The Good Sinner's Naughty Nun (8 page)

She trembled, moaning, her tight anus opening a little more around his fingers.

The other soldier abruptly withdrew, but he was not yet done. He whispered in Thierry's ear.

Again, the thought of taking over and sending the other soldier out came to him in a blinding flash. He chose to go on and let the game continue. It was not unlike so many he'd played before. Sliding his fingers from her arse, he told her to turn over. The woman flipped over eagerly, legs spread. Her face was flushed, her eyes misty. So she was enjoying Dominic's cock. What woman wouldn't? Before Thierry could suggest having his turn again, the other soldier had impaled her once more, this time holding her ankles to his broad shoulders as he rutted away contentedly between her thighs, big balls swaying, his shaft plowing in and out in a rhythm that seemed as if it would never break pace. Thierry began to grow annoyed and impatient. He'd seen Dominic fuck before, of course. He knew how long the man could make it last.

He foolishly hadn't considered that before he invited him in. Oh yes, Dominic Coeur du Loup was always shy at first but he soon fell into the swing of things. Usually he liked it from behind so that the woman did not see his scarred face, but tonight, for some reason, he turned her over and now his gaze was on her beautiful breasts as they bounced with every thrust. Once again, thought Thierry with a surge of resentment, he'd acted without thinking it through when he told Dominic to stay. Just like the nuns and the wine barrels. Now he was in danger of coming in second. His generosity to his fellow men was about to bite him in his behind.

What if she preferred Dominic?

Damn.
What was happening to him that he should worry like this? His own sexual prowess was in no doubt. He'd pleasured countless women. And men.

"Give me your cock," she said. He looked down at her. Yes, that had been her voice and her warm brown eyes were pinned hungrily to the staff he held in his hand. He knelt on the pallet and she lifted up on her elbows to take him in her mouth. He growled, grabbing her soft hair and letting it fall through his fingers. Had she seen the anger in his face? Somehow she'd known what he wanted just then. His pride soothed. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to that blissful sucking pull.

For several moments the tent was quiet but for her gentle sucking, his erratic panting breaths and Dominic's solid grunts. The lantern light flickered over her hair, making it seem even more mysterious, the color like nothing he'd ever seen before.

* * * *

She took her mouth from Bonnenfant's cock. "Don't spill in me," she warned the other man. The last thing she needed was a babe. The soldier obligingly pulled out, but he did not spend. His cockhead was juicy as an overripe plum and about to spit juice, but he held it admirably.

She looked up. "Your turn again, Bonnenfant." Trying to keep the urgency out of her voice, she stared at his long member, glossy now with her saliva. She wanted him deep inside her again. As much as she enjoyed Dominic's powerful thrusting, there was something special about Bonnenfant's maddened, wild fucking, as if he was always on the verge of losing control. She liked thinking she caused that.

He turned her over on her knees again, apparently still intent on claiming her anus for his own delight. But Vivienne was in charge and she firmly refused again to let him fuck her there, so he satisfied himself with tonguing her arse crack and working her core with his expert fingertips until she came yet again, screaming this time, heedless of whoever might hear.

* * * *

Thierry filled her pussy with his engorged cock, slightly frustrated that she wouldn't let him claim her other charm, but certainly in no position to complain when her cunt milked him so splendidly, drew him in until he never wanted it to end.

He was dimly aware of Dominic holding out his cock for her lips again, grumbling that he couldn't wait any longer to come.

Even Dominic, that most infamous master of holding out, was apparently unable to fight this woman's witchcraft.

Thierry cupped her buttocks, squeezing them as he plumbed her tight cunny with rigorous strokes, wanting to be sure she knew the difference between him and Dominic.

"
Sister Vivienne
!"

* * * *

She turned her head, her mouth open, the soldier holding his cock out for her went unsatisfied as it bobbed against her cheek instead.

In the entrance of the tent stood Sister Marie, her face a picture of horror and disgust. She had two soldiers with her, and a man in a deep blue robe, richly made.

Dominic swiftly moved back, fumbling to tie his breeches, clearly embarrassed. Not so for Thierry Bonnenfant. He chose that moment, naturally, to thrust one last time and shoot his seed lavishly in her pussy, so she couldn't even get away and hide. His hands holding her hips, pulling her tight into his groin he ground into her, harsh breaths rasping out over his lips.

"
Sister Vivienne
!"

Couldn't the woman see she was busy?

Vivienne was finally released and she scrambled to cover herself, the warrior's seed so far inside her that it she did not even feel it trickling down her inner thigh yet. He turned, pulling up his breeches and fastening the ties with steady fingers, as if he did this sort of thing all the time.

As he probably did, she thought churlishly, pulling her hair over her shoulder, averting her gaze from the people who had entered so unexpectedly.

"Forced you?" That stopped the smug look on his face. "I never forced you, woman. You desired it as much as I did."

"How dare you deflower one of my girls," Sister Marie cried. "The king shall hear of this."

"I did not have the honor of her deflowering," he snapped. "She'd already been plucked."

"Explain yourself, Bonnenfant. Is she, or is she not a nun?" the man in the blue robe demanded, walking forward into the tent, staring at her face through the flickering lantern light.

"She has pretended to be one," Thierry answered, glowering at her. "But she is not. She is a common thief, caught prying into my saddle bags."

Vivienne decided not to bother denying it. Her body still tingled from his exquisite touch and sweat lined her skin. Sister Marie's gimlet eyes were boring holes in her face.

"I know this wench," said the blue-robbed man suddenly. "She is an infamous whore, Bonnenfant." He put his gloved hand around her chin and made her look at him. "Works for that crooked Bishop Ravillard. She is his creature. Must be here to tamper with your mission."

With horror she recognized him now. Baron Montagu. She'd stolen a silver chalice from him in Paris a year ago at least. Another mission for her master.

"She fucked me once and left me poisoned with herbs that kept me tied to the privy for three days and almost killed me. Oh yes, I remember this whore."

There was a short pause. "I suspected as much," Thierry muttered, low.

"The Bishop must want these relics for his own profit. I will take his whore off your hands, Bonnenfant, and dispense justice. How glad I am to get my hands on her again. This is most fortuitous."

The response was immediate, Thierry's voice tight with bitterness. "Why should I hand her over to you? It was me she sought to cheat."

"I have authority and precedence over you, Bonnenfant. I am the Baron Montagu and I came to pray before the holy remains of Saint Apollonia. Sister Marie informs me you hold the key. I should like to see it now."

Vivienne eyed the newcomer with suspicion, her instincts on the alert. She was not going anywhere with him, whoever he claimed to be.

Apparently Thierry was also not convinced. "You come in the middle of the night to see these old bones, Baron?"

After a short pause, while they all looked at one another like cats preparing to fight over a mouse, the Baron explained that he'd only just heard of Saint Apollonia's remains passing through Hythe and being removed to Normandy first thing tomorrow. He came at once to pay his respects to the holy relics.

Again he asked for the key, his gloved palm outstretched. The Baron Montagu clearly expected immediate compliance from this younger man over whom he claimed "precedence". Thierry Bonnenfant, audacious upstart, stood his ground.

"It can wait until morning."

Vivienne felt a warm flutter of admiration, beating like moth's wings around her heart. Not many men she knew would stand up to a man like Montagu, who, so it was said, shackled his servants to heavy weights and then hunted them through his forest, instead of animals, just for sport.

The Baron's neck strained from the collar of his fine cloak, taut veins prominent as he choked on his fury. "You will let me see the relics now, Bonnenfant. Hand over the key. And Ravillard's whore," he added. "I'll take her too."

Thierry pretended to feel in his breeches and then padded barefoot to find his tunic, searching that in the same manner. He told Dominic to go and fetch the casket from the nun's tent and the soldier, still slightly pink with embarrassment, trotted out of the tent.

"The key," Thierry muttered. "
The key
. Now where did I put it?" He looked upward, as if trying to remember.

"You do have the key?" The Baron exclaimed impatiently. "Surely it is not lost."

"Oh, 'tis not lost. I just can't remember where I put the damn thing." Thierry laughed stupidly and shrugged. Vivienne was poised to sneak away when he caught sight of her and shouted. "Where do you think you're going, wench?" His eyes gleamed with a fierce light. "You took it did you? While my back was turned?"

He knew, of course, that she didn't have the key, but now they all looked at her. Thierry pointed a quivering finger. "She has it. The thieving whore!"

Vivienne took off through the tent flap, pushing an astonished, indignant Sister Marie into the Baron's reaching clutches. She sped across the camp, holding the cut shreds of her gown together with one hand, hair flying out behind her. She'd almost reached the pitch-black shelter of woods, when a pair of hands grabbed her—one around the waist, the other around her mouth—and hauled her back behind another tent of hides.

She crouched uncomfortably in the tight space, struggling to get her breath back. Fortunately she had some air through the slats of the barrel and she pressed her eye to that thin strip of light, watching men run by with rush torches. The clatter of armor and excited neighing of horses quickly followed, picking up the chase.

Other boxes and hay bales were stacked up around and over her, until she had only one tiny spot left to watch through. She listened as voices shouted that they saw her heading for the water.

They'd used her as a scapegoat for the missing key, and Bonnenfant clearly had no intention of handing it—or her—over to the Baron.

She remained stuffed into that barrel so long that her back hurt and her head ached. By the time Dominic opened the lid again, she'd almost given up hope of being released and she seized his shoulders gladly as he scooped her out.

Chapter Seven

"Tell me woman, what's in that box?"

"Holy relics, of course."

"And what else?" Thierry exclaimed. "I know there must be something more. Too many folk want that box unlocked before it reaches Caen, and my job is to make certain that doesn't happen. Now tell me what else it holds?"

Dominic had carried her back to his tent and set her down, her hands roped behind her back, her torn gown secured likewise with rope around her waist. Despite the fact that he'd saved her from being carried off by the shifty-eyed Baron Montagu, she gave Thierry no thanks for it, but stuck her nose in the air and refused to tell him anything.

He knew now that Sister Marie and her nuns had not been aware of the witch in their midst. When Vivienne ran off, the old woman had explained that she never laid eyes on the girl until a few days ago, when she turned up to help guard the casket of relics. Supposedly "Sister" Vivienne was sent to England by the monks of Caen Abbey. She'd had all the necessary papers and seals so they believed her.

Bishop Ravillard had clearly gone to a lot of trouble just to put this woman close to the casket. Close to him and the key. It had evidently been her task to seduce him. Why had he let it happen? All along he'd known there was a spark inside her—unusual, dangerous. But he'd closed his mind to it, because he wanted her so badly. Bewitched. Yes, that was it.

She was a witch. Now he knew.

Well, his peaceful night was well and truly in a shambles now and he had
her
to blame for it.

Sister Marie was back in her tent, angrily guarding that box of mysterious treasure, and the Baron Montagu was off searching for a thieving whore believed to have the key in her possession.

And this woman had sought to trick him. Again his mind circled back to that. Anger shot through him like a flood of arrows soaring high through the air with a sickening rattle, piercing his chest. How many other men had she tempted, seduced, fucked? She'd fooled him with her pious nun act—for a while at least—and Thierry Bonnenfant did not care to be made a fool. Tonight it bothered him beyond the norm. He was tired, he decided, and still tense about crossing the sea.