The Craftsman (6 page)

Inwardly kicking himself for being such a bumbling fool, he tugged on her hand and almost pulled her off her feet. “I need ale. Throat's dry as a nun’s cunt.”

“Wulf,” his sister shouted, scurrying after them, holding her belly. “I’m sure Emma would like to pause a moment and greet the well wishers.”

Tenants of the castle and village were gathered outside the chapel, many with flowers for the new bride. Reluctantly, he let his sister draw her off into the crowd. While he stood fidgeting, his brother-in-law, Guy Devaux, came to his side.

“How do you like your bride, Wulf? Even for a Norman she’s not bad, eh? My wife has taken to her already, despite her innate Saxon disdain for my countrymen in general.”

Wulf had almost forgotten his bride was a Norman and that he’d been forced to marry her. Until she arrived, he was determined to make his displeasure known in many subtle ways, because no one could sulk quite so well as he. But somewhere in the past four and twenty hours he’d let his temper cool and the insult against his dignity slide. He sensed Guy Devaux watching him curiously. Folding his arms high over his chest, he glowered across the yard, anxious to retain his Saxon pride, before they all thought this Norman wench had conquered him, tamed him, trapped him by the balls.

Watching her pass among the crowd, gathering flowers and thanking people in a refined, graceful way, he snapped at his brother-in-law, “She tells me she’s barren. No doubt that’s why King William gave her to me. I thought there would have to be something wrong with the woman.”

“Barren?” Guy Devaux had placed a companionable hand on his shoulder, but now it stilled and then withdrew. “I did not know this.”

He shrugged. “It matters not to me.” Now he felt bad for saying it. Too late. Why could he not have stayed silent? Didn’t he know by now that a man might regret his words later, but could never regret his silence?

Guy Devaux bristled irritably at his side. “But you should want a wife who can provide sons.”

Wulf kept his gaze on Emma, following her gleaming hair through the crowd. “I don’t care,” he said simply. He was thinking about her soft mouth around his cock, her long, elegant hands stroking his sac. It was difficult indeed to think about anything else today. She’d promised him it would only get better. How much better could it get?

Wulf moved away, not wanting to hear the other man insulting his woman. Pushing through the crowd, he recaptured his wife’s arm. Surprised, she almost dropped her flowers. “Let’s eat,” he growled.

Since the weather was so fine, the wedding feast was set outdoors and, at Wulf’s insistence, all were invited, even the spit boy had a seat somewhere below the salt. His brother-in-law disapproved of the casualness, but this was Wulf’s day and he would do as he pleased with his wedding feast.

He saw Emma regarding the merry ruckus with a wary eye. It was probably all very strange to her too, for Normans were fond of rule and order. They liked things in their place. Despite everything, she remained calm, unruffled on the surface. Evidently she was a woman who did her best with whatever she was given. Wulf was intrigued by her and he had not expected that. The woman was a beautifully carved piece of work already, but withholding something. Whoever had crafted her before did so with skilled hands, but to please their own eye, not looking for what lay deep in the grain itself. Emma had meekly allowed herself to be turned and chiseled, while keeping her core untouched, her true voice hidden away.

Well tonight he would do his best to find it.

Wulf’s squinting gaze alighted on folk from the neighboring manor—Thierry Bonnenfant and his wife Sybilia. He’d met the couple when he first arrived and immediately saw Sybilia’s grain. A sly woman, she looked for what she might get from other people. Since she could get nothing of value from Wulf, she ignored him and he did the same to her.

Thierry, on the other hand, was interesting—a log of wood as yet unworked. A few people had picked at him with their tools, but no one had yet made an indent. Thierry was a close friend of Wulf’s brother-in-law and a frequent guest, usually coming without his wife, much to everyone’s relief. Today, however, he was obliged to bring her for the sake of appearances. When Wulf’s new bride was introduced to the couple earlier, before the ceremony, Sybilia had looked Emma up and down with undisguised disdain and could barely move her lips to utter a welcome. Emma had simply smiled politely at the other woman, composed and dignified in the face of rudeness.

“
Worse
?” Sybilia had chuckled, glancing again at Wulf.

He’d admired his new bride for her strength in not slapping Sybilia’s prideful face on sight. Many times already he’d been tempted to do it himself.

By coincidence it turned out that Emma had met Thierry before. Years ago in France he knew her brothers and was apparently a frequent guest at her father’s manor. Wulf had watched Emma greet Thierry with a smile when she recognized him.

Now, from a distance, Thierry lifted his goblet in a salute and Wulf returned the gesture, silently pitying the poor man for his bride. Turning his head, he looked again at the woman by his own side. Not much for prayers, he suddenly thought of offering up some kind of tribute to whichever deity had brought Emma to him. As she had said to Sybilia, it could have been far worse for both of them.

It might also, of course, have been much better for Emma. The king could have found her a far superior match. Someone like handsome, genial Thierry Bonnenfant, for instance.

“When can we fuck?” he snapped, surprising his new bride so that she almost dropped her goblet of wine.

She glanced nervously around, but no one was listening to them. The only creature paying them any attention just then was a dog sitting on its haunches, eagerly admiring the meat on Wulf’s platter.

“Raedwulf,” his wife replied sternly, “you must learn a little discretion.”

He wiped his fingers on his tunic. “What comes next then? Wife.”

She sipped her wine and he saw her hand was shaking again. One minute she was bold, the next she was all nerves. Or was she trying not to laugh? Did he make her nervous, or did he amuse her? She tricked him with those eyes that changed color so rapidly.

Wulf slid his hand under the table and placed it on her thigh. He watched her take a larger gulp of wine, her lashes briefly fanning downward. “I can’t wait that long,” he whispered. “Show me something. Give me something to last me till then.” It was her fault, he reasoned; she’d shown him too much last night, got him excited, teased him.

“I cannot give you anything at this moment, Raedwulf.”

“Yes you can. Tell me what we’ll do tonight.” When she hesitated, he reminded her, “Your duty is to please me, you said. So tell me.”

She glared at him so fiercely he was silenced. Never had a woman’s eyes been so hot and dangerous in his memory. “You speak too loudly. People will hear. Do you Saxons know nothing of manners?”

He leaned closer to whisper in her ear, while his hand slid high up her thigh and tightened. “I’ll put my cock inside you. In your tight pussy.” He watched her small, white teeth bite her lower lip.

With his fingertips he drew small circles against her thigh. “Mayhap I’ll put my cock in your arse too,” he murmured, pushing his luck.

Wulf moved his hand to feel between her legs under the table. Her gown was in the way, but again, because of the heat, she wore no under-shift. The mere thought of entering that pussy was enough to harden his shaft. After what she’d shown him last night, he knew now that he’d like it. Very much. He might never want to stop doing it. The only issue was whether or not he could make her content, especially since she acted so coy about her own needs. He was a simple carpenter, not a mind reader.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he whispered hoarsely, sliding a finger up and down where he knew her womanly slit waited for him, getting wet. “What do
you
want, Emma?”

He stared into her eyes and she shifted on the bench, parting her legs to give his wandering hand greater access. It was lucky the table was covered with a tapestry cloth, he mused, or else everyone in the yard would see what he did. He wouldn’t care, but she undoubtedly would, being a lady.

“What shall I do first tonight?” he pushed.

She cleared her throat, and he felt the urge to put his lips to her neck. He quelled it for now. “You may,” she spoke very quietly, barely moving her lips, “kiss my breasts.”

He would see her without her shift tonight, he realized. Her soft skin would be his to touch.

“You may take the nipple in your mouth and suck. Gently.”

Suddenly, he spied Thierry Bonnenfant watching them intently from the far end of the table. Wulf nodded solemnly, as if he discussed the weather with his wife. “Go on.”

“I’ll stroke it. If you would like me to, I will do as I did last night.” Once again she made it about what he wanted. It did not escape his notice, but he made no comment, too caught up in the picture she made with her words.

Wulf saw Thierry watching Emma’s lips as if he could read them from a distance. “What next,” he ground out, nodding again, picturing her ladylike mouth closing over his cock head.

“Then, when you are ready—hard and long—I’ll lay back and spread my legs so you can enter me.”

Wulf’s fingers caressed her pussy again through her gown. He could feel it pulsing.

“You must go slowly,” she added, her breath catching as he pressed down on her with two fingers, right at the top of that naughty crevice. “As long as I am wet, it shouldn’t hurt, but as I told you…you are large, so…”

He couldn’t hear for a moment because blood was rushing through his ears as he pictured the scene in bed. Oh she’d be wet alright. He’d make certain of it, now that he knew how to make her aroused. Make her purr.

At the end of the table, Thierry drank his wine and looked morose.

Wulf chuckled. Couldn’t help it.

* * * *

Emma tried to close her legs and halt the orgasm, but he wouldn’t let her. His large, strong hand prevented her easily. His thick, craftsman’s fingers worked her quaking pussy through her gown until she almost lifted off the bench. She grabbed her goblet of wine and her teeth closed over the rim. Henry would never have done this to her in public. But then Henry was a Norman, educated and well-bred, not a crude beast who’d been a prisoner for fifteen years and claimed to be a virgin, even as he so expertly played with her.

“And what’s next?” he demanded, surely knowing full well she couldn’t speak just then with his fingertips pushing down on her core, making the pressure mount until she could no longer hold it.

She smothered her cries in the wine.

On her other side, Deorwynn was chattering away to Guy Devaux, oblivious to what went on under the table. Nearby there was music and singing. Yet she and Wulf were completely alone in that crowd. Emma felt the hot waves wash over her. It was an extraordinarily long climax, even making her belly ache.

Wulf whispered in her ear again. “After I’ve come hard in your cunt and filled you to overflowing, what then?”

He was so brutal with his words. She had the feeling he only whispered because he knew it aroused her more, not because he feared being overheard. Still, she doubted his claim of being virgin. It seemed incredible, ridiculous even. He must be playing a game with her.

She tried to regain her breath.
What came after that
? Nothing, if memory served. Usually Henry fell asleep soon after spending. After they’d both washed themselves off, of course. Henry was a very particular person and cleanliness was of the utmost importance.

“I…we’ll see…what happens…,” she murmured, her lips oddly numb.