| |
Ernesto set his horse into a brisk walk along the grass-lined forest path. He travelled with two of his men. A full moon lit the darkness of night and cast a gentle light. His brown cloak flowed over his bay stallion’s flanks.
Bleak, but determined thoughts filled his mind. The thought of Morena with that scourge of the devil, Amoro of Genoa, infuriated him.
Determined to claim what belonged to him, he had gathered fifty of his best men and ordered them to ride to Genoa in groups of two or three disguised as peasants or merchants to remain inconspicuous. He intended them to unite in the forests outside of Genoa. Then he planned to besiege Amoro’s castle.
Ernesto knew creatures stirred even though an unusual quiet existed in the forest. A bearded vulture flapped onto the bough of a nearby tree.
The creature peered down at him with beady eyes and cawed. Its dark grey wings and tail contrasted with the pink skin of its face and neck that darkened with its excitement. Around its eyes, a long tuft of stiff black feathers descended down below its powerful beak to form a beard that blew in the breeze.
Ernesto shuddered at the sight. The ghastly beasts repulsed him.
Their sustenance came from the flesh and bones of carcasses, no matter how rotten. The sudden appearance of the wretched bone-eater indicated a bad omen. The creature became silent. Ernesto turned away and re-adjusted to the silence.
From the distance came the sound of horses at a trot. Ernesto and his comrades rode off the path and hid in the trees. He regretted dividing his troops into such small groups. This could mean trouble. No sound existed except for the vulture that squawked at the disturbance and continued to peer down at him.
Then he saw them. A row of desolate equines, poorly bred and barely fed, treading slipshod. Their blasphemous riders yanked them up hard at every flaw or stone across the path. As unkempt as their horses, the men wore old, dirty clothes. It made them look callous, slovenly, and mean.
The vulture squawked.
The man at the front raised his hand to halt the men. Bow in hand, he cocked his head and listened to discern the location of the screech.
Through the stained, torn leather of the sheath on his thigh, Ernesto saw the man’s sharpened dagger.
Ernesto held his breath. Could he and his two men stand against this group of brigands? Not a sound disturbed the air, not even from their horses.
The cursed vulture cawed a vicious scolding.
The man with the bow turned his head and muttered something to the others in a thick accent. He smirked and raised his nocked bow and shot an arrow into the tree. It struck its mark. The vulture shot from its branch with a shriek. It fell dead to the ground.
Ernesto’s horse reared and jolted into a panicked run. Those of his comrades followed. All spilled forward into the path of the outlaws.
In a frenzy of shouts, the two groups mixed in a clash of weapons.
Ernesto struck his adversaries at every chance. He slashed and thrust. He heard his own voice emit a foreign barbarous cry. Fierce rage burned through him as his sword sliced through his assailant.
From behind came a blow to his head. He fell from his horse. The world turned, spun, and faded before he hit the ground.
***
LARIA RODE HER HORSE down the wooded path. The first rays of dawn broke through the night sky. Without a home, she faced a frightening future on her own. The forest paths were perilous these days. They teemed with gangs of vagabonds so wretched that everyone who traveled feared the probability of thievery or harm during their journey.
Alone, she felt vulnerable. She could be raped and killed. It happened once before and the dark memory lived foremost in her mind.
A band of brigands once beat and violated her. When they were done with her, they discarded her, naked and alone, by the side of a road. The scoundrels left her alive, but that good fortune bore no relevance. A squad of warriors from Pisa who deserted their posts and fled into the mountains came upon her. These marauders used her even more cruelly than the first group. Mercifully, they too left her alive.
Close to death, Amoro and a large armed escort found her unconscious body. He oversaw her care. A multitude of servants nursed her back to health. At first, whenever he approached, terror possessed her. Amoro sat by her side for long hours during her recovery and took the greatest care not to touch her, even accidentally.
While she recovered, guilt consumed her. She blamed herself for falling prey to the attackers. Amoro put her mind at ease and comforted her. He seemed to comprehend that her mind, more than her body, harboured the pain of what she suffered. Only when she sufficiently recovered did Amoro ask what happened. She purged her pain to him, told him everything, her identity included.
He talked to her softly to convince her she bore no fault. She began to believe him. Her soul healed. Thereafter, she set out to make him love her. She teased him, fuelled his desire while she denied him her body.
Amoro’s torment and need for her grew intense. He moved her into his castle.
His mother made clear her disapproval. The grand duke could never permit a union because of her low noble status and ruined state.
Nevertheless, she set out to convince Amoro otherwise. She toiled to affirm her position, to become indispensable to him. She heated his bed at his every whim. Until that woman from Portovenere arrived. In a single sweep, the bitch managed to thrust her out of Amoro’s life. It humiliated her to realize that the same guardsmen who leered and lusted for her, dragged her from the castle like an animal to slaughter.
Later, well disguised by hooded mantle, she regained entry into the castle. She inserted herself amidst the large group of women in an inconspicuous seat at the back of the room to witness the ceremony of virginity. She waited for what seemed like hours in a small room off a corridor in the underbelly of the castle. When the stillness of night fell upon the castle, certain Amoro slept, Laria made her way to Amoro’s bed-chamber. She recalled the feel of his flesh in her hands and mouth while he slept. Amoro attracted her with a relentless ardour she could neither explain nor defend. When she closed her eyes, she saw herself in the cradle of his arms, tantalized, fondled, aroused. If it took the rest of her life, she would re-install herself into his life. If not as his wife, as his mistress. It did not matter that he believed otherwise.
In the distance, she noticed something move behind the tall grass.
Fear possessed her. How foolish of her to set out without an escort. She drew the dagger from the sheath at her waist and nudged her horse forward cautiously. When she neared, she saw a man, unconscious and bloodied, but still breathing. Laria leapt from her mount and crept closer for a better look.
The handsome man had thick hair and broad shoulders. A look of agony contorted his face. It set her heart aflutter. Where did he come from? She knelt beside him and noticed the blood that saturated his mantle. Several wounds festered. A deep gash marred his left shoulder.
His leg also bore an ugly cut.
The man groaned. His eyes flickered open briefly. She stared into his chestnut coloured eyes. They breached her soul and caused her heart to beat a frantic cadence. A shudder passed through his body. He closed his eyes again.
Laria glanced up and down the deserted path. At this time of morning, it would not be long before someone would pass with either cart or horse. She dragged him from the side of the road and attempted to lift him onto her horse, but could not. Instead, she lugged him into a nearby clearing. With her stiletto, she cut off the ties of his mantle and spread it open to get a better look at his wounds. What she saw shocked her.
Disguised beneath his peasant’s clothes, he wore an elegant tunic of rich cloth with a jewelled brooch with a blackbird at its centre. She froze.
One part of her yearned to nurture the handsome stranger back to health, the other longed to slit his neck. By the fineness of his leather breastplate and the silver and gold trimmings of his clothing, he was either a nobleman or a high-ranking officer. Until she could ascertain his identity, she would protect herself.
***
ERNESTO AWOKE WITH a start. His head pounded. His wrists were bound to a tree. Someone had cleaned and covered the wound in his shoulder and wrapped a large bandage around the gash on his left thigh.
Both injuries throbbed in an uneven cadence.
A woman stood before him, beautiful, buxom. He thought her a hallucination at first, a product of his feverish delirium. Their eyes locked. Strong emotions surged through his body at the sight of her.
“Who are you?” His parched throat caused his words to crack.
Her eyes darted to his hands to ensure the leather bindings remained taut. She stepped back to study him. “That is not your concern.”
A slight singsong lilt touched her voice and it enchanted him. It almost made him forget his predicament. When recovered from his stupor, he asked, “Where are my men?”
“You were alone, close to death, when I found you.”
Ernesto closed his eyes at his good fortune in being alive. Best not to show emotion. “Why have you bound me?” he asked.
“To prevent you from harming me,” Laria spat the words at him, her eyes cold.
Her remark didn’t surprise him. It was the way of war to pillage. A woman must protect herself.
“How could I hurt you when I sit here sorely wounded and barely conscious?” He studied her face and hoped to see guilt there. He did not.
“Who are you?”
“You are the captive. I’ll ask the questions. Tell me who you are first.”
“My name is Ernesto.”
“Ernesto? From where do you hail, Ernesto?”
“Savona.”
Astonishment washed over her. “Duke Ernesto of Savona?”
“One and the same.”
“I’m Laria, a friend of Duke Amoro of Genoa.” Her voice carried a chill, though it wavered.
The answer shook him to his core. Despite his fascination with this magnificent creature in front of him, urges to kill her coursed through him like lightening. She belonged to the very man he wanted dead.
Amoro would ruin his life if he didn’t claim Morena. If given half a chance, he would indeed slaughter her to get back at Amoro. The extent of his hatred must have showed in his eyes for she flinched beneath his stare. It seemed as if she wanted something from him, but how could that be possible?
He brushed his thoughts aside. Instead, his mind roiled with thoughts of escape and revenge. He must regain control of the situation and earn her trust. He needed her to help him gain access to the castle and lead him to Morena.
His eyes fell to his waist. The woman had thoroughly searched his body. She had removed all his weapons and armour but missed the dagger sheathed in his boot and the leather pouch of gold coins sewn into the lining of his mantle. He tested his bonds. They were not tight enough. To slip through them would be simple, though it would take time due to his injured shoulder. He bided his time.
***
NIGHT FELL AND LARIA slumbered. Ernesto freed his left hand from the bindings. He cut away the rest of his bonds with the dagger hidden in his boot and sprang upon her.
He spun her onto her stomach. Laria screamed and tried to crank her neck around to bite him. She struggled as he tied her hands behind her back. He rolled her back around. Fear and uncontained fury smouldered in her eyes. She bit at him in an attempt to tear his jugular out with her teeth.
He thrust the full weight of his body on top of her to prevent the attack. She stopped struggling. He studied her. He became lost in the smooth curve of her neck, the bare skin of her shoulder. She held him entranced, her eyes aflame.
This was Amoro’s woman. The urge to do away with her overwhelmed all other thoughts. He suppressed his desire to strangle her until her unblemished skin turned black and blue. The thought aroused him. Drawn to her full red lips and sapphire coloured eyes, he resisted the temptation to touch her. Her scent filled the air. The morning sunlight and shadows played in the curls of her loose, breeze-swept hair. Ernesto brushed a loose curl from her eye.
At the touch of his hands, a blush blazed across her cheeks.
The feel of her delicate skin beneath his palm ignited him. The power he possessed over her sprung an erection. Disturbed by the disquiet her nearness caused in his body, he shifted his body to sever his hold upon her.
Anger clouded her face, yet he yearned to touch her. Fear in her eyes drove him to lust. He allowed her to turn away from him.
She relaxed a little.
He offered her a small smile.
She returned it with a gnash of her teeth.
His loins quickened.
Her chest heaved in anger.
He moved closer and pulled her hard to his chest until the entire span of their bodies converged. With one hand, he pinned her still and with the other he fondled her flushed cheek. He feathered her full lower lip with his thumb.
She permitted it, but with suspicious eyes. Before she could react, he slapped her hard. Then he pressed his lips tight on hers to stifle her attempt to bite or scream. He held her taut as she struggled beneath him.
It fuelled his lust. His lips bore down on her, relentless and with demands.
She ceased her struggles. A small moan escaped from her and she softened in his arms.
Ernesto slid one arm around her waist and yanked her body hard against him. He forced his tongue over her closed lips, demanding admittance.
Another soft moan slipped from her.
He forced his tongue deeper, harder into her sweet mouth, to taste and savour her. When he sensed her surrender, he tightened his hold around her waist and rubbed himself against her. Long curls of hair brushed against his arm. He stroked her cheek and pushed her short curls away from her temple. He broke the kiss, wrapped his hand in her tresses, and tugged hard to force her head back.
Her eyes met his, dilated with desire. She accepted his harshness.
Confusion and want mingled in her expression as the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her swollen lips. She drew her lower lip between her pearly teeth self-consciously.
At her arousal, Ernesto cupped her chin and lowered his head to kiss her again. This time, he drew her lip between his teeth before he slid into her mouth again. His tongue jostled hers as he explored the curves of her mouth. He thrust against her.
She thrust back.
He winced with the pain of his injuries, but managed to lift her without breaking the kiss. He carried her to a fresh patch of sweet-smelling grass behind a row of thick bushes a safe distance from the road. He lowered her to her feet and tightened his arms around her. He pressed her down to the soft grass.
His hands roamed up and down her sides, from camber of breast to flare of hip. He reached into her bodice and cupped her breast, his thumb moving across her already aroused nipple.
She gasped and arched against him. Provoked by such a response, Ernesto thrust his hips against hers to tease her, to warn her about his hardness. His warm fingers unlaced her bodice and parted the two sides to expose downy, creamy skin and the inner arcs of her breasts.
He kissed her then trailed his lips down the pale column of her neck and across her chest, placing one final kiss between her breasts, feeling her heart race beneath his lips. He raised his head and looked down at her as his thumb pinched her hard nipple.
She gasped, her eyes angered before heat seared her cheeks anew.
Oh, how he wanted to make her scream for him. With her hands bound behind her back, she was helpless to resist him.
He moved to her side, leaning on one elbow. The warmth of his hand framed and squeezed her breast as he lowered his head to kiss her again.
He savoured her lower lip for a moment before tasting her again. He sucked her tongue while his hand pressed along the length of her body, moulding his palm to her curves. His unyielding strokes followed the line of her body, from swell of breast, to diminutive waist, over the flare of her hip, and along her well-formed leg to her boot-clad ankle. His fingers tugged at the hem of her gown until he thrust his fingers underneath it and pushed upwards against the warm flesh of her calves and thigh.
She groaned into his kiss, at the feel of his flesh upon hers, and shivered when his fingers meandered up her leg, pushing her hem upward as he went. Eyes closed, lips sealed, and hot tongues danced together, their bodies roused in rapture.
His hand returned to the fullness of her hips and he slid his palm around to flatten it against her belly. Her muscles tensed and quivered beneath his touch. He backed away from the kiss to look down at her, watching her lashes flutter against her cheeks, studying her heated reaction as his hand crawled lower, cupping her body in his palm.
“Please,” she begged as he cradled her burning flesh.
She gasped when his finger slipped into her and brushed over the sensitive petals of her flesh. Her eyes flew open as his finger teased the sensations from her body, and she stared at him wide-eyed, demanding more.
Unable to wait any longer, he pushed her back into the grass and rose above her, settling between her legs. He unleashed his cock and adjusted himself above her.
Their eyes locked.
She looked straight into his soul, ravenous with need.
Moonlight glinted off her hair. Lust commanded him. He lowered himself upon her and pierced his way home.
He thrust into her, hard and fast. Her sharp, moaning intake of breath startled him and caused birds to flutter above them and their horse to snort beside them.
Surrounded by her, wrapped in her, the scent of her skin and hair filled his nostrils. The feel of her skin against his and her sounds of passion beneath him drove him into frantic intensity. He needed to conquer, to possess all of her.
She returned his thrusts, reacting in fervid need to him, her body clenching his, her legs locking behind him to allow him no escape.
She cried out with a lurid shriek and arched against him, holding him both within and without.
The feel of her clasping him and the sound of her voice pushed him over the edge, spending with abandon deep inside of her. A profound moan slipped from his mouth to mingle with hers.
***
IN RECOVERY, ERNESTO fell into her embrace.
She swathed his body to preserve him within her.
Such intimacy after fucking angered him. He pulled away until his heartbeat slowed and his breaths deepened.
Above, birds twittered and sang within its branches. Entwined in the cool grass, beneath the canopy of branches, the bitch began to natter.
Ernesto listened while she explained how she happened upon him. In the telling, he saw the full impact of her loss. Hurt etched her voice. Then her tone changed to one that rang with bitterness. Throughout, Ernesto uttered no words to interrupt her, but his mind churned as a brilliant plan came to life.
“Why do you not speak?” Laria gazed at him, her cheeks flushed, lips clenched.
Ernest kept his gaze fixed on the sky that peaked through the branches. “I’m thinking.”
“What do you think of?”
“I think of how we have both been betrayed.”
Laria propped herself up on her elbow, a look of curiosity on her face.
“You? Betrayed? By whom?”
“By Dragone. Morena is my betrothed. Her father and I sealed the pact many years ago.”
Laria inhaled a deep breath and flopped onto her back.
“What say you to that, Laria?”
“I say that you are a man who must carry fury in his heart.”
“I carry much more than fury. I burn to take back what is mine. And you, my beauty, will assist me.”