My Lady's Pleasure (4 page)

She set the miniature aside. “I should destroy it. I did all the others when I became a woman.”

Anne picked up the brush and pulled it through Josalyn’s hair. “I remember that day. How you cried as if your heart would break.”

Strange to think of one moment marking the boundary from girlhood to womanhood. But she’d always entertained fantasies of a beautiful and just prince appearing at Randmead to petition for her hand. Instead, she’d overheard her parents discussing which of her father’s allies to give her to. When she’d confronted them, her father had snapped at her. She wasn’t to choose her own husband, and she’d get no help from her mother.

“Is the Viking so terrible, my lady?” Anne asked, still brushing her hair.

“Mayhap not for one of his own women, someone who could understand his ways.”

“He’s cold, ‘tis true,” Anne said. “But he may have his own charm.”

“Charm?”

“Well, advantages.”

“Pray God he does.”

Anne scooped up Josalyn’s hair. “How shall I do this up for your wedding, I wonder."I could plait it and thread it with flowers.”

“I doubt Ulric will give us much time for planning.” Merciful Heaven, she couldn’t do as he’d ordered. Bad enough he’d taken control here. Bad enough he’d made her touch his naked body in his bath. But to take him as her husband. He didn’t mean their marriage to be a chaste one. She’d have to join him in his bed and surrender her body to him.

No. He asked too much. He could choose some other woman here, make her his wife, and allow Josalyn to retreat into obscurity with nothing but her dreams to keep her company.

Anne caught a tangle in Josalyn’s hair, and she started.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Anne said. “My mind wandered.”

“We’re all confused. So much has happened in the last few days.”

“Aye, and now to think you’ll take that handsome beast as your husband,” Anne said.

Josalyn stared at Anne’s reflection in the glass. “A day ago you were terrified he might rape you.”

“We didn’t know him,” Anne said.

“We don’t know him now.”

“He’s behaved justly,” Anne said. “None of his men have abused our women, although some of us have joined with them willingly.”

“We saw that well enough tonight.”

“Randmead’s been a prison for the siege. ‘Tis normal to celebrate freedom, even with bawdy play.”

Why did celebration have to include drunkenness and fornication? Even Anne was a bit unsteady this night, and her skin had flushed from all the wine and mayhap more.

“I swear, I might take one of the Norsemen myself,” Anne said. “The ones who have say they swyve with the same ferocity they use in fighting.”

Josalyn pulled her hair from Anne’s fingers and rose. “Spare me the details.”

“But why, my lady?” Anne said. “You above all should want to know what they’re like in bed.”

“I wish I’d never seen the man.”

Anne went to the bed and turned down the covers. “I envy you, my lady. My William satisfied me, may his soul rest in peace. But to have a handsome stud like the Viking….”

“He is a feast for the eyes, I’ll admit.” Josalyn sat on the bed. “But that other thing, I don’t see how it’s possible.”

Anne sat beside Josalyn and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Foutre?”

“How can a man’s thing—”

“His cock.”

“Whatever you name it. I don’t see how it can fit inside a woman’s body.”

“It hurts the first time. After that, such bliss.”

“You wouldn’t lie about that, would you?”

“You can’t tell by the size of the man, but if Ulric’s cock matches the rest of them, you have quite a carnal ride ahead of you.” Anne sat for a moment. “I wonder if there’s some way to get a peek at him.”

Josalyn gasped. “Anne!”

“’Tis natural to be curious about your future husband, unless you’ve already lain with him.”

The image of the head of his cock sticking out of the bath water came back to her, and her skin grew hot. Curse her pale complexion. Even in the dim light Anne would notice. She turned her head away.

“My lady?” Anne said. “Are you well?”

“Fine.”

“Let me see. You look flushed.” Anne grasped Josalyn’s chin and turned her head. Josalyn couldn’t return the contact but stared down in her lap.

“You have lain with the Viking,” Anne said.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Saints above! Is he as commanding between the sheets as he is in battle?”

“I haven’t known him, and don’t you dare tell anyone I have.” Josalyn took a deep breath. Shouting at her maid would only make her appear guiltier.

“But you know about his size,” Anne said. “I can see it in your face.”

“I saw him in his bath.”

“In his bath?” Anne said. “He must have already been hard for you.”

Josalyn got up from the bed and paced. “I suppose he was.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “And is it as huge as the rest of him?”

“I won’t discuss it.”

Anne held her hands apart. “This big?”

“This is nonsense.”

“Bigger than that?” Anne moved her hands a few inches. “This big?”

“Stop. You’re embarrassing me,” Josalyn said.

“Even bigger. How about this?” Anne added a few more inches, and Josalyn stared at the space. Impossible as it might seem, he would have had to have grown that large for the tip to come out of the water.

“Oh, sweet heaven.” Anne fanned her face. “And thick, too?”

Josalyn only nodded.

Anne looked as if she’d faint from excitement. “What I wouldn’t give to have a man like that.”

“Fine.” Josalyn threw her hands into the air. “Take him. Marry him. You’ll make him a better wife than I can.”

“But he doesn’t want me.”

That was it! By the saints, why hadn’t she thought of that before? Ulric wanted the lady of the castle. Any woman in that position would do. She’d give the whole thing over to Anne, and he’d want her. She could disappear into a convent. Perfect.

She sat on the bed and put her hands on Anne’s arms. “He wants a marriage that establishes his rule here, no more. If you were the lady of the castle and everything around it, he’d be happy with you, and you’d have your huge stud.”

“But I can’t,” Anne said. “I don’t know anything about running the household or caring for the peasants outside the walls.”

“You know more about Randmead than you think. Ulric will take control of everything outside, and everything will be fine.”

“No,” Anne said. “It’s not right.”

“I’ll draw up documents right now.” She got up and went to her writing desk. How would she know the right words to transfer Randmead to her servant? Such words probably didn’t exist. No matter. Ulric would take anything that gave him dominion over the keep and all the lands here.

Before she had written more than the date, a soft knock came at the door. Anne went to it and opened it a crack. “The lady is preparing for bed.”

“Who is it?” Josalyn asked.

“Some people from the village,” Anne said. “I’ll send them away.”

“My lady?” A slurred female voice came from behind the door. “We don’t wish to disturb but only to thank you.”

“Lady Josalyn isn’t dressed,” Anne said.

“We thought as much. The men sent only women.”

Josalyn knew that voice. The wife of one of the tenant farmer. A stout, honest woman, and usually a sober one. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge her.

“Let them come in,” Josalyn ordered.

Half a dozen females entered, some women and some girls. The farmer’s wife went to the front of the group, swayed a bit, and then cleared her throat.

“We wanted you to know, my lady, that we don’t blame you that the walls were overrun and the Vikings came,” the woman. “’Twasn’t nothing you could do, and it all ended well.”

One of the younger women curtseyed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’ve always taken care of us, even when your father lived. That Ulric frightened us near to death, but you tamed him, Lady Josalyn,” the farmer’s wife said.

“Hardly tamed him.”

“The Vikings haven’t hurt none of us, lady,” the old miller’s daughter said. “By our way of thinking, that’s your doing.”

“You give me too much credit,” Josalyn said, but the drowsy smiles on their faces proved the message hadn’t gotten through.

“Now with your goodness and Ulric’s strength, we’re safe and cared for,” the farmer’s wife said. “All because of you.”

Joan, one of the workers from the scullery came forward and dropped to her knees before Josalyn. “I do heartily thank you.”

Josalyn reached a hand down to her. “Please get up.”

“I never told you, but when my baby son fell in the river and drowned, I almost followed him,” Joan said.

That dreadful day. The tiny body they’d found downstream. The poor woman had cried in her lap for days.

“I would have been a suicide,” Joan said. “You saved my soul.”

Josalyn helped the woman get to her feet. “I’m not a saint. I can’t save souls.”

“You saved our farm after the flood wiped us out,” the farmer’s wife added. “We owe you everything.”

“Enough for tonight,” Josalyn said. “’Tis late.”

The farmer’s wife curtseyed. “Good night, my lady.”

“Be well,” Josalyn said. “Take care finding your homes, or curl up before the fire in the hall.”

With more murmured thanks and blessings, they filed out, and Anne closed the door behind them. “Do you still think I could replace you?”

“I pray you could.” Josalyn went to the bed and sank onto it. “Good night.”

“You’ll do the right thing. You always do,” Anne said before letting herself out and closing the door behind her.

Do the right thing. She always did. It appeared she’d have to do it again.

“Curse you, Viking.”

***

Not even the worst battle, with men screaming and dying and blood running in streams, stopped Ulric’s heart in his chest as completely as the sight of his bride as she stood beside him in her family’s chapel. Her women had dressed her in a kirtle the color of buttered cream. Her green eyes were huge in her face, and her parted lips offered the sweetness of ripe fruit. She stood next to him, her hands folded in front of her and her gaze downcast. Even through her gown, he could detect the swell of her small breasts and the curve of her hips. He’d feel those curves under his palms this night. He’d taste her, thrust inside her.

She was frightened now. He’d hurt her later–unavoidable with a virgin. But, before the next morning dawned, he’d hear her cry of feminine ecstasy.

The priest Olaf had finally found started the ceremony. Latin. He didn’t understand a word of it, but the meaningless sounds would give this woman to him, and nothing else mattered.

It went on and on, droning and casting a spell over his mind. His reality constricted and focused in on Josalyn. Her skin, her long lashes, the long plait of her hair that hung down her back. She did her best to hold herself still, but she trembled anyway. No one else would notice, not even the priest directly before them. But, Ulric somehow sensed everything inside her, even how her heart clenched tight and her breath came uncertainly. All because she feared him.

I’ll make it right, Josalyn. Only find some patience with me. I’ve never loved before.

Loved? God’s wounds. Had he really thought that? If so, had she heard him?

She looked up at him. “My lord?”

“You did hear,” he whispered.

“Hear?” She cocked her head. “I only meant the vow.”

“Of course.” Everyone in the chapel was staring at him, especially the priest.

“Father Robert asked if you’d take me as your wife,” Josalyn said softly. “Faithfully and until death. It’s the standard vow.”

He nodded toward the priest. “I do.”

Father Robert repeated the same words toward Lady Josalyn. She hesitated and then looked squarely up at the priest. “I do.”

All the air rushed out of him. Until that moment, he’d not known if she’d actually do it. She didn’t want him. She’d made that clear. She belonged to him now, but he’d still have to win her over.

After a few amens, people crossed themselves, and it seemed the whole thing had ended. Josalyn turned to him, her eyes filled with what looked like terror. He took her hands in his to steady her.

Just then, the minstrel Trey strummed his lyre. He played a lilting melody, rhythmic and soothing. After a moment, Josalyn’s shoulders lowered, and her lips curled into a smile.

The spell that had swirled around him encompassed them both. Whether magic from the troubadour’s lyre or the simple reality that they’d been joined by a mutual vow, the fear lifted from her brow.

Now he could approach her with no fear she’d retreat. He could kiss her and seal their marriage before the people of her castle. He would, but first, he reached around to the nape of her neck and pulled her braid over her shoulder. He untied the ribbon that held the plait together and then worked his fingers through it. The strands warmed his palms as he untangled them. Her curls made the same aura around her face as they had the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Shimmering and changing colors, today following the strains of Trey’s music. Impossible, and yet undeniable.

He placed his hands against the sides of her face, one thumb beneath her chin to tip her mouth upward to his. Her lips parted and trembled as he bent to kiss her. This first taste would begin the gentling of her. Too much force and she’d dart away from him like an untamed colt. He paused with a fraction of an inch between them and let her come to him.

She did, closing her eyes before she pressed her mouth to his. Sweet, oh, sweet. She melted like honey into him, her lips fitting against his as if created for this moment. He held himself back, but the effort threatened to snap his connection to reality. He’d come to her already hungry, had felt her small hands on his body, had thought of nothing but bedding her while he’d waited for this day. Still, he couldn’t plunder her the way his body had craved for what felt like eternity.

She sighed and stepped closer to him, inviting his embrace. Never breaking off the kiss, he pulled her into his arms and savored her more deeply. She yielded, soft under his hands, as he drank deeply of her sweetness. He sucked her lower lip between both of his and then stroked it with the tip of his tongue. The gods be praised, she answered with her own tongue, a quick fluttering into his mouth.