Hellion (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 7) (6 page)

"But perhaps she favors one of the
guards above any other. Spends time alone with him. It may not be
in her bed." He stopped, realizing his tone had grown angry and the
boy looked fearful. "Worry not. Whatever you tell me will remain a
secret."

Harold bit his lip and his little jaw
became very square and determined. "She treats everyone with the
same kindness, sire."

Frustrated, Sal pushed himself out of
the carved chair and prowled to the window of his chamber, peering
out on the courtyard and the guards by his gate. A recent wound
incurred in a skirmish was starting to smart again, and he glared
down at his arm where some fool Saxon's blade had cut his flesh. It
was not healing well. "Can you tell me with certainty that no other
man has been with her since her husband died?"

"Been with her?"

"I know you understand me, boy. Has
she been fucked?" He knew she would be furious if she found out
that he pressed the boy on this subject. She would say he had no
right to know, of course. But it had become a matter of importance
to Sal. He had to know she slept alone. She was bold enough to
think she could get away with a secret lover, or two.

"My lady sleeps alone, sire. She has
no time for men."

Sal spun around, glaring at the
boy.

"That's what she says, sire. I heard
her tell the maid once that she doesn't want another man to
manage."

"When did she say this?"

"The maid asked her if she would marry
again. My lady said she has already had one husband, sire, and that
was enough."

Suddenly, Sal thought he might laugh
out loud. He turned back to the window hastily

and cleared his throat.

"Is that all, sire?"

"Yes. Go back to your beloved
mistress."

"No message in reply to hers,
sire?"

He stared out at the sun as it was
drifting down below the far trees. "Tell her I'll be there. As she
asked."

And now all he need do was wait for
the coming of the dark.

* * * *

The soldiers stood to attention as she
rode up to the gate in her hooded cloak. They were obviously
surprised to see her going out so late, and when she made it clear
that she was riding out alone, they were concerned.

"I will be back very soon," she told
them, "and quite safe." She had a sword and a knife under her
cloak, and knew how to use them both. Besides, it was only a half
mile she had to travel, it was not yet dark and a full moon was
due. The rush torches of d'Anzeray's fortress would also light her
way across the fields. She had not undertaken this idea without
thought.

Helene knew that if her message had
asked him to meet her somewhere half way, he probably would have
thought she meant to have him ambushed. At least, this way, he was
in his own territory and need not be suspicious. There was also the
fact that his tall, barred gates would be between them. She didn't
want him taking more than she was willing to give for those four
feet of field.

But the guards were insistent and,
finally, just to prevent an argument that would rouse the attention
of others, she allowed one of them to ride alongside.

"You are going to the demon's castle?"
the guard exclaimed when he realized their direction.

"He's not a —." She stopped and
reconsidered. "Yes, which is why, when we get there you must not
look upon his face or you will be enchanted by the evil light from
his eyes."

The guard shot her a frown.

"It is worse at night," she added
hurriedly, "when the moon is full like tonight, his powers are at
their highest and most dangerous."

"Then why do we go there now, my
lady?"

"I have some business with the
villain." She sighed. "I wish I did not, but the sooner it is over
with the better."

"But... will his demonic
eyes not enchant
you
, my lady?"

"I shall be very cautious." And then
she would say no more about it, for what right did the guard have
to ask her anything about her mission? She reminded herself that
she was the lady of the manor and he should simply obey her.
Sometimes it was too easy to forget all that because she spent her
days working among the people of her castellany and since she'd
never been one for airs and graces they tended to look upon her as
a sister, a mother, or even a daughter, rather than their mistress.
Robert used to warn her she should keep herself apart from the
people to remind them of their place, and hers, but Helene had
lived a childhood of loneliness in a family of distant, cold,
uncaring folk. Now she liked to know everything about the lives of
those around her— their happiness and their sadness. She liked to
celebrate their joys with them, to grieve when they suffered loss,
and to comfort when it was needed. What use could she be to the
people if she knew nothing about them and they were too afraid to
come to her when they needed help?

"Surely, Robert," she used to say, "a
servant will be more loyal to his master if he feels it is
reciprocated."

He would reply in his weary drawl, "We
give them a roof over their head, a fire in winter and food in
their bellies. What more could they want?"

They were almost at the gate of
Salvador's manor, and she could see a brazier flicking in his yard.
Night had not yet swallowed the land, but the daylight was no more.
It was that point in time when color was gone and only layers of
grey remained, broken by the occasional flutter of amber
flame.

She squinted. No one there as far as
she could see. Her heart was thumping hard.

Beside her, the guard stiffened in his
saddle and laid one gauntled hand on his sword hilt.

There was Salvador, quite suddenly
standing on the other side of the gate, feet apart, hands on his
hips. It was if the shadows had stretched out to form his shape on
the other side of the gate. To her relief he wore no chain mail, no
battle garb— just leather chausses, a tabard and a belt. His arms
were bare, the muscles more evident than ever as he moved to fold
his arms across his chest.

"He is quite alone," she whispered to
her escort, "I am safe, as you see."

A quick but thorough assessment of the
yard behind Salvador assured her that all the other men were
inside. From the noise and laughter, they were enjoying a good
supper.

Helene instructed her guard to turn
his horse and face the way they had come. He looked as if he might
argue, but then, after one more anxious glance at the "Demon", he
obeyed. She dismounted and walked up to the gate.

* * * *

So she came, and alone but for one
body guard. Interesting. What did she plan to give him?

When she arrived at the gate, Lady de
Leon slid the hood of her cloak back and he saw that her hair was
loose again. He glanced over to be sure the guard was still turned
away. He was.

Sal had opened his mouth to speak when
Helene suddenly put a finger to her lips and frowned hard at him
between the bars. He scowled back and she raised her right eyebrow
in high, slender arch.

This was another first for Sal; he'd
never been silenced by a woman before.

She looked him up and down swiftly and
then pointed to a strip of cloth he had tied around his arm to
cover that recent wound. What the devil—? Impatient, she gestured
that she wanted it, so he untied the cloth and passed it through
the bars.

His makeshift bandage was then taken
to the man on the horse and he was ordered to tie it securely
around his eyes as an added precaution.

"But keep your horse turned away," he
heard her command.

Mystified, Sal watched all this,
thinking perhaps the woman had lost her mind after managing so long
alone.

What she did next, however, made him
understand her need for all this and also caused him to stop
thinking about anything for several minutes.

For Lady de Leon returned to the gate,
stood close and opened her long cloak.

She was stark naked beneath
it.

"See," she whispered. "I told you, if
you moved the fence, you would see."

His gaze moved slowly, painstakingly,
from her face, down that proud neck to her breasts, her belly, her
pubic mound, her legs. Inside his breeches that over-eager beast
was instantly called to attention again. He made a move closer to
the bars, but she backed up a half step.

"
See
!" she whispered again, eyes
flaring. "That is all."

It felt like she'd reached through the
bars and grabbed him by the balls.

Ah, the wench was indeed cunning. And
confident too if she thought one glimpse of her body would pay for
four feet of his land. As if he hadn't looked at many female bodies
of all shapes and sizes. What was special about hers?

But since she was there he looked
anyway. Why not?

Yes, her tits were perky, full orbs
with dark nipples. Very nice. The cooler night air made those
little berries taut, hardening as he watched. She had just moved
slightly and her breasts jiggled.

Sal winced and sucked on his tongue
where he'd bitten it. His cock filled and stretched as he imagined
rubbing it between those glorious, milky bubbies. How dark his skin
would look against hers. There was a light sheen to her body, he
realized. And it was fragrant too.

Her belly was softly rounded, her hips
well curved, and there, nestled between her legs, hidden by a
little pelt of silky hair—just a little darker than the hair on her
head—rested treasure. He stared down at it, at the shining, tight
curls where he wanted to bury his face.

Damn woman kept her legs together, but
he wanted more. Needed to see more. He made a motion with his
hands, showing her that he wanted her thighs parted.

Helene glanced back to be sure her
escort was still blindfolded and turned away.

Sal growled through the
bars as he gripped them with both hands "
See
!"

She glared crossly, but he didn't
care. The darkness of night was about to close fully in, and then
he had only the moon and a few lit rush torches to see her by.
There was no time to waste. He'd given the woman what she wanted.
Now it was his turn.

Apparently she agreed. Looking at the
ground, she found a spot of grass between the dry ruts left by
carriage wheels. Here she arranged her cloak to sit upon it and
then, her hands resting on the earth behind her, she parted her
legs. The breath caught in his throat. He felt like a twelve-year
old boy again, thrilled just by a glimpse of a naked woman. But
there was something about this one— perhaps it was her bossiness,
or that noble mien which shone through even when she was covered in
filth. Perhaps it was the way she took control of this
game.

Clever of her to have the bars between
them, he mused.

She did not spread her legs like a
whore, but held them slightly apart, as if it was casual— a sunny
day in a meadow and she thought she was alone, unobserved. Helene
leaned back and tipped her head to look up at the moon. Her hair,
all that rich velvet, tumbled down over her shoulders to the
ground.

The hunger growing quickly and
fiercely, Sal hunkered down on his side of the gate and tried again
to reach through the bars, but she was just a few inches too far.
Her pussy was there for him to see, not touch, and he was left
clawing at the air like a caged beast.

He stared at the pink lips of her
cunny. They looked moist, as if she was aroused by this too. With a
soft grunt, he reached into his breeches, unable to stop himself.
She must have heard the sound for her head came up again to see
what he did and then her eyes widened when she laid them upon his
cock and saw him holding it, rubbing it furiously, fingers curled
around it. If he was not mistaken her legs just parted an inch
more, almost as if it was instinctive at the sight of his
erection.

He licked his lips and swallowed
another groan. Did she just smile at him? The brazen, teasing
wench! So much for piety, he mused. Well, he could certainly attest
to her charity at least. She was indeed generous to this common,
lusty oaf she honored with a sight of her noble cunny.

With one hand she now explored her own
body, cupping and squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, then
letting her fingers slip slowly down betwixt her thighs. She
stroked the glistening, fragrant curls and toyed with her pussy
lips.

The heat of his need was close to
boiling over as he watched her press a finger between her folds. He
slowed his hand, not wanting to come so soon. What was wrong with
him that he should be on fire just from this?

How many women had masturbated
themselves for his pleasure? More than he could count. But not like
her. Not like this.

Her finger moved upward to the crest
of her pouty labia and circled the pink pearl, that little "man in
a boat" as one of his brothers had named it. He couldn't remember
which one. Now he saw her getting slicker and her hips rolled
slightly. Soon he'd smell her musk.