Elena's Conquest Read online

  ‘You must not be afraid, Saxon girl,’ he said sud­denly. ‘But you must do as my master bids. In every way-’

  Then he broke off, as a tall, forbidding shadow filled the doorway and Aimery le Sabrenn himself entered the little hovel.

  Elena looked up at the man who held her captive, and felt strangely weak. He was tall and powerful in the knee-length leather tunic that emphasized his broad shoulders and was drawn tight over lean hips by a wide, buckled belt. In the sombre shadows cast by the torch, his face looked bleaker, harder than ever, with those strange light eyes a startling contrast to his dark, rain-streaked hair. In his cold gaze, there was a weari­ness, a hint of harshness that made Elena shiver uncon­trollably. He was not so much older than her - he could not be more than thirty - yet somehow he looked so experienced, so bitter. Elena felt the muscles of her taut stomach contract painfully as his eyes raked her.

  ‘Well, my little Saxon’ he said, almost lazily. ‘You’ll be pleased to learn that the guard who assaulted you is about to be punished. Naturally, you are to witness his punishment.’

  ‘No!’ gasped Elena. ‘No - I could not bear to-’

  The man’s face twisted, and the pale scar lifted his cruel mouth in a mocking smile. ‘It was not a question’ he said softly. ‘Hamet, bring her to the clearing.’

  The rain had stopped, though the forest still dripped damply around them. The man, Mauger, was already roped to a tree, his back laid bare for the whip. The Breton’s men stood in a silent circle round him, waiting. Aimery took his position, and nodded to the sergeant, chief of his men-at-arms, who stepped forward. In his hand the sergeant held a thickly plaited leather quirt. Aimery reached for Elena, and held her wrist so that she had no choice but to watch. His lean, strong fingers burned into her delicate veined skin.

  At first, Mauger was silent, though his sturdy, muscular body shook each time the whip seared his taut flesh. Elena turned her head away, revolted, as the leather quirt continued to mark its red weals on the soldier’s broad back. Aimery saw her turn and gripped her small chin between his finger and thumb.

  ‘You will look’ he commanded. This man is being punished for you.’

  ‘No! You can’t make me! I - I’ll shut my eyes - ‘

  ‘Every time you do that’ said the Breton softly, I’ll add ten strokes to the man’s punishment. Now - look.’

  Elena thought she would faint. Aimery held her by the shoulders now, forcing her to witness the punish­ment. When at last he called out, ‘Stop - it is enough’ she turned to swallow dryly, her throat agonised.

  He waited one moment, then turned her tear-stained face up to meet his.

  ‘You did not like that, little Saxon?’

  ‘No!’ she choked out. ‘It - it was vile.’

  He stroked one lean finger down her white cheek. ‘Then you will have to be more careful about your complaints in future, won’t you? You will have to grow up, little Elena. We are soldiers, in hostile territory, and discipline must be maintained at all times. The man’s punishment was not severe. He is a good soldier, and we need him. But he has learned his lesson. As for you

  - you must learn to enjoy these little games we

  play

  Games? Elena was dumbstruck. Meanwhile Hamet, at his master’s shoulder, was watching avidly. ‘Shall we begin now, lord, with her training? I have put your things under shelter, in the woodcutter’s hut - it is quite private there - ‘

  The Breton still held Elena by her shoulders, and was watching her carefully, his grey eyes narrowed in speculation. Elena felt herself tremble beneath his gaze. ‘No, Hamet,’ Aimery said at last. ‘We will savour her education properly. Once we are at the castle, the lady Isobel will prepare her most thoroughly. It will be worth the wait, I assure you.’

  Hamet’s shoulders drooped with disappointment; Aimery said dryly, ‘I see you have little patience tonight, my friend. Why not fetch a willing girl from among the captives?’

  Hamet nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, lord. And the Saxon girl

  she will watch?’

  Aimery frowned impatiently. ‘No, I told you before. She will begin her education at the castle. Put her back in her chains and fetch yourself a girl.’

  Elena, barely understanding their exchanged words but sensing the threat in them, began to struggle as the cold fetters were fastened carefully round her tender limbs once more. Aimery le Sabrenn said, ‘You are foolish, little Saxon. Unless you submit to my orders, I cannot guarantee your safety. Would you rather be out there alone with the other slaves, at the mercy of men such as Mauger?’

  Elena sagged in Hamet’s arms, forced to acknowledge the truth of his cold words. Aimery watched as Hamet carried the girl gently back to her shelter, and his lip curled in scorn. His heart was filled with renewed bitterness against the Saxons.

  The girl, Elena, with her pretence of fragility and innocence, disturbed him. He told himself that her facade was all a cunning mask. She’d probably incited that fool Mauger, and no doubt she would cause yet more trouble before he was finished with her.

  Hamet came back promptly, his teeth gleaming whitely in the darkness. He was trailing a Saxon red­head behind him, one of the rebels they’d swept in from the woods, who somehow managed to look volup­tuous in spite of her ragged gown. Her eyes widened when she saw to whom she had been brought; she moistened her ripe lips as she assessed Aimery’s strong, handsome figure.

  ‘You wanted me, my lord?’ she whispered.

  Aimery let a cold smile twist his features. ‘Of that I’m not sure,’ he replied. ‘But perhaps you can persuade me.’ And he led the way purposefully across the clear­ing to the woodcutter’s cottage, where Hamet had placed his things in the main room. A dim lantern flared shakily in one corner, casting flickering shadows on the sagging roof and earthen floor. Aimery leaned his back against the coarse flint wall, and folded his arms across his chest. On the other side of that wall lay the chained Saxon girl, in the little outhouse. Pushing the image of her frightened yet defiant face from his mind, he turned his cold gaze on the voluptuous redhead.

  ‘Amuse me,’ he said.

  The redhead, gazing after him hungrily, nodded. Then she turned to Hamet.

  She swayed sinuously towards the Saracen, pouting her mouth provocatively at the open delight in his face.

  With one swift movement she slipped her ragged dress from her shoulders, to reveal full, luscious breasts with a dusting of freckles across the creamy skin. Hamet caught his breath. ‘Oh, yes’ he sighed.

  He lunged towards her, but with one finger at her mouth she stopped him, and indicated that he should lower himself to the ground. He did so, lying on his back on the uneven floor, with his big hands pillowing his head. Already his eyes were glazed in anticipation, and his white smile showed his pleasure.

  The girl, breathing heavily, dropped to one side and bent over his hips. With nimble fingers she pushed back his tunic and felt for the ties of his leggings, eagerly pulling them away. When the Saracen’s fully erect penis sprang into freedom, quivering with ten­sion, she let out a little moan at the sight and stroked it with feverish fingers. Then she let her full breasts hang over it and teased the glistening dark knob with her nipples, each in turn, sighing at the pleasure it was giving her. Hamet moaned aloud, and the redhead glanced across at the Breton provocatively. Aimery, still leaning against the wall, watched the interplay of black and white flesh in the light of the lantern with a kind of languid detachment and made no move to join them.

  Then the redhead bobbed down, her flickering pink tongue darting snake-like at the dark, swollen glans. She licked the bead of moisture from its tip, and swirled the tip of her tongue round its sensitive ridge. Hamet jerked convulsively. He reached out to grab at her breasts, his fingers clutching at the sweet, creamy flesh, and his hips arched to thrust his rigid penis full into her mouth.

  She flinched at first, but forced herself to relax, and took as much as she could into herself, using her tongue to suck and caress as
the big Saracen jerked and moaned beneath her. She was aware, all the time, of the Breton lord watching her. Now, there was the one she really wanted. She felt her own juices flowing, her flesh tightening in anticipation at what she hoped would come next. Meanwhile, she used all her skill on the Saracen, cupping his balls gently in her hand, feeling the wrinkled skin tauten and quiver until at last, with a great cry of release, he pumped himself into her soft, moist mouth. She did her best to hold him in there while he bucked, but it was hard, because he was so big. She sucked him and swallowed, hard, until at last his violent spasms began to subside.

  Then he lay back with a groan, the satisfaction glazing his face, and the redhead turned with a coy smile to Aimery. ‘Your turn, my lord?’

  He was already unbuckling his belt. She watched, her small pink tongue flickering between her lips in hot anticipation as she appreciated his wide-shouldered, sinewy body. She knew, somehow, that this man would be the very essence of cool, powerful masculinity.

  Turn round’ he bit out curtly.

  Disappointed, she dragged her gaze from his gauntly handsome face. Then she felt his hands pushing her roughly into place, on all fours. So this was how he liked it. She was sorry, because she would like to have seen that chillingly scarred face in the throes of sexual ecstasy. Perhaps, if she performed to his satisfaction, the Breton lord would summon her again. This was better than living as a runaway in the forest, scratching for food and shelter!

  He was pushing her full skirts up round her waist. His cool, sensitive hands were on her flaring buttocks, feeling for the cleft; stroking, probing. She shuddered and involuntarily arched herself towards him, still wet and excited from the Saracen’s attentions. The Saracen was watching her avidly from the shadows; she heard his master snap a sharp command to him, and the servant slid beneath the girl to suckle with his full lips at her tender nipples, making her quiver with delight.

  Then she gasped aloud, as the Breton parted the wet lips of her swollen vulva with skilful fingers and thrust his manhood in to the hilt. Once sheathed in her moist softness, he stopped moving, and held himself very still.

  ‘Oh!’ The redhead could not stop herself from crying out at the pleasure of it. The shaft of his penis seemed exquisitely long and smooth, and it filled her to the point of delirium. His refusal to move drove her wild; she waited as long as she could, raptly drinking in the pleasure of feeling him deep inside her; then, with a groan, she started to writhe along the hard, wonderful length that filled her, while the Saracen licked at her dangling breasts with hot, darting strokes of his stiff­ened tongue.

  ‘Stop.’ Aimery’s low, masterful voice whispered in her ear. She couldn’t stop, but continued to massage herself along his shaft, quivering in her mounting ecstasy.

  Aimery’s fingers clasped her buttocks, stilling her. ‘I told you to stop. You were ordered not to move’ he repeated, in a calm voice that nevertheless chilled her heated blood. ‘You will not move again until I give you permission - do you understand me?’

  She swallowed hard, and nodded. Her left breast was on fire where the Saracen was licking her with his big, agile tongue, softly rasping at her burning nipple, sending dark, fiery pleasures arrowing down to her abdomen.

  Aimery started to withdraw his penis very, very slowly. She wanted to cry out loud to him to thrust it within her aching flesh again; her hips quivered threat­eningly with her need.

  ‘I said - don’t move …’

  She nodded dumbly and bit her lips hard as he slid himself slowly into her clutching vagina again. So beautiful, so firm, so strong …

  It was no good. She gave a harsh cry of need and worked herself feverishly against him, the black man’s hungry lips at her nipple driving her on into a delirious vortex of pleasure that was conscious only of his thrust­ing manhood deep within her. She writhed her hips in desperate abandon, and rubbed her swollen, aching breasts against the Saracen’s face.

  The Breton withdrew, leaving her cold and empty. She was still.

  Then, coldly and deliberately, he re-entered her and began to drive himself to his own orgasm within her, his thrusts increasing with devastating impulsion, while she struggled to restrain her own pleasure. The Breton said nothing; all she could hear was the harshness of his breathing as he gripped her by the waist and drove his engorged manhood into her soft flesh. At last he gave a final fierce lunge, and she quivered involuntarily, unable to reject the wild pleasure as his long penis quivered and spasmed in the very heart of her body. With a high-pitched cry, she writhed against him, gripping at him, rubbing herself up and down the delicious shaft as her own inevitable orgasm convulsed her feverish body.

  He withdrew, and began to adjust his clothing, watching impassively as the voluptuous redhead lay in damp exhaustion on the floor. Hamet, excited by the scene he had just witnessed, was erect again and straddling her prone body, he began to slide his throb­bing member into her open mouth once more. The girl quailed momentarily, but the Saracen circled her damp lips with the glans of his penis, and the feel of his silken skin excited her so much that she willingly took him in. Hamet, throwing back his head in triumph, pumped himself with long, deep strokes into her mouth, spurt­ing into her. The girl rolled over onto her side, sated and exhausted.

  Aimery touched her disdainfully with his foot. ‘You can go now,’ he said, barely troubling to mask the scorn in his voice.

  She sat up, clutching her torn clothing to her body. She gazed up at him lasciviously. Damn him, with that fascinating scar and long, lithe body. In spite of his coldness, she still ached for him.

  ‘My lord.’ She reached out a beseeching hand. ‘If you wish, I will warm your bed for the full night - ‘

  He gestured her hand away. The hunger in her face disappointed him. There was no pleasure in it when they were so eager. ‘She can go now, Hamet,’ he said shortly.

  She called back over her shoulder as the Saracen led her out of the hut. ‘Send for me, my lord! My name is Morwith …’

  The Saracen escorted her without a word back to the slave lines. She lay down to sleep with the rest of the serfs, and quivered with reawakened desire as she remembered the sweet feel of the Breton’s manhood deep within her heated body.

  She’d heard that Aimery le Sabrenn was like no other man, and now she knew it was true. Stirring feverishly, she reached down between her legs and stroked herself, moaning his name in the darkness as she shuddered towards climax once more.

  Perhaps, thought Morwith longingly, her chance would come again - at the castle.

  Elena lay awake in the outhouse, restless and disturbed. The chains were only a light restraint but, however hard she tried, she couldn’t get comfortable. She could still hear the occasional rumble of thunder in the dis­tance; the night was hot and oppressive.

  Then, she heard the sounds, muffled by the dense stone wall. A woman’s voice, first; then she recognised the Saracen’s deep, velvety chuckle, and his master’s harsh voice giving orders. Then silence; she thought they had gone, or perhaps slept.

  Elena felt the breath catch in her throat when the woman started to moan. Little animal noises; a man’s harsh grunt; then the woman’s voice, crying out, over and over again, small, thin, high-pitched - as though she was somewhere beyond pain, beyond pleasure. Oh, what was happening? More punishments? More -games?

  The muffled noises seemed to go on forever. Elena listened, fascinated in spite of herself, the blood burning in her cheeks, until the last sounds died away. Her pulse still beating wildly, she huddled up in her corner against the crude turf walls. Then she stopped breath­ing, as the rickety wooden door was pulled open from the outside and a gaunt shadow filled the entrance.

  It was Aimery le Sabrenn. Elena stared speechlessly up at him, her heart thudding wildly as he stood there gazing down at her. She felt her throat go dry, not with fear, but with something else; some emotion she didn’t recognise.

  He watched her for a moment then said, ‘I have brought you bread and wine. You must be
hungry. Afterwards, you must sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow.’

  As Elena watched, her blue eyes wide with unspoken questions, he put the wineskin down beside her, along with a manchet loaf wrapped in a white linen napkin. Then he was gone once more, like a shadow, and Elena lay trembling in the darkness, his lean, scarred face imprinted forever on her mind.

  She knew now why she thought she had recognised him, why he had seemed so familiar; the way he walked, the way he moved, everything about his lithe, muscular figure. Aimery le Sabrenn, Breton lord of Thoresfield, was just like the man in her dream!

  Elena squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden, dizzying sensation that swept through her body.

  And she had wanted him to stay …

  Chapter Four

  Isobel said scornfully, ‘I saw her from the window as L you rode into the courtyard. She looks too young. And, my dear, so innocent!’

  Aimery, who had been pacing the private chamber that Isobel had furnished as her bower, turned sud­denly. ‘She is twenty-two. And as for innocence - I thought, Isobel, that was what you wanted.’

  Isobel stepped softly across the rush matting towards him and stroked his cheek where the thin scar split it, the hard ridge of tissue almost silver in the flickering light of the candles fixed to the walls. ‘I thought that was what you wanted, Aimery my love. For your revenge.’

  She pressed her supple body against him, running her hands up his brown, sinewed forearms, and press­ing little, nibbling kisses against the smooth muscle of his chest, where she’d parted his tunic. That wicked Saxon blade had scarred his beautiful face, but he was still as exciting, as dangerous as ever, especially now that he was as rich and powerful as any woman could desire, basking as he did in the king’s favour. As she caressed him, her coiled tongue was hot and enticing; Aimery pushed her away before his own desire should flare too openly. Isobel was worried at this hint of rejection, though she was too clever to show it. She wondered if perhaps he had heard about her visitor last night.