Page 42 of The Captive Knight
Chapter Twelve
Back when Jehan was a sell-sword, his evenings used to be spent on a horse blanket spread upon the cold ground, dreaming of smoked duck and salted ham, sheep’s cheese and roasted chestnuts, a generous bowl of pot soup. As one of the prince’s knights, he had swapped cold ground for a hay pallet and an empty belly for a full one, but he still spent evenings dreaming of the new things he craved: Fine swords and new armor. Stables full of horses. Cellars full of wine. Strong-walled castles and the lands to go with them.
Yet, right now, as the black of night lightened to gray and Aliénor still slept beside him, he could think of no greater treasure than the warmth of her in his bed, naked in his arms.
He pressed his nose against her hair and smelled the scent of musk and sunshine and the lingering fragrance of cut clover. She made a little noise and shifted her position under the furs. She slid against his body in ways that warmed his blood.
She murmured, “Is it morning?”
“Not yet,couret.” Her low, husky voice set his pulse leaping.
“It’s still dark?”
“Shhhh. Sleep.”
Defying him, she lifted her head from its burrow. Turning toward the arrow-slit window, she frowned at the hazy cast of a breaking dawn.
“If you keep your eyes closed,” he whispered, “it’ll still be dark.”
“But the servants will be awake soon.”
“Let them do their work, then.” He kissed her temple, his hair catching on his lips. “Lay abed with me.”
Her mouth curved as she rolled into his arms again. “How little you know of managing a castle.”
He thumbed a tress off her brow as she blinked open her beautiful dark eyes, his heart pounding to see them heavy-lidded with satisfaction.
“Fires must be lit,” she said, trailing a hand over his chest. “Meals must be planned.”
“How fortunate I am,” he said, “to have such a chatelaine.”
A shadow flittered across her face then disappeared, but not before it skittered across his heart like a tip of a dagger.
He couldn’t give her what a woman like Aliénor deserved.
But he knew how to make her happy.
Her lips tasted warm. They swelled beneath his. He ran a hand under the furs, his palm following the curves of her body. She made one of those sweet little noises in her throat that kicked his cock into alertness. Her rosy, tip-tilted nipple tightened under his touch. His blood flooded south.
“Tell me,” he murmured, sweeping his hand down her belly, “what you like.”
“You.” She pushed the pelts off between them in hurried enthusiasm and then reached between them. “This.”
On a gasp, he lost the ability to breathe.
Startled, she released him. “Did I hurt you?”
“N-no.”
“It’s so warm.” She ventured to touch him again, a teasing run of her fingertips along the ridge. “I can’t believe you fit inside me.”
He placed a warning hand on her wrist. “Aliénor.”
“You promised me.”
He couldn’t fathom what she was talking about while his cock was gripped in her hot, eager little hand.
“Last night,” she reminded him. “You promised I could touch you.”
