The Wagered Wench (20 page)

He looked surprised, his eyes narrowed as if he’d rather expected a punch or a slap.

“I chose you,” she whispered.

A frown creased his soot streaked brow. “
Me
?” He sounded suddenly like a small boy—like Nat, bewildered by her notice.

Part Four

Terra

Chapter Seventeen

The winter weather kept Dominic indoors and the building was abandoned for a while. The snow turned that great shadow of stone into a white and silver palace and the horizon was changed yet again. Elsinora was glad for a cold winter that year, since it kept her husband by her side and frequently under furs in bed with her. Every season had its advantage.

Stryker did not show his face for a month after she made her choice, but eventually he rode across the moor with a barrel of his own brew strapped to his horse, determined to beat the Norman at one thing—who could down the most flagons of ale and still remain standing. Much to the indignation of both men they were beaten on this occasion by Elsinora. It was not the last competition between the two men, but after that no one could take it seriously anymore. Not even them. In time they grew to like and respect one another. Not that they would ever admit it to another living soul.

The earth hardened, sleeping under its coat of frost. People huddled by their fires, telling stories and singing songs to pass the long winter nights. Elsinora found a sudden fancy for nuts dipped in honey and, with her usual habit of over-indulgence in things she liked, ate so many that she made herself sick. Her husband, concerned, tucked her into bed and demanded potions from Bertha to ease his wife’s suffering.

Bertha laughed and shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with your wife that nine months or less won’t cure. I’d say, by mid-summer we’ll have another mouth to feed.” And then she clasped her hands, rolling her teary eyes to heaven. “Praise be. An heir at last.”

When she realized the truth, Elsinora was too bewildered to know what she should feel or think at first. Her husband treated her as if she might break, much to her amusement and—sometimes—irritation. She spent long hours pondering the changes in her life over the space of that past year, as she walked across the fields, wrapped in layers of fleece and fur. Dominic worried she would catch cold being outside so often, but she wanted to be out in nature. She felt at one with Mother Earth and the life that seethed beneath her feet, waiting to flourish again. Just as she did now. With her hands on her growing belly, she touched the little soul within and sang to him. Often now she said her quiet, heartfelt thanks to her father. Foolish he had been in many ways, unreliable at times and frustrating, but in the end he had brought Dominic Coeur-du-Loup. She could forgive him anything now.

On one walk, she wandered up to the old abandoned hovel and stumbled upon Alric the Shepherd with Aelin. Flushed, she backed out again. Two months later Aelin was also with child and wed to the quiet shepherd. Much to everyone’s surprise, despite the naysayers, the couple were happy and Aelin settled down to her new duties as a wife and mother with startling ease.

Not long after the birth of Elsinora’s child, Stryker received a message from Count Robert. He would soon have a new responsibility of his own—a wife, a Norman woman by the name of Amias. It was said the Count wanted to keep Stryker in line with a Norman bride. It was also said that Amias had been turned away by more than one husband already. What was wrong with her it could only be guessed, although rumor had it she was cursed, unlucky in love.

As Stryker Bloodaxe said grimly upon hearing of this, apparently her luck wasn’t about to change. The last thing he wanted now was the consolation prize of a wife passed over by other men. He’d wait, he told Elsinora, until she got to his manor and then he’d be rid of her somehow.

“Perhaps she’ll fall in love with someone else,” he muttered. “Like you did.”

She laughed, reaching up to pat his cheek. Poor Stryker. Now that she had her happiness she wanted the same for him. Hopefully, Amias of York, whoever she might be, was ready to handle a proud, stubborn Dane like Stryker Bloodaxe.

Spring 1084

A thin drizzle had fallen for most of the day, seeping under the collar of his coat. Knowing his luck it would continue all the way home. Home. He had one now. Already he could smell wood smoke that puffed lazily from the rooftops of Lyndower.

He touched the brooch that pinned his mantle across his shoulders—a recent gift from Count Robert when he knighted Dominic in the king’s name. Sir Dominic. It had a ring to it. He only wished his wife had been able to travel to Marazion with him for the ceremony, but she was busy with the new babe and spring planting.

Glancing over at the distant squalls of grey sea he remembered how, two years ago, he had travelled along this same road with Gudderth slung over the rump of his horse. Often it felt a lot longer than two years, but sometimes it seemed like only yesterday when he saw his future wife for the first time and fell under her pixie spell.

Good thing she chose him, he thought with a proud sniff. Came to her senses finally, didn’t she? And if she hadn’t chosen him, where would he be now with his crooked dice? Only the Devil knew.

Something else to fix, he thought with a sigh, slowing his horse. He could see his wife now, in the herb garden, waving. Beautiful. Still took his breath away. She hurried after Henry, who trotted merrily down the lane toward his father, too excited to heed her shouts for him to wait.

“Papa! I diggin’” The boy fell backward over a tuft of grass.

“So I see.” Dominic dismounted, stopping to pick the boy up, submitting to filthy hands around his face and muddied feet kicking against his fine new cloak to get higher until Henry was perched on his shoulder.

He smiled wickedly, knowing his wife didn’t approve of French words, and walked to the gate, the horse plodding along behind. Elsinora waited for him in the garden, leaning on her hoe. The babe, he could see, was asleep in her cradle in the shelter of the wall.

“Henry go inside and find Nat, I want to talk to mama alone.” He set the boy down, kissed him and watched him run in a haphazard gait across the yard to the main hall.

“So you came back then,” his wife muttered, turning back to her garden and the rich brown earth. “Didn’t find a better opportunity?”

He glanced around quickly to be sure they were alone and then he leapt the fence and grabbed her around the waist from behind, pulling her bottom against his groin. “Aye, wench, I came back. Miss me?”

Elsinora Gudderthsdottir was not afraid of a little cold. Other folk might balk at the raging rush of bubbles, ready to sweep them off their feet. The icy prick and sting of icy water.

Not she.

Legs parted, she waited for the waves to hit her quinny, every inch of her skin alive with tiny bumps, breathing.

She heard a splash, then his grunting breath. Felt his rough hands on her hips. The unseen stranger pushed her legs further apart, ruthless. And then came his shaft, a great thick organ thrusting at her from behind. She tipped forward and held the rocks for balance, crying out. His hands jerked her hips backward as he pushed his broad cockhead at her private folds, spearing her in one brutal motion. His loins slapped hard up against her buttocks, just as another flush of frigid water washed between her spread thighs, fizzing and tickling over her labia. The man’s cock filled her again and again while he held her hips, bouncing her roughly against his thrusting. He grunted, his breath hot in her ear.

Elsinora cried out his name as she climaxed and the sound echoed around the valley, all the way up to the stone of his unfinished castle, where a small carving had their initials entwined forever.

The End

www.georgiafoxauthor.blogspot.com

Other Books by Georgia Fox:

The Ever Knight

The Virgin Proxy

The Craftsman

The Good Sinner’s Naughty Nun

Lumina

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com