Virginblood (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 4) (4 page)

"You should not think of all men as
the same," Isobel whispered, wiping the tears from her maid's
cheeks. "You punish them all for the sins of one. Why let that
monster spoil, forever, your chance of pleasure and sexual
fulfillment? If you allow that memory to remain in your brain like
a canker it will destroy you, Jeanne. Don't let him do that to
you."

Jeanne submitted meekly to a firm
embrace from her mistress, inhaling the lady's sweet scent. The
herbs and flowers from the bathwater were still fresh and strong
upon her damp skin. "Yes, my lady," she managed, stifling another
sob, feeling very sorry for herself and quite childishly jealous of
the men who made love to her mistress.

Isobel stepped back and began to dry
herself. "Besides, Jeanne, a woman can retain her maidenhead and
still enjoy a few games with a man."

"Games?"

"With mouths and fingers and
little...well, you should ask one of the men here. They will show
you."

Jeanne shook her head and helped her
mistress into a clean under-shift, then a gown. "My lady, I will
not fall into sin with these men."

"Sin? My dear, Jeanne, monks and holy
men will tell you it is a sin because they do not want us to enjoy
fucking. They believe women should not receive pleasure from the
act, and one way to ensure they do not is to make them feel guilt
about it. Do you think that is fair?"

"I suppose not, my lady."

"And since it results in the pain and
danger of childbirth, why should we not take some delight out of
the cause?" She turned her back to Jeanne, pulling her wet hair
over one shoulder so that the maid could tie the laces of her gown.
"Life is hard enough. We deserve some reward for all that we go
through."

Jeanne thought about this and she
supposed there ought to be some balance. The world was so heavily
weighted in favor of man and perhaps her mistress was right to seek
pleasure where she could. Even if it was with these seven naughty
devils.

Whatever Jeanne told her
mistress to the contrary, and despite the horrifying experience
from her childhood, she
did
find the sight of a handsome, well-hewn, naked
man alluring and exciting. But she could appreciate a pretty woman
too and Jeanne did not like to be told who or what she should
prefer. Long ago, she had made her mind up that her duty was to
pleasure Isobel and no one else. Even pleasuring herself made her
feel guilty and disloyal to her mistress.

But now it occurred to the devoted
maid that her passions had always been given, not received. It was
Jeanne who gave relief with her tongue and fingers and it was Lady
Isobel who got to climax without repaying the favor.

As a faithful servant for
so many years Jeanne had never even thought about the inequity.
Until now. Because another had done that to her today for the first
time. Not just to her, but
for
her. Oh, he had probably got pleasure from it
too, but he had not climaxed as Jeanne did.

When Lady Isobel spoke of
reward, Jeanne wondered when hers would come. Raised to believe
that her reward would be found in heaven, she now feared she might
never get there. Considering her murderous past, she might go
directly to hell. Her mistress told her that what she did could not
be held against her—that it was done out of desperate necessity to
save herself. But would God see it that way? She had still killed a
man, whatever her reason. There was nothing in the ten commandments
that said "
Thou shalt not kill unless
forced.
"

There was, however,
"
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's
wife
." And she did quite a lot of that
these days.

The more she thought of her chances at
heaven's gate, the more she doubted them.

Chapter Three

Ram found her churning butter the next
day. It was sunny but not very warm. Still, after the rains and
wind of the last few days the image of warmth was a welcome
respite—perhaps one of the last pleasant days they could expect
that year. Through the small window of the dairy, golden light
crept in and kissed her head as she bent over the churn, hard at
work. But it was cool inside for a sentinel line of trees had been
planted around the small, stone building to keep it well shaded,
and he could hear the branches rattling against the roof as a
gentle north-easterly wind toyed with them.

"You should leave that to the
dairymaids," he said.

She did not look up. "I must make
myself useful somewhere."

He had seen her at work around his
father's castellany, of course, solemnly turning her hand to
anything and everything.

"That little wench is a damn good
worker," his father had said recently. "Pity she's got such a
sulking face."

As the maid of a fine lady, Jeanne
need never busy her hands with anything more than sewing garments
and brushing hair, but it seemed as if no task was beneath her.
People were—"sinners" like him—but not work. It was as if she tried
to keep herself busy and in his experience folk only did that when
they were afraid of thinking too much.

Ram propped his shoulder against a
beam and watched the autumn sunlight playing over her long, thick
braid.

"I suppose I must apologize for
yesterday," he managed finally. "When I...found you in the
barn."

That apparently surprised her so much
she almost fell off her stool. Two blue eyes were raised slowly in
shock and doubt. "Why would you apologize to me?" She scowled and
her fingers clamped tighter around the wooden plunger. "What do you
want, Ramon?"

He laughed. "More of the same? Much
more."

She sighed in disgust, shook her head
and resumed churning.

"Can a man not apologize without
having his motives questioned, little one?"

"Not when he is a d'Anzeray." Thump,
thump, thump went the plunger.

Ram crouched beside her and
immediately saw her stiffening. "I should not have frightened you,"
he said. "For that I am sorry."

"You did not frighten me." She kept
her gaze on her work, but sunlight shimmered over her down swept
lashes and dusted them with gold. He thought how soft they must be.
Like the rest of her. Delicate, but not fragile.

"How did it make you feel then, little
one?" he ventured.

"Angry!"

"Even when I suckled the juice of your
dainty peach?"

She flushed scarlet. "Yes. Angry." Her
bottom slid sideways to perch gingerly on the far side of her
stool.

Annoyed, frustrated, he stood and
leaned against the beam again, arms folded over his chest. How did
one seduce a determined, stubborn virgin who thought pleasure was a
sin? Ramon had no experience with virgins.

"I don't believe you were still angry
when you came with my tongue inside you," he muttered
crossly.

"That was merely my body," she
replied. "My body acts one way and my mind another. I can't—" Her
words stumbling to a halt, as if she thought she'd said too much,
Jeanne got on with her work.

"You're wrong, little one.
Your mind tells your body what to do and feel. Your mind plays a
role just as important when you climax." Suddenly he pushed away
from the beam and tried to snatch the plunger from her hands. She
clung on, so they were both holding it, his fingers close to hers.
"If your mind worked separately, your body would be like this
butter churn, an object with a purpose to serve but no way to do it
until someone lays hands upon it, makes it move. But we are human
beings and we move of our own accord, because our mind tells us to
do it." He leaned down to her. She was very still, breathing hard.
Ram's lips were almost on her brow. "Some people like to pretend
their mind had nothing to do with it, because then they think they
are absolved of any so-called
sin
their bodies commit. But they are fools, Jeanne,
and they lie to themselves."

She blinked, and he was close enough
to feel the breeze of her lashes on his unshaven jaw. Or he
imagined it, perhaps.

"It is all one, Jeanne. Body and heart
and mind and soul. What one feels they all feel. What one does they
all do." He straightened up, still holding the plunger with her.
"Don't blame your body for what your mind wants."

"Thank you for the lesson," she
replied, her voice curt but slightly breathless. "But you should
not assume that my mind and my body work the same as yours. We are
very different people."

He groaned and released the plunger to
her tenacious grip. "Have it your way, wench. If you want to remain
miserable and trapped by fear of your own desires, so be
it."

"As your brother said yesterday, you
make your choices in life and I should be allowed to make my
own."

But it was not in his nature to give
up. Neither was it the d'Anzeray way to let a stubborn woman win an
argument. She was too young and naive of course to know that his
brother, Domingo, had plans of his own for her.

"I can prove to you that your mind is
just as easily roused as your body, Jeanne."

She glowered at him, but the woman was
curious. He saw it in the tremble of her plump lower lip, the
tightening of her fingers, the catch of breath in her throat. Ram
may not have much experience with virgins, but he knew plenty about
arousal and temptation.

Slowly he came back to where she sat.
"I can give you a climax with only my words," he added, his voice
low.

Silent, she stared, opening and
closing her fingers on the plunger. He moved around behind
her.

"I won't even touch you," he
vowed.

The branches of the trees outside
rattled against the stone wall and tapped the slate roof. A cloud
passed over the sun and took away the golden shaft of light that
had previously touched her head, but her hair still held some of
that shine. Like a halo, he mused.

She would like that, no
doubt.

But she had not moved away. Her lips
uttered no protest.

"There is a curl at the nape of your
neck, little Jeanne," he whispered. "The color of wheat just before
harvest. It lies there beside a smaller curl that is darker, more
tightly curled. Can you feel my tongue, licking slowly along your
neck, where those curls sit? Can you feel the tip moving that hair
aside to taste your skin? And now my lips against your ear. I might
nibble very gently, the tender flesh along the edge where it is
pink in that slender beam of sunlight."

Jeanne shifted very slightly forward,
and he heard her breath quicken. He smiled.

"My hands slip down your back, sliding
your shift away, lightly caressing your spine, all the way to your
sweet bottom." He leaned closer so she would feel his words blowing
over the curve where her neck met her shoulder, just above the edge
of her woolen gown. "Then back up, along your sides...feel my
touch, Jeanne? Ah yes, you do. I feel little goose bumps lifting
under my fingertips. Hmm, I might need to run my tongue along them.
And then I'll turn you over and taste the curve of your titty,
press my lips to your pointy nipple and take a gentle suck at the
little nub."

"No. Never. I would never let you,"
she gasped, but it was so soft he barely heard it.

"Let me suckle your delicious bubbies,
Jeanne, while I run my fingers over the pouty cherry between your
thighs. I'll press, stroke and tickle as I feel you getting sticky,
but I might have to lick you down there and see how ready you are.
Before I use my cock. You're so small, Jeanne."

Ram paused, but there was no
response.

"Turn over on your front. As you were
yesterday in the barn. Let me look at you. Yes. Legs apart. I can
see the trickle of your essence shining between your nether
lips."

He could not even hear her breathing
now. Outside the window the clouds moved on, pushed by the
gathering strength of the wind, but alternate flutters of sunlight
gilded her hair again between each passing shadow.

"I'll try my fingers first inside you
and find the key to make you squeal, to make you come undone. I can
feel the warm silk of your cunt, tight around my fingers." Sniffing
the side of her neck, he smelled rose oil mingling with sage and
rosemary. He could taste her on the back of his tongue already.
Remembering how she creamed for him yesterday, how her quim
trembled and squeezed around his thrusting tongue, his own arousal
mounted too fast, drove the actions running through his mind. His
balls ached and he felt the stirring of seed, ready to shoot up his
shaft at the mere thought of her juicy peach as she bent over on
all fours, bottom lifted and knees spread in the straw. "I want to
put my cockhead inside you and hold it there at the threshold while
I squeeze your full titties. With just one more push I can be
buried inside, root to tip, prying open your maidenhead, but I'll
savor the moment. You're at my mercy, little one. You're squirming
now, your body arching, your breasts captured in my hands, your
bottom pushing back. Wait, Jeanne. Wait and I'll give you every
inch of my cock until you can take no more. I feel your pulse
fluttering against the crest where I'm already leaking seed." He
groaned. "Pull me in, Jeanne, guide my shaft deeper and let me
claim your virginblood."