| |
Amoro rode to Savona with a band of twenty men. As they sped through the many coastal hamlets along the way, their velocity and the clatter of their horse’s hooves sent people scurrying out of their path. The full bloom of a verdant summer and the evening sun cast a mellow glow about the ruinous castle of Boccanera.
In the distance, a group of at least a hundred riders bearing the Boccanera standard approached. They reined to a halt and formed a long line to block their path. One of them emitted a prolonged yell and ordered them to stop. Amoro leaned over and whispered to Roberto, who reined his horse to a stop beside him. “Try to keep this peaceful, there are too many of them.”
A broad shouldered man, shoddily attired in rusted chain mail, trotted forward with seven or eight fellow soldiers. He halted his horse and faced Roberto. With a wary eye, he scrutinized the dragon crest on Roberto’s shield.
“A duke, heh?” the fellow remarked as he pulled his sword from its sheath with a flourish and pointed the weapon at Roberto. “So you are the great Amoro of Genoa. You don’t look so brave to me.”
Roberto swung sideways to avoid the blade. With the instinctive reaction of a seasoned warrior, Amoro drew his sword and thrust it at the man’s neck. His touch was accurate. The blade grazed skin and scored a small crimson cut. With a steady hand, he held the sword in place. “Put your weapon away, you filthy scourge of rot or I drive this blade home,” Amoro declared.
The man’s eyes widened.
Amoro scanned the motley group of men. “One move by any of you and you will spend the remainder of this day burying this halfwit.”
The tip of his sword remained steadfast against the meaty flesh. The sight of the blood that ran down the man’s neck brought all motion and sound to an immediate halt. “Shall I kill him?” Amoro bellowed at the group.
No one moved.
“Answer me!” Amoro roared.
The soldiers shook their heads and muttered.
“I am Duke Amoro of Genoa. Is this how you treat visitors who come in peace?”
Again, a noticeable pause ensued, a contrast to the earlier display of arrogance. A sole rider trotted his horse forward. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “You are bold, Duke Amoro,” the man called out.
“My men and I come peacefully to Savona to speak with Duke Ernesto. Order your men to lower their swords and we shall do the same.”
The large man muttered a curse, sheathed his sword, and whipped his mantle about him. He ordered his men to flank Amoro’s entourage and led them to the west side of Savona to Boccanera’s castle. After stripping them of their weapons, the man escorted Amoro and his contingent into the great hall.
Inside, a chaotic scene greeted him. People, already well into their cups, were in various stages of unruliness. Cackles and shouts of women added to the din. Inebriated men acted unscrupulously. One drunken woman sat upon a warrior’s lap, a breast fully exposed. A man beside her slept, his head fallen forward on bent arms amidst a pool of wine and vomit. Overturned flagons and toppled platters added to the disorder. A group of scantily clad women danced with wild abandon to beat of the drums. Wolfhounds bounded about, yelping and howling as they slobbered over scraps of food. Trestle tables crammed the small hall. Hardly anyone could move about in such a tight space.
As people noticed their presence, activity in the hall ceased. Amoro cared naught for the stares fixed upon him. His own eyes were riveted upon the high table. Morena sat beside Ernesto, her head bowed, her hands below the table. When the room fell quiet, she raised her head.
Across the vast distance of the room, his eyes met hers. Unspoken pain in her eyes faded and a glimmer of hope flickered to life. At first, her condition stunned him. His shock yielded to full fury. Both of her eyes were bruised and swollen. She bore a cut on one side of her mouth. What form of monster beat a woman? Provoked to the extreme, Amoro fought the urge to lunge at Ernesto. Such an action would result in his death and that of his men too. What hope then for Morena? No, he must restrain himself.
Ernesto pushed his goblet away and glowered at Amoro. Amoro kept his glare fixed hard in a contest to test who looked away first.
“Ah, Dragone,” slurred Ernesto. “I don’t recall inviting you to my betrothal feast.”
“I have come on important business.”
Ernesto leaned back in his chair. “I have no business with you.”
“I believe otherwise,” Amoro asserted in a tranquil voice. “I’m here to take Contessa Morena, my betrothed, home.”
The crowd drew breath.
Ernesto frowned and leaned forward. “You are mistaken. You have no claim. She is my affianced. I possess a formal document decreeing our union. None can dispute it.”
Amoro turned to look at Morena. He studied her bruised face. She bit her bottom lip as if to cease its quiver. He sensed her desperation, her silent pleas for help. Hope lived upon her face and seemed to spread through her body as fast as fire takes to dried grass. Although his heart leaped with joy at the realization she wanted him, he forced his countenance to remain expressionless. He focused his attention again upon Ernesto. “Let the lady speak. Let her chose a husband for herself,”
Amoro said in a clipped, cold voice.
A long pause ensued, made even tenser because of the restrained tone in which Amoro enunciated his challenge.
“It is not necessary for the lady to choose. Her father made the choice.” Annoyance hovered in Ernesto’s eyes.
Morena paled and closed her eyes. Amoro detected the hopelessness in her visage. It filled him with an ache. He wanted to take her pain on himself, wanted to protect her from the man who harmed her.
“Name your price,” Amoro erupted.
Ernesto tossed back his head and hooted. The crowd emitted a strained laughter to please their overlord. When the laughter stopped, Ernesto lounged back in his chair and sipped from his goblet. He examined his fingernails and made no reply.
Amoro reached into his mantle and withdrew a large leather pouch he tossed into the air and caught. “Two hundred coins of gold now and eight hundred more after you release the Contessa to me.” He took a cursory glance around the room. “Enough to repair this hovel you pass off as a castle and to keep you in luxury for years to come.”
At Ernesto’s silence, Amoro continued, “Or, perhaps you prefer to wager the coins at a baratterie, if such a gambling house exists in this decrepit town. It is said you prefer bull baiting and cockfighting to throwing the dice in a game of Passagio.”
There ensued a much longer, shocked pause, because of the controlled tone in which Amoro delivered the challenge. Crimson faced, Ernesto rose from his chair. He swept everything from the high table.
Trenchers, goblets, and platters scattered everywhere. “You dare insult me in my own home.” Hounds bounded forward from every corner of the room to scavenge the spilled food. “I challenge you to a fight,” he cried. Spittle shot from his mouth. “With dagger or sword, lance or mace, battle-axe or flail, it matters not. The choice is yours.”
Amoro waited a moment before responding. “If I win, the Lady Morena comes with me.”
Ernesto faced Morena and cupped her chin in his hand. Morena swung her head away. Ernesto laughed and faced Amoro again. “And if I win, she will marry me.”
The sight of Ernesto’s hands upon Morena set off a heated rage that swirled deep in Amoro’s belly, but he managed to stifle any outward sign. “I accept on the condition that you lay no hand upon her until our combat is fought and the winner decided.”
“Very well, I agree.” Ernesto’s voice, though quiet, carried an ominous tone.
Amoro raised his fist. “I choose the lance and sword. Prepare to fall, Boccanera.”
***
ERNESTO LAID HIS HEAD down on his bed pillows. The gentle light of the fire from the hearth swathed his bedchamber. He closed his eyes to lessen the effects of the wine. He lay naked beneath the covers.
The door creaked open. Laria entered. He smelled the familiar scent of lavender and opened his eyes. The ginger-haired vixen stood at the end of his bed, her eyes fixed on his, full of promise. The soft rustle of her long tunic drew his attention to her curves. Her gentle, slow breaths announced her desire.
Sensually, she unfastened the laces at the front of her tunic. Her eyes seduced. She exposed her round, voluptuous breasts. Delicate coral tipped nipples jutted out like jewels. She slid the over-tunic from her body. It pooled at her feet. She stood before him, her body sheathed in a lace-trimmed under-tunic. With indolence, she caressed her breasts and rolled her erect nipples between long willowy fingers.
Ernesto’s cock rose. He locked his gaze on her sultry green eyes. His anticipation rose when she sat down on the end of the bed.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice, guttural and sodden with lust, shattered the silence.
A sensuous smile illuminated Laria’s sallow face. “I see you are eager for me this evening.” Her greedy gaze lingered on the obvious bulge beneath the bedcovers.
Ernesto grinned at the goddess before him.
“Yes, fill your eyes with me, Ernesto.” She let the garment fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped out of it and strutted to the bed. Laria ran an unhurried hand atop the covers that covered his leg and up his thigh.
“I see you bear a hearty cock-stand. I’m well pleased.”
Her hand journeyed higher to his chest. She reached for his nipple and gave it a hard pinch. The act sent a bolt of pleasurable pain through his flesh. “You don’t want to answer me? Have I left you speechless, lover?”
He gasped at the magnificent sting. This woman understood the connection between pain and pleasure. “Come here.”
She obeyed and climbed into the bed beside him. He rolled above her and fastened a band of silk across her eyes.
She trembled with anticipation when he tied the knot at the back of her head. He pushed her back down. “Lay still.”
Laria complied and sighed when her head touched the pillow.
He ached to hurt her, to stroke her flesh, to savour all she could offer him. Ernesto let his hands travel her body, gentle caresses at first to set her afire.
He marvelled at the porcelain coolness of her skin against his heated palms. The feel of her ignited the fire in his tense body. “Tell me you want to fuck me.”
“Fuck me.”
Her words roused his blood. Her breath hastened at every stroke of his hand. She moaned when his lips covered her rose-colored ones. He let his tongue flit out to taunt her bottom lip. Then he lowered his head to her breast, soft and succulent skin under his mouth. He gave her pearled nipple a quick nip with his teeth. She gasped and her body twitched under him. Lower and lower, he moved his mouth across her sweet flesh. She gasped in excitement and he rejoiced when she emitted a tiny laugh. His mouth now hovered over her pelvis. “Do you like the feel of the cold air upon your womanhood, Laria?”
“Yes.”
He heard the tone of elation in her voice and saw her smile. “Or would you prefer that I keep your secrets covered?”
“No.”
Blood of Satan. How he wanted her, but he did not wish to appear too anxious so he recovered his composure.
She bucked her hips up at him in a blatant appeal for him to penetrate the wet, tangled curls of her sex.
“Good. I am glad.” He ran his calloused hands over her mound and flicked his tongue over her nub. She moaned in expectation.
At last, he thrust his finger into her sheath, her wetness teasing, and warm. She thrust her pelvis upwards in eager invitation.
“Do not move or I will stop,” he warned.
She stilled.
He lowered his lips to her sex and savoured the swollen arousal of her nub. She writhed a little when his tongue flicked inside her.
“I told you not to move, Laria. I must now use other means to keep you stilled.”
He sat back on his heels, took her hands, and lifted them over her head. With silk scarves, he secured them to the bed.
“Too tight, lover?”
“No.” A tone of delight graced her voice.
He straddled her chest and trapped her shoulders against the mattress with his knees. Ernesto breathed in the scent of her. How he longed to run his hands over her lustrous thighs and womanhood, but he must wait in order to bring her to the level of desire he wanted.
Ernesto placed his finger to Laria’s lips. He nudged them until they opened and she sucked his finger inside. Contented, he withdrew it and she moaned with yearning.
“If you promise to be good, I will allow you to see,” he whispered while he rubbed his finger against her lips.
Laria sucked it back in.
“What do you say? Will you be good?”
She nodded in agreement. He pushed the blindfold up and over her head.
Laria blinked under the sudden release of her eyes from the dark cloth.
He slid down her body almost to her feet and indulged himself in the vision before him. Her heated cheeks, fervent eyes, her plump thighs willing to spread themselves for him. Her hair splayed across the pillows. He lowered his lips to hers. In her desire to taste more of him, she tussled against her bonds.
As if to tease her even more, he glided his hand over her flat belly and between her thighs. Her mouth fell open in gratification when he fingered her nub. Impassioned, she closed her eyes. Soon, her breasts bobbed with each surge of desire that swept through her body. She thrust herself against him. “Ernesto.” She moaned as her rapture built.
“If you promise to do as I say, I will free you now.” He grinned as he ran his rough cheeks against her firm globes.
Laria remained unmoving and said nothing. He untied her bonds.
Once he freed her, he rolled off and lay by her side. Ernesto trailed a finger over each of her breasts and down to the top of her womanhood.
He ran his hand over her creamy thighs, down her well-formed calves, and at last caressed her beautiful toes. With yearning, he scanned the length of her body.
“Ernesto, I want you inside me.” Laria tossed her hair aside and fell back on the pillow.
Ernesto took his cue and straddled her again. His body burned and his desire became desperate. He kissed her breasts and pressed her nipple hard between his lips and teeth. His mouth sought hers and he pillaged it with intensity. He closed his eyes and imagined that bitch Morena beneath him. Oh, the pain he would inflict upon her. His anger burned as he pillaged Laria’s body.
He forced her legs apart and impaled her. Ernesto rocked, thrusting without conscience in and out of her tight sheath.
Her fingernails dug into his back as her passion climbed and she neared release, but Ernesto was far from orgasm. He continued his battering of her with a steady rhythm, shoving in and out of her warmth with increasing fervour.
With each thrust, her womanhood grasped his manhood ever tighter.
He forced his face between her breasts, breathing in her warm scent. His mouth searched out a sassy nipple and he sucked it into his mouth, pressing it hard between his teeth. He rammed her fast and hard, in and out, wanting to hurt her with it, grunting as he thrust himself deep inside her, revelling in the feel of her wet heat gripping him. She raised her hips to meet each of his thrusts with a desperate tilt.
She groaned beneath him. Her hands pummelled his back, her body quaked in ecstasy. “Ernesto,” she groaned. “Spill your seed.”
He ignored her pleas and continued his relentless mauling, succumbing to his insatiable need to hurt and be hurt. His desperate lust manifested itself as an animalistic madness. Soon he felt himself drawing near.
“Please, Ernesto,” Laria cried out as she squeezed the walls of her womanhood in an attempt to force him into conclusion.
Ernesto’s thrusts grew ever more desperate as he drank of her lips, ramming her ever harder. At the first waves of ecstasy, he withdrew and shuddered, releasing his seed on her belly.
***
AFTERWARDS, ERNESTO kept Laria’s body pinned longer than necessary to prove his domination of her. Soon he would order her to leave, detesting the ridiculous need for women to talk after rutting. She would seek him out again because she liked a touch of roughness in bed. He liked it no less forceful. That is why she wanted him. That, and her foolish hopes to win his affections, but he would never marry a penniless woman like Laria. His father arranged the betrothal to Morena.
Although he detested the idea of marriage, he had no choice. Morena’s dowry would resolve his financial woes. Laria would provide a lovely distraction should Morena fail to arouse his unusual sexual appetites.
Ernesto rolled off the bed and wiped himself clean on her discarded tunic. He tossed it at her. “You’ve provided me with good sport this evening, now get out.”
“Not yet.” Laria dropped the soiled tunic to the ground and crossed the room to one of Ernesto’s chests, which she rummaged. She withdrew a brown robe and slipped it over her nakedness. She spun back around and sat beside Ernesto on the bed. “First we must talk.”
“It is late.”
“Nevertheless, you must hear what I have to say.”
Ernesto flopped back on his pillow, crossed his arms behind his head, and said. “Say it and be quick. I need my rest for the combat tomorrow.”
“Very well. Have you thought about what will happen if you lose?”
Ernesto’s eyes sprang open. “I intend to win.”
“How can you be certain? I have seen Amoro on the practice field. He is a formidable opponent. I have never seen him lose.”
“Then Amoro has met his match.”
“Don’t act the proud cock. There are better ways to earn a just reward.”
Ernesto rose on his elbow and faced her. Why did women take so long to speak their minds? “Say what you have to say, Laria. I’m in no mood for games of cat and mouse.”
“Bed the gentlewoman. Plant your seed deep in her belly. None can dispute your claim to marriage when she carries your heir.”
***
IN HER BEDCHAMBER, Laria stared into the fire as she combed her hair.
She focused on a single thought, to fight for her heart’s desire. She provided Ernesto good advice, advice she intended to follow herself.
Amoro had discarded her for that woman, Morena. Nevertheless, Laria waited for him, living only for his return. The wait inflamed her desire until she grew obsessed with him. When he brought that putana home, it ruined all her plans.
Only one thing could bind her to him forever, a child. Because her last attempt to seduce him failed, she needed to employ all her wiles and use every trick possible to get into his bed to try again.
His desire to wed that bitch from Monterossa Castle tormented her to the point of insanity. Even if Amoro did marry Morena, with Amoro’s child in her belly, she could remain in his life forever.