The Ever Knight (3 page)

She had found him, her Ever Knight.

Chapter Three

He must be dreaming. Perhaps, he mused, the infection in his leg had spread to his mind and now he saw visions of angels. A wicked angel with her legs spread before him, her sweet cunny gleaming wet from his tongue’s homage.

He plowed forward, his rigid prick unable to wait. Now it was his turn. He grunted, pressing into her slick heat. She was tight. Tighter than expected. Valiantly she struggled under him, eager to take all he had.

As a general rule he avoided virgins. He preferred a simple, easy swiving without pain for the woman, but a voice in his head told him to take her anyway, fuck her until she screamed his name and it was burned in her. Laying there in the straw she was too beautiful. Like looking too long at the sun she made his eyes sore. He took a breath and then another, trying to calm that rapacious instinct to claim her and be damned.

The fact that she was a virgin reminded him suddenly of his brother’s innocent, sheltered betrothed, hidden away somewhere inside these walls. He wouldn’t want his brother’s intended to be had like this in a hayloft by some soldier who could not control his lusts. If anyone got there before he came to collect her, he wouldn’t rest until he had the other man’s head on a plate. Neither would his brother, who entrusted Remy with the duty of fetching and delivering his bride in one piece.

But his brother’s bride was not at issue here. His brother’s precious virgin prize was safely tucked up asleep under the hawk-eye of those nuns, her little head full of innocent thoughts, as it should be. What he had before him was all woman, ready and willing. Commanding him to take her maidenhead.

And he was just a bastard with an iron-hard cock in his hand. Remy soothed his momentary twinge of conscience by remembering he was baseborn, a man of action who lived for the moment and took as he pleased. No one expected acts of great nobility and sacrifice from Remy, the clumsy, blood-thirsty, hot-head. Such things were left in the hands of his fine, faultless half-brother who lived a life of duty and honor.

That settled it. All his principles about virgins, such as they were, could be discarded. She chose him to deflower her; he would gladly oblige.

Eventually.

Remy decided to keep her virgin a while longer. Savoring his moment.

He hitched back, kneeling in the straw, his cock still rampant in the bright moonlight that filled the loft through an opened hatch.

“Why do you delay?” she exclaimed, spitting out hay dust. “Put it in me. Fuck me.”

She made him hot with her wanton demands. Her lips were full and pouty at both ends, begging for him. He could see the honey gleaming on the pink flesh of her beautiful pussy, as she spread it with her own fingers, wanting him inside urgently. With his tongue he’d brought her to climax, but she wanted more. She was a treasure chest eager for plunder, offering up all her delights.

“There are other roads to pleasure.” He placed a fingertip to her areola and drew a circle. “I must explore. You will lay still.”

After a slight hesitation she agreed, silver eyes gleaming with naughty curiosity. He stroked his erection, leading her gaze to it. The tiny hole seeped another long-withheld bead of liquid. No time to delay further.

“I must ‘ave you,” he muttered stiffly, apologetically, tuning her over in the straw, hands staking her hips, giving her no time to question. He used his premature semen and her own sticky sweetness to ready her opening, gathering the beads on his finger and then easing it inside her anus with caution. He felt her muscles contract and his own body responded in kind, tightening, hardening. His jaw hurt from grinding. If only he had something more to smooth his path, but she was impatient and so was he.

Lost in need, he spoke to her passionately in his own language, hoping the tone of voice would be enough to steady her as he pried open her sweet ass.

* * * *

She lay with her head in her arms, her heart beat racing like a coney from a fox. He used his tongue to moisten and gently widen the small hole. Then came his swollen crest, gentle but insistent, pushing at her, mounting her slowly. His hands trembled around her hips. She groaned, her muscles allowing the invasion only very gradually. He sighed deeply, whispering soothing encouragement to her in his native tongue.

Eventually the burning eased, replaced by a new sensation for which she had no name yet. He curved his strong chest and shoulders around her. One hand between her legs, he stroked and caressed her sex, a callused fingertip finding her core again, working it until she bucked madly, insatiable and wanton. He brought her closer and closer to another climax, but never let her over the precipice. Each time she came close, at the mercy of his probing fingers, her walls softened and she was able to take a little more of him inside her. Her body consumed him, bite by bite. Like a prowling, purring, captive leopard being fed tidbits through the bars of its cage, she took what he gave her, but all the time she yearned to be set free at last, to feast on the entire meal. She closed her eyes and let her other senses play over the scene, drinking it in. The rustle of hay, the smack of his groin against her bottom. With every forward push he gave a feral grunt, his heavy balls swinging, slapping her nether lips. His other hand cupped her breast, fingers teasing the nipple, pulling on it while his teeth bit her shoulder and her neck. She cried out, thrashing at the straw as he rode her with his hips, slow and sensual, moaning in her ear, using words she did not know but understood. Every inflection was clear and true, planted between each press of his lips to her skin, each thrust of his lower body. This was more than she thought she could take, yet her body now accommodated his incredible size like a conjuring trick. Finally he let her fall over the edge into the hot abyss. His entire hand cupped her sex and pressed down. She shook, gasping for breath, shuddering uncontrollably.

He growled into her hair, “Mon Dieu!”

A rush of wet heat filled her and she sank to the straw. He followed, collapsing abruptly, smothering her under his weight.

It seemed he was done. Was this what men did to one another when they were away for months at a time with no woman at hand? She’d always found it hard to believe. Now she knew it
did
fit there. Incredible, the resourcefulness of man. She could hardly wait to share this knowledge with Deorwynn, who would probably not believe her in any case.

He lay there, still filling her with his remarkably proportioned cock, making her his captive.

“You will take me with you?” she murmured, dazed. Oh, he must take her now. He couldn’t let her down after showing her this much pleasure. Only her true love, her Ever Knight, could have done this.

His laughter shook her body. “With gladness.” Then he added with a sigh, “If I could.”

He pulled out of her, dripping semen onto the hay. After being so tightly filled she felt wretchedly bereft.

“You lied?” she demanded, rolling over to confront him. The rotten bastard Norman had tricked her—promised to rescue her and reneged the moment he’d shot his arrow in her.

He protested that he never agreed to take her anywhere. “You wanted a Norman stallion to ride, eh? I gave you this. Do not pout, ma belle.” While she lay there in silent mortification and then fury, he examined his cock as if amazed it was still intact. A new aura of relaxed contentment shone in his face. He looked younger, boyish. Carefree. “I come to fetch my brother’s bride. That is my purpose ‘ere and I ‘ave room for only one female on my journey.”

She stared. “Your brother’s bride?”

“A sheltered Saxon princess. Kept ‘ere safe for ‘im, out of the ‘ands of other men.”

The nuns had told the girls very little about the soldiers when they arrived. Jisella thought it was simply because they were men and out of bounds. Now she realized it was because the nuns didn’t want her getting wind of their purpose there. Knowing her well, they fully expected a fight on their hands.

As she lay on her side in the hay, glaring at this infuriating man, completely confused by her feelings, he slapped her gently on the backside and drowsily chuckled to himself, exclaiming that she was a tremendous fuck and he felt better already.

Jisella glared at him, speechless for a few seconds. Then she found her voice again. “My ass hurts, you rotten Norman…beast!” She sorely regretted giving him anything.

“You are upset,” he said, as if he couldn’t think why she would be.

“Am I? How perceptive!”

He laughed quizzically. “You are even more beautiful when you are angry.” Then with a jaunty whistle he resumed cleaning off his cock, as if it was his sword or some other weapon he carried into battle.

She was horrified. This could not be. She was so certain he was her Ever Knight—the one she’d waited for all this time, her soul mate. One look at him had sent her nerves into a lusty scramble. His arms had held her as she’d never been held, with warmth and care and strength.

Now he talked calmly of leaving her behind tomorrow and going about his business, having enjoyed her favors as if she was a mere strumpet camp follower.

“What is her name,” she managed tightly, “this bride of your brother’s?”

He told her, swiftly confirming this tremendous error.

She grabbed her cloak, desperate to get out of that hayloft. He was no Ever Knight. He was a lecherous soldier who’d lied and cheated to get what he wanted. He was also the brother of the man to which she’d been sold—or rather her hymen had been sold.

When he realized she planned to leave, he wrestled the cloak from her fingers, holding her down in the hay. “You don’t want this? It is not to your taste now? I am too much perhaps.”

She tried kicking free, but he straddled her legs and laughed so loudly she worried someone would hear them. “Stop it, you shit!” she hissed. “Norman swine!”

His damp, softened manhood pressed against her belly and, to her chagrin, she was quickly aroused again, recalling the power and slickness of his strength driving into her body while his fingers skillfully played over and inside her sex. He was a master at the craft. As usual, her appetite was not easily satisfied and she’d just found a new dish she liked. Damn him, but she wanted more, she wanted another taste.

He suddenly stooped to kiss her mouth and only then did she realize it was the first time he’d kissed her. “But I ‘ave only just begun, sweet temptress,” he whispered, as if she was a wild pony he would tame. His eyelashes brushed her cheek. The warm, sticky scent of their fucking suddenly filled the hayloft.

“Renard is everything I am not. He is good, I am bad. He is fair, I am dark. He is clever, I am not. His father begat him with a wife and sired me with a farrier’s daughter.”

He spoke remarkably clearly. When he forgot to overplay the accent.

“You were raised together?” She wondered if they were competitive. What would happen when he found out that he’d cuckolded his half-brother?

“No. My mother married a blacksmith in our village and he raised me. A good man, steady and honorable.” He grinned down at her. “I took after my real father, eh?”

She didn’t quite believe it. He tried too hard to convince her he was a bad man. Probably did that with all the girls he knew, she reasoned, just to keep them from hanging on him and wanting him to stay put. Despite bathing today, he still smelled of sweat and fresh air, worn leather and horse. These were the odors of travel and adventure, not of a man who remained in one place, with one woman, for long.

Jisella drew a fingertip across his dark eyebrows, one after the other. “And then?” she prompted.

“When I was sixteen I joined William’s men to fight and a year later my brother also. We sailed here together. Now we are conquerors.”

Conquerors. One of them had certainly conquered her. His manhood thickened again, hardening against her thigh. Perhaps he might still be persuaded to rescue her. He seemed to like her company. If she made him like it all the more, he may not be able to hand her over to his brother. Especially if he took her virginity tonight. She must prove to him he was her Ever Knight. She must make him remember their past lives together.

“Talk not,” he repeated.

He still hadn’t asked her anything about her own life, which was no great surprise. Men seldom had any interest in women beyond what they needed from them at that moment. But a man uncomfortable with talking about himself was indeed a rarity.

She had forgotten it was the end of October and a brutal cold night. Laying in the hayloft, with the heat of his body to shelter her, it might have been a sun-filled afternoon in July. His fingernails traced her cheek as he looked down at her, suddenly thoughtful.

Jisella arched her back, clasped the nape of his neck and drew him closer, opening her lips on his. His cock stiffened further as she brazenly slipped her tongue inside his mouth.

* * * *

For the first time since he climbed into the hayloft Remy glanced down at his wounded thigh. Her other hand was on it, her small, pale fingers spread. Her skin seemed to glow again, the way it did when he first saw her, as if she gathered strength from that great disc in the sky.

“My leg,” he muttered, confused. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Her hand felt hot against his tense muscle, but apart from that there was nothing. None of that agony he’d tolerated for so many days.

“Good,” she whispered. “Now I have done this favor for you, Remy, perhaps you will do one for me.”