Maiden Bound
By Danielle Fonda
Smashwords Edition, Maiden Bound
published by Danielle Fonda/ Allure Books at Smashwords
Copyrighted©2003 Danielle Fonda.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb: erotic romance medieval, m/f, HEA. Lord Hugh of Avranches, Earl of Chester is a powerful man. It is time for him to wed, to seal his legacy, yet even in this, Hugh demands complete control. For the first time in his life he must admit his shortcomings in the act of mating a woman so well as to bind her heart and soul to him. Yet, he is not daunted and he sets forth to learn the art of seduction and women. He takes the beautiful maiden Emma, as a slave
Maiden Bound
by Danielle Fonda
Chapter One
Remember son, the certitude of a man’s birth, his ascendancy, is the power he wields and the wisdom upon which he welds it.
Hugh raised his head to the crescent moon in remembrance of his father’s words. These were the last words his father ever spoke to him, for the Viscount of Avranche’s was dead these many years. But his words had lived on in the young son and heir, and had served Hugh bountifully through all the years since. The power he'd forged out of gregarious wit, a forcefully trained body, and valorous deeds. The wisdom had come more slowly, maturing like a vintage wine matures from a swill into more full-bodied ambrosia with age.
As it should be, Hugh considered, because when he was younger, the power of his knightly-warriors skills carried him through the battles that won him his stature in the land, and the power to hold it. Now the wisdom advised him on how to maintain his domain and he used that wisdom with greater and greater respect.
Not that he was ancient by any means, he mused, at thrice ten and two. He was still in his prime and ready to wrestle onto and hold what was his with an iron fist. Nonetheless, it was the time in his life when he needed to consider the furthering of his lineage and more purposefully the securing of his dominion by producing heirs. Yet his wisdom bade him not to carry this challenge frivolously. Many men would boast of wives who were dutiful within the world of arranged marriage for land and better provincial security.
Hugh’s intended bride would bring such a match to him. Adeliza, the eldest daughter of Roger of Tosny, would as his bride bring him further lands in Normandy to complement his own holdings there. She would bring a worthy lady’s dowry and was said to be a dutiful daughter besides a comely woman. All of this pleased him and pleasured his sense of desire to strengthen his hold upon the world. Yet, it was not enough. Not for him. He wanted . . . nay, he demanded loyalty from his future wife. He insisted upon honor and complete control of this woman who would be the mother of his future heirs.
His wisdom entreated him to gain her complete supplication to him. A cleaving of her mind, body, and soul that would never need to be questioned. Yet not through love, for that was foolishly weakening and allowed his enemies an advantage to use against him. Nay, he could wish heartily and perhaps would strive to claim Adeliza’s love of him, however he would never return that affection for it being too costly. Yet still, while these thoughts were sound, they left him perplexed. It had come to him that thus far his lifetime had been filled with little but training, battle, and the securing of his position. Leaving him with an undeniable fact that remained.
He knew precious little about women.
Ah, but he knew how to fuck them rambunctiously. His cod loved their adornments of fertile buttocks, lustful slippery quims, and bountiful mounds of titties. Still not once, he must admit, had he ever seduced one . . . never to a completion that he'd heard was possible for them to achieve.
In truth, he had never considered it being relevant, until now. He was Lord and Master over all he surveyed and could take any maiden he wished without much consideration. Not that he was cruel, nor had he overindulged through the years. To this date he'd treated a good fucking on occasion, as necessary to a man’s body, yet nothing to lose ones head over. However, it was just this proscribed attitude that left him with inexperience, now when he most needed expertise.
But he was not a man to admit any encumbrance of defeat. Not in any facets of his life. He was bold and perhaps over dominating in the guise of his mantel as Lord and Master. Yet, he was just as needs be. He would never admit inexperience on any realm to friend or foe. Never allow any man the upper guide, except perhaps his king. And even then, King William the Conquer held him in regard, placing upon his shoulders the properties of Marcher Lord as the Earl of Chester. Only the strongest man would the king deem fit to hold English lands against the Scots in the northern borders and the Welsh in the west.
Nay, he would not admit his perplexity in a woman’s body. He would train himself and explore the undiscovered until he reached the art of proficiency that would enable him to enslave his future wife to his desires. She would not merely be dutiful, but she would be enthralled to him.
And as chance would take it, he had a very gregarious and witty scheme to pursue his lessons.
Chapter Two
“It must be said, my Liege, that I have found my eternal spirit of curiosity fascinated at this mission to which you commanded me. I have managed to perform it with excellence, even as my curiosity peaks, Lord Hugh. But your command has been fulfilled, my Liege,” Lazarus announced as Hugh watched Lazarus assume one of those unusual Mongolian stances, for which he was famous. His arms bracketed behind his back, hand to elbow on each side with his legs braced at a dramatic unbending V. The entire gesture expanded Lazarus’ musclebound chest and Hugh plied his forefinger and thumb in a V of their own, tamping his beard down with a familiar gesture, while he regarded his loyal friend and the commander of his legions. “I am held in suspense, Sire,” Lazarus finished.
Hugh’s left eye twitched in irritation at Lazarus’ flummery of Sires and my Lieges. The man was a menace in subtlety, and how well Lazarus knew Hugh. Too much, Hugh pondered, for he did not wish to hold this personal venture open to scrutiny. Be Lazarus friend or not.
So, Hugh snidely blurted, “I have needs to fuck more regularly. Tis simple enough request.”
Lazarus raised a thin black eyebrow, with his entire personage otherwise immobile, flummoxing his half Mongolian heritage of Ragers and passionate Barbarians. The man was made of marble, Hugh maintained, bronze flesh colored marble, with devilish brown eyes that saw too much.
“To fuck a virgin, supreme Sire. A Saxon virgin. A young virgin. A virgin without family ties.” Lazarus paused in his recitation as if in need of a large breath that he did not take, from such a lengthy list. “Somewhat shy, somewhat pretty, somewhat buxom and . . . extremely obedient.”
Hugh puffed out an irritated breath through his mustache. He would not mention the forgotten, somewhat needy, poverty stricken, and clean.
“Tis unlike you to judge what I find fuckable, Lazarus,” Hugh replied eventually.
“Tis unlike you, my Liege-sire, to need a permanent concubine to cloud your-,”
Sitting at the small bench table in his solar at Chester Castle having this inane conversation with Lazarus caused Hugh’s temper to rise. His hand rose and slapped down on the table, interrupting Lazarus’ veritable running off of his mouth. “We will not call her that!” Hugh eyed Lazarus. “What is her name? This maiden you’ve found me.”
“Acquired, great Liege-,”
“Stop that! Before I draw and quarter you!”
“It has been tried, but I see your point, my friend. As I was saying, acquired lends a man’s ear to the quality of whoring, and-,”
“Lazarus!”
“Emma, my lord.” This was finally expounded from Lazarus with a sweeping bow of hard edged mockery, before he stood straight and tall again in damnable Mongolian fashion.
“Hmm.” Hugh pondered the name. It was a sensible name, possibly a likable one. “Is she talkative? Did I mention that also?”
Lazarus’s ebony eyebrow rose again. “Yes, my friend, an interesting combination, shy . . . yet, talkative. But, I could not say, I was reassured before money exchanged hands. She has, as of yet, been too afraid to prove it.”
“Afraid?” Hugh muttered, he'd not pondered, afraid. “What, by Christ’s balls, has the maiden to be afraid of? I am an earl.”
Lazarus chuckled in a most unusual offering for him. “She is a virgin, Hugh, and that demands fear, I believe. But, she's afraid of me at the moment. The saffron-haired maid, fears me.”
Hugh nodded his head in ready understanding of this. Most damsels feared his exotic friend to the point of swooning on occasion. It was the height and breath of both men that commanded it, with Lazarus’ warm olive skin and his Asian slanted black eyes that held a type of sinister mystery, while Hugh’s own auburn hair and azure eyes held the commonness of the Norman-English soil.
“And, you needed to pay for her? And, from whom did you buy her?”
“I know it strikes your vanity, Hugh, but the proper maid could not be found upon your vast holdings. So she does not come freely to serve her Lord and Master with joy.” Lazarus’ expression grew solemn. “I traveled to the old kingdom of Mercia, before I ferreted out this maid, and then I bought her from a willing enough hag, whom claimed to be the maid’s put upon old nursemaid. Assuring me, the maid’s entire family was long dead.”
Hugh drummed the table with his fingers, finally deciding to be the least bit social with Lazarus as he poured two silver goblets of berry-red wine. “Have a drink then,” Hugh said, shoving a goblet at Lazarus, whom picked it up from the other side of the table, as Hugh continued to question, “So, my Emma, could be a past lady of Saxon birth?”
“She has the bearing, my lord,” Lazarus offered after a healthy drought of wine, whereupon he finally sat in the chair offered on the other side of the table.
“Hmm.” Hugh’s calloused finger pads drummed the table. “There are many Saxon maids thus. It does not matter. Could be better than peasant stock?” Since the moment Lazarus had been summoned by Hugh and entered the room, his midnight eyes held their first tangible questioning glint. So, Hugh retorted, “Ah well, I only say it because a lady would be cleaner fucking than a peasant,” Hugh hedged as he tugged on his short blond beard absently. Really, he was more than pleased. If he had thought he could get a lady to begin with, without getting tangled into marriage, he would have done so. It was a lady that he eventually wished to seduce to his will and it was a lady’s body he would learn.
“It occurs to a lesser minion such as myself, Hugh, that your future lady bride will be a virgin in your bed some day.”
Damn him, Hugh thought, eyeing Lazarus’ serpentine and devilish grin. Hugh slapped the table, and then he turned the conservation elsewhere, which, he was sure held no surprise or frustration to Lazarus. “About that Welsh Prince Rwyelledyn, Lazarus, he is becoming a nuisance with these raids on my western border lands. I think we must consider taking more of his land away from him . . .”
Chapter Three
Emma stood by the shuttered window in the Earl of Chester’s private bed chambers, peeking through the wooden slats down to the Bailey below. She had been standing in this furtive position for well over an hour, waiting and watching anxiously each person that came through the Keep’s portcullis. It was a distance from this towering perch, yet she was certain that she would not miss the portly monk’s brown robe, when he appeared.
“Where is he?” Emma whispered, with a husky and anguished tremor to her voice that reveled her concern as she twisted a strand of her blond hair around her fist. She looked at that hair, free to cling around her small hand and condemned that barbarian calling himself Lazarus once again. Twas he who took her wimple away saying that virgin maids needed to display their wares. Oh, she disliked that barbarian for his arrogance and his blatant mouth. Nothing embarrassed the man, and she had spent the entire journey here in his company, with her skin flushed the color of red apples.
Not that she had any illusions about the nature of her boughten servitude. Lazarus had made that clear, she was to be the concubine of the Earl. It had taken Emma a bit of time to understand this concubine wording that the Eastern man used, but she'd finally understood it to mean, whore!
Emma shivered as she clasped her arms around her waist, still doggedly staring at the portcullis entrance. It is not as if she had a choice . . . she knew this. Mayhap, she was even surprised that it had not happened sooner. Her circumstances were limited now by events from long ago out of her control, and she had not had much choice since.
“At least he is an Earl,” she whispered, realizing that held no comfort, for a man was a man, be he an Earl or peasant. But she had not cowered, at least not much and she had not moaned or bewailed her fate. She came from the noblest lines and she would survive and protect the one thing dearest to her.
Emma’s gaze widened at that moment. She saw him! Emma leaned her forehead against the wooden slats to peer closer. Aye, twas the portly Owain, and there he was upon the back of his little brown mule, Betsy, as he called her. Oh yes, she sighed in relief. She could see him. He was here and safe. They were both safe, for who would ever think to look at the powerful Earl of Chester’s holding for them. None! That is why she had been willing.
Hugh paused beyond the little used side entrance to his bedchamber, drawing the inside bolt firm again, before he turned and stepped to the side of a tapestry hung in a position to hide the existence of the entrance. He'd come this way for a purpose, to allow himself an unguarded first view of his newly acquired maiden. He was surprised at his anticipation, it reminded him of the heated stirring of his youthful lust. Perhaps, the first time he'd mounted a maid would be a better description of this excitement that he now felt. Yet, he was a man now and he would temper it to his will as he must. This was not some boyish adventure, but a logical expedition and he would pursue it as such.
Hugh took another step, which allowed his unfettered view to sweep the entire room. He saw the maiden immediately, for she was like a gilded beacon, standing at the side of the room next to the shuttered window. It was her hair, he decided, that lent the eye attracting quality, for it shone like sprinkled sunshine, hanging in heavy waves well past her hips. His view of her was from the side as she peeked a well-turned nose nearly through the wooden slats of the shutters. Fleetingly, he wondered what she found so interesting in the Bailey below as he studied her profile.
She was petite of height, this Emma, but her body which was outlined in a snug fitting sapphire blue over tunic, was anything but petite in its endowments. She was not in the remotest obese, but had the ripe and well-rounded curves of a Siren. Hugh caught an unexpected breath when the entirety of her figure settled into his mind. The maiden’s body alone would turn masculine heads wherever she walked. It was one of those truly womanly shapes that called to a man’s potency. Large of tits, a small waist, and hips of generous swell that curved into what must be long shapely limbs beneath the heavy blue brocade. Her face was fragile with the fine bones of quality that so many Saxon maidens carried. It was an utterly feminine face, Hugh thought, as he considered that Lazarus had done his deed with serious thought. This maid was exquisite.
This realization caused Hugh an uncomfortable moment or two . . . he did not wish for exquisite. How would he temper exquisite, how would he bend exquisite to his will? He toyed with his beard as he watched the maiden and he considered that he'd never before been turned by a comely face and he would not be so now. Twas just a face . . . just a body, and he was the Master here. He would go on as he planned, and perhaps find a bit more pleasure in the discoveries he wished to make. There was nothing wrong with that! He would find pleasure in his self taught learning. Nothing, wrong with that at all.
Decided in his own wisdom, Hugh strode further into the chamber, it was time to set the stage of his instruction. To that avail, he had neither allowed the maiden to eat nor cleanse herself from her journey by bathing and dressing in fresh attire. He had a well-thought out beginning for them. A brilliant direction that would afford him the most advantage to learn the knowledge that he needed to know.
Hugh began speaking at once in a commanding bass voice, whose sudden sound caused the maiden to face him with a startled expression on her face.
“I am Lord Hugh, the Earl of Chester. You will not eat that I do not feed you. You will not dress that I do not clothe you. You will not slumber that I do not allow it. Before this moment you were my chattel, beyond it you are simply mine! Intimately . . . to do with as I please.”
Hugh stalked around the golden maiden using his size and her petite height, gladly, to intimidate her. “Maiden, you are comely.” He paused behind her, lifting a strand of gold-fired curls in his hand. “This pleases me. And, you are afraid of me, which you would do well to heed.”
Hugh paused a moment again to determine the order of his further directions as Emma’s silken curls of hair caressed his finger with a life of their own. She was buxom, this Saxon maiden and he had the perfect view with his height from behind her, down her sultry cleavage. Those pillowed twin mounds rose and fell in some agitation. Possibly fear or perhaps his nearness.
“I will allow no disobedience from you that you would not receive punishment for attempting,” Hugh paused and drew a deep breath, then bellowed, “Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord!” Emma squeaked, juggling those handsome tits to distraction, until Hugh determined the very place upon her body where he would begin his instruction.
“Then strip this cloth to your waist, maiden.”
Hugh watched Emma’s startled blue-gray eyes rise to his, while her coral-tinted bottom lip trembled. “N-Now?” she questioned with a wavering voice.
His answer was to step ominously forward, his gaze fixed on her as if he looked at one of his Knaves, who had dared speak out to him. Twas effective, for Emma’s quaking hand came up to pull the garment off one slender white shoulder, then the other. Satisfied with the beginning, he stepped back and took a seat in the padded chair nearby, to observe her, silently. She was pink of face with her gaze lowered and that bountiful sunlight hair falling forward obstructing his view as she pulled the garment and the chemise beneath down to hang at her wrists.
“Shake back your hair, maiden. You know that which I wish to see.”
Hugh’s throat tightened and heat flushed his entire body. He could do nothing for a few moments, but stare. Stare at Emma’s tits, so large and firmly uplifted with pale near ethereal skin and small circular nipples of cherry blossom pink. The little nips puckered beneath his gaze with the hardening little buds stretching outward . . . longer and longer.
“How do you feel?” he demanded in a voice that he pushed forth sharply.
“I-I,” Emma stuttered clutching her diminutive hands in her royal blue skirts.
“It is my command to you that you must speak to me honestly and completely about what you feel.” He purposely unclenched his fingers from the fists they had become and rubbed one open palm on his thigh. “Tell me what you feel, Emma.”
“Cold,” she whispered.
Hugh nearly chuckled tensely, he could well see that there were goose bumps hardened around the fragile pink circles of her nipples. “And,” he prompted.
Emma peeked at him beneath golden eyelashes. “I do not like it,” she murmured.
“Are you sure?”
Emma raised her head looking at him fully for the first time and his breath caught once again at the sight of such a fair and bare-breasted maiden. “Yes, my lord.”
“This is honest, maiden. What else?” Hugh asked, while trying for a bearing of nonchalance as he stroked his short beard.
“I-um,” Emma stuttered, looking frustrated and helpless at the same moment, before she inhaled a bracing breath that raised her melon shaped tits high. Hugh’s cod suddenly awakened and stirred meaningfully. “I cannot help but think, ah . . . I w-wonder, perhaps if you could or might, ah-.” She stopped speaking, and then she squeaked, “Like them.”
Emma was flushed now, as flushed as Hugh felt as he shifted his ankle up and across the other leg superciliously to hide the evidence rising in the crotch under his cod covering. He watched the flush on Emma’s porcelain skin move downward to tint the top portions of her bold tits, whilst his fingers itched in a mysterious fashion, and he strove to control the tenor of his voice. “I do, maiden. I have never seen such plentifulness in a woman’s tits before.” Hugh searched his thoughts for clarity, then said, “You should be proud of them.” And he meant this deeply, he thought, as his gaze remained riveted to the enchanting view.
Emma could not fathom what was wrong with her, but she found herself thrusting the shameless bareness of her breasts forward beneath his Lordship’s praise, whilst she peeked at him beneath her eyelashes. He was a very large man with thick rich chestnut hair and startling blue-green eyes. It was obvious he was a warrior-lord, not paunchy and pallid, but sun-browned with a healthy muscular shape that made her feel frail. His beard was short and blond compared to his dark hair, over a strong square jaw and a brown-sandy mustache topped his smooth and expressive masculine lips.
“Thank you, my lord,” she fairly squeaked, not knowing what to think of herself or this muscle-bound lord who gazed at her naked breasts with a green fire in his vivid blue eyes. She felt so strange, embarrassed, yet seemingly proud. Perhaps hot was the word she searched for, to be so exposed to his more than manly staring.
“Come here, maiden.”
Oh Gods, Emma pressed her hands to her churning stomach and inhaled a gusting breath as she hesitated.
“Now!” he commanded sharply. She flinched and shuffled forward to stand at his knees. He was so potentially male that the heat from him seemed to wash over her in waves, making her faint. “I wonder why these nips harden so,” he muttered as he stroked his rich straw-colored beard as though pondering a great unfathomable question. “Do you know, maiden?”
“N-No, my lord,” Emma whispered in a waver, trying to hold her knees from collapsing.
“Hmm, I suspected you would not,” he muttered, leaning back to catch her gaze. “Where would you most want me to touch them?”
Chapter Four
“Oh, my lor-.” Emma began to sink into a faint, but suddenly wide callused hands were hotly pressed around her bare rib cage as her hands faltered forward, and then clasped sinewy banded shoulder muscles.
“Forsooth, maiden, steady yourself,” Lord Hugh commanded in a deeply strained base voice. However, Emma could not, and he seemed to realize that he was the only thing holding her up. “I need a clear head, not a swooning maiden,” he muttered, with a near growl, vibrating deep in his chest.
Emma could not speak, her breathing came so rapid and shallow that it heaved her naked breasts directly beneath Lord Hugh’s aquiline nose. He held her firm between his thickly muscled thighs and she dared to peek down at him. The motion caused her hair to fall forward nearly encasing them as some of it skittered across the tips of her nipples. She gasped at the aching sensation that twittered across her belly and pooled deeply between her thighs.
“What is it?” Lord Hugh demanded so sharply that she-,
“My breasts,” she gasped. “My hair across the nips is-is-,”
“Is-?” Lord Hugh questioned, with a drawn out breath.
Yet, before she could speak a reply, which she had no wish to give, she was suddenly lifted quite bodily into Lord Hugh’s strong arms as he stood. She felt the strength of that muscle held beneath her knees and at her back as he strode to the high bed. She squeaked her surprise, a literal mouse sound, as she clutched Lord Hugh’s neck. Never had she seen more power in a man, to carry her so. Yet, more alarming than this was the bed! Lord Hugh carried her up the three steps provided and set her into the middle of the feather stuffed mattress. Was this the ravishing then? Now, so quickly, she wondered, trying to catch her breath? She was so tense with anxiety that she never let go of Lord Hugh when he laid her down, and he ended braced on one arm above her.
“Forsooth, maiden. I will never gain any proper education if you keep as frightened as your stormy, gray eyes proclaim. I need honesty, not fright.”
“I-I do not understand,” Emma stuttered unable to take her gaze away from Lord Hugh’s deeply shifting evergreen eyes. He was so close to her that the errant nibs of her breasts were nearly grazing his chest as his hot breath warmed her chin. She could smell wine and cinnamon, but there was something much more. It was a humid smoldering male scent. Encompassing. Bold. So frightening, yet alluring as it filled her senses. To have the vitality of a man’s strength and sinew lay against her so closely was wrought with confusion because of its sudden headiness.
“Perhaps we will negotiate,” he muttered.
Emma felt his fingers and hand so wide and strong splayed from the bareness beneath her breasts, to the firm curve below her waist. His thumb, which was thick and calloused, rasped the edge of her belly button with a restless movement. Her eyes fluttered close as her breath caught and her tender belly trembled. The suffering between her thighs thickened deeply.
“Negotiate?” she puffed breathlessly.
“Mm,” Lord Hugh thrummed deep in his throat. “I will give you something in return for something from you.”
Her eyes came open, beneath the quick and sudden flash of hope that this inspired. Her stepbrother, she thought excitedly, and Lord Hugh was powerful enough to protect them! She needed, never to be afraid again and what would she give for such a boon?
“I can see, Emma, there is something that you desire greatly,” Lord Hugh said with satisfaction.
Emma. He spoke her name so deeply. Yet, in that instant she realized with anguished regret that she could not ask Lord Hugh for her boon. It would be too foolish to trust him. To trust anyone with her precious secret. Her fingers tightened on his strongly muscled shoulders.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“I cannot,” she whispered, turning her face to the side.
He huffed an exasperated sound. “Well then, lovely maiden, I will outwit you,” he proclaimed deeply.
Emma turned her gaze back with her eyes widening. Lovely? “You w-will?” she stuttered senselessly.
“Mm,” he murmured, gazing at her intensely. She felt his thumb touching her belly button now. “I can force you, coerce you, or compel you, maiden. All this is easily within my power. Yet as satisfying as this would be to my authority, it would still leave you in this irritable and frightened state. So, I will negotiate to wipe this fear of yours aside.” He paused meaningfully, “Rather than beat it from you, which is a parody of itself. To beat fright from a slave.”
The sound Lord Hugh made then, in his throat, was superior wit at his own humor. “Be that as it may,” he continued. Emma was beginning to realize Lord Hugh was a very intelligent and complex man. “I will give you any one thing for which you ask. And, I will not require the knowledge of it now.” She gaped at him. “Anything, maiden,” he murmured in an enticing manner.
“For what?” she gushed, with her mind whirling with possibilities. In truth, she could see that she needed two boons.
“I can see that you have shrewdness and wit, Emma,” Lord Hugh pronounced with an intrigued gleam in his eyes. “Most people in your position would tumble over themselves to claim my outrageously generous boon. Yet you would know the price, and I say that is shrewd.” He lifted several strands of her hair near the ends, studying them as he continued to speak. “I believe if we seal our negotiations I will have less fear from you because you will always be reminded about what you will gain. With that given, all that I require is your complete obedience and honesty.”
“But yet, that is two,” Emma blurted quickly.
“Maiden, you intrigue me,” he responded as quickly. “Finer men have never negotiated this well with me,” he said as he lowered his gaze to her breasts. She had nearly forgotten that she was so exposed. “Hmm,” he murmured as though pondering great events, before he continued. “You are right, and I will concede the need of two boons, yet . . . I cannot, considering my own self preservation, allow them both to be secret from me. What say you, Emma, will you tell me of one of your wishes that we may seal our negotiations?”
“A home,” Emma whispered.
Lord Hugh raised his dark eyebrows to this. “Of stone and mortar, maiden?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes,” she gushed. “Of my own, with a bare bit of land to sow a garden for food. And, your protection from all that would dare to take me from it.”
Oh no. Emma realized that in her passion of the spectacular moment, she had revealed too much to Lord Hugh’s keen mind. But to come so close to fulfilling her dream of a home and security was truly overpowering. And he knew. He knew so much that she would never be able to hide.
His firm lips pondered, and she held her breath, waiting the question. “I can see this means much to you as your vow equally will mean to me.”
Emma watched him bring the end of her hair to his lips. He brushed the curls over the firm texture and she thought that he did not realize that he was doing it, as his great mind turned. Then, suddenly his pine colored eyes sharpened and he pinned her with his gaze. “Do you believe that I have the power, the will, and the strength to protect you, if I so choose?”
Emma felt all those so strongly. It was saturating in an aura from him to her. She believed with no doubts. “Yes, my lord,” she answered firmly.
His head nodded once arrogantly as though assured of no other answer. “Do you believe that if I gave a vow that I will hold it strongly with all my might?” he asked.
“I-,” she hesitated, the ways of men were too corrupt to believe so quickly. But then, when she thought that her hesitation could bring anger from him, instead he smiled. Not a large smile, but a potent one.
“I will consider that a man’s worth and his word must be earned. Yet, I now vow to give you your piece of land with dwelling. The deed will be recorded this day in your presence. I also vow, bare-breasted Emma, to protect you, but perhaps for you to believe that vow you will have to find ways to keep me interested to do so.”
The turning of his wit completely enthralled her. She had never felt the pull of a man’s mind before and strangely her body seemed to flush. Her lips felt fuller and her nipples peaked more into the shape of small lances. Her gaze fluttered downward, but the firming of Lord Hugh’s sinew tensed in all the places pressed against her and she knew he was aware of the barely perceptible changes. Man to a woman. Woman to a man.
Her body knew. Even if her mind hesitated. Yet, to do justice to his offer and her position, she had to be honest. She had to be more forthright and open than she'd ever imagined being. He was her Lord and her Master now by virtue of his power, strength, and arrogance. Nay, and right. The great Lords of England had the right now of conquerors, but this was a boon. To find herself with an offer from a powerful lord, and not a demand.
Only, she was woefully untried in the ways of men and women together. Men and women copulating for romantic intimacies. It was a fearful thought. Truly, it was a vulnerable one. Yet, she had wished for attraction or the knowledge of it in her life. She was young and healthy. Of course, her mind wandered to men. However, her future had looked bleak on that venue, considering the lowly existence in which she had survived. Nay, she'd tried to keep thoughts of men and any yearning of them at bay. It had been too unrealistic to hope. Her lot had seemed more realistic to end the slave of a swine farmer, rather than ever to chance upon proper courtship to a proper man. But then, like some fateful miracle, one week ago, her entire life had been changed. This handsome virile lord asked much of her. Yet, the reward was tenfold to her.
“And?” Lord Hugh cocked his head at her with his hand lowering and spreading out over the cloth, still barely covering her lower belly. He was completely masculine with a man’s rough edges, shrewdness, and intensity. A woman certainly and quite easily could be lost in his male effervescence. “I am impressed that you ponder it, Emma, without snatching it outright. This, fawn-look that you give me, coupled with the turning of your mind, leads me to trust your word. Once you give it.”
“Three questions or statements I have, my lord, if you will allow me to make them.” Emma prayed that she did not gamble too far. Yet, for the sake of an honest oath, she needed clarity.
“If only for the sake of your complete honesty, maiden.”
Emma sensed that Lord Hugh’s mind bordered on being perturbed. A man such as he commanded, but did not answer. So, she rushed to get it all out. Taking a large breath, which raised her belly and the hot imprint of Lord Hugh’s hand. His irises turned to the movement.
“If I were to become seeded with a child, what then?” Emma had many questions on this count, but she rushed on. “I would enjoy freedom of movement about your demesne.” This was paramount. “And, I request . . . nay, I hope for laughter in our interactions.”
Once Emma asked for the presence of laughter, she knew she'd been thinking correctly. For herself and for her needs, laughter would make any hesitations bearable. Laughter between a man and a woman would mean friendship.
Lord Hugh tilted his shoulders back with his gaze turning from his hand, out into the room in general. The sight of his profile was sharp angles, and this close Emma could see the darker roots of his short blond beard curling closely to his skin and his mustache equally etched in his profile. She held her breath with her belly concaved in the effort. Had she gone too far?
The maiden was wondrous. Hugh realized that he'd never associated intelligence with a woman. Slyness, yes. Hordes of pettiness, greed, and avarice. Always. But, wit. Never. He had learned something new. And, it stirred him.
Hmm. He wondered if he was as attractive to her? That was the point, wasn’t it? His attractiveness and his skill. The point of laughter that Emma requested had wholly surprised him. The point of a bastard babe had stunned him. He was an idiot. In his lust for knowledge and competence, he had overlooked a monumental obstacle. He could never allow a bastard babe. And, he considered with mild disgust at himself that he was quite fortuitous to not have yielded a bastard child to this date. For all his largess in heralding himself a shrewd man, this pointed out even more gaping holes in his common knowledge of women, maidens, or fair-breasted demoiselles.
Blue bullocks. He would simply not swive her. And, did not that leave a yawning hole in his entire plans. Aye. Intolerable! Yet, he would deal with that later. The question of Emma’s movement about the demesne interested him. Nevertheless the little that he did notice of women, such as his widowed sister-in-law Bernadette, was that they did like to move about, while prattling incessantly.
Hugh’s eyes scanned back over Emma’s enticing figure beneath him. His gaze lingered on her bountiful bare tits. The thrusting blush red nips intrigued him to no end. Then, his gaze lifted to her deep cerulean tinted gray colored eyes. “I will not hold for anyone grasping my affairs. Are you a gossip monger, woman?” Hugh realized the question came forth more sharply than he intended, But it was sharpness that he felt.
“No, my lord, if anything I am too quiet and will have to strive to be more talkative with you for our bargain.”
The perfect answer, Hugh thought, and he wondered at its perfection. Yet then, he scolded himself. He was always too cautious. “I will allow you some freedom and we shall see more if you earn it. But I will allow no one to know of our relationship or of what we say together. You are simply my new slave woman, mute on all, but frivolous subjects.”
Emma’s hand lifted suddenly, then came to rest over the back of his hand resting on her belly. “You have my vow of discreetness, my lord, that I can easily give.”
It was an intimate sealing of a vow over the belly of life, Hugh thought. “I will not seed you, maiden. I cannot allow a bastard. As to laughter, I am too serious for such, however, I will not quell yours.”
His gaze asked for her answer. Then, he watched her hesitate one ivory tooth over her full bottom lip in an attractive gesture. Yet, she surprised him again with determination sparking in her irises as she raised his hand to her bare tit. Her hand on top cupped his hand over the fulsome mound. “You have my vow, Lord Hugh, to all of which we have spoken.”
And, was he not a strong man, Hugh thought, he could have lost his way beneath the feel of a soft and supple tit that spoke directly to his ever stiff cod. A cod that bespoke of demanding release. A dard that wanted to rule and throbbed with arrogance. He was thoughtless once again. He should have taken the pole of his dard to hand and pumped the will out of it before meeting the succulent and bare-titted Emma. It did, however, give a man a sense of power to ride on the pulsating peak of his unbending cod, yet control it. Ever before he had simply fucked. Swiftness and completion had been his goals. Never control. He may be embroiled with powerful concerns for a fortnight before he considered release. It was an afterthought to him. He'd been too busy building and defending a small empire, while raising his noblesse higher among his peers, to give fornication much consideration.
However, Emma’s lovely countenance coupled with her possibly more handsome and intriguing mind, had his narrow, but long dard’s full attention. She was just to damn comely, he thought again in irritation. To which his heated cod paid no attention. His fingers chafed to explore the healthy female globe lying with warm and creamy firmness beneath them. Instead, he lifted his hand, brushing Emma’s hand aside as he further rose to stand.
He ended looking down on Emma, whose gaze showed surprise, while interestingly her hands had lifted to attempt to cup her bare tits from his view. Hugh kept the evidence of his lower portion turned away as he spoke. “We have a bargain then, maiden.” He paused. “Are you embarrassed then, for me to view your naked tits?”
He watched her fine-boned facial features hesitate, nonetheless, then she nodded obediently. This pleased him, as he realized that his future wife would not start out bare-titted this way with him. Nay, she would be fully clothed and most likely shyer than sweet Emma. Well, he envisioned coy shyness, coquettish ways, and a winsome countenance. She would be, after all, set to secure him . . . the prize! He was a prized catch as they measured these things. So, he and his future wife would likely meet over a meal gazing at each other and gauging each other. Then, later they would make time alone for themselves to stroll together, with the idea of becoming better acquainted.
Hugh wondered why he fled the need to explain his reason for leaving to Emma. Nonetheless, he did. Quite odd. He would have to ponder that. “I would see the deed signed to your name.” Hugh considered this a more plausible explanation than one saying that he had to go whack his boarded cod to release, before he could control looking at her again. Or the other equally revealing one that he was pondering placing Emma in the imaginary role of his future wife. “We will dine together here for the late meal. You may bathe and rest. You will find an appropriate assortment of gowns in the chest.”
“Yes, my lord, thank you.”
Hugh hesitated. Why did he still feel it necessary to say more? He wondered if this was what intimacy wrought between men and women? “I am pleased with our bargain, maiden,” he finally said, and then he forced himself to quit the room and Emma’s appealing presence.
Chapter Five
Lazarus slowly sucked on a peach pit, while he leaned back in a rough-hewed chair with deceptive insolence. His lazy gaze was following the movements of Lady Bernadette or Bayan Bernadette in his own tongue. She was across the long length of the main common room in the demesne. No one could miss her tall figure among the different seated groups throughout the hall. She stopped and conversed for moments here and there with different clutches. However, Lazarus knew that her ending direction was to him.
He smiled. He liked nothing better than to banter with Hugh’s widowed sister-in-law. Ruffling Bayan Berny’s feathers and tweaking her ire was an endless source of amusement for him. A weaker man would turn tail knowing of her approach with her peppery tongue and acerbic wit.
He was not a weak man.
He also knew that the demesnes gossip mills would have reached Berny by now. The angel-haired Emma’s presence was no longer a secret. Berny would be as curious as he was as to what the Earl of Chester was up to. So, he pondered as he watched Berny’s graceful approach. Should he try to throw in with the whipped-tongued, beautiful opponent, Bernadette or should he try to piece together the mystery on his own. He lived for intrigue. It was part of his culture. He really cared little about the answer one way or the other. It was simply the fact that there was a mystery.
“Heathen, you have returned.” It was not a sweet welcome from Bayan Berny’s flushed lips, but an accusation.
Lazarus smirked, while propping his feet, clad in knee-high, coca-colored hide boots, upon the oak plank table in front of him. The gesture was perfectly impertinent with masculine superiority. And, he knew it was a silent affront to Bayan Berny’s, oh-so-English sensibilities. His very choice of day to day dress offended Berny’s gaze. He did not wear the hose of an English man, but the loose balloon type trousers of his culture. The light silkiness of the material was much more comfortable. Nonetheless, what really seemed to irk Berny and provoke her gaze was the style of his sleeveless loose shirts that lay open in a wide V across his chest down to his thick leather belt. Englishmen did not bare their chest or upper arms.