Linda Skye (5 page)

He slowly withdrew but just when his tip had reached her entrance, he thrust forward quickly with his hips flush against her backside. Again, he slowly withdrew, only to slam forward again. Giselle cried out, white lights dancing behind her eyes. Suddenly, Eustache began to pound into her with wild abandon, one hand steadying her at the base of her spine and the other reaching to cup her breast. Giselle wasn’t sure if the cries of pleasure echoing off the stream’s surface were hers or his—but she didn’t care. Just before her knees gave out in a wave of ecstasy, she felt Eustache shudder and release a stream of white-hot liquid into her core.

He pulled her up to cover her with his arms, still trembling with the aftershocks of their love-making. When the fine tremors finally ceased, Eustache guided Giselle from the stream. They helped each other dress before strapping his armour and weaponry to Bayard’s rump. Eustache easily lifted Giselle up to sit sideways across the front of Bayard’s saddle before swinging up behind her. With her carefully tucked in between the pommel and his chest, they set off at a brisk walk back to the manor.

When the chateau was visible on the horizon, Giselle finally steeled herself to ask the question that had been burning at the back of her mind.

“Are my parents…?” She stopped. “Are they…?”

“They made it safely into the chateau courtyard,” Eustache answered. “They are well.”

“Merci,”
she said. “I’m so glad.”

Eustache cleared his throat, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

“I have instructed my men to have Madame Lessard give your mother a job as a scullery maid in the chateau,” he announced brusquely.

Giselle blinked, stunned at the news.

“Why?” she asked.

“You cannot be my chambermaid forever” was his curt reply.

Giselle looked down at her hands. Her chest throbbed painfully. Had her lord grown tired of her already?

“I cannot,” she repeated slowly. She glanced up at his square jaw. “Will you take another?”

Eustache’s lips turned down into a dark frown.

“Another?”

“Another chambermaid.”

He looked down to meet her eyes, his gaze softer than she expected.

“Again, you misunderstand,” he said gently. “I am not releasing you because I want to, but because it is only a matter of time until I am called back to battle by William the Conqueror.”

“When?” she asked, her heart constricting. “When will you leave?”

“I cannot say,” Eustache replied, looking back up to the path. “But we shall enjoy each other’s company until then.”

The chateau loomed before them against a setting sun. Giselle leaned in closer to Eustache.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Until then.”

Chapter Seven

The coast was as windy and cold as he remembered it.

Eustache stood at the edge of his camp surveying the angry grey waters of the English channel as his small entourage rushed to set up tents and start a roasting fire. They had been traveling for a few days and were finally ready to meet the boat sent for him by William the Conqueror.

Only a few months
, he mused to himself as the salty wind whipped his hair into a tousled mess. The days of their last few months together had been steeped in happiness. And by night, they had explored avenues of passion that left them both exhausted and trembling with fulfilment. But he’d only had a few months with his sweet young lover before he’d received the call to arms in England. She had taken the news surprisingly well, her expression stoic yet sad. He hoped she would be well cared for in his absence, and he dared to think that she had not sunk into despair because of the provisions he had arranged for her family.

They were the best few months of my life
, Eustache acknowledged. How he wished to see her face, to touch her cheek and to pull her close to inhale her sweet scent.

But a darker, more violent future awaited him across the channel. Though William had been acclaimed king at Westminster the year before, there were rumours of a rebel upstart in Kent…which meant that William needed to call back all his best soldiers.

And that described Eustache de Fiennes perfectly.

He sighed and turned back toward camp. His tent was pitched, and meat had been spit and was roasting over a fire. As he strode toward his tent, he caught sight of his young groom rubbing down Bayard. The boy was young, but came with his brother’s enthusiastic recommendation. And though Eustache had not yet taken the time to speak to him, there was no denying the lad’s skill with horses. Bayard had been temperamental and edgy with all his other grooms but seemed to accept the slip of a boy immediately. Eustache wondered if the boy would survive the war camps; he was so slight that he was almost feminine. He wandered closer, his eyes quickly inspecting the boy’s work.

But when he was a few lengths away, he stopped abruptly and stared open-mouthed. The boy was humming a soft tune as he brushed Bayard.

I know that tune.

And his strokes were long, even and graceful.

I know that rhythm.

Eustache crossed the distance between them in two long strides. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and spun him around, pushing him back into the horse’s flank. The young groom had deep blue eyes and thick dark hair that was cropped short. He had a long, graceful neck, thin shoulders and a slim waist. He stared back up at Eustache, eyes wide and unguarded.

“You,” Eustache exclaimed.

The boy—
no, the woman
—smiled, a mischievous tilt to her lips.

“Yes.” The voice was melodic and sweet and achingly familiar. “It’s me.”

Eustache took her by the shoulders and bent forward, his expression helpless.

“Why?” he asked, nearly speechless with shock. “Why did you do this, Giselle?”

“Gerard,” she quipped, lightly patting his cheek. “It’s Gerard right now. I am your groom.”

He shook her lightly.

“You little idiot,” he growled affectionately. “Do you even know where you are going?”

“Yes,” she said confidently. “I am going
with you
.”

“This is madness,” he said, even as his arm was snaking around her waist. “Madness. What were you thinking?”

“My parents are provided for, and there is nothing left for me at the manor,” she moaned between hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“And you thought I would just take you with me?” he asked between a snarl and a groan, his hand reaching to pull one of her legs over his hip.

“Is there a groom better than me?”

Eustache stepped back and glowered down in mock anger.

“No, you are most definitely the most skilled of any groom there is,” he conceded. “But I would have words with you in my tent—away from prying eyes.”

Giselle grinned up at him teasingly.

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone,” he said. “Where your
real
name will be on my lips, and we shall see if your skill extends to pleasuring a man.”

She smiled, her bright blue eyes never leaving his. In that moment, Eustache knew he had been conquered, and he yielded willingly to her sweet seduction. He smiled back. Giselle bowed her head in a light curtsey and laughed joyously.

“Oui, mon seigneur.”

* * * * *

About the Author

Linda is a travel addict and a self-proclaimed food critic with an insatiable appetite for the written word. She first developed her love for reading and writing by browsing her grandfather’s dictionaries and etymology books—a habit she has yet to abandon!

Born to Filipino parents in the United States and raised in Canada, Linda is a modern-day nomad, moving across country and ocean with her military husband. She currently lives in the United Kingdom and spends her free time writing, practicing digital photography, updating her food blog and dreaming of adventures at home and abroad. She has travelled throughout North America, Europe, Asia and Africa.

Linda holds a Master of Education and specializes in teaching languages and literature. She has been teaching English as a Second Language, English literature and literacy courses since 2001. Though she is currently teaching part-time at a local technical college, Linda is a full-time daydreamer with a passion for the strange, mysterious and exotic.

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ISBN: 978-14592-3426-0

A Pleasurable Shame

Copyright © 2012 by Linda Skye

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

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