Bondslave (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards #1 ) (5 page)

Chapter Five

They came over a hill, and down through the fog a small cluster of thatched cottages appeared in the valley below.

"At last," he muttered over her head. "Here I can find some boots."

"I need the scarf retied around my hair," she exclaimed nervously.

"Why?"

"The color is too bright," she snapped.

He snorted. "If any man looks at it with lust while you are in my company, I will slice his throat open."

Her heart skipped. Leaning against his hard chest, surrounded by his strong, warm arms, she
did
feel protected and safe. But he did not know what he was up against and surely they were not far enough away yet. Besides this man had lost his horse and his boots. She couldn't help feeling he needed her as much as she did him.

How ridiculous it was that she should prefer this man to the last master, she thought suddenly, chagrinned. Here was a man who carried a disembodied head around in a sack and spanked her with a belt for disagreeing with him. What made her think he was any better than the Comte who had pillaged, raped and slaughtered his way through her Saxon village and taken her as a possession when she was a mere girl, a naive, terrified virgin?

This man was also a Norman and for many years his people had driven a burned out path of horror and death across the land. He was a Norman. There was really nothing more to be said.

Yet he had gathered herbs and plant roots that morning and mixed them into a paste to soothe the smarting cheeks of her bottom. He had even folded up his fleeced mantle so that she had extra padding under her as they rode.

"Perhaps you know now not to answer me back and call me a pig," he said to her, almost sounding...dare she think it...sorry?

"Perhaps," had been her deliberately equivocal reply.

In truth she thought she rather might like to be spanked again.

* * * *

They rode through the main gates of the bailey and were submerged immediately in a noisy crowd of people and beasts. Hens clucked and scattered out of his path, pigs trotted by grunting merrily and a goat, solemnly chewing a large green leaf, watched them pass with unblinking interest. 

"Since you have no coin, how do you mean to get boots?" his slave had asked.

"You'll see."

He dismounted and helped her down. A sudden shout echoed above the general ruckus.

"Raul! What in the name of all that's holy have you got there?"

Looking over his shoulder he saw the tall figure striding through the crowd toward him, cloak fanning out like the wings of a giant black crow. Almost a mirror image of himself but dark-eyed and with closely cropped hair.

"Salvador," he greeted his elder brother with a smile. "I thought you would have this place in order by now."

"'Tis market day. I let the Saxon rabble have its head on such a day."

Raul felt his slave girl stiffen as she looked over at his brother. Salvador returned her appraisal, his eyes warming quickly while they roamed with evident appreciation over the golden-haired beauty.

"Did you bring a present for us, little brother?" he asked in their mother's tongue.

"No. She's mine," Raul replied coolly, in the language she would understand. "For now."

Salvador's smile faded, as did the brittle light that had momentarily broken through his dark gaze and transformed his stern D'Anzeray features into something less forbidding. Of all the seven illegitimate sons born to their parents, Salvador looked most like their Norman father, but had the eyes and temper of their gypsy Spaniard mother. It gave him the element of surprise for no one ever knew what he was thinking until that temper exploded on their heads.

"Well, I suppose I must welcome you into my home, Raul, even with no gift."

"I won't stay long. I have business in Canterbury. But I need boots."

Salvador looked down at his brother's bare feet. "You rode here like that?"

"I did."

Suddenly they were interrupted by more shouts and three more dark-haired men, two of them in chainmail hauberks, came across the yard to greet the new arrival.

He turned to his slave and explained in a low voice, "These are my brothers. Some of them."

She arched a sun-kissed eyebrow. "Only some?"

"There are two more still with our father in the east."

"Thank heavens," she murmured drily and, so he thought, quite inexplicably.

Tightening his hold on her arm, he led his slave inside Salvador's newly built fortress.

* * * *

The brothers teased Raul about his lost boots. They wanted to know how he came to misplace them, and she decided to speak up, even though he had not given her permission. She would save him from their needling.

"I took them from him and threw them in the fire," she said proudly. "We had a quarrel last night."

They stared at her and one of them— the one she now knew was named Dominigo— laughed uproariously. "And he did not toss you in the flames after them?"

"No. But he has punished me for it." She glanced at Raul and caught his frown before he had the sense to go along with her story.

"Yes," he muttered, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I punished my slave girl, of course."

"Did you give her a good spanking, brother?"

"I managed, Dom. I don't think she'll burn my boots again."

The other brothers joined in merrily. "Or do you need us to help you reprimand the wench?"

"Because you know we're always willing to assist a brother d'Anzeray."

"We share the good and the bad, remember? Always. One for all. All for one."

The men around the table laughed. Even Raul. "I like that," he grunted. "It should be on our shield."

Suddenly Princesa felt goose bumps prickle under her sackcloth. She might have agreed to be his slave and do all that he commanded, but what, exactly, would he command? He drew her closer, tugging her until she perched on his thigh. It was a possessive move and yet his hand was only light on her waist while he chatted with the others, his manner casual now and more at ease.

She cautiously assessed each of his brothers. They were all muscular, of good height and solid breadth across the shoulders. They all had the same dark hair, two wore it shorter than the others and one had grown his beyond shoulder length. Their skin was swarthy, very different to that of her Saxon countrymen. Only Dominigo had the same mysterious silver eyes as Raul and they played over her like warm rain until she quickly looked away. From what she heard of their conversation —when they spoke words she could understand—Salvador was the eldest, with Dominigo close behind him in age. Ramon and Antonino were the two youngest who had remained with their father. Apparently d'Anzeray senior had enemies and required guarding by his sons.

Raul, she concluded, must be somewhere in the midst of the pack, along with the two named Alonso and Sebastien. So much to take in and names to learn. She might have to learn to count properly, she mused.

Surrounded by this army of big men she had felt fear at first, but that was replaced eventually by curiosity, then anticipation and excitement. They talked freely around her, and although they sometimes fell into their foreign tongue, she sensed that they did not do so to hide their conversation from her ears. It was merely habit that made them switch back and forth.

But even as the brothers laughed and joked together there was a wary undercurrent. They constantly parried and withdrew, testing their boundaries with each other.

Yes, she thought, "pack" was a good word for them. They were a litter of rowdy wolves, dark-haired and snappish when provoked, playful but not gentle with it, showing fangs to put each other in place as necessary.

Seated on Raul's knee, she did not feel in any danger now after that first flash of doubt. His brothers might show their interest in his slave, but her new master was in charge of her and they each knew it. He did not need to do any more than place his hand on her waist to mark her as his own.

Not like the Comte, who had shown his ownership by marking her face with a scar, thinking it would keep her from running off again.

When food was brought in for all the brothers, Raul fed her from his trencher, as if she was a pet. The others watched this little performance as they talked, catching up with their news. She read the hunger in their wolfish gazes whenever they looked her way. Black, silver or midnight blue, their eyes were equally turbulent and powerful.

Dominigo remarked, "Your slave girl is very beautiful, Raul. Where did you find her?"

"She came with the horse," he replied, his fingers pressing into her waist.

"Two rides for the price of one, eh?"

"You know me." Raul chuckled. "I always did love a bargain."

"Let me know any time you want to trade. They're both fine mounts, and I always have room for more in my stable."

Salvador cast his fierce dark gaze upon her across the table. "Ah, but our little brother does not care to share this one. He means to be greedy and keep her to himself."

She felt Raul's thigh muscle tense under her bottom. "I'm not sure she's ready for sharing," he growled.

The one called Sebastien exclaimed in disbelief, "Are you telling us she's a virgin?"

The others laughed.

"No. But I saw her first."

"Of course you did, no one would deny it, little brother. No need to puff out your chest and strut like a cockerel."

"I'm sure there is plenty to go around."

"Would you leave us all to go hungry while you feast? Fine brother you are."

"Save some little crumb for us, if you can spare it."

More guffaws of laughter followed this and even Raul chuckled, shaking his head. His hand squeezed her waist. "I might not leave any for you. I might acquire a ravenous taste for this dish."

"Remember you're a d'Anzeray. We share the spoils."

Princesa was amused. They would fight over her like a toy, it seemed. So much for big grown men. Big, eager-eyed, handsome, lusty men. So many of them.

She swallowed hard and pressed her thighs together, trying to deny the heaviness of wanton desire throbbing there at the thought of being surrounded by their powerful bodies.

"Don't worry," Raul muttered, "I have not forgotten how we agreed to share. I know the way of things. But she owes me for taking her in and I have not even had her pussy yet."

The brothers all looked at him in sheer disbelief.

"Not fully," he clarified.

There was another pause and then Salvador said softly, "Savoring her, eh? Then you should go first, of course, little brother."

The air in the hall had changed again now, thickened with a primal humidity.

Raul's hand swept from her waist to her hip. "We should ask Princesa."

She looked at him in surprise. "
Ask
me?"

Every eye around the table was watching her. She felt their admiration like invisible hands caressing her skin and her hair. Raul's fingertips pressing into her hip did nothing to quell the desire building in her pussy.

"No man has ever asked," she said, her voice sounding silly and nervous to her ears. "Men take."

Raul raised a finger to her cheek and swept a stray hair back behind her ear. "The d'Anzeray do not need to take women against their will."

She studied his face solemnly. "Why? I suppose women
have
no will around you. They must be struck dumb as soon as they see your enormous cocks!"

The brothers laughed, and Raul smiled. "See how mouthy she is, brothers? The burden I have taken on." He dropped his hand from her face to her knee and then slowly gathered her gown up, sliding the rough sackcloth over her thigh. "But her nether mouth speaks sweeter words." Her pressed his hand between her legs and would surely feel the moisture there.