The Craftsman (12 page)

She didn’t think he’d hear above all the cursing, but he did. Wulf turned his head, glaring fiercely. And almost took his eye out with the other end of his spear.

Suddenly he leapt out of the water. She scrambled to get up and run, but he captured her in the long grass and the bulrushes, his weight pinning her down, squeezing more laughter and breath out of her.

“Yes I am a skilled craftsman,” he muttered. “One day I shall have a little wood shop and folk will come to me from miles around.”

“I’m sure they will,” she replied, quite confident of it. She could already imagine hoards of housewives, using any excuse to get something new made, queuing up with their requests, eager to lay eyes on the legendary Wulf and swoon in his presence. He had no idea of course.

So she did, her arms sliding around his neck, her lips kissing his right cheek, pressing against his sharp bristles. “Is that better?”

He turned his face, offering the left cheek for the next kiss, but at the last second he turned back and caught her lips with his. “Much better.” He slanted his mouth to hers, kissing her hard, pressing his tongue between her lips.

“Two nights ago you said you didn’t know how to kiss,” she reminded him as their lips slid apart again and she licked his rough chin.

“Two nights ago you said that bedding me was a duty.”

Yes she had said that. How long ago it seemed now. “It
is
a wife’s duty.”

“Joan tells me you meant to enter a convent,’ he said abruptly.

She unclasped her fingers and her hands slid down over his shoulders to lay against his wide chest. “Yes.” A quick pinch of guilt made her close her eyes rather than look into his. She’d suddenly thought of her cousin, Amias, whose place it was likely she’d taken in this man’s strong arms. Would the error be discovered and her deceit exposed? Of course it would. It was only a matter of time.

A gentle breeze ruffled the long grass by her sleeve. Dandelion seeds drifted by in a soft cloud, and she could hear the stream rippling lazily by. She was so glad she was there in that moment that her heart swelled painfully. Oh she didn’t want to feel this. She couldn’t afford to grow so attached again. People got sick and died, minds changed, affections waned.

Mistakes and lies were uncovered.

It was not wise to give away too much of oneself.

Wulf was fascinated with her now, but he was new to all this. How long could she keep his interest? She was not a fresh young woman. She was thirty. Plain. Infertile.

It was glorious summer now, but in a few months harsh winter would set in and he would grow restless, as men, dogs, and horses did when confined indoors too long. Women would not be as reticent to keep him company as the fish in the stream today.

But, on the other hand, she should make the most of this while she had it. Before the sky tumbled and he knew he had the wrong woman. Her barren state would easily render the marriage null and void, leaving him free.

His hands were sliding up her outer thighs, lifting her gown and shift, his knees parting her legs. She lay supine under him, making no protest at the lack of preparation as he pushed into her, his breath on her neck, his hands spread under her bottom.

It didn’t take long for his cock to find its rhythm, filling her to the hilt. Wulf kissed her cheek and her ear.

“Emma, I like this very much. Do you?”

She wanted to laugh, but in a desperate way, with so many fears and doubts spinning about in her head. And so his question went unanswered.

Her legs clinging around his hips she welcomed him in again and offered her lips in a kiss that prevented the need for any reply.

* * * *

As they came up over the hill, they were joined by Thierry Bonnenfant who rode on horseback, a string of dead conies hanging from his saddle. Clearly his hunting had been more successful. Wulf tucked his empty basket behind his back, irritably swinging the leather strap around his shoulder. He looked at his wife and caught her eyeing Thierry’s plunder. No doubt she would not laugh at Thierry as she’d laughed at him half an hour ago.

The other man dismounted to lead his horse, conversing easily with Emma, charming and never awkward. Never falling over his words, so they came out brusque and clumsy.

Wulf had been about to take his wife’s hand as they walked back toward the castle, but now he held back, thinking she would not want him clutching at her with his great paw. Mounting him was a duty, he remembered again, pressing his lips tight. She didn’t do it because she liked it. She merely suffered in silence.

But last night, in the storm, she was daring, reckless, savage—almost another woman. What would her proud, cantankerous maid think of that?

He still could not make Emma out. Her grain led him one way and then another.

When they got back to the castle he went directly to his workshop, with much on his mind, and stayed there until supper.

Later, entering the great hall, he saw his wife chatting with Thierry, enjoying the other man’s charm as most women did. They talked of France, sharing memories from their childhood. He sat heavily beside his wife and she turned at once to smile at him. Until she saw his expression.

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

He shook his head, a gesture that answered her and also chided his own thoughts. What was this sudden pang of jealousy? She was his wife, was she not? According to law she was his property now. There was nothing to fear. Not her love for her first husband, or the envy of other men. She was his now. Further easing his temper, she took his rough hand in hers and raised it to her lips. Surprise and pleasure jolted through him, left his insides in a tangle.

“You have been busy in your workshop,” she whispered. “I did not want to disturb you there again.”

He sighed, looking at her elegant, smooth hands wrapped around his fingers. “You may disturb me as often as you chose, wife.”

A slight puzzled frown crossed her brow. She looked especially beautiful this evening, he mused. There was more vibrant color on her face and her hair sparkled with fire, putting the candlelight to shame. She wore a slender circlet of silvery white stones around her head. Mother-of-pearl, he realized, after studying them for a moment. Just like her eyes, those beads constantly changed shade as she moved her head. They seemed alive and breathing. Her gown was lush dark green, made of some fine cloth that felt like powder under his fingers. Expensive no doubt. Her first husband had been a rich man and Emma was from a noble family. Wulf knew he could never give her material things like that. All he had was himself and his craft.

Emma looked at it. “That’s…very nice, Wulf. Thank you.” And she smiled, clearly not having any idea what it was. Or what he meant to do with it.

He laid it in her hand. “Feel how smooth it is. I spent hours filing it.”

“Yes.” She ran her fingers over it. “One would hardly know it is wood.” She examined the narrow, rounded end and then the flat circle at the broader end. “Is it for winding thread around? Or is it something for my hair? I know, ‘tis a new buckle pin for my mantle.”

On her other side, Thierry Bonnenfant leaned forward to admire Wulf’s handiwork. “’Tis a superior piece of craftsmanship. What is it for?”

“My wife’s arse.”

Emma’s heightened color drained fast. She closed her hand around the item and glared hard at Wulf, a mute warning he decided to ignore, having seen her nipples peaking excitedly through her gown again and the subtle widening of her pupils.

“Ah, excellent,” Thierry exhaled over her prim shoulder. “It will increase her pleasure and stretch her for cock at the same time. Ingenious.”

He watched her bite her lower lip in mock humility. Naughty wench. He could feel her excitement already. His shaft twitched and grew in his breeches.

Emma lifted her lashes and her gaze met his. Reaching over, he ran a finger down the curve of her cheek. “Do you like my gift, Emma?”

That was all she ever said, he brooded.
If it pleases you.

He cleared his throat and plunged ahead, raising the stakes. “Perhaps you’d join us later, Thierry?”

The other man went still, the wooden peg in both hands. There was no mistaking his interest in the offer, but he looked at Emma, hesitant to accept, hoping for her approval.

Wulf smiled. “My wife will invite you, I’m sure.” Her nipples were almost poking through her gown. She must be wet between her thighs. He’d seen yesterday how much she enjoyed the other men participating, how she loved being out in the storm, the reckless thrill of it. He still had much to learn about his wife and also about his own desires, but above all else he wanted to pleasure her, to give her everything she needed—even things she’d never known she needed.

“What is that?” his sister suddenly exclaimed in his ear, having noticed the wooden peg in Thierry’s hands. “What have you made there, Wulf? A toy for my babe?”

Chapter Nine

She took a breath, which did little to quell her nerves. In her hands she held the wax plug he’d made for their experiment. The chamber was lit by many candles and the bed covered in extra fleeces. He’d prepared for their night; that much was clear.

As his wife, her body belonged to him. She wanted to please him. That was all she wanted.

But a steady pulse throbbed away between her legs and she knew that last night had been only the beginning of their adventures. Wulf was learning. But so was she, when she’d thought there was nothing new to learn.