The Intended (16 page)

Mary reached for the latch and, without
knocking, pushed open the door.

Caddy looked up in time to see the young
woman’s face go as pale as a corpse. Mary clapped a bloodless hand
to her mouth, stifling a cry of shock.

The hideous creatures—once old men, once
human—clawed at her body. They had her—trapped, hemmed in,
helpless.

Unable to drag herself away, she stared
through the tattered rags they wore at the ulcerous sores in their
decaying flesh. Here and there, bones—dry and chalklike—poked
through shriveled, leathery skin. Like a circle of starving
animals, they stared down at her through black, eyeless sockets.
Gray, bony hands clutched at her, tearing at the dress she wore, at
what suddenly occurred to her had once been a wedding gown.

Her hands and feet were held in viselike
grips by fleshless hands. In the distance she heard the sound of
bells tolling, far off, as if in another world. She wanted to cry
out, but a cold, rank-smelling hand clapped over her mouth.
Suddenly, at her feet the circle opened, and she saw him. More
horrible than Death himself, the monstrous cadaver stood, aroused
and ready between her legs.

Catherine sat bolt upright, awakened by her
own troubled vision. A candle flickered on the table by her bed,
and a dark figure loomed over her. Terrified, she drew in her
breath, but a huge hand stifled her scream. She looked up into
Edward’s gray eyes and saw the familiar lust in them, keen and
predatory.

“Damp already?” he whispered, shoving her
roughly back onto the bed. With one finger, he traced the beads of
sweat from her brow down to the side of her face, to her throat and
into the opening of her shift above her heaving breasts.

She twisted her mouth into a wry smile. “I
gave up hope of your coming.”

“So you started without me?” he asked,
sweeping with one swift movement the covers from her bed.

Catherine gasped with surprise as he roughly
yanked at the bottom of her shift and sank two fingers into the
folds between her legs. But it took her only a moment to adjust,
and she purred with delight as he began to stroke her
womanhood.

His tone was harsh, but she hardly noticed.
“Or were you dreaming of me, dear cousin? You are already wet. That
is certain.”

“Oh, Edward,” she breathed, delighting in the
sensations his touch was causing her. “This...this horrible dream.
There were old men...standing...ready to take me. I am
so...mmm...glad you’ve come.”

“I haven’t come yet, my dear.” He quickly
withdrew his fingers from between her legs and, grasping her by her
wrists, jerked her upright on the side of the bed.

Catherine, her mouth set in a pout at his
abruptness, looked up at him, tall and handsome, standing before
her with his legs spread. His face was dark and shadowy—his
attitude masterful.

“Well, aren’t we feeling manly tonight!” Her
hands reached for his doublet, but as she did, Edward took hold of
both of her wrists and roughly pushed them lower.

“Undo it,” he commanded, referring to the
pronounced bulge in his hose.

“This is a lovely task for your future
queen,” Catherine replied, smiling and pulling at the ties holding
his codpiece. “Though after what I’ve been through tonight...after
that horrid dream. I still shudder to think of...”

She stopped as the codpiece fell open, and
Edward’s manhood came free. Humming appreciatively, she began to
massage it, stroking it with both hands. She shivered with
anticipation as it came to life—hard and long and pulsing in her
hands.

“I told the servants not to wake me in the
morning,” she continued in a whisper, looking upward at him. His
face was averted. “We have all night for this.”

“Nay, hussy. We don’t,” Edward said abruptly,
turning his gray eyes on her and roughly shoving her backward on
the bed. As he reached down and took fistfuls of her chemise in his
two hands, he could see a flash of fear in her eye. But that lasted
only a moment, quickly replaced by a moan of pleasure as he ripped
the garment down the middle. Her large, white breasts spilled out
before his eyes.

“You animal!” she said breathlessly, kneeling
up on the bed and bringing one breast to his mouth. “I like
this.”

He suckled at the large, hard nipple for a
moment, eliciting a moan from her. But then he bit her hard,
squeezing her other breast as he did. She cried out softly in pain,
but did not draw back.

“Well! Is this the new Edward? So rough, so
masterful! I could grow accustomed to this, Edward.” Digging her
fingers in his hair, she pulled his face away from one breast and
crushed it against the other. He bit her hard again. Catherine took
hold of his hair with both hands and leaned back, drawing his head
down her belly. More than anything else now, she wanted him to kiss
her...there, between her legs. But before she could pull him any
further down, he pulled back and twisted her wrists, causing her to
release him with a sharp cry. Now it was he who grabbed fistfuls of
her hair in two hands.

“It is your turn, my dear.” He whispered his
words against her lips, but he did not kiss her now.

Catherine arched her back like a cat, but she
let him lower her to her hands and knees on the bed, until her
mouth was at his erect member. His hands never let go of her
hair.

“And you be gentle, cousin,” he said
threateningly, as she opened her mouth and took him in.

Edward looked straight ahead into the
darkness of the room as his fingers dug more deeply into
Catherine’s hair—guiding her head back and forth along the length
of his arousal. Suddenly, he thought of Jaime. Of how tight she
would be when he sank the head of his shaft into her. He should
have done it already. But then, it would be worth the wait. He
hadn’t had a virgin for a long while. It was always better when
they were untouched. They were tight like a glove. Like Catherine’s
mouth felt right now.

He felt himself on the edge. Full and ready.
He looked down as Catherine struggled to pull back, still on her
hands and knees on the bed, the whites of her eyes showing as she
looked up at him. Her legs were spread wide apart behind her. Her
perfect, heart-shaped buttocks were poised in the air. He knew what
she wanted. She wanted to entice him to hold back, to save himself
for
her
lusty desires, but he only smiled
grimly and shook her by the hair, forcing her to continue
pleasuring him with her mouth. The scrape of her teeth against his
skin brought on a flash of his temper. One hand gripped the back of
her neck, and he squeezed sharply.

“Gentle, dear cousin. Gentle! You wouldn’t
want me to hurt you, would you?”

She shook her head slightly in answer, so he
eased his hold and reached down with one hand, squeezing her
breasts and running his palm roughly over her nipples. Edward
continued to grip her hair and guide her head, and the pressure was
now nearly unbearable. Much better, he thought grimly, as
Catherine’s mouth moved more urgently against his shaft.

His release was explosive, and he continued
to use her for his pleasure, making sure she didn’t withdraw her
mouth until he was finished.

Finally stepping back from the bed, he turned
away, pulling his codpiece up and tying it in place.

Catherine wiped her face on her torn shift
and lay back in the bed. Her legs were wide apart, her body crying
out for his touch. “Very well, cousin. And now we shall see what
you can do to...”

Edward turned back toward her, his expression
derisive, nearly triumphant. He said nothing.

“You are not leaving?” she said, alarmed and
angry.

He ran his fingers quickly through his hair.
Ignoring her, he smoothed his doublet with both hands, pulled it
down sharply at the waist. With meticulous care, he adjusted his
belt and arranged the dagger that hung from it.

“You have pleased me well, Catherine.
Continue in this fashion, and I may—at some future time—renew my
acts of charity toward you.”

“Your charity?” she laughed, ridicule ringing
in her voice.

Edward turned on his heel and started for the
door. Catherine bolted from the bed.

“Edward, you can’t go yet!” She ran after
him, taking hold of his shoulder as he reached the door. He turned
slowly to face her. “We...we have only begun,” she said, trying
desperately to sound alluring.

“You saw me finish,” he said coldly.

“But what of...what of
my
pleasure?”

“You are a whore, Catherine,” he replied
derisively. “Call in some of your guards. Perhaps all of them.”

She raised her hand to slap his face, but his
hard flat palm struck her cheek first. Catherine spun away, falling
to her knees.

“Bastard,” she hissed, tasting the blood from
her lip. Without trying to rise, she watched him again pull his
doublet down tightly. “Perhaps this is the way your Scottish wench
has taught you to treat her, but with me...”

“Nay, dearest coz. I would never treat my
sweet Jaime as I would you. I desire her with so much passion...she
is such a prize...that I would never waste my seed as I do when I
am with you! Not when I can pour it into her tight womb and listen
to her cry in pure ecstasy!”

Catherine rose silently as his eyes took on a
nasty gleam.

“You see, she is mine, Catherine, and she
waits for my cock to nestle between her legs. So unlike you, who
consider your foul sheath an open market, and then dream of old men
to soothe your lust.”

Struck dumb, Catherine stared and watched as
he turned and strode from her chamber.

One wrong move, Mary decided, her mouth
hanging open, and the Scot was clearly a dead man.

Jaime stood, her fingers wrapped around the
knife that she jabbed directly at his throat. Bare-chested, the
Highlander sat at the edge of his bed, his eyes ablaze with fury.
Distracted by the movement at the door, his gaze flickered in her
direction before fixing again on Jaime’s face. Then, as Mary
stared, the Scot’s face tightened in an obvious spasm of pain, and
his hand clutched at the wound in his chest. Expending tremendous
energy in an effort to keep himself upright, the man faced the
knife once again.

“Put the dagger down, you murderous
wench.”

“Not until you agree.” Jaime lifted her wrist
and pointed the weapon straight at Malcolm’s face. “And you give me
your word on it.”

“Hell will freeze solid before I agree to
anything
you
say!”

“Very well, you ignorant beast. Your death is
your own making, then.”

Mary’s scream jerked Jaime’s head around.
With speed surprising for one as badly injured as he was, Malcolm
struck out at the dagger in Jaime’s hand, sending it flying across
the room and clattering into the corner. Then, as if the exertion
drained his last bit of strength, the Highlander sagged onto the
bed. Mary watched as Jaime stepped back a bit and turned sharply
toward the door, her fists planted firmly on her hips.

“What...what are you looking at?” Jaime
nearly shouted, her glare directed just past Mary’s shoulder. “Get
out until you’re needed!”

Shocked at the vehemence of her cousin’s
words, Mary took a quick step back, only to bump into the first of
the four soldiers crowding the chamber doorway. The men, abashed
and apologetic like so many naughty children, quickly mumbled
unintelligible responses as they backed out into the corridor
again.

“Jaime!” Mary said, breathless and bewildered
at the sight. “You...you were about to kill the man!”

“Step in and close the door, Mary. We have no
need to put on a spectacle for everyone in the palace.” Jaime spoke
impatiently, but turned with a secret sigh of relief, and glowered
outwardly at the motionless Malcolm sprawled across the bed. Beads
of sweat covered his brow, and she herself felt a bit unsteady
after the dramatic spectacle they
had
indeed performed for
the onlookers. She knew the last thing either of them could afford,
was to be caught in each other’s arms. Their detection had been a
near thing, but she and Malcolm had been alerted by Mary’s voice in
the corridor and the crash of objects against the door. All in all,
Jaime thought, the two of them had managed it all fairly well.

But now, looking Malcolm over as Mary closed
the door, Jaime realized the danger was still far from over. His
manhood, erect and hard at the outset of their subterfuge, still
rose prominently beneath the thin blanket. Startled at the sight,
Jaime picked up a second blanket and threw it over his groin
section. From behind her came the sound of the door latch clicking
shut.

“Jaime, what happened?” Mary asked, coming to
her side. “Are you all right?”

“Aye, coz. I am very well, all things
considered.”

Mary took hold of Jaime’s elbow as she
glanced fearfully at the Highlander. He was lying back, apparently
exhausted by the incident. “What did he do to rile you so?”

With a frown, Jaime patted her cousin on the
hand and detached herself, avoiding even a glance at Malcolm’s face
as she moved around the bottom of the bed. “He is a stubborn,
filthy, ungrateful, pigheaded...”

Her description was cut off by a sudden and
well-aimed kick that the Highlander landed on her buttocks. Jaime
recovered, whirling and glaring at the injured man.

“I’m going to kill you!”

“Come away, Jaime. For safety’s sake,” Mary
cried as she rushed down to her cousin’s side. Jaime’s face was
flushed with color, her hair in disarray, her skirts rumpled. She
looked as if she’d been attacked. Mary put a hand around her
shoulder. “He didn’t...he didn’t do anything...”

Jaime looked into Mary’s eyes and then
glanced over her shoulder at Malcolm’s motionless frame. His eyes
were fixed on the ceiling as if he were in a stupor. He could be an
actor in one of the Norwich guild plays, she thought, hiding her
amusement.