Page 17 of The Conqueror’s Lady (The Knights of Brittany #2)

S he’d been skittish all day, ever since returning from the village and being the target of Brice’s dark temper. His friend had these episodes frequently and it was best to let him seek relief as he had today—riding far and fast. It was almost as though he knew his days as an unencumbered knight were drawing to a close and his time as a lord with many responsibilities and duties drew closer. Brice wanted those things, as Giles and Soren did, but the approach of gaining that which they had dreamed of and never thought possible made them nervous and uncertain.

Giles had faced it on his way here to Taerford, but had had only a few days in which to tackle his fears and ready himself to take control. Not an easy task, preparing for things in a matter of days that others took their lives to do, but now, seeing Brice grow tense and irritated, he wondered if his experience had been the easier one.

Giles tried not to press his attentions too quickly, but now that the time was here he was skittish, too. He’d watched as Fayth said her prayers, sliding the prayer beads over and through her fingers, her lips moving but no sound escaping. And all the while, God forgive him, he’d thought of nothing but her naked body under his.

He was hard already. He thought that it had started at the slight nod she had given him during dinner to his unspoken question about whether her courses had stopped. She’d blushed, while his blood had rushed to his manhood and had never left it. Giles shifted from his place on the floor, trying to ease the tightness in his groin, his blade now sharper than it ever had been after this last hour of working the stone over its edge. Anything, anything to keep his mind off what he wanted to do to the lovely Fayth.

What he would do to her once they were abed.

He tried to look away when she glanced over at him, but he could not. She’d removed her veil and let her hair down once he’d closed the chamber door and now sat in only her shift and a robe that she’d found in one of the old chests of clothing that day. The worst part was knowing the beauty that lay beneath those flimsy coverings and even knowing the scent and taste of her skin.

Finally, finally she’d gathered the beads together and put them on the table, signalling an end to her nightly ritual. She stood then and poured some wine into a cup, offering it first to him and then raising it to her mouth when he shook his head. Giles watched as her hands trembled badly. He stood then and went to her, steadying the goblet so that she drank every drop.

‘Are you nervous, lady?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

He poured more wine for her and waited while she drank it, hoping it would ease her fears. When he took the cup from her and placed it on the table, she looked at him.

‘Will it hurt as I have heard?’

‘I, too, have heard such things, but I fear I know not, lady. I have never bedded a virgin.’

Virgins were not for men such as him; they were only dreamed about by men like him. Virgins were too precious to waste on bastard sons, men who could only get as far in life as they could grab or fight their way to. Virgins were saved for men who deserved them and who were raised to have them as wives.

Now, gazing into her eyes, he hoped that he proved worthy enough to have a woman like Fayth of Taerford. He was going to try to be.

Giles left her for a moment and put out the candles in the chamber, leaving only one lit by the bed. He wanted to see her face as she cried out her pleasure this time. He’d purposely left only his shirt and breeches on and he removed them with an amazing speed now. He pulled the coverings loose, turned them back and then sat on the edge of the bed. He held out his hand to her.

‘Come to me, Fayth.’

Giles knew he was asking for more than her body with his gesture; he wanted all of her and all that was hers to give. Now. The slight movement of her hand signalled a willingness, but her hesitation spoke otherwise.

‘No more half measures between us, Fayth. Come to me and be my wife, support me in my endeavours, for our success and for our people.’

‘It is too soon, I think,’ she whispered, still not taking his hand.

‘It is not soon enough,’ he replied.

‘You would offer the same allegiance you ask of me, Giles? Simply because I bled and proved my words to you?’

‘I would trust you as my wife if you gave me your word, oui, your honour now proven by your blood.’ He stood then. ‘I wish it could have been otherwise between us and truly I wanted to believe your word, Fayth. I tried. You know it was a weakness from my past that I wanted proof before trusting you further.’

She watched him with uncertain eyes, yet he knew within that it was not the act that she feared. She feared the rest, what he asked of her.

‘Trust me, Fayth,’ he said. Lifting his hand out once more, he whispered, ‘Come to me.’

That he asked her and did not force spoke much to her of his honour. Regardless of his being baseborn, his actions did tell of his innate nobility. He had qualities that she’d seen go missing in many called ‘lord’, whether Saxon or Norman. And she stood before him, with betrayal in her heart as he begged for her trust.

‘Giles, there is much we should say before—’

He pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her from speaking. ‘There is much we could both confess about our pasts, Fayth. I am asking for your future, from this moment on.’ As though he knew of her actions, he whispered, ‘All will be well for we will make it so,’ he promised.

She watched as he stepped away and sat on the bed. His body was pleasing to her and did not frighten her as it had before; even the proof that he was ready to claim her made her ache in places she had never known existed before he arrived. Fayth knew also that she wanted the life he was offering her. It had come about in the wrong way, but nothing could change that short of another invasion. He was here. He was her husband and he asked her, asked her, to join with him and be his wife.

Fayth reached out and took his hand, accepting all he offered in that moment. Even knowing that a day of reckoning would face her, she would trust him to see a way through it. Moving closer, she waited for him to take her.

‘Kiss me, lady,’ he whispered.

Fearing her inexperience would disappoint him, she shook her head. ‘I know not how.’

He spread his legs and drew her closer. ‘Then begin as we have before and learn the way.’

She stepped closer, between his legs, and leaned her face to his. Instead of touching her, he put his hands on the bed on either side of him and waited. She’d never approached a man like this before, so she imitated something he’d done and slid her hands into his hair and brought her lips to his. When he did nothing but accept it, she began to kiss the edges of his mouth, and then she nipped at his top lip and then the bottom one.

His body reacted, his manhood surged against her legs, but he did not move. Fayth used her tongue to trace over his lips and when he opened them to her she dipped inside his mouth as he had hers. Tasting him and sliding her tongue deeper, she found his and touched it. But when she thought he would taste her, he did not.

Moving closer, even leaning against his hardness, she pressed her mouth more fully to his and, when his tongue did meet hers, she suckled on it as he had done to hers. It was pleasurable and she discovered that with each suck or stroke of it an aching throbbed deep inside her. His taste and tongue filled her mouth then and he changed the kiss, taking control of her mouth even as she felt his hands moving over her body.

When she lifted her head to take a breath, she discovered he’d slid the robe from her shoulders. Letting go of his head, she let the robe drop. Before she could begin anew, he untied the laces of her syrce and opened it. She closed her eyes and waited for the touch of his mouth.

Her legs trembled as he kissed her breasts, licking them and nipping at them and then suckling one tip and then the other. She rested her hands on his head and slid her fingers through the length of his hair. When the sensations became too strong, when her legs gave out from the onslaught of feelings rushing through her blood, he lifted her and placed her on the bed. She thought he would bring the covering over them, but he did not. Instead, he covered her with his body and took control of her.

His mouth moved from hers, onto her neck and shoulders, and every touch made her ache. When he took her breasts again, her body arched towards his, her woman’s core heated and wet and wanting his touch there, too. Instead, he laughed and made his way down her body, sliding up onto his knees and not allowing her to move. When she reached over to touch his hardness, he pushed her hands away.

‘Not this time, Fayth,’ he said as he renewed his attentions to every inch of her.

It was hard to breathe now, hard to hold a thought, hard to do anything but feel, and feel she did. His mouth was on her stomach now and that place between her legs pounded as the ache grew stronger there. If he would only touch her there, ease the ache with his fingers, she could…she would…Tossing her head back, she released the moan that fought its way out.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please,’ she begged. He ignored her words and continued his path lower. When he spread her legs, she tried to hold them together. The candle’s light might be dim, but he would see…there.

‘Open for me,’ he cajoled, his tongue and mouth now on her thighs.

Not sure of anything but needing him to finish this torture, she let her legs fall open. But he did not touch her there. He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder and pulled her closer. His mouth kissed along her leg, nearer and nearer, until she thought he must mean to…

Oh, he could not think to…!

And he did. Before she could protest such an indecent thing, he opened her with his fingers and then placed his mouth there. She tried to pull away, the in tensity of her body’s reaction scared her, but he held her with his hand on her leg.

‘Be at ease, Fayth,’ he whispered, not lifting his mouth from her.

When his tongue moved over the place that ached the most, she lost the battle and simply felt. Tongue, lips, mouth and even, she thought, fingers touched her there, sliding over and in, making her arch and pull from it, making her wet and making her want something that he held just out of reach. He found that same spot he’d used his fingers on before and now licked and even sucked against it until she felt nothing but the tension within her.

Something wound, tight and tighter, inside her, until she could not move and breathe. Then it released her as waves and waves of pleasure rushed through her body, easing and answering the ache. She moaned loudly and keened out some sound from deep inside. He moved then, but she cared not, her body wept its release as he placed himself over her.

‘Fayth, look at me,’ Giles ordered in a gruff voice. When she opened her eyes they were soft and her gaze dreamy with the pleasure he’d given her. But he wanted her to know the moment he took her and made her his. ‘Wife,’ he said as he entered her tightness and pushed through her maidenhead.

He knew when it hurt her, for her gaze cleared of the passion and watched him as he moved in and stopped, waiting for her body to adjust to his. He could pause only a few seconds, for his body, denied this pleasure, demanded more. He slid his hand beneath her bottom and lifted her hips and plunged in deeply, touching even as far as her womb. Her wetness eased the way now and her body gripped him as he thrust forward and slid back, over and over. He began to lose himself in the pleasure of being deep within her when he felt his seed ready to spill.

He tightened and he pushed deeper still, plunging in until he could go no further and held himself there. He emptied himself within her and moaned out his release, enjoying the feel of her tightness throbbing around him as he did so. When there was no more to give, he pulled himself out and lay at her side.

It took several minutes before he could catch his breath, and he feared looking too closely at her for either his lust would reignite or he would see disappointment on her face from the pain she’d suffered. He should have known that Fayth would react as he least expected her to.

‘Is it always like that?’ she asked as she rolled to her side and pressed up against him.

‘Nay,’ he answered, peering at her in the dim light. ‘Each time can be different.’ He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘Did I hurt you?’

She rubbed her eyes, wiping away any others before he could. ‘A little, just as you…as you…’

Pierced her maidenhead. He shook his head and smiled softly. ‘And the rest?’

He swore she snuggled closer to him as she replied. ‘It did not hurt.’ She leaned up on her elbow. ‘Will it hurt each time?’

Giles watched as her gaze moved over him. When she moved her hand, he thought she meant to touch him.

‘Nay,’ he rasped out, both in answer to her question and as a plea for her not to lay her hand on him there.

His flesh responded as though she had, for it filled once more and rose up. Then she did touch it and it extended beneath her palm. He inhaled sharply at the pleasure and pain of her grasp. ‘Nay, Fayth.’

He pushed her hand away and climbed from the bed. She came to him a virgin and he must see to her needs instead of simply rolling her over and ploughing her like a common whore. And, more importantly, she was his wife and he needed to have a care for her.

Her maid, knowing of his plans as most likely anyone in the keep did, had left a bowl of herbs on the table and a pitcher of water heating near the fire. Pouring the steaming water over the crushed leaves, he gathered up a few cloths and carried them to the bed. Giles took her hand and eased her to the side and waited as she used the scented water to soothe and clean the area between her legs.

He then washed himself and watched as she went over to the chest that held her clothes. When she lifted out a clean shift, intent on putting it on, he shook his head.

‘Do not waste your time,’ he warned. ‘I will have you next to me as you are now when we are abed.’

His bold words were made bolder by the reaction of his body. There was no fear there when she looked on him.

‘And what about you?’ she asked, glancing at his hardness as it now stood against his belly.

‘I fear it will take more than once before the desire I feel for you is satisfied,’ he promised. ‘It stands ready for the next time. When you are not sore,’ he assured her.

He’d pulled the covers up when she climbed into his arms, turning her back to his front, as they’d slept these last few nights. Giles looked ahead at a long night of trying not to press his attentions on her in her state when he felt her rub her bottom against him.

‘You are ready and I am not sore, Giles.’

He pulled her closer, holding her tightly and sliding his hardness between her legs. Her wetness already slickened the folds there and he slid himself into her.

She might not have ached then or for a while after, but later on in the dark of night she begged for mercy and he simply held her close as she slept, satisfied in a way he’d never known before.

Virgins were not for bastards like him. Heiresses were not for mercenary knights with no name. But he’d received both in his marriage to her, along with a siren who had no idea of the passion she held inside.

So, if he now held all he’d ever wanted within his grasp, why did his heart pound with fear?