Page 62 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“My lord, what ails you?” she asked.
“I’m in agony, wife,” he said. “I want nothing more than to bury myself inside you. If I continue I’ll be unable to stop myself, though this cursed leg pains me.”
“Soon, my Lord, very soon,” she said. “When you can place your full weight on your leg I will remove the splint.”
His eyes darkened with lust. “Will you then grant me my reward?”
She took his hand and kissed the callouses.
“Aye,” she said, shyly, “for it will be my reward also.”
* * *
Harald kissedhis wife once more on the mouth before turning her body over, cocooning it within his before wrapping the fur around them both. Nuzzling the back of her neck he felt her body shiver, heard her sigh. He ran his hand along her body, pulling her chemise up until his fingertips met the silken skin of her outer thigh. Her soft murmur of encouragement, the whisper of his name on her lips, sent a surge of fire through his veins, and his manhood hardened against her body. But rather than stiffen in fear, she relaxed into his embrace. The heat of her skin increased the lower he moved his hand, until his fingers met the hot, wet warmth between her thighs, soft curls damp with her desire.
“Ahh…” She tipped her head back, offering her lips, and he captured them in a brief kiss. She shifted her thighs apart in invitation. He dipped his hand lower and ran his fingertips along her folds until he found the little flowerbud, smiling at the low cry from her lips. She arched her back and her breathing deepened as he drew his finger along her center.
“Harald!”
She let out a cry, and he slipped his finger inside her, and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Her body rippled and pulsed, drawing him in while he captured her cries with his kiss. At length her shudders subsided and her body relaxed, until the steady breathing indicated that she’d fallen asleep.
Though his cock was stiff with want, he remained still, cradling her in his arms. To think, that he could experience such fulfilment from giving her pleasure yet receiving none in return!
He ought to forgive her past—forget that she’d lain with her brother, and build a structure in his mind as strong as the Norman tower overshadowing Wildstorm. The memory of her past indiscretions would join the memories of Hastings and of Margery—events that were best forgotten.
* * *
The next morning,Harald tested the weight on his leg, and his wife suggested he remove the splint. His leg was healing well, but the smile in her eyes spoke of another reason for her suggestion, and his groin tightened in anticipation.
His body still reacted when she was near. Not just his body—he had enjoyed her company during his recovery. In his experience, women sought out his company when they wanted something—jewels, status—or in Roswyn’s case, a good hard tupping. But Eloise made no such demands. Her subjects of conversation extended beyond the trivial interests of women. She spoke with passion about the treatments she could administer for the sick, and she did not fill the silence with useless tattle. For the first time he began to consider a woman in terms of how she affected his heart rather than his cock.
Try as he might, he could not banish completely from his mind the images of her with her brother. When she spoke of Henri and her childhood, a dark knot of hatred swelled inside him. Perhaps her father might reveal the truth. Though he’d permitted her to write to him, his primary reason for inviting Alain de Morigeaux to Wildstorm was to confront him about his daughter’s history.
Aided by Jeanette and Torfin, his wife unwrapped the bandage and removed the splints which had immobilized his leg for nearly two months. The swelling surrounding the wound had lessened, and there was no telltale sweet smell of putrefaction.
“Your leg’s almost healed, my lord,” Eloise said, her eyes lighting up as she smiled. “Soon, you’ll be able to walk unaided.”
“Then I shall claim my reward,” he said.
Her face flushed a delicate rose and she dismissed the servants, but before he was able to unlace her gown, the sound of footsteps broke the spell and Torfin burst into the chamber.
“My lord!”
“God’s bones!” Harald cried. “Get out—out, I tell you!”
“Nay, my Lord!” Torfin cried. “You must come, now!”
“What is it?”
“Beauvisage has returned,” the servant panted. “He demands that you administer justice on a traitor.”
“Traitor?”
“The one who orchestrated the uprisings,” Torfin said. “By order of the king, he’s to be executed by your hand.”
“Who is it?”
“I know not, my Lord; I’ve not seen Beauvisage myself. Collin ordered me to bring you to the main hall. He’s sent for Roswyn also.”
