Jacq's Warlord (13 page)

Her quim pulsed against his head and her back arched off the furs. “Rufus, now!”

He slammed inside her, driving all the way to the hilt.

She came. He knew she came, for she screamed long and loud, her head thrashing from side to side while he pumped in and out of her, his hard thrusts lifting her higher.

The sounds of skin slapping skin and their loud panting breaths filled the tent. Her back arched again as another tremor tightened her passage, rippling along his shaft as he rode her.

Suddenly he was mindless as well, insensible to anything except the quick, rhythmic slapping. He felt his climax come from his toes, tightening his thighs, his balls, bursting from him in a flood of warmth to bathe her womb. He didn’t want it to end.

Afterward, he collapsed on top of Jacq, breathing hard against her neck, still flexing to drive inside her although he was spent. The sensation of her hot, rhythmic pulsings was too exquisite to give up.

Her breaths grew shallow beneath his weight, and he groaned.

Rufus pushed up on his arms and stared down at the beautiful woman lying beneath him, still connected to his body in the most intimate way. Her mouth was slackened, slightly blurred from his kisses, her skin dewy. Her passion belonged to him—she would not be able to deny it now.

Jacq gasped, dragging huge gulps of air into her lungs. Then she stilled and stared up at him. Suddenly, her face drained of color. “Jesus, what did I just do?”

* * * * *

Jacq held the silver bowl out to Monty, and he ladled a serving of dark savory stew into it. She preferred a bowl to the stale bread trenchers the other camp inhabitants used. What she wouldn’t give for an ordinary spoon. She knew she’d have to make do with the knife she’d filched from Rufus’ tent, and for slurping the bits she couldn’t spear directly from the bowl—just like the rest of the people around were doing. She grimaced in disgust at their lack of manners. Digestion shouldn’t be a visible and audible thing.

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At least the stew looked edible. As she moved down the chow line to fill her cup with ale, Monty shot her a glance of pure venom. Jacq knew she was the reason for his sudden demotion. Join the list, she thought. By the laundress’s flaying glance, and the smirks that wreathed the faces of most of the men in the camp, she knew the entire camp understood what had transpired between Rufus and her.

Her cheeks burned as she recalled her ragged pleas for fulfillment, loud and resonant within the tent. They had probably all had their ears to the canvas and known the exact moment of her climax. She felt exposed, disgruntled…and in need of another bath.

Worse, it appeared that the sex to end all sex hadn’t been nearly as cataclysmic for Rufus. He’d departed the tent as quickly as he could lace his braies, and she hadn’t seen him since. Not wanting to admit his eagerness to flee hurt her, she settled into a slow simmering anger.

“Well, if it isn’t the water nymph.”

Startled by the voice so close to her ear, Jacq whipped around almost letting the stew spill over the side of the bowl.

Percy’s watchful gaze seared a trail down her body and back up, an unsubtle reminder he knew well what lay beneath the fabric clothing her. “If I were Rufus, I would keep you beneath me for a week. So much territory to explore…”

She bit her tongue to keep her sharp retort to herself. No sense causing another incident in the camp. With a glance around the immediate vicinity, she noted Beast’s preoccupation with his trencher and the rest of Rufus’ men watching with amusement.

There’d be no help there. She was on her own.

Percy’s smile was slow and reptilian.

Her chin came up, challenging, yet she refused to swallow the jerk’s bait.

“I see Rufus is neglecting you now that he’s had what he wants of you. You realize he isn’t very discerning in his tastes. That overblown laundress or some other camp whore would do as well for him.”

She’d had enough and tried to walk around him, but he halted her with a hand on her arm. “I on the other hand…” he continued, his hand squeezing with enough pressure to leave a bruise, “…recognize quality when I see it. As my leman you would want for naught.”

“Leman?” Her eyes narrowed and she spat, “I’m no man’s whore.”

“No?” Percival waved a hand. “Where is your protector now? Do you not see how shabbily he treats you? I wouldn’t leave you at the mercy of rough men.” He stepped close to whisper into her ear. “Come with me.”

Jacq jerked away, surprised when he let her go so easily. “Why do you want me? I don’t believe for a moment I’m the sort of woman you’d normally choose.”

He shrugged. “’Tis true. I prefer a less statuesque woman, but I admire your boldness—it pricks my interest.”

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“Your prick needs little encouragement. Take your interest to the devil.” The slimeball reminded Jacq of a lounge lizard she’d met in a bar several years ago. She had as little time to waste on this one as she’d had for the other.

He laughed. “I like your sharp tongue, but would put it to better use than trading insults.”

She flushed hotly when a vision of just what her tongue had been engaged in a short hour ago flashed in her mind.

“Your unusual proportions…” his gaze drifted downward to her breasts.

Jacq felt them tighten in cold revulsion against the fabric of her gown.

“…challenge me.” He leaned toward her and inhaled her scent. “We would fit together well, if you understand my meaning.”

She rolled her eyes. Next he would be offering comparisons of whose “male parts”

were bigger. “You want me only because you consider me Rufus’ property,” she guessed.

He shrugged. “You would find me the better man.”

“Well, it’s a shame I won’t be around long enough to find out,” she said, lacing her words with false disappointment.

Without warning, he jerked her to him, his face bent close to hers.

Alarmed, she tried to pull back.

With his face so close to hers, she could smell his foul breath, he said, “You will come to me sooner or later.”

“More like never.” With her free hand, Jacq shoved against him.

“Percy, I see your charm is as ineffective as ever,” Rufus’ amused voice cut in.

Relief flooded Jacq. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold back from knocking the bastard to his knees. His entire attitude was slick and slimy, but Jacq got the uncomfortable feeling he wouldn’t react well to her besting him in front of the men again.

Rufus’ gaze was pinned Percy with unwavering intent.

The lounge lizard released her arm abruptly, his face transformed into a mask of rueful regret. “Rufus, you have the luck of the devil. I was just admiring your latest acquisition. She’s a tempting baggage. Wherever did you find this gem?”

“The woman is no concern of yours. She is under my protection and will stay there.”

“You can’t blame a man for trying to woo her away.”

Jacq was tired of being talked about like she wasn’t there. “If you two will excuse me…” This time Rufus’ hand prevented her leaving, and she couldn’t help the little thrill of excitement his possessive grip gave her.

“Really Rufus, you should offer her the choice of protectors.”

“She has no choices. She stays with me until I decide to release her.”

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Percy’s eyes narrowed fractionally and his cheeks flushed, but he held on to his smile. “Well, friend, it is hardly necessary for us to argue over a woman’s affections.

There are others about. I will see you after you’ve eaten.”

“You are welcome to share our fare.”

“Your cook outshines mine. I’ll not refuse.”

Alone now with Rufus, Jacq blushed uncomfortably beneath his steady gaze. “Are you sore?” he asked abruptly.

Mortified, she blushed. “A little,” she admitted in a whisper. Hoping he would get the hint not to speak so loudly.

“I had not intended to be so rough,” he replied, in the same even tone.

“No harm done,” she answered quickly.
Please drop the subject.

“You should not incite me so,” he said gruffly. “I would have taken greater care.”

Her temper snapped. “Let me get this straight. You think it’s my fault you lost control?”

“It is obvious you invite violence from a man. I allowed you the freedom of the camp today only to find Percy accosting you again.”

Jacq’s mouth gaped. “I didn’t do anything to invite his attention. He sought me out.”

“Woman, you have only to breathe deeply to invite attention,” he said, with a pointed stare at her breasts.

Insulted she forgot their interested audience. “Just what century were you born in?”

She thought about what she had just said, and almost laughed. “I don’t suppose it would faze you one bit for me to call you a chauvinist pig.”

“Since the first word accompanies pig, I’ll assume you just insulted me.”

She laughed in earnest, recognizing hysteria was not far off. “My name is not

‘woman’—it’s Jacq.”

“Jacq is a man’s name, and until you give me your true name I will call you what I please.”

“Well, we could beat this subject to death. If you’ll excuse me.” She attempted to jerk her arm free of his grasp.

He held on to her easily, his grip firm, yet causing no harm.

“Sit with me while we eat.” His words this time were more request than command.

Jacq stilled, her gaze seeking his. This was his first invitation. She nodded her acceptance, excitement once more replacing fury.
I’m too easy. All he has to do is act like a
human being for ten seconds out of a twenty-four-hour period and I’m ready to do anything he
asks.

She followed him to a fallen tree at the clearing’s edge, and they sat with their meals on their laps. A wave of his hand brought Monty beside them with tankards of ale full 73

Delilah Devlin & Myla Jackson

to the brim. The young squire bore no sign of his earlier animosity toward her as long as she was in Lord Rathburn’s presence.

Jacq took a long sip of the ale and sighed.
Dad would love this.
She watched the soldiers with their rough clothing, and brawny, scarred bodies. She knew he’d be in the thick of all this, full of curiosity for everything he saw, full of questions for the men. She smiled wistfully.

Hearing a sharply drawn breath beside her, she turned to Rufus with a question in her eyes.

His hand reached for her face and a finger traced a path from her cheek to her mouth. The caress was gentle but his expression did not betray his thoughts. “What makes you smile?” he asked in his usual gruff voice, a small frown creasing his forehead.

His gesture, the softness in his voice was almost like a man who’d touched something fragile and precious.

Jacq’s nipples pebbled beneath her clothing and her pussy tightened.

His hand fell away. “You smiled,” he reminded her. “Why?”

How to explain? She speared a chunk of meat and chewed it carefully, delaying her answer. A glance at his now implacable face told her he’d wait until Christmas for the answer. “I was thinking of my father.”

His glance sharpened. “He is living?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Her gaze skittered away from his, as she considered her words carefully. “He’s a long way from here.”

“What were you remembering?”

“He’s a soldier too,” she explained. “He’d love this.” She indicated the men before them.

He snorted. “I’d prefer a warm fire and a down-filled mattress, myself. The comforts of my castle appeal to me more than watching my men die at the hands of my enemy. But I do what I must, for my country and the rightful king.”

“My father is accustomed to the amenities his army affords him, but he’d be fascinated with this adventure.”

“For whom does he fight?” The man was persistent.

“You wouldn’t know them,” she murmured.

“Then tell me how you came to be so far from your father.”

Annoyed now, she replied curtly. “I can’t say.”

“You mean you will not say.”

“Whatever.”

She heard him sigh, and looked.

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His gaze had never left hers. “Tell me about your father. You love him?”

A sad smile curved her lips, and she fought the urge to cry. “Yes, I love him. His name is Thomas Frazier. He’s been a soldier for more than half of his life and fought in many faraway places.”

“Is he a mercenary?”

“No, his honor can’t be bought.”

“A Crusader, then?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze slipping away. “Yes, you could say that.”

“What of your mother?”

Jacq speared another chunk with the knife. “She died a long time ago. My father raised me.”

“I gather he is the reason you have some skill with the sword.”

She smiled, recalling her earlier failed attempt to skewer him. “Yes.”

Rufus frowned. “He was wrong to teach a woman such skills.”

Again, the arrogance surfaced, but this time, she wasn’t offended. With her gaze leveled at him, she replied quietly, “I insisted.” How could a man of the twelfth century possibly understand? She shrugged. He couldn’t. “Enough about me. What about you?

Tell me about your mother and father.”

“There is naught to tell. My mother died five years ago. My father died before her.”

His comments were brief, offering no hint of the pain he might have felt for his loss.

Jacq returned her attention to her meal, allowing the silence to lengthen. Strangely, it was a comfortable silence in which she felt no need to fill it with conversation.

When her food was gone, she felt reluctant to end the peaceful interlude. “Will we be moving out soon?”

“Yes.” Rufus stared out across camp into the wood line. “We leave on the morrow.”

Her stomach churned in anticipation. “Does everyone go?”

“Indeed. We will break camp at first light.”

“What will happen?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll not mislead you. We will travel through land held by King Stephen and his forces. We lost many men to Braxton’s attack yesterday, but things are not as dire as they were. We have our reinforcements now.”