He cupped her buttocks and lifted her, positioning her between him and the wall. Her mouth was wild as she tugged at his breeches. Beneath her skirts, she was sweet, buttery flesh. Her core was soaking wet, and in one swift movement, they were joined.
The walls of her sex clenched him deliciously. He quivered, teeth set against the exquisite sensation. He looked down into her eyes, blurry with tears and desire, and began to move.
Her nails raked his shoulders. Her breath was a loud rasp in his ears, her full breasts trembling inside her cinched bodice.
His bollocks drew up tight. A great pressure grew in the head of his throbbing cock. Knowing release was too close, he plunged his fingers between her thighs. “Ye’re slipperier than hell,” he moaned as he located her swollen nub.
She slumped against him, stiffening, quaking beneath the circular motions he traced on her clit. He pressed it harder as he ground his cock deep inside her. The walls of the prison vanished, and it was only him and Isolde and an all-consuming fire.
When he felt the first shivers of her climax, he claimed her mouth and sucked the sweet cries from her. He held her pinioned, allowing her pulsations to fuel his own release. He rushed up the pinnacle of pleasure. His voice was a growl as he spurted jets of fluid into her. His hips jerked as he thrust deeper, harder, and then began to slow.
He opened his eyes into hers, and they shared a smile. He kissed her tenderly on the lips, which were as warm and syrupy as a honeycomb on a hot day. Her slender arms continued to hold him as he withdrew from her body and let her slide to her feet. Her knee-length skirt swished into place. Behind him, footsteps sounded, and someone cleared his throat.
“I hope ye don’t mind if I wait to welcome ye to the family,” Colin said with a twisted smile, “since the wardens, half the guard, and my father are coming.”
“Give me yer short sword.” Sadler shoved Isolde into the wall with his shoulders. She squirmed and peeked over his shoulder.
Colin unsheathed the blade and passed it to Sadler. “Don’t make any moves toward my father.”
Sadler shot him a level look that silenced him. Harm Isolde’s father, and he would harm her. And he refused to do that.
The thunder of boots marching toward their wing of the prison shook the floors. Isolde pushed against Sadler’s back.
“Let me out,” she ordered in a huffy tone. Colin grinned.
“Isolde, above all, I must see ye safe. Colin and I will handle this.”
“Who do ye think put down that fifteen-feet zeppelgonger?” she asked.
Sadler lifted a brow at her brother.
“She’s also escaped from her chamber window by way of airship.”
Sadler felt his eyes pop. “Ye’ve had a busy day.”
The drum of feet reached a crescendo. Suddenly Isolde’s mouth was at Sadler’s ear, whispering Millvale’s knowledge about their parents’ affair.
His stomach turned inside out. The air of the cell grew more noxious as the combined filth of a century hung like a fog. The rush of feet caused the incapacitated zeppelgonger to vibrate against the stone flags.
Colin shifted from foot to foot, sword held erect before him. Isolde’s palm flattened against Sadler’s spine. He could feel her trembling.
All at once, the corridor filled with men. They pushed their way into the cell, and then they were fighting. Colin and Sadler stood shoulder to shoulder, guarding Isolde from the far-reaching swords.
“Halt.” The king’s powerful voice cut through the clash of steel. The noise ceased. He stared at the small group comprised of his son, his only daughter, and the man who had tried to assassinate him.
Millvale shoved past, leaped over the zeppelgonger, and pinned Sadler to the wall. He pressed the tip of his sword into the vulnerable hollow of his throat. Isolde screamed, and Colin tugged her out of the narrow space, but she clung to Sadler’s shoulders.
Wresting the short sword from Sadler’s hand, the earl gave a sardonic laugh. The small blade was turned back on him, the point nicking his side below the ribs, but he stared at Isolde. “The rotten apple doesn’t drop far from the tree, I see.”
Colin issued an irate sucking sound. He lunged at Millvale. “Ye are speaking of my sister.”
“Yer sister is a whore, as yer mother was a whore.”
Sadler threw a look at King Adlard and saw him pale. The bright slash of his mouth shone starkly against the white moon of his face. He lifted an unsteady hand and shoved his riding goggles farther atop his head.
“Father, will ye let this man talk about yer kin this way?” Colin challenged.
“Adlard knows. The truth is a stern companion, isn’t it, my king?” Millvale said without looking away from Sadler’s eyes. “He heard about their tryst first from my lips.”
“Because ye wanted her,” Isolde said, and Millvale’s gaze flashed to her.
His lip curled. “Ye stupid little girl. Ye couldn’t keep yer mouth shut then. Do ye recall yer little visit to the oubliette? It did keep ye quiet for the past fifteen years, did it not?”
“Father, say something,” Colin ordered. “Ye can’t assent to Millvale’s ill treatment of yer own kin. Put Isolde in the oubliette? Terrorized her to keep her quiet so he could make advances on yer wife, the queen? What else has he concealed from us?”
King Adlard drew up to his full height, towering over Millvale. His eyes snapped. “After this, ye seek my daughter’s hand in marriage? Ye will answer to me for these crimes.” He shook his fist at Millvale, eyes bulging with fury. “My own wife? And under my nose? At least Corbet had the decency to keep out of my castle. And now ye’re after my daughter,” he cried, pacing the floor, robes swirling.
Sadler’s fists locked. He judged the distance between him and Isolde, thinking to knock her out of the way before bashing Millvale’s head in.
Colin was not so calculating. He elbowed his sister aside, sending her reeling. Millvale jabbed the short sword toward Colin at the precise moment Isolde lost her footing. She stumbled, pitching headfirst toward the lethal tip of the blade.
The air was struck from Sadler’s lungs. His heart pulsed heavily once, twice. He threw himself before her, arms splayed to protect her fragile body. The blade rent his tunic and speared through flesh, muscle, sinew, bone, glancing off the bottommost rib and continuing on.
Sadler dropped. The sharp tang of blood was in his nose. His mouth worked around the pain, but no sound escaped. His hearing faded. He stared at the ecstatic earl, the group of astonished guards, and King Adlard, whose face transformed.
Sadler’s eyelids felt too heavy, and he let them slip shut.
Suddenly his hearing returned. “Nay,” Isolde screeched. Her touch was warm on his face, her fingers fluttering over him like delicate white moths. Her breath was sweet as it crossed his lips, and he opened his eyes slightly. “Nay. My love. Father, Colin, do something. Save him, please.”
Colin knelt beside him. Without sparing the earl a glance, he directed the guards, “Seize him. He is to be placed in a cell for the attempted murder of Princess Isolde.”
Millvale’s cry of outrage resounded through the prison, and the inmates began to holler and rattle the bars of their cells. Several men-at-arms surrounded the Earl of Millvale, disarmed him, locked his arms behind his back, and bore him away.
Isolde was weeping. “Please, Father. Call for yer chirurgeon. This man needs care. This man is worthy. I need this man.”
Sadler smiled thinly through the sheen of pain and sweat. Colin probed the wound, and Sadler drew a sharp breath. “Let me die if I cannot be free to love the princess.”
She threw an imploring look at her father. When he made no indication of consenting, she swept to her feet, grasped his shoulders, and shook him. “Father, don’t let him die. Please. My mother was taken from me, as his father was torn from him. His crimes were crimes of a hurting, ignorant boy. The man Sadler wishes ye no harm. He only wishes to freely walk the lands.”
“And love the princess,” Sadler added faintly.
She looked down at him with tear-bright eyes.
“Father,” Colin said.
“Please.” Isolde twisted her hands.
Sadler’s throat burned against a scream as Colin pressed his handkerchief into the wound to stanch the blood flow. Isolde turned from her father and hit her knees in a puff of blue skirts. Sadler groped in his pocket for the scrap of midnight blue fabric Isolde had given him. Only the gauntlet had been won in her name, but he had saved her from the thrust of Millvale’s sword. If he died from his wound, he would go with a light heart.
Isolde drew the handkerchief into her hands and brought it to her seeping eyes. One shaky hand cupped her jaw. His thumb traced the point of her chin.
“Aye,” the king said at last. “Men, lift him, and be quick about it. This man has lost a great amount of blood. Fetch a wagon to carry him to the castle with all haste.”
Isolde dipped her face into her hands and wept. Colin pulled off his outer shirt and shredded it into two strips to knot about Sadler’s chest.
Sadler met the king’s stare and felt the weight of the realm lifted from his shoulders. He may not have been pardoned or secured Isolde’s hand, but it was a start.
Chapter Seventeen
As Isolde paced before the door of the chamber where Sadler lay wounded, she bumped into Sir Lionel for the fourth time. He skirted to the side to allow her to pass. She waved him away. “Can ye not go and spend yer time with Corliss?” she snapped.
After Sadler had stolen her away, Corliss had comforted Sir Lionel, making him feel better about his lapse in duty. If Corliss’s brilliant smile and eager giggles indicated anything, things were going very well between her maid and the knight.
Sadler had been brought to the castle infirmary, where a physician attended him straightaway. During this time, Isolde had perched outside the door, listening to Sadler’s agonized screams as the wound was cleaned and dressed. When the chirurgeon slipped out the door, Isolde had tried to rush past him, but he had restrained her.
She looked into his kindly old eyes and pleaded to be allowed to see Sadler. In the warm voice that had soothed many a childhood tummy ache, she was told Sadler was asleep, well guarded, and she could sit with him in the morn.
The first glow of dawn had lit the horizon hours ago, and still she paced.
“Princess, yer slippers will wear,” Sir Lionel joked.
She spun on him, her finger poised to jab his chest, when her father, King Adlard, appeared at the end of the long corridor. As he approached, his purple robe swayed with his step. He wore his tallest boots of supple black leather and a jaunty purple hat with a triangular brim hung low over one eye. He held his riding crop and goggles in one hand, and a sword rode on his hip.
“Ye’re right about Millvale’s horse, daughter. It is a very astute android.”
She burned to ask about the earl but refrained. She would never forget the expression on her father’s face when Millvale had admitted to coveting his wife and trapping his daughter in his oubliette.
King Adlard nodded to Sir Lionel. “Thank ye for keeping her out until I’ve spoken with him.”
Isolde’s head bounced between them. “Ye mean—”
Her father pushed the riding crop and goggles into her hands and reached for the door bolt. “Aye, Isolde. I intend to speak with yer Sadler alone.”
At the sound of the words “yer Sadler,” her heart flipped. She gulped around it.
“Father, wait.”
He turned slowly and locked her in his solemn gaze. She grabbed his hand and towed him to the corner, away from Sir Lionel’s ears.
“Please hear me. Sadler is a good man, a caring man. I want to be with him.”
Her father shook his head before the words were out of her mouth. “He attempted to kill me. Do ye not hold yer family dear?”
“I do.” She stared up at her father, willing him to understand, willing herself to find the words that could explain. “Father, I know Mother hurt ye by her infidelity. And Sadler’s father was wrong in touching a married woman. But Sadler is not his father and shouldn’t be punished for his sins. He was a child when he attempted to take yer life. Surely he deserves a break. And he did risk his life to save me.”
Adlard’s mouth compressed and then released. “What would ye do? Join him? He has no home, no way to support yer needs.”
“That’s because he is wanted. He’s a hard worker and an honest man. I want him, Father, with all my heart. The same way ye wanted Mother and couldn’t have her whole heart.”
He started. The triangular brim of his hat dipped lower over his eyes, but she saw the confusion and the pain warring there.
“Sadler and I are free to love each other, but we need yer blessing to do so. Please.”
Tears burned her throat, but before she could regain her composure, Adlard slipped from her grasp and disappeared into the chamber. She hurriedly shoved her face to the crack, but it shut before she could see anything.
Sir Lionel laughed aloud.
She tapped her foot and considered listening at the door but decided against it. What could her father be saying to Sadler? She was desperate to know. Could her father be telling Sadler how the Earl of Millvale had tried to escape his tower prison and been killed in the process? That possession of his lands had reverted to her as the king’s way of correcting the wrongs done to her?
“Everything will be all right, Princess,” Sir Lionel said.
She noted his happy countenance—dancing eyes and the creases on his forehead worn away. But worn away by what? She looked pointedly at him. “So tell me about Corliss.”
Two hectic red circles bloomed on his cheeks. “Haven’t ye talked to her?”
“Oh, aye,” she answered. “I’d like to hear yer intentions.”
He drew up straight and fidgeted with the hilt of his sword on his hip. Isolde folded her arms over her torso and tapped one foot.
“Corliss is a bonny woman.”
“Aye.”
“And good-hearted.”
A smile spread on her face. “That too.”
“She says she’s admired me for years.”
Isolde nodded. “She has.”
“I’ve asked to court her, if ye agree.”
Shocked by the request, she simply blinked. Though her title of princess carried some power in the castle, she was rarely asked for her opinion, let alone acquiescence. Again she nodded. “Permission granted, Sir Lionel. And Corliss could not ask for a better suitor.”