How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel (22 page)

When he tried to spread her legs open wide, she resisted; embarrassed that she was so wet for him.

Gently, he pried them apart. “None of that, now.”

The intensity of her want had to be sinful. One of his hands continued to pull and tease while the other slowly moved lower. She shuddered when his finger met the swollen, wet lips between her legs. He caressed her hardened nub and pushed two fingers into her.

“Well matched.” Warrior fast, his hand was on one ankle. He pulled it over his shoulder as he kneeled in front of her. He grabbed the other, which pulled her, butt to his thighs and he entered her fully with a grunt.

Holy God
. Ann gripped the back of his thighs and dug in her nails. She pushed and pulled against him faster and faster. His balls flapped at her derriere. He groaned and took the lead.

“Oh, sweet God. Come now with me.” He grabbed at the front of her legs and she felt his tip meet the back of her womb; no longer two bodies, but one. She met him on his final thrust and held on with all the strength of her inner sheath, on the brink of coming.

His seed burst into her and he groaned. That was all she needed. Angels sang with her as she reached heaven. He hurriedly caught her scream with a palm to her lips.

Again and again her soft spot pulsed, her ears pounded, and her heart raced. His sword shared her small contractions, as they trembled together. When they stopped, his hands caressed her feet still up by his ears. He released them to the rug and laid her gently flat on the fur. “I’m undone in your arms.”

“Mmmm.” She hoped to now sleep forever in the warmth of his embrace.

What felt like only moments later, Marcus gently shook her. “Thomas has found us an inn to freshen and change before we go to court.”

Chapter 18

Marcus hurried Midnight across the moat at Westminster, with Ann tucked closely in front of him. By the time they reached the far end of the drawbridge, the stench of the feces floating in brown muck had them both gasping for air. Dread tore apart his innards while stone masons chinked away in an odd beat at the far end of the building. From the wagon loads of bricks, he deduced that Edward had big plans for a new wing. A page ran off to announce their arrival and another lad hurried to grab the reins.

“Sir Blackwell? Lady Blackwell? The king will see you now.” A huffing young man, outfitted in a red cap and tunic, arrived at the wood door. He led them through an open room where the ceiling was held up by massive columns. His eyes were drawn beyond the arches to the gilded ceilings, painted with flowers and cherubs. Every inch of the wall was covered by tapestries of battle scenes. New paintings of Edward’s exploits were displayed over an enormous hearth, over six feet tall.

More than two-dozen well-dressed lords and ladies milled around the room. Their looks varied from friendly to outright hostile. He fumed. Even if none in court knew of his past with Edward, his Templar tunic displayed his hard-won right to be here. And his wife, beautiful in rags, was adorned in the finest of green wool, silk, and a diamond the envy of kings. None should dare speak ill of their appearance in court.

Sir David Wellworth moved forward from the crowd and grasped his forearm in a vice-like grip. He slapped him on the back with a mighty thump. “The Beast of Thornhill? At court? Can it be?”

“Wells. Good to see you, but now I’m known as Sir Blackwell, free tradesman, and Viscount of the Green Meadows.”

“Never. To those of us that rode with you and Edward, you’re our leader and we stand behind you whatever fate falls.” Wellworth perused the length of the room and Marcus let his eyes follow. Several other men from his former life recognized him and saluted.

For his ears only his friend whispered, “They’re building a gallows beyond the wall. They say it’s for her. Caution. From the looks of it, there’s plenty room for two ropes.” He left with a quick bow.

Marcus didn’t miss a step when he picked up a handkerchief dropped at his feet by a giggling girl, mayhap just three and ten, dressed in the finest of printed wool. She was adorned in polished gems. He politely gave back the lace, took Ann’s arm, and led her to the end of the room where the king was seated with his counselors.

He began to unbuckle his frog, but Sir Pelham stayed his hand. “The king said you’re the only man he ever allowed armed in his presence.”

“What’s going on?” Ann’s eyes went wider than his battle shield.

He patted her arm. “Hush. We’ll save our words for His Grace.”

At the far end of the room, his royal friend sat at a large oval table; still with the same beard and same demeanor. Several of his counselors glanced in their direction, along with the stunningly attractive, Queen Eleanor. Today, she’d let go of her usual lavish hat in favor of a simple cap. One blue jewel adorned her neck hanging on a thick chain of gold.

Edward waved the men away, took his queen’s hand, and walked to the throne. He grinned as Marcus bowed deeply and Ann followed suit with a daintily balanced curtsy. Eleanor, dropping all courtly manners, jumped from her seat and put her hands on his head. She pulled him up, embraced him, and placed a kiss to each of his cheeks. “Such formality is never for you, Marcus. It’s seems like an eternity since last we saw you.”

He let go of the breath he was holding and grinned. At least the queen displayed no ire toward them. Perhaps they’d survive this day, after all. “You get lovelier each time I see you.”

She pouted with her lips in a perfect O-shape. “I should be angry at you that you didn’t stay long enough to visit with me in the spring.”

In response to the king’s stony face, Marcus made certain to sound obeisant. “I was getting your husband’s permission to wed and needed to be off quickly to get the deed done.”

Lifting Ann from her suspended curtsey, she asked, “This is your new lady and wife?”

Edward grimaced when Eleanor scowled. “You didn’t tell me she was beautiful.”

“Even as king, I’d not dare indulge discussing another woman’s beauty with my own wife.” He shrugged and leaned back into the oversized chair.

“Well put, Sire.” Marcus ventured a guarded smile, found the small of Ann’s back, and pushed her forward. “Queen Eleanor, I’d like to present to you the Lady Ann of the Green Meadows, my wife and most favored companion.”

She didn’t miss his implication. “So. You’ve captured the heart of my ferocious beast, the loyal Marcus Blackwell?”

“I would guess his heart would ever belong to someone as lovely as you, Your Highness,” Ann gazed at the floor and curtsied again. Her manners were flawless; as if she’d been born to courtly behavior.

Marcus’ heart burst with pride when the queen gave a warm chuckle. “Why, she’s perfect. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I’m afraid Edward insists I leave you to your business. I hope to see you
all
at dinner.” She raised her brows ever so slightly at her husband, before departing the area with a swish of skirts. It was clear where her vote lay. Marcus prayed it would be enough.

Taking several ladies in waiting, she glided to the other side of the hall. With a wave of her hand, everyone trailed her out to the terrace. None dared disobey, although many looks lingered in the direction of the throne.

Edward sighed after all had departed and grasped Marcus in a mighty embrace. “It’s good to see you, my good man. It’s been too long. I’d expected you to return after you secured your lands.”

“I hope it’s good to see you, too, Your Grace.”

“Please. Alone, I’m still Edward, the man who fought beside you and whose humble life you saved.”

He kept his eyes lowered. “It was my honor.”

“And mine as well.” Edward laughed, then his mood grew serious as he turned toward Ann. “And who do we have here? This can’t be the murderous widow I sent you to marry? I thought we agreed you were going to execute her.”

“Your Grace, I believe the events of her husband’s death were grossly exaggerated.” He took her trembling hand and squeezed.

Edward’s sharp eyes honed in on the small gesture. “I can understand why you were loath to put her down, but we can’t have my nobility, pretty as they may be, killing other nobility. I’m sorry m’lady, but really now, slicing my knight down the middle was really in bad form.”

“But Sire.”

Edward turned to the table and grabbed a plumed feather and ink. “Now, now, we can put this disagreeableness to rest, right here. I could just sign—”

“Please, Edward. I’d ask this favor of you.” Sweat rolled down Marcus’ face as he worked to keep calm in his voice. Never had a moment held more import.

“Boon? Of me? Come now, you go too far.” Edward shook his head and a wrinkle appeared above his nose, between the eyebrows.

Damnation, this was not going well.
He lowered onto one knee with his eyes to the floor. “Just to hear my tale, Sire. Certainly our time together in the Holy Lands allows me such forwardness?”

Edward’s voice held a hint of anger, but they were both still alive. “All right, stand up. But I’ll hear it from the lady’s mouth. I know how you can spin a yarn to your favor. That being said, I can afford to give ear to such a pretty face for a few moments. Come Lady, and sit here beside me.”

They walked over to a corner sitting area, with a settee and several lavish, overstuffed chairs. “You must be quite remarkable to keep the interest of The Beast.”

After she sat, he strode to a gilded cupboard and poured two large glasses of wine. So that all three could see, he opened a small clay pot of herbs, dumped them into one glass, and handed it to her. “Drink it down,”

“Your Grace?” She looked up at him, then back to Marcus.

“Like so.” He drained his untainted cup and waited for her to do the same. Then he repeated the process.

Her eyes pleaded, and it took all Marcus’ self-control not take her in his arms, but the king had laid down the terms for this interaction. He made his face impassive. If he didn’t, they both could be dead by nightfall.

“Don’t look to your husband. This is not the first time he’s watched me interrogate an enemy to the throne. He’s not only my vassal, he’s one of the few I call friend. The herbs I’ve added to your draught will force the truth out of you and is not harmful. Even if you’ve bewitched him, you can’t charm your way out of this. Tell me what happened that night. I can tell if you lie and if you do, I’ll hang you. Do you understand?”

Marcus gritted his teeth in response to the tears rolling down her cheeks and clenched his hands together, behind his back, to keep them off his sword.

“Begin when thou art ready. I shall indulge you by granting all the time you need.” The king sat down across from her to gain complete access to her expressions. She’d already been deep in her cups today. What would be the effect of more drink?

Knee to knee, as if sharing a secret with Sally, she leaned in toward him. “The evening he died, Lord Underhill had just returned from London. I learned later that he’d been gambling and losing badly. But at that time, I really had no idea why he was so, so angry. More so than ever before.”

She paused, no doubt waiting for a nod, or some kind of acknowledgment. When none came, her eyes closed. “After we dined, and the fire in the hearth burned low, I asked for permission to retire to my room. Lord Underhill said that he would join me shortly.”

Her vacant eyes opened suddenly and stared at something that only she could see. Grabbing Edward’s arm, she said, “Shush! Say naught. I hear him coming. Dear Mary, Mother of God, hide me. He has the strap.”

She keened with a despair born from hell, causing Marcus to bite his tongue so hard he tasted blood. Nothing good was going to come of this interrogation.

“It’s too late. He’s coming for me again. He’s in the hallway. Bar the door. Quickly now.” Down on the floor, she curled into a little ball, covered her head, and whimpered.

“What’s happening now, Lady Ann?” Edward shifted forward in his chair.

“He has an axe. Do you not hear it? No. No. God, no. The wood is cracking.” She screamed, then covered her mouth with her hand.

“Enough. Allow her to come back.” Marcus took a step forward.

The king growled and barred him with an outstretched arm. “Stand back or do I need to call in a guard?”

With a swipe of her sleeve across her nose, she blinked. Her gaze darted all about, as if lost. “He tore my dress off and my chemise and made me lie flat on my stomach on the cold, stone floor.”

“Continue, my dear.”

“He took the whip and struck me once, twice, and again, and again until I counted beyond two and twenty. I remember blood pooling around my eyes and praying to God to take me home. I begged Underhill to send for Brother James to hear my confession, but he laughed. I swear he was possessed by a demon that night. He spit upon me and called me awful names. He said I’d bewitched his rod.”

Marcus had once suffered torture at the hands of the infidels. He’d gladly go through it again rather than hear any more. He turned to the stone wall and whacked it with his fist. Pain surged through his knuckles, and blood oozed, but nothing could ease the pain in his chest.

“When he lifted the awful leather again. I remember now. I see it. Oh, Jesus, Lord above.” Moaning, she made the sign of the cross and sobbed.

“I grabbed the knife sheathed to his leg. As I did so, he slipped on my blood and fell forward onto the upturned blade. I never expected that to happen. You must believe me. The blade was intended for my own heart, not his.”

“I’m so sorry. Until now, I honestly had no memory of that night.”

She lowered her head and clutched her hands into her lap. “I’d ask that you make it swift. You were right. I’m a murderess. I’m . . . I’m an abomination. I killed my own husband.”

Marcus could stand it no longer. “I’ll end it quickly. Surely the woman has suffered enough.”

So this was love. For the first time in his sorry existence, he wanted to be with someone more than life itself. She was the only light he had ever known and now it was going out. He pulled out his sword with one arm and cradled her with his other. He turned his face from Edward so as to hide the overwhelming pain and the wetness on his cheek. She’d never see nor feel the quick sword that beheaded her. Then he would force it down through his own aching heart.

Better to greet death head-on than live a miserable earthly existence alone. Mayhap God, with his infinite mercy, would forgive him and see fit that they could be together in the afterlife. If not, certainly James and John would pray for the release of their souls from purgatory.

The king said quietly, “I know your intent. Put your sword down. Do you still trust me?”

The sword went upon the table, well within reach.

“Good. I’ll turn my head and you’ll prepare the lady, as modestly as possible for me to view her back.”

Marcus wiped a sleeve over his face, nodded, and unfolded her balled-up form. He unlatched her belt, but when he tried to pull her tunic over her head, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Please. No more.”

“Shh . . . Raise your arms so I can remove your tunic.” He prayed to God for her obedience and for once, she complied. He shielded the sight of her body from the guards, as best he could and undressed her. When done, she had one cloth wrapped across her breast and a similar one around her rear.

He squatted to her height and tried to catch her eyes. “Sit astride the chair with your back to the king.”

“Please, don’t make me do this.” She struggled until he finally had to hold her by her wrists. He picked her up, kneed her legs open, and sat her down.

“Nay make more fuss. I’ll cover everything, but what is necessary for him to see. Don’t try the patience our liege lord and king. Please. Do this one thing for me.”

She buried her crimson, tear-stained face into her arms, resting them on the back of the chair. He tucked the soft silk modestly around her lower half. Then he pulled down her breast wrapping to her waist. She sobbed, naked from the neck down. He handed her back her outer tunic. “Cover up your front with this and lean forward. We can only see your back.”

“And that is what I dread most.” She grabbed her dress and tucked it between her breast and the chair back.