading her
body. "I'll make you scream out my name by the time I'm done with
you,
my lady."

She swallowed hard. Her body had
tightened instinctively on his finger and now he grunted, half
laughing as he looked down her body to where her nipples pricked
against her gown. "Christ, you're ripe. I ought to take your
maidenhead now. While we're alone. Spoil Louvet's fun."

"Take your finger out of
me."

"But it feels so good inside there,
Lady Isobel." He licked her temple, and she closed her eyes. "Don't
make me stop yet. The rest of you is so cold and yet this cunny is
so warm. Welcoming."

"Don't," she gasped.

"Don't what?"

"It will never welcome you.
Never!"

He began moving his finger in and out
slowly, rubbing the curved joint of his forefinger so artfully over
her sensitive pussy lips that she felt the waves of pleasure
coursing through her already. Then he bent his head and tongued her
nipple through her gown. Her knees were weak and only his body,
keeping her tight against the tree, held her upright now. "I'm
going to fuck you, Lady Isobel, on your front, on your back, on
your side. I'm going to use my cock in places where you never
thought it could go. I'll leave you wet and dripping with my seed.
Then you will never again think that... you," he pressed his words
into her breast, "don't... need... me."

* * * *

Alonso was tempted almost beyond his
endurance to take her there and then. Her body's response was
surprisingly willing after all her terse words and insults. Dew
dripped from her cunt and dampened his fingers, proving what she
would never admit with her mouth. She was a sensual creature who
tried to hide behind a frost-hardened exterior. In the same way as
she rejected platters of food at supper, she denied her body its
sexual pleasure. She pretended she did not want joy—that she was
above it. But she could not hide the desire from him
anymore.

He sucked harder on her tit and heard
her moan. She liked a little roughness it seemed. Testing her, he
pinched her labia, flicked her nipple, bit the side of her neck.
Each gesture made the woman jump and gasp at first, but was met
with another sound that came after—a purr that traveled from deep
inside her throat and emerged seemingly against her will. The woman
writhed against that tree like the serpent in Eden, and there was a
pleasing flush deepening her cheeks.

Oh yes, she was ready to be
plucked.

He wanted to tear off her gown and
mount her there against the tree, but the Baron expected to watch
him take her maidenhead. If there was no virgin blood on the sheet
after the first time he might not believe Alonso responsible for
any pregnancy that occurred afterward. The Baron was sly enough to
deny him as the sire, and therefore refuse to pay his fee, if he
did not see proof of her broken virgin seal with his own
eyes.

Tonight, therefore, it must be. He
could wait for tonight.

When he stepped away from her, letting
the hem of her gown fall back into place, she opened her eyes and
glared, recovering her usual icy demeanor. Alonso could see the
frost sparking as it cracked across her green eyes.

"So where do you keep this straw
effigy of Louvet? The one you hold over flames and prick full of
pins?"

"I will never tell
you
."

"I only wonder why you have not put an
end to him already," he sneered, "if you are so powerful a
witch."

"Why would I want him dead? If I was a
widow I could be sent somewhere far worse. I have many comforts and
luxuries here. I am left alone and in peace most of the time. It
suits me well enough."

He moved closer again and smoothed a
dark frond of hair from her face. She was very still, glaring at
him as if he might be frightened off. Didn't she know by now that
he —unlike her milksop husband —was fearless?

"I do not believe you're a witch at
all, Lady Isobel," he murmured, running his finger down her soft
cheek. "If you were, he would have been rid of you." His finger
reached her proud, elegant neck and felt her swallow. "But he uses
the story of witchcraft to explain his impotency, does he not?
Perhaps all his stories of bedchamber conquest are lies, fantasies.
Perhaps his cock ceased to work long ago. But when he married a
pretty young thing he was forced to find a scapegoat for his
incapability. Thus he laid the blame upon his virginal
bride."

She said nothing, her full lips
pressed together, her eyes narrowed.

"Don't pout, my lady, you'll get me
tonight and finally you'll know satisfaction as he can never give
you." He paused, studying her angry face, her softly heaving
breasts and the way her gown hung off her slender body. "Unlike
your husband, I don't care how you starve yourself. Your slim shape
does not put me off. That is why you fast so often, I suppose.
Under the excuse of piety you keep yourself unattractive to the
pitiful example of manhood that you were forced to wed."

She swung her hand and slapped him
hard across his face.

For some reason he hadn't seen it
coming. It stung and he tasted blood in his mouth.

Furious, he could only stare at her
for a moment.

"And
I suppose
you expect to have
everything your way, mercenary. But you'll find me very different
to your usual prey."

He already did. "I like a challenge,
Lady Isobel," he replied curtly, resisting the urge to rub his sore
cheek. "I welcome a worthy opponent. Any time."

Her eyes flared. "Then we do have
something in common." How beautiful she looked suddenly, with her
dark hair loosened and tumbled in a sprawl over her shoulders. It
shortened his breath and possibly, he thought grimly, his life too
by several hours. Perhaps she really was a witch.