Bessie (26 page)

“You didn’t tell him...did you?”

“If he hadn’t been so surly, I might have.”

“You truly didn’t?”

“Come now. You are looking at the proof. Would he have trounced me into a mass of weak bones if he wasn’t angry? And maybe...a little jealous? I may not be as good as he is, but I can usually keep a seat. And just so you know, he swore me to secrecy.”

“That seems to have a different meaning to you Hildebrands,” Bessie commented.

“Not so.”  He put a hand up. “I didn’t say a word about my brother. I merely told you where to find Black-Heart. Yes?”

“Oh, thank you, James! Thank you.”

James waved a hand in her direction before returning to walking his horse. Bessie lifted her skirt and apron and started jogging. The lower bailey was farther than she’d planned on walking. If she didn’t hurry, Devon might have finished and she’d lose her chance.

And her nerve.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

This was extremely foolish. Imprudent. Unwise.

Bessie almost turned back twice. There were guards milling everywhere. One false step and she’d have been caught. She was thankful no one saw her, and annoyed at the same time. She’d hate to replace any of them, but a bit of training might be in order. No woman should be able to run about the castle grounds at night without a challenge to her passage.

Bess hugged the shawl to her and ran with her arms crossed before her. If she hadn’t been over Henry’s construction drawings, she wouldn’t know which buildings were the stables. She wondered if James had known that. The lower bailey housed the guards, stable hands, dog handlers, groundskeepers, and any visiting peddlers Hilde might have. The path needed work. She stubbed her toe on a rough patch and hopped for a bit on one leg. She should have worn boots, not cloth slippers.

Oh. This was ridiculous. The entire affair was.

She’d almost changed her mind when she finally heard him. She stood at the stable entrance and listened to his whistling. He didn’t sound heart-sore or confused. He actually sounded cheerful. Bessie stood at the entrance to the stables to catch her breath, and wondered why she wasn’t surprised.

“You’ll be fine, Black-Heart. Think of all the fillies you can introduce yourself to. It’s only for a night or two. Don’t look at me that way.”

Bess heard the horse’s snort and shook her head. Black-Heart didn’t sound like he was having any of Devon’s explanation. She wasn’t sure she didn’t share the horse’s disgust as she walked past stall after stall of work horses. There didn’t seem any that would catch a randy stallion’s eye.

“There. You will do. You think this bad, wait until I braid your mane and tail. I understand all the centurions did so.”

There were two sources of light at the back of the stable. Both torches. Both in sconces on the walls of Black-Heart’s stable. Devon had his back to her as he brushed an already gleaming side. His horse didn’t look near as tired as the bay James had ridden had. Devon didn’t look it, either.

She couldn’t be certain, however. She was viewing his back. He was wearing an outfit resembling his hunting one. This thigh-grazing jerkin was sleeveless, leaving his arms bare. The leather hugged him, delineating size and power, before it was cinched by a belt. From there it looked fashioned as if to display the narrowness of his hips and length of his legs. He wore thigh boots, and what appeared to be tan chausses.

Oh! This was so exciting! Bessie stopped for a moment and just watched him. What should she do? Say? She silently slipped the latch on the stall door, pushed it open. Slid inside. Gathered a breath. And greeted him.  

“Good eve, your lordship.”

Devon squealed, pivoted, dropped the brush, and shoved back from the horse so quickly, he stumbled. Black-Heart didn’t have much reaction, although he turned his head toward her.   

“What...do you want?” 

Devon’s voice had started on a high-pitched note. That was encouraging. His actions were even more so. They helped embolden her. Bessie took a step closer.

“To see you.” 

Bessie slipped the leather loop back over the peg, shutting the gate. Then, she undid her shawl. This was thrilling! Illicit!

And scary.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled the shawl away. Her belly tightened. Her skin rippled with gooseflesh. She tried to catch his eye, but his gaze kept skittering away. He reached the rear of his horse and backed farther as she advanced.

“How...did you find me?” he asked.

“I was looking. And your horse is hard to mistake.”

“You shouldn’t be looking for me.”

“Why not?”

It was getting easier to make words. Much easier. Bess reached Black-Heart’s side. Devon started side-stepping his way up the opposite side.

“Because nothing can come of it.”

“Surely that’s for me to decide.”

Bessie tossed her shawl over Black-Heart’s back. It slid off Devon’s cheek. She hadn’t meant to, but it was so perfectly timed and executed, she’d have claimed the maneuver if he asked.

Devon jumped back as if he’d been slapped. Bessie smiled. She took a step toward Black-Heart’s flank. Devon took a corresponding one forward. She took two sideways, hopping-style steps in the other direction, toward the horse’s neck. Devon backed the opposite direction.

Bessie was close to laughing at his antics. “Do you wish me to chase you?”

“What?”

“You needn’t run. I won’t harm you.”

“I am...not running.”

“I don’t think he’s telling the truth. What do you think, Blackie?”  Bessie swiveled under the horse’s head, using the halter straps. She could have sworn his horse answered with several head nods.

“His name is Black-Heart.”

“I know what you named him. That is too angry for everyday use. Save it for the tourneys.”

“Who gave you a choice?”  Devon scooted around the horse’s rear.

“No one. My lord...if you are not running, why are you over there, now?”

“Uh...the gate is on this side.”

“What do you need a gate for?”

“Strange you should ask. I am not running.”

“Prove it. Stand still and let me approach.”

He swallowed hard. Bess heard and saw it. The horse halter slipped from her fingers. She stepped to the front of his horse.

“This...is not a good idea.”

“Why not?”  Bessie took a tentative step toward the stall door, paralleling Devon.

“What do you want?”  His voice was even-toned. A bit tremulous. But he hadn’t moved.

“I heard that I no longer appeal to you.”   

“Damn that James. He gave me his word.”

“I didn’t hear it from your brother. You announced as much at your sup. Just last eve. Your servants have ears, too. So...do you?”

“Do I what?”

He appeared to be having trouble with his hands. Bessie watched as he ran one up the lacing of his leather doublet and rubbed the other one along a thigh before fitting both of them to his hips. He looked uncomfortable the entire time.

“No longer find me appealing?”

Bessie tossed her hair off her shoulder and started untying the apron strings that crossed at her belly. She didn’t take her eyes off him the entire time.

“I—uh. Must you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Whatever you are doing.”

“Does it bother you?”

Black-Heart was watching her, as well. The stallion had moved several steps to the side and swiveled his head in order to do so. Bessie unfastened the apron, lifted the neck strap over her head, and dropped it. She stepped over it without looking. She was watching Devon.

He appeared to be having trouble breathing now. She watched his chest rise and fall with quick heavy movements. His glance flicked from her cleavage, to the horse, to her face, and back to her exposed bosom. For some reason, it felt just like he touched her.

It didn’t seem possible, but this was even more exciting than she’d imagined!

“You didn’t answer my question.”  She tilted her head to one side as she said it.

“What...was it?”

He was making small hissed sounds. His hands weren’t on his hips anymore. They were balled into fists at his side. Bessie knew he was exerting effort on it. His bare arms bulged with tight muscle. She licked her lips. If he didn’t wish women’s adoration, he should wear more.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked.

“Oh.”

He touched his gaze to hers for a moment before lifting it somewhere above her head.

“Is that a yes?”

Since he wasn’t watching, Bessie took two steps toward him. She knew he hadn’t heard or suspected it when he dropped his head back down. He jerked back from her.

“Why don’t you just stand still...so we shall see for ourselves?”

“See what?”

“If I no longer appeal to you. Those were your exact words, weren’t they?”

“I...don’t remember. I—”

His voice stopped as Bessie slid even closer, nearly touching. Devon stumbled backward, and fell. He definitely didn’t seem to be as tired as James claimed to be. Devon leapt to his feet the moment he landed. It didn’t help his position. Bess had followed where he’d backed against a wall. His eyes were very wide. Stunned-looking.

“Are you afraid to touch me?”

“My...wife doesn’t want babes. She doesn’t want anything to do with me...in that matter.”

“Who cares about her?” 

“It will mean...loss of power.”

“Power?”

Bessie whispered it. She was having a hard time hearing. There was a distinct throbbing sound in both ears. Heavy. Loud. Rapid.

“You...and I—uh...”

She reached up and touched his throat. His voice halted. This time, she not only heard and saw him gulp. She felt it. His throat moved against her fingertips. And then a tremor scored down his frame, surprising, and mystifying, and encouraging.

“Perhaps you should wear more.”  She settled her thighs against his lower limbs. And she could swear she felt the contact!   

“Me?”

His voice was an octave higher than normal. That might be due to how Bessie ran her gaze from where she touched to meet his. His eyelashes lowered, making his eyes resemble emerald-hued fire. She lurched against him. She had to look back down.

“Laces come apart...so easily.”

She unfastened his ties at her eye-level as she spoke. He groaned. She heard it, experienced the whisper of breath from it, and felt it vibrate thought the chest where she’d rested a palm.

“I cannot do this! I can’t!”

“Why is that, do you think?”

She slid each thin leather lace from its hole, catching a breath with each one. And oddly...they seemed to match his.

“The loss is too great. She will have to relinquish everything. Just like her guardian. A man means—. It—. I mean, he—.”

“Yes?”

Bessie had the laces freed. She didn’t look up to see his reaction. She pulled the last cord out and tossed it over her head in the general direction of Black-Heart.

“Babes!”

Another groan followed the word. Breath brushed her knuckles where they were pressed against his chest. She had to move them. So, she put her fingers into the opening she’d created and slid them downward, separating the halves as she went.
Oh my
. He was bare beneath the leather. Extremely hard. Hot. And moist. She licked her lips.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“There will be babes. Lots. I cannot help it.”

“Do you give them to all your women?”

She held onto his opened vest and leaned backwards to look up at him. She kept her legs right where they were.

“I’ve no bastards, if that’s what you ask.”

“But you have other women?”

“No.”

“Does that mean...you’ll not take what I offer tonight? No matter what I do?”

Devon clenched his jaw so tightly, Bessie feared for his teeth. Cords stood out from his neck. She watched them pulsate while she silently counted. She got to nine before he answered.

“What game is this?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Why would it be a game?”

“That’s all you do...and you never explain the rules first.”

“Oh. You want rules, do you?”

Bessie pushed his jerkin open. He was flushed. Dark-toned. Immense. She placed her right hand flat against his chest, and traced a path down his belly with her left hand. She reached the edge of his chausses and ran a finger along the waistband of them.

“I can’t do this! I have to honor her! I have to keep myself—”

“How about a kiss? That’s all. Unless you ask for more,” Bessie replied.

“Please...don’t do this. Please?”

Bessie leaned forward and touched her lips to the skin right beside her palm. This time, his groan filled the air about them. Bessie barely heard it. She was enjoying how the skin had vibrated against her lips. She touched her tongue to him next, and ran a line from the middle of his chest down to where her other hand still held to his waist. The entire way, his skin rose in goose bumps that tickled her tongue.

She’d bent as she moved, so that when she’d reached his belly, she had both arms wrapped tightly about him and stood at his side. She hadn’t planned the position. She hadn’t planned anything. She held to him because otherwise she’d collapse. Everything was shaking. Her legs felt the strength of gruel. Her belly was in knots. Her breasts were throbbing. This was beyond imagining. She didn’t know what she was doing. Thinking. Expecting. She was having difficulty just breathing.

And Devon was worse.

Bessie rose slowly, forcing her legs to support the move. And then she looked up. Devon wasn’t watching anything. He had his face scrunched into an agonized expression, and was howling at the same time. He wasn’t touching her. He had both hands at his sides, smashed into the wall behind him, clenched into such tight fists, the knuckles were white. He was shuddering so badly, she could hear the soft impact each time he touched the wooden wall at his back.