| |
“Maeve, you need to dress yourself. We are leaving.”
The Christian bathed and found clean garments for me. I clean my mouth with mint leaves and wash with the pail of cold water that he left for me. I do not ask where the dress came from as I put it on. I do not care. It is nicer than the dirty rag in my pack. I tie my hair back with a length of twine until I can untangle it. I gather my things in a bundle and step outside into the dark morning.
“How are you feeling, my love?”
His voice is barely a whisper when he takes me into his arms. Finally. It took him forever to do so. A few moments is far too long to go without his touch. I smile up at him like a morning sun. The Butcher gazes down on me from heaven. He called me my love.
“I think you know.”
“How do you feel about what we did?” The Beaumont asks boldly.
“I hope it will not be the last time.”
I pretend to adjust the gold corset. I am too embarrassed to answer the question to his face. He kisses me like I am precious to him. His green eyes look me over in the fine dress.
“You look like a Beaumont.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment, Christian?” I ask with a frown. “Because it is not.”
“You look beautiful, Maeve.”
He changes his approach. It makes me self-conscious in the dress.
“Thank you.” I say awkwardly.
I am not the one that they call beautiful. It would be hard to believe coming from someone like him if he did not look at me so adoringly.
“You are beautiful in your own way.” The Prince lights a pipe. It glows red when he draws on it. “I like what I like.”
“When will we be married?” I ask him. “I want to be your wife.”
“Married?” His eyebrows furrow together. “I never spoke of marriage. The church would never allow it. I am a Beaumont.”
“You told me that you want to have children with me.”
“Because I do.” He laughs. “Making babies does not require marriage, Princess.”
“But my children will be bastards.”
I whisper the last word as if it were a dirty secret. Not even whores are worse than bastards. Being born a bastard is a curse. The only thing worse is being born a filthy Christian.
“Beaumont bastards are still Beaumont’s.” He shakes his beautiful head in annoyance. “My bastard is more important than any child you will have while married to a commoner. My name will protect him better than any man.”
“My mother told me to find a husband.”
“You were both silly to believe that it could be me. I am in line for the throne, witch.”
“What if I am carrying your child?”
“If you do not want to raise my bastard, send him to the palace. I will look after him myself and you will be free to find a husband.”
His smirk makes my palm twitch to slap his handsome face. I know better, so I keep it by my side where it cannot spark his rage.
“You would take my child into your home?”
“Why would I not? There are bastards running all over the palace.”
“I will tell the child that you died in battle. There is no need to make him a bastard when he can be an orphan and raised by my husband.”
The Christian’s green eyes flash with anger. He does not get the chance to respond.
“Highness.” The interruption comes at the perfect time. “The men are ready.”
“We will be but a few minutes more, Daniel.”
He turns his head to speak to his man. The Christians hair is even brighter in the sun.
“Yes, Highness.”
He leaves us alone again. Highness, they call him. I did not grow up around nobility.
“You can stay with me if you are under my protection. Not even the church would bother you. No one needs to know that you are a Payne. You can live in the palace with me.”
“I am your lover. But I will never be your whore, Christian Beaumont. I need a husband, not a benefactor. I will be fine on my own.”
“Now that you are my lover, I am not sure how I feel about you living alone. Or giving yourself to another man.”
“Hopefully I will meet someone soon. I can have a husband before winter.”
“How can you talk about finding another man with my seed inside you?”
“What does one have to do with the other?” I ask him. “Is that not what you said about children and marriage? If you do not want me, I am forced to find someone who will.”
“Someone who can marry you?” The Prince wraps his arm around my waist and holds me tightly. “Another man can marry you, but can he make you feel the way I do, Princess?” His deep voice stirs the fires burning low in my womb. “Do you think he can love you harder than I do?” When the Prince kisses me, I put my hands flat on his chest and kiss him back. “I do want you, Maeve.”
“It will never work, Christian.” I smile sadly. “I am a Payne. We are healers, not whores.”
“Highness?” Daniel calls to remind him that they are waiting.
“We will discuss this later.”
The Beaumont kisses me again, then releases his hold on me. In my mind, I am still in his arms. His embrace is where I shall always remain in my heart. I follow when he walks away. Four men are waiting with the woman, Lou.
“Lou?”
Christian forms her name as a question. I do not understand at first. Not until she speaks.
“I always travel with you, Highness. Please do not leave me behind.”
“One woman on a journey is enough.” He waves her away. “Any more than that is too many. You are staying.”
“Highness, please?” The woman begs. “I have never stayed behind before. I will not be any trouble, I swear. I can help you.”
“You do understand that you will not share my tent?”
“Yes, Highness. I understand.”
The woman gives me a look. She wants to be close to him, in hopes of changing his mind about sharing his tent. An icy wave of jealousy washes over me. I will gut her like a deer before I let that happen. I will put my knife through her heart when it falls out of her gaping chest.
My body slams into his when the Butcher snatches me up against him.
“Easy, Princess.” He whispers softly. His face is stony, but his eyes are burning with desire. “There is no need to go stabbing my camp whores. I will be too busy fucking my virgin to entertain another woman.”
The Christian smacks my bottom and shoves me away before turning back to Lou.
“You.” His finger points to her. “You have one time to anger me before you are back here cleaning piss pots, wench.”
He is not one for games. I am learning fast. One thing that I know for certain is that I want his child. I am in heat right now. I want his cock in my mouth and his fingers inside me. I yearn to suck it until it is thick and hard before I lay down on my back, spread my legs and take him inside me...
“Maeve.” The Prince snaps, turning red around the collar. “Enough, damn it.”
He adjusts his half-hard cock and goes back to telling people what to do. The Prince is so serious and so... Manly. I bite my lip and fan myself with my hand. He is so damn... mean.
They swing up onto their big horses. The man Daniel tells me that I will be riding with him. The Beaumont overhears him speaking and crooks his finger at me. When I am close enough, he lifts me up, settling me in front of him. His men stir uneasily. The woman flushes.
“Highness.” A red-haired man says modestly. “The peasant can ride with one of us.”
The Beaumont ignores him and takes the lead. He pulls me back against him when I keep my back straight. I cannot ride like this. Sitting between his muscular thighs makes me think about making love to him. Thighs that were between my legs last night. His cock presses against my bottom. He is harder than stone. I want to reach behind me and touch it.
“Do not do it.” The Prince warns. “I will stop this horse, drag you into those trees, and fuck you.” He pauses. “My men will know what we are doing.” The Butcher’s hands slide under my cloak to fondle my breasts. “They all heard you screaming my name last eve.”
“They did not.” I cover my face in shame.
“Aye’ they did.” He chuckles. “Thomas commented that you did not sound like a maiden.”
“Did you tell him that I was untouched before you seduced me?”
“No.” The Beaumont shakes out his wavy hair and shows me his scarred fist. “I beat his face in.”
“Why?”
“Because he deserved it.”
“I am a peasant, Christian.” I blush with embarrassment. “You should not be fighting over me.”
“It was not much of a fight.” Christian lifts his heirloom nose at me. “I am a Beaumont, Princess. I do not fight. I put men down.”
His arrogance is unpleasant. It also warms my blood. His lofty ways do not surprise me coming from a man who lives in a palace. However, it makes it no less annoying. Who brags about being a warlord and corrupter of innocents? Who is proud to be a murderer? He does not seem as bad as the stories up close. Had I not witnessed him cut men down so easily, I would not believe any of them to be true. He is a Prince. A Prince should not be consorting with a peasant. A Christian should not be fighting over a witch.
“I am a lesser, Beaumont.” I try to explain it to him. “It is not acceptable behavior.”
“So is he, Maeve.” The Butcher’s green eyes are prematurely wrinkled in the corners from years of squinting at the sun. I smile shyly when his arm circles my waist. “You are under my protection until I deliver you home. It is my task to see that you are not accosted in any way.”
“What you are doing right now can be considered accosting. You should not touch me so freely in front of your people.” I tell him. “I have already ruined myself with you.”
“I agree that you are thoroughly ruined. That means it does not matter how I touch you.”
His men heard me crying his name in the night like a wanton. Which means every man, woman, and child in their camp knows what we did. How can I look them in the eyes?
“I like having you close to me.” He kisses my cheek. “I am not sure if I care who sees us. I need to touch you.”
“Beaumont, this is dangerous for me.” I cover his tanned hand with mine. “I can be stoned to death, or worse. We should not expect anything to come of the lust that we share between us.”
I must touch him also. Everything feels better when I am touching the Christian Prince. I lay my head on his shoulder.
“You are old, but you were a maiden when I took you. I am no stranger to fucking, so I know better than you. This is not lust, Maeve. Lust affects certain parts of my body. It does not make my heart feel the way it feels now that I have you.”
“Prince...”
“Christian.” He corrects me softly. “I am Christian by faith. It is also my name. Say it.”
“Christian.” I whisper. “I do not want a day with the executioner.”
He brushes aside my fears. “Kiss me. I want to taste your lips.”
I want the same. My Prince wraps my arms around his neck and his own around my waist.
“No, this way, Princess.” He teaches me.
My thick hair tumbles down my back like bolls of black cotton when he loosens it. The Butcher’s fingers dig in at my nape.
“You have such beautiful hair.”
He digs his nose in and take a deep breath. The terrible Butcher is also a seducer of women.
“Your stormy eyes are so beautiful.” He breathes. “All of you is beautiful, Maeve.”
“They call me Mae.” I say shyly. “No one calls me Maeve.”
“It is such a beautiful name. Why not use it? It suits you, my sweet Maeve.”
I tilt my head back when his lips come down on mine. I am learning fast. The things he says to me make me feel beautiful and special. I feel six and ten instead of an old woman of twenty and eight. Why would he want to marry me? I am too old to be considered for marriage. Men want young maidens to breed heirs. They do not want women old enough to be grandmothers.
“Maybe you are too old for most men.” He speaks honestly. “But you can still be a mother. My mother had children well into her forties.” The Christian buries his face in my hair. “If you were of good breeding, I would take you home and marry you no matter how old you are. I would say to hell with them all.”
“Even if I was of good breeding, your family would forbid it. How old are you, Christian?”
“Twenty-years and three.”
He pushes my hair to the side to kiss the sensitive skin behind my ear. It gives me the chills all over. I press myself closer to him. Something comes over me that I cannot control. It is the reason women and men make love. A raw attraction that inspires, novelists and romantics.
“You are still young. You have plenty of time before you have to take a wife.”
“That is what my father says. He was thirty and five when he married. Mother was four and ten and he thought her old.”
“Highness?” His man rides up beside us. He and the others do not like the leisurely pace that he has set. “Is the woman ill? Is your horse hobbled?”
“Are you rushing me, Daniel?”
The Prince gives him a look that makes me nervous for him.
“Nay, Highness. The sun gets lower every minute and we have many miles to cover.”
The Christian kicks his horse into a gallop and we go racing through the wood. He keeps up this faster pace for the first part of our ride. When he finally slows, I ask him something that is bothering me.
“How did you hear my mother?”
“I was born cursed.” He confesses. “A priest told my father that I was possessed with a satanic spirit when I was a small child. He thought the voices that I was hearing were dead people speaking to me. The man went so far as to suggest that my father put me to death.”
“What did your father say?”
“He had the priest beheaded and called in another. By then I was old enough to realize I was not hearing voices, but the thoughts of the people around me. Your mother knew I had this curse and she spoke to me directly. It scared me half-to-death.”
“You were afraid?”
“I thought she was a spirit come back to haunt me.”
“Do you attend all of the executions?”
“Of course. The Cardinal invites my family personally. We have a box.”
“Disgusting.” I make a face. “Your family cheers the death of innocents.”
“We cheer the death of the unholy. We champion God and we always will, witch.”
“What if they find out you helped a Payne? Will they ban you from the box?”
“They will never find out, so long as you keep your mouth shut. If anyone learns who you are, you will burn like your sister.” He then asks, “Is that how you wish to die?”
“You would let them burn me, Christian Beaumont?”
“I will follow the Cardinal’s orders. If the church condemns you, I will say a prayer for your soul.” He says without guilt. “If you stay close to your home and keep to yourself you will live.”
“I need a husband.”
“Maybe one will wonder onto your land one day.”
“What if—”
He cuts me off. “Do you ever shut up? Can I ride in peace?”
My lips lock together. If he does not want to speak with me, why waste my words on him? A Christian is not worthy of my breath anyway. He chuckles tightening his arm and kissing my hair. I relax against him and enjoy his nearness despite my sore body. I have never been on a horse with a man before. The steady gallop and pounding of hooves is like music after a while and I fall asleep in his arms. The horse is still running when I wake up. My cheek is pressed against the Beaumont’s sweat-dampened shirt. I wrap my arms around his waist and close my eyes again. I did not get much sleep last night. The Prince could not keep his hands off me and I could not keep mine off him. That is why his hand is resting on my belly, and mine are on his hard, leather-covered back. He raises his hand to stop the procession.
“We will stop here to rest and continue on in an hour.”
“Yes, Highness.”
The men obey, but they want to keep going. The sun is high in the sky and this is the safest time to travel. They know that he is stopping for me. We can keep going. I am well rested.
“Highness, why are we stopping?”
The woman takes liberties that the others do not. She is in love with him and he knows it. They are lovers and I am the new woman.
“Because I command it. Who are you to question my orders, wench?”
“No one, Highness.”
The woman hangs her head and moves away from us. We are both peasants, but she is a Beaumont. She lives in the palace and sees him every day. She is plump and pretty, with her rosy cheeks. I imagine she has never had a worry in her pampered life. This woman is a lunatic if she believes he cares about either of us. He belongs to the Beaumonts. He hops down from the tall horse like he has not been riding for hours. I jump knowing that he will catch me. My legs wobble like a new foal learning to walk.
“Your legs are weak from last night.”
The Christian has the decency to whisper. I would slap him if not for me leaning on him so heavily. I gain my feet and put some distance between us. His people are watching. I walk away from them all to be alone. I spend most of my days alone and it is when I am most comfortable. My family never visited me more than twice a year to keep me safe, and never all at once. It is late summer, and I have canning and chickens to get back to. I have my books and daydreams. I kneel beside the creek and drink my fill of the cold water. Afterwards, I exercise my body to keep myself limber. I move with the slow grace of a dancer, arching my back and stretching my limbs. I give thanks to the creator, and the land, for this beautiful day and all that I am. My family is with you now and you are a generous creator. You give me peace and love. You give me the very air that I breathe. These Christians do not care about peace unless it is a piece of gold. There is land enough for everyone because you are a gracious creator. There are those who want it all for themselves. Those will take from the mouths of babes to carry around gold crosses and wear heavy silk. They live in palaces, and ride white horses. It is their way to boast and murder at will.
“What is it that you are doing?”
It is Daniel. He is leaning against a tree watching me. The man keeps speaking like we are having a conversation. I block out his voice and continue with my prayers. These Christians have no respect for anything.
“It sure is pretty-looking, whatever it is.”
“She is his new bauble. You know how he is when he finds some new thing. Give Highness a day or so and he will lose interest.”
I ignore the woman’s petty jealousy. Her problem is with the Beaumont, not me.
“He stopped so that she could see to her comfort. When has he ever done that for me?”
“Never.” Daniel takes a swig from his bag of wine. “I think he likes her.” He passes the bag to the woman who drinks deeply. “Not many like her around. The black men outnumber their women five-hundred to one. I hear they are shipping them in by the boat load, so the slave drivers can breed them.”
“Do you think he lays with her?”
“Are you daft, woman? He rode her hard and well. They can barely stay away from each other.” As if that is not enough he adds, “She rode on his horse.”
“I rode his cock dozens of times, and I have never once been on his horse.”
“Look at her. Look how she moves her body, she can ride my horse, and my cock whenever she pleases.”
They laugh at his rudeness. They do not see their Prince standing behind them listening to every word they speak.
“She is as skinny as a beanpole. There is no meat on her. I imagine it was like fucking an old broom.” The woman says bitterly. “She has to be twenty and five. Far too old for a virile man like Highness.”
“I doubt it. She moves like a woman in her youth. I like them thin, and plump. A fine woman is a fine woman. She has a nice ass on her. It is a handful and that is enough.”
“Why is her ass, the subject of your gossip?”
“Highness?” They jump to attention.
