His Enemy's Daughter (17 page)

And she gifted him with another, never moving away from his mouth as he stole her breath. Soren slipped an arm behind her and the other under her knees and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed without taking his mouth from hers. When he felt the bedside with his legs, he paused and did lift back from her then.

‘Are you afraid?' he asked, just as he had before. Somehow now, the thought of her being afraid of him did not sit well with him.

She nodded, a quick one, and then her lips trembled.

‘Can you trust me? Will you trust me?'

He would have sworn that she was gazing directly at him in that moment. Her sightless eyes seemed to look even into his soul. Soren held his breath, waiting for heaven or hell.

‘I
think I do trust you, Soren.'

Sybilla was not afraid, she was terrified. Remembering his size and his fierceness, she prayed he would not tear her asunder if he lost control of his passion. All of the gossip overheard came flooding back to her and she shivered in his arms. Mayhap if she could see him, it would not be scary, but having no way of knowing what he would do added to her fears.

‘I will have a care,' he whispered to her.

And that was the answer, she thought. This man, though sworn to destroy her, had instead seen to her welfare, caring for her through the day and night. He could have taken what he now asked for, inflicting himself on her flesh, but he waited and he asked.

Sybilla nodded her consent, expecting him to throw her on the bed and take her. Instead, he kissed again as he laid her down before him. She did not know what to do, what he expected of her now, so she asked.

‘What should I do?'

He laughed then, a rich, deep, full laugh that was both appealing and wicked at the same time. It sent chills through her, but also caused a rush of heat to flood through her body with each beat of her heart.

‘Let me pleasure you.'

Her body shook now at the seductive promise in those words and in his voice. Then he kissed her again and she let him, opening her mouth to accept his touch and to taste him. Sybilla felt her body opening and warming with each second that passed. When he tugged on the laces keeping her
syrce
closed at her neck, loosening and opening it widely, she gasped.

She wished she could see his face, to see if he was pleased by what he saw now. Her breasts were unremarkable, but larger than some of the other women in Alston. Did they please him?

He ran the back of his hand over her skin, first at her neck, then over her shoulder and on to her breast. Slow and steady, he skimmed over the tip of one and then down and down until he reached her belly. She could not breathe as he touched her so. Then he began anew on the other side, touching, teasing, caressing her until she gasped and arched against his hand.

He climbed over her then, not between her legs, but placing her between his. Then, with a murmured apology that did not sound regretful at all, he took the edges of her
syrce
and tore it open all the way. Cool air moved over her skin, raising gooseflesh, but not for long. His mouth replaced his hand on her skin and soon she was burning with a fever from inside and out.

Sybilla ached for something, something, some touch
or kiss he had not gifted her with yet, but she knew he would. When she tried to reach up and touch his face, he placed her hands on the bed. ‘Let me,' he urged and she allowed him his way.

Lord Soren moved over her, kissing and licking a path over every inch of her skin. But when he took the tip of her breast in his mouth—did he truly do that?—and suckled on it, she thought she might have screamed. His mouth was hot, his tongue rough as he rubbed across and around the sensitive tip over and over until she trembled with the pleasure of it. When he used his teeth, worrying them over it and scraping it gently, she did scream.

His mouth swallowed the sounds, covering hers and possessing it until she quieted. Then he moved back down and tormented the other in the same way. Only that wicked laugh met her pleas for more. All the while, something deep inside her began to tighten with every stroke of his tongue or nip of his mouth. The place between her legs, one she rarely noticed before his arrival and attention, grew wet and throbbed as he moved his mouth now down on to her belly. It ached and seemed to have its own beat that matched the pace of her racing heart.

She felt him slide down away from her and thought it might end soon, but he was not done. Her body wept, the core of her readied for what she knew would happen soon—he would pierce her maidenhead and spill his seed. But no one had told her of the pleasure that could exist between a husband and wife. He eased her legs apart and used his hands to tease her thighs. She felt him open her legs now and kneel between them and waited to feel him push inside her.

Sybilla knew he was a large man—the difference in
their height gave her pause. Could this work between them? Could he fit inside her? But instead of his manhood, she felt his finger slip between her legs and ease into that place. The moan escaped before she could stop it.

‘Easy, Sybilla,' he whispered. He moved to her side now and lifted one of her legs up to rest over his, leaving that private part of her open to his touch. He stroked down her leg and into the folds, now slick with her body's wetness. He placed his palm on the curls and pressed down, making something throb over and over. Then he curled his fingers and used them against something buried in that flesh to make her body explode under his touch.

She grabbed his arm then and arched against his long fingers, which he slipped inside her. Sybilla could only let her body react and it did—wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her even as he relentlessly stroked her to more and more. She felt the spasms deep within that flesh tighten around his fingers and every muscle in her body contracted and shook with the power of these sensations.

She lost any sense of herself for a moment of time that seemed to go on and on. Only when she felt the tears trickling down her face and the tremors still echoing deep inside her body did she know she was conscious.

‘What was that?' she asked, not understanding what had happened. Then that part of him moved against her hip, confusing her even more.

‘That was pleasure,' he said, without taking his hand from its intimate caress. He kissed the tears from her cheeks.

She felt as though she had run for miles and miles. It took several minutes to catch her breath, even while small waves of pleasure rippled in her body and through her blood. Her breasts swelled and their tips tightened even still.

‘Are we done? You have not—' She stopped then because he moved his fingers ever so slightly within her flesh.

‘No, I have not,' he said. Then he moved his fingers again and she gasped.

‘What are you doing?'

‘More, Sybilla, I am doing more.'

And he did until she thought she could not take another kiss or caress and stroke of his tongue or his fingers anywhere on her body. He moved her body as he wanted, moving from her side to over her to behind her. Then when she could not scream again, when her body seemed to float on this cloud of euphoria and passion, he spread her legs and pushed inside her.

And at each instant when she thought it was too much, he stroked her again, easing his way in until she was filled with him. And when she thought it over, he withdrew and stroked against her swollen flesh until he found his way back in. He slid his arm beneath her, lifting and arching her up so he could suckle on her breasts. Unable to resist anything he did, Sybilla gave herself over to him and let him have his way with her until she had nothing left to give him.

Then, she felt him harden more and thicken within her and knew he would spill his seed now. At that last moment, as her body reached yet another peak she had not thought possible, he pulled back and she felt his hot
seed spill beneath her. Unable to do anything or move anything, she lay in his arms replete and exhausted. He gathered her close and whispered one word in his language over and over.

Sybilla felt sleep claiming her and realised that he'd never removed his shirt.

 

The lady snored.

Soren smiled as he thought of all the other sounds she made tonight. The sound of her sighing was his favourite, especially when she was not even aware she did it. He eased the torn shift from her, wiped his seed from their skin and tossed it on the floor. Then, drawing the bedcovers up over them, Soren tried to sleep.

He would not, he knew, get any sleep this night, not with her pressed against his side and his cock ready to pleasure her again. The way he had taken her, pleasured her until she passed out, guaranteed she would not be ready again soon. Soren had always thought that a woman of experience offered more spirited bedplay, but after this night in Sybilla's bed, he had changed his mind on the matter.

A siren disguised as a virgin. That was his wife. An innocent, ignorant of the pleasures of the flesh, who took to it with an honest and genuine curiosity and sought to enjoy what he did rather than pretend to delicacy. When she'd responded to his first caresses so fully, he'd sworn to take his time, to draw it out as much as he could so that she did not feel cheated when the pleasure faded from the pain of having her maidenhead breached. From the way she cried out and urged him on, they had both received a full measure of satisfaction from their joining.

She mumbled then in her sleep and her body arched against him as though reliving the moment of release and he prayed for restraint…again. He wondered if she would wake the demure innocent embarrassed by what they'd done or if she would want to experience it again with him. There was so much more he could show her in the ways of loving—Soren only hoped she was interested. If not, he would honour her refusal, but not happily.

He drifted off to sleep at some time in the night and woke as he mostly did—hard and readied. And she slept on, unknowing his condition and his unsatisfied desire for her.

Soren thought about this unusual level of wanting a woman before. It had been months after he was struck down before he even had a sexual urge and then, looking as he did, 'twas easier to pay a few coins to a woman willing to oblige him with a few minutes of attention. In war there were always camp followers who appreciated the coins or trinkets he could pay.

But once he'd left the king's quarters for the north and Giles's lands and then Brice's, he stopped that, unwilling for them to know how bad it was for him. By then, the pitying looks and sidelong glances bothered him and he did nothing that would expose him to more of those.

Then, one look at her, standing up for her people, offering herself in their place, accepting his need for vengeance, and he was lost in wanting and needing her.

Soren felt better about their bargain now—he knew that his offer was giving her the time she needed to regain herself and to learn the skills she would need to live blind and it was helping him in a number of ways. A temporary arrangement and one that would be over before anyone
got hurt or wanted something from the other that could never be. Once she left him, he would find some other comfortable arrangement, with some woman eager to please the lord of Alston and make no comments about him or claims on him.

With the rebels scattered and Harold dead, Alston would be at peace and his life would settle to something bearable.

So, if all that was sorted out and all his plans made, why could he swear he heard Gautier laughing in the dark of the night? And why did he wake not to the soft sighs he craved but to screams and the sounds of an attack out in the yard?

S
oren was dressed and heading down the stairs before he even thought about ordering Sybilla to stay in the keep. She was not new at this, she would know to stay inside, much as he'd ordered done when the Saxon lords approached that day. With Stephen calling out orders in the yard, Guermont directing the people into the keep, and his men moving into defensive positions along the wall, Soren knew she would know and went on about the business of protecting Alston from whomever had launched this attack.

He ran to the stables to make certain they were ready in case of flaming arrows and found everything in position there. Larenz had ordered Raed to protect the lady in the keep, which kept him out of the line of fire. Unable to get to the wall, Soren could not tell where the attack was coming from. Once the people were inside, he would be able to focus on what he did best—fighting. The only ones left to be secured were their prisoners and Soren
could see some of them resisting his men's orders to get on the ground where they would not be moving targets or in the way of his men's aim either. Running to them, he heard his name being called.

‘Soren! Lord Soren!' Gareth called out even as one of Soren's men hit him and knocked him to the ground. ‘Unchain us. Let us fight,' he yelled. When he tried to gain his feet, he was knocked down again. ‘These are my people, our people, too. Let us defend them.'

Soren was torn. He could use more good fighting men, but dared he trust these Saxons to fight against other Saxons? Would they help or hinder him and his men? Soren caught Larenz's gaze. With but a raised brow, he had Larenz's opinion of the situation, so Soren nodded to Stephen. Some of his men looked as though they would argue, but they had been through the war with him and knew better than to disagree during a battle. With little delay, the men were released, given swords and ordered to spread around the yard in case the gate and the wall were breached.

After being caught unaware, it took a short time for Soren to regroup and begin to fight back in an effective way. He ordered his best bowmen to the top of the keep to seek out where they were being attacked from. Then, as he feared and expected, the arrows sent over the walls were flaming and aimed at the wooden outbuildings. The freed prisoners began fighting the fires that sprang up by passing buckets of water from the well and several horse troughs to wherever it was needed.

He thought they were getting the situation under control when he heard a commotion begin near the door into the keep. Soren could not believe the sight before him.
Sybilla ran out into the yard and then stopped. Too far from the keep and not far enough to be grabbed by one of his men, she stood there in the middle ground, a clear target for anyone firing into the yard.

Holy Christ! he thought as he jumped to the ground from the wall, praying his ankles survived the landing. Then he yelled and ran, trying to come between her and the path of the arrows. At least his hauberk and helm would give him some protection, but she had neither. He was still yards and yards away from her when it happened.

The arrow came over his left shoulder and took her down.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl for him then, no matter how fast he tried to run to her, his steps sluggish and dragging. Everyone watched in horror as the sleeve of her gown burst into flames, but no one could reach her. Just as he heard her scream, someone collided with her, taking her down to the ground and beating at the flames. Sybilla's gown yet smouldered when he reached her, so he tore the burning sleeve from it and threw it aside. He plucked Raed from the ground and flung him towards the keep's door where Larenz managed to get to the boy and get him inside.

Soren scooped Sybilla into his arms and ran, using his body to shield her from any more arrows. Once inside the keep, he handed her off to Aldys and left. As he reached the wall again, Soren heard a familiar battle cry from the woods where the attack seemed centred. Brice's men had arrived. Warriors on horseback, they burst from the shadows, chasing an assortment of the attackers. They stood no chance if caught so they ran,
not yet realising that they had no chance of escape from the skilled warriors.

Though Soren would have liked one captured alive, he also wanted them dead. Brice's men obliged him without even asking and then rode in pursuit of any who escaped through the woods or up into the hills. Soren remained inside the gates, wary of a secondary attack and helping to manage the fires and the damage wrought. Several men had been wounded and needed to be tended and moved inside.

The stables' and the chapel's wooden roofs seemed to have been spared while most of the storage barns' had burned. None of the horses had been injured. Once things outside were under control, Soren waited for Brice's return before heading inside.

There was another reason he hesitated. Soren thought his heart had stopped when he saw Sybilla standing out, a clear target, and he could not reach her in time. Then when she was felled by the arrow, he felt a fear unlike any he'd experienced before. Not even facing death himself felt like that.

And he would kill her himself for making him feel that terror.

Brice approached the gates and called out to Soren. The gates were opened to allow him and his men to enter and closed immediately. Until he was certain the area was clear, Soren would keep them closed. There were many questions about how this surprise attack had happened and he would not rest until he knew the answers and could prevent another such attack.

‘Tell me you were not abed enjoying the favours of
your new wife when this happened,' Brice said, as he walked up to Soren.

He nodded at the others he knew and then turned his attention back to Soren, who waited for the inevitable. He did not acknowledge the question nor the rightness of his suspicions, but met Brice's gaze. For a moment neither one moved, then Brice stepped closer and grabbed Soren and hugged him.

‘'Tis where I would have been, if I'd been home,' he whispered and they laughed together. ‘I sent one of my men ahead to let you know of our arrival and he told us of the attack. We thought we could help.'

Soren knew, and Brice must as well, that his arrival was the difference between losing much of what they'd only just rebuilt and probably more in casualties and injured. And though they might have fought off this wave, a second or third one would see them compromised and vulnerable.

‘Is this all of your men?' Soren asked, peering across the yard at the newly arrived men who were already assisting where they could. He saw many renewing acquaintances with some of his men. Many had served together before and were friends or even family.

‘Nay. I left ten more with the carts a few miles back,' Brice replied, nodding back at the road. ‘Gillian insisted,' he explained, holding his hands up to deny accountability. ‘You saw to reclaiming Shildon for her, us.'

Supplies, Soren imagined. Foodstuffs, fabric and more. All the things Gillian had asked him about before he set off on the orders of the bishop to aid Brice in retaking his wife's inherited lands from her half-brother's control.

‘My thanks for whatever you bring, and my thanks
to your wife for sharing your bounty,' Soren said with a bow of his head, acknowledging the gifts. It would give them a measure of comfort and aid Sybilla's efforts to keep their stores filled.

Sybilla.

‘There is a gift for your wife among the packages as well. Gillian worried that…'

Brice did not have to explain. They had expected to receive news that he'd killed her when they arrived, so the news that he had married her was a surprise to all who knew him and his plans.

‘The gift may be premature,' Soren said, motioning for Brice to follow him into the keep. ‘She may yet be dead by my hand.'

Brice laughed loudly and Soren did not doubt that he'd heard the story already from one of his men. They entered to find the keep and those inside almost calm and orderly. Now that the danger was past, most knew to go back to their normal duties, but a crowd yet milled around in the centre of the large room.

Soren knew who was at the centre and he made his way there, pushing those who did not move from his path. His hands were shaking by the time he found her, there, sitting on a chair. Her face had no colour in it, she was paler than death and she trembled, holding her hand over a place on her other arm that must have been burned by the arrow. She looked terrible and wonderful at the same time. Angered by his own response, Soren felt his control snap.

‘What in hell did you think you were doing, Sybilla?' he yelled. Moving closer now that the crowd scattered,
he continued, ‘What were you thinking? Running into the yard during an attack?'

The words were out before he realised that she flinched as though he struck her with each word spoken. Her face blanched more and she pressed back against the chair as he walked towards her. Torn in that moment between taking her in his arms and admitting the terror he had experienced when she was hit right before him or strangling her for daring too much too soon, he settled for another order. ‘Go to your chambers and await me there.'

Raed stood at her side, glaring—glaring!—at him as he ordered her gone. The boy had saved her life and prevented serious injury by his quick actions that day. Soren would excuse the mutinous expression this once and sent him off with Sybilla.

‘Take the lady to her chambers, boy.'

Soren tried not to notice the way her hand shook when she placed it on Raed's shoulder, or the way she stumbled as she walked behind him on the way to the stairs. Complete and utter silence reigned as all present watched her leave. Another minute passed before anyone spoke. He'd thought it would be Brice who would rebuke him for such behaviour, or even Larenz, who could and would do it wordlessly and with only a pointed expression.

He had never expected it to be delivered by someone else—someone who never had learned to keep his mouth shut and who Soren had hoped to never see again.

‘Well done, cousin,' Tristan le Breton called out from his place at the door. ‘Very well done of you!'

Soren was coming to like a particular Saxon epithet and it worked well in situations like this one. He said
it aloud, in fact, loud enough that everyone in the hall heard the word and then, content in knowing that Brice would handle anything that needed attention for him, he stormed up the stairs to find his wife.

 

Sybilla barely made it to her chambers. Even leaning heavily on Raed, each step was nearly impossible for her. He led her up the stairs and down the corridor to her room. She heard Aldys rushing up behind her and heard her gasp, probably as she saw the torn gown and burned flesh on her arm.

‘Get her inside, lad,' she ordered. ‘I will fetch supplies and see to her arm.'

The she-dragon was back, Sybilla thought as she fell onto the bed where Raed led her.

‘My lady,' the boy whispered, ‘he did not mean it.' He touched her hand and squeezed it. ‘He was just afraid for you, like we all were. He—' Raed stopped and dropped her hand.

His reaction meant only one thing.

‘Give me those and get out.'

She pushed herself back and up against the headboard of the bed as she heard his heavy footsteps come closer. Rubbing the tears from her eyes, she would have tried to explain. But to do that, she had to be able to explain why she'd done it and she could not. So, she sat in silence, waiting for whatever he'd come here to do to her in punishment for her rash, and foolish, act.

He dropped whatever he carried on the table at the bedside and she jumped at the sound of it. Lord Soren took her hand and, not knowing what to expect from
him, she found herself shocked by the gentleness of his touch.

Lord Soren lifted her arm and peeled off the remnants of her
syrce
, easing it off the burned skin, but he muttered under his breath, and loud enough for her to hear, the whole time. 'Twas clear to her that he preferred his own tongue when angry and she was glad not to understand much of it. Every so often he used some English words with great vehemence—those she could understand and flinched at them.

Women
, she understood.
Wives
, as well. Then
stupid, foolish, does not listen, orders, commands, disobeys, stupid
again,
invincible
, and he finished with something that seemed to compare her to a horse.

He never paused, tending to her injury or muttering, as he cleaned the burn, applied some unguent to it and wrapped a bandage around it. Only when he was tying it off and she winced did he slow his pace or stop cursing at her. Then he stopped and she waited.

‘Why, Sybilla? What made you do such a thing?' he asked and it was the quiet tone that was her undoing.

‘I…' She shook her head. How could she explain such a thing to him? ‘I did not think, Lord Soren,' she began, shaking her head. ‘I…'

How could she tell of her confusion? When the sounds of screaming woke them and he had left her chamber, calling out orders to everyone, she had just wanted to help. Aldys had dressed her quickly and they had made their way down to the main hall. Sybilla had intended to help with the children, and only went to the door when she heard Soren calling out orders to his men to release the prisoners.

How could she tell him the truth of the matter?

His finger slid beneath her chin and he lifted her face as though to meet his gaze.

‘You what, Sybilla? You…?'

Now that she knew he would not mock her, she thought back to what had happened and answered him truthfully.

‘I forgot,' she admitted. ‘I forgot I could not see.'

She waited for him to laugh at such a thing. She waited for him to insult her for such a foolish
and
stupid thing to think or to say aloud. But he did neither. Instead, he astonished her.

‘I'd barely risen from the sickbed when I was called on to defend myself in a skirmish,' he said. ‘Out of habit, I drew my sword and waded into the worst of it, prepared to fight the way I had before.'