Three French Hens (9 page)

Uncertainty fleeing under passion, Royce caught her by the backs of her thighs and lifted her up. Brinna wrapped her legs around his hips, and caught them at the ankles to help hold them up as he turned to walk to the back corner of the stables where several bales of hay rested. He set her on one that would keep her at the same height, then reached up to tug her gown and shift off her shoulders as she released her legs and flattened them against the front of the bale she sat on. Once the cloth lay in a pool around her waist, Brinna leaned back, tilting her head back as she arched her breasts upward for his attention.

He did not disappoint her. His hands and mouth paid homage, touching, caressing, licking, nibbling, and sucking at her goose-bumped flesh until she moaned aloud with her desire for him. It wasn’t until then that he
caught at the hem of her skirt again. Sliding his hands beneath it, he clasped her ankles, then ran his hands up the flesh of her calves to her thighs, pushing the material before him, urging her legs apart as he did. His mouth moved to cover her gasps as she shuddered beneath his touch, and she drank of him deeply, then bit his lower lip as his hands met at her center. He caressed her, then slid one finger smoothly into her, and Brinna arched into the invasion, her hands shifting to his shoulders and clutching him desperately as she wriggled into the caress.

Tearing her mouth away then, she shook her head desperately and gasped as he slid his finger out, then back in. Reaching down into his braies again, she grasped him almost roughly, trying to tell him what she wanted as she bit into his shoulder to prevent crying out. She felt the cloth loosen around her hand, then felt it no longer as he sprang free in her hand. Brinna ran her hand the length of his shaft, then pressed her feet against the bale, sliding her behind to the edge of it in search of him.

Chuckling roughly at her eagerness, Royce gave in to her request and edged closer, brushing her hand away to grasp his manhood himself and steer it on the course it needed to follow. She felt him rub against her, caressing her as his hand had done a moment ago, and wiggled impatiently, but still he did not enter her, but teased and caressed and rubbed until Brinna thought she would go mad. It was at that point that the tension that had been building inside of her suddenly broke. Taken by surprise, Brinna cried out, her legs snapping closed on either side of his hips as she arched backward.

Covering her mouth with his own, Royce chose that moment to thrust into her. A sudden sharp pain flared briefly where they joined, and Brinna stiffened against it, then gasped and relaxed somewhat as it passed. When he
began to draw himself out then, Brinna’s eyes popped open, dismay covering her face as she clutched at his buttocks to keep him inside her.

“Nay,” she gasped in protest, then blinked in surprise as he drove into her again. “Oh,” she breathed, arching automatically and returning his smile a bit distractedly as she felt the tension begin to build again. “Oh.”

“Aye,” Royce murmured, slipping his hands beneath her buttocks and lifting her into his thrusts.

“Joan?”

Brinna blinked her eyes open with a sigh, sorry to see her stolen moment pass so swiftly. They had just finished the ride she had started. Royce had spilled his seed with a triumphant cry that had made the horses shift and whinny nervously in their stalls in response. Brinna had followed him quickly, biting into the cloth of his tunic as her body spasmed and twitched around him. Then he had slumped against her slightly, holding her even as she held him. Now it was over, it seemed, and he had brought reality back with that one name.
Joan
.

“Joan?” Straightening, he smiled down at her with a combination of uncertainty and gentleness. “Are you all right? I did not hurt—”

“Joan?”

They both stiffened at that shout from out of the darkness.

Brinna peered anxiously over Royce’s shoulder even as he cast a glance that way himself. They both saw that the stable door was open and someone was walking up the shadowed aisle toward them. Cursing, Royce pulled out of her and quickly tugged her skirt down into place. Replacing himself inside his braies, he turned away, hiding her with his back as he faced the approaching man.

“Who goes there?” he asked tensely, reaching for his sword.

“Lord Laythem.”

Brinna heard the breath whoosh out of Royce at that announcement, and bit her lip as she clasped Joan’s gown to her breasts and ducked fully behind him. There was a moment of tense silence as the man approached, then the crunch of straw under his feet ended and there was a weary sigh.

“Well, it would seem I waited too long to see if you would return to the hall,” he murmured, then added wryly, “Or perhaps not long enough.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” Royce began grimly. “I—”

“Do not be sorry, lad. I was young once myself. Besides, this makes me feel better. At least now I won’t have to feel that I forced Joan into something.”

Brinna saw Royce’s hands unclench as he relaxed. Then Lord Laythem cleared his throat and murmured, “Though it may be a good idea to move the wedding date forward a bit.”

“Aye. Of course,” Royce agreed promptly. “Tomorrow?”

“Eager, are you?” Lord Laythem laughed. “I shall talk to Robert, but I do not think tomorrow is likely. We crown the Lord of Misrule tomorrow,” he reminded him. “I’ll see what I can arrange and let you know.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Brinna could hear the grin in Royce’s voice and knew he was pleased. Her own heart seemed suddenly leaden. But then, she wasn’t the one he would be marrying.

“Aye. Well, you had best collect yourselves and return to the hall. I would not want anyone else to catch the two of you so.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Good.” There was a rustle as he turned to leave, then
he paused. “Joan, I want to talk to you ere Mass on the morrow … Joan?”

“Aye,” Brinna whispered, afraid to speak lest he notice that her voice differed from his daughter’s. Not apparently noticing anything amiss, he wished them good night and left.

Royce whirled to face her as soon as Lord Laythem was gone. He was jubilant as he helped her redon Joan’s gown, talking excitedly about how this was a wonderful thing. How the arrival of the dower early would aid his people. They would leave the day after the wedding. They would travel to Thurleah, purchase this, repair that, and spend every spare moment in bed. Brinna listened to all this, forcing herself to smile and nod, and doing her best to hide the fact that her heart was breaking.

“Here, put this on.”

Brinna turned from straightening the bed linens as Lady Joan slammed into the room. “My lady?”

“Put this on,” Joan repeated grimly, stripping her gown even as she spoke. “And give me your dress.”

“But—”

“Now, Brinna. There is no time.”

Brinna started to undress, responding automatically to the authority in Joan’s voice, then halted. “Nay. We cannot do this.
I
cannot. Your father is here now. He will—”

“Today they appoint the Lord of Misrule. All will be chaos all day. ’Sides, he will not bother with me—
you
. He will be drinking and carousing with Lord Menton. You can easily avoid him.”

Brinna shook her head grimly. “I cannot.”

“You must,” Joan hissed, grabbing her hand desperately and giving it a squeeze. “Just this one last time.”

“But—”

“You got me into this,” Joan said accusingly, her patience snapping, and Brinna’s eyes widened in amazement.

“Me?”

“Aye, you. If you hadn’t let Royce drag you off to the stables for a quick tumble like some cheap—” She snapped her mouth closed on the rest of what she was going to say and sighed.

“How did you find out?” Brinna asked, her voice heavy with guilt.

“What do you think Father wished to speak to me about?” she asked grimacing, then bit her lip miserably. “The wedding is tomorrow. I have to warn—” She snapped her mouth closed again and frowned, then turned away, took two steps, then turned back. “Please? Just this one last time. You will not be discovered. I promise. Truly, you know as well as I that ’twill be chaotic today.”

“Not at Mass it won’t be.”

Sensing that she was weakening, Joan pounced. “You shall leave late for Mass. That way, Father will be seated at the front with Lord and Lady Menton, and you and Lord Thurleah will be at the back of the chapel. Just don’t let Thurleah dawdle once Mass is over and it should be all right.”

Brinna blew her breath out on a sigh, then nodded and continued to undress, wondering as she did why she had even hesitated. She wanted to do this. She was eager to spend any little moment of time with Royce that she could while she could.

“Oh, good,” Joan said.

Brinna whirled from closing the bedroom door to stare at Joan in amazement as she rushed toward her. Truly, she had not expected the other girl to be there yet. She had thought Joan would spend every last moment of freedom she had as far from this room as possible. Actually, she had rather hoped that Joan would. After the day she had had, Brinna could have used a few moments of peace and quiet.

As per Joan’s instructions, Brinna had kept Royce waiting that morning, leaving him cooling his heels in the hall as she and Joan had paced nervously inside the room
until Joan had determined that enough time had passed so that Brinna and Royce would be late for Mass and end up seated far from Lord Laythem and the possibility of his noticing something amiss. And the girl had been right. Mass was already started when they reached the chapel. Royce ushered her to the nearest seat, as far from her “father” as Brinna could have wished, and they had sat silently through the Mass.

Royce would have waited then to return to the great hall with the other Menton guests, but Brinna had exited the moment it was over, forcing him to follow or leave her without an escort. She had apologized prettily once they were out of the chapel, claiming a need for air with a suggestive smile that had made his eyes glow with the memory of the last time she had proclaimed a desire for air. Moments later Brinna had found herself locked in his arms in a handy alcove, being kissed silly. And so the day had gone, with Brinna spending half her time dodging Joan’s father and the other half locked in Royce’s arms in some handy secluded spot. The only chance she had had to relax was during the feast itself. She, along with everyone else, had cheered the crowning of the kitchen lad who usually manned the spit as the Lord of Misrule, then had helped Lord and Lady Menton and most of their younger guests in serving the servants while Joan’s father and another guest had taken on the role of minstrels and attempted to provide music for the celebrants.

Once it was over, however, Brinna had again found herself dodging Lord Laythem and spending more and more time in dim corners and dark alcoves, her head growing increasingly fuzzy with a combination of drink and lust. Royce had not gone unaffected by the revelry and their passion himself. The last time she had dragged him off to avoid Lord Laythem, he had nearly taken her in the
shadows at the head of the stairs before recalling himself and putting an end to their embrace. Then he had suggested a little breathlessly that mayhap they should end that evening early so that their wedding day would come that much quicker. Which was why Brinna was now back in Joan’s room before the usual time.

“I am glad you are here,” Joan went on, clasping her hands with a smile. “I was afraid I would not have the opportunity to thank you and say good-bye ere I left.”

“Left?” Brinna echoed faintly.

“Aye. I am leaving. Phillip and I are running away to be married.”

“Phillip?” Brinna stared at her blankly, sure the drink had affected her more than she had realized.

“Phillip of Radfurn. Lord Thurleah’s cousin?” Joan prompted with amusement. “When he visited Laythem we—” She shrugged. “We fell in love. He followed me to court, then on here, and has been staying in the village so that we could see each other.”

“But he told Royce that you were a spoiled brat,” Brinna reminded her in confusion.

“Aye. He was hoping to convince him to break the contract. He wanted me for himself, you see.”

“I see,” Brinna murmured, but shook her head. She didn’t really see at all. “Did you say you were running away?”

“Aye. To be married. Phillip is fetching the horses now.”

“But you can’t. You are supposed to marry Royce tomorrow morning.”

“Well, obviously I will not be there.”

“But you cannot do this. He’s—”

“I know, I know.” Joan rolled her eyes as she moved to the window to peer down into the darkness of the courtyard below. “He is a nice man. Well, if you like him so
much, why do you not marry him? He will be looking for a wife now that I am out of the picture anyway. As for me, Phillip is more my sort. We understand each other. And we will not spend our days moldering out on some old estate. He adores court as much as I do.”

“What of your father?”

Joan grimaced. “He will be furious. He may even withhold my dower. But Phillip does not care. He loves me and will take me with or without—” She paused suddenly, then smiled. “There he is. He has the horses. Well, I’m off.”

Whirling away from the window, she pulled the hood of her mantle over her head and hurried to the door. Pausing there, she glanced back. “I left the rest of the coins I promised you in the chest. Thank you for everything, Brinna.”

She was gone before Brinna could think of a thing to say to stop her. Sighing as the door snapped closed, Brinna sank down on the edge of the bed in dismay.

What a mess. It was all a mess. Joan was rushing off with Lord Radfurn. Royce’s plans would be ruined. His hopes for his people crushed. And she was at fault, she realized with horror. She had ruined everything for him. If she had not masqueraded as Joan, Joan would have been forced to remain here and spend time with him and—

Oh, dear Lord, how could she have done this to him?

“Joan!” Sabrina rushed into the room, slamming the door behind her with a sigh. “It is madness out there. Everyone is drunk and I thought I saw Brinna slipping out of the keep—” She paused as she drew close enough to see the color of Brinna’s eyes and the miserable expression on her face. “Brinna?”