Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2013 Alexandra O’Hurley

ISBN: 978-1-77130-277-7

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Marie Medina

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To characters who barge in and demand their story be

told, even if you thought them a bastard at first.

ONE KNIGHT’S BARGAIN

Knights of the Temple

Alexandra O’Hurley

Copyright © 2013

Near Paris, 1285

Sybille de Campion moved her wooden sword before her,

chuckling as her little brother’s battle cry ripped from his lungs. She
deflected the strike and twisted her sword to swing back in attack. He
moved his feet, lowering his center to take her blows before repelling
her strike. Sybille had started slowly, letting Nicolas become
accustomed to the force of her sword, but with each jab, she increased
the pressure to see where his comfort level was. Instead of facing her,
Nicolas jumped to the stairs, leaping over a coiled rope and out of
Sybille’s reach.

“Nicolas! Stop with the theatrics. I’m trying to teach you the

basics.”

“I don’t need basics. I’m an expert swordsman. Felix and Gui

showed me all I need to know.”

“Gui is seven, and Felix is eight. They have not learned much

at all yet. And who do you think taught them what they know?”
Sybille crossed her arms over her surcoat, her sword dangling from
one hand. “You are no expert, little boy. Now come back here and
face me.”

“But I’m not supposed to fight with girls.”
Sybille looked down at herself and back to him. “Do I appear

to be a girl today?”

Nicolas snickered as he gazed at her standing before him in

their father’s chainmail and surcoat. “No, you look like an ugly man.”

“I suppose I do not make an attractive knight.” Sybille laughed

as she glanced down at herself once more. “But with our parents
away, this is the best I can do to teach you to protect yourself. So
come down here and let us start over.”

Nicolas jumped back down to the ground, widening his stance

and preparing for her attack. The bailey was empty except for them.
Gui and Felix leaned against the tower wall above them, watching
them fight.

“When will our parents return, Sybille?”
Sybille paused, worry gnawing at her gut. Her parents should

have returned weeks ago. The longer they left the house near empty,
the higher the risk of bandits raiding their meager supplies, if they
didn’t lay claim to the old fortress completely. “I do not know, Nic. I
wish I did. Each day that passes I fear for the safety of our home.”

“We have Guillame and Petior to defend us.”
“They are no longer young men, Nic.”
“They are strong knights and will keep the bandits at bay.

Father told me so before he left.”

“They are the only men left, besides the three father took to

protect them as they went to Paris. All the others either left for the
Crusades or left when the gold dried up.”

“The gold dried up?”
Nicolas might only be six, but it was about time he started to

learn the truth. She had shielded him for as long as she could. “It is
about time you knew we are destitute.”

“What does destitute mean?”
“Poor.”
“We live in a fine castle. We are not poor.”
“Do you see any people here? We have one old servant and

two old knights. They only remain because they are too old to leave.
No one works our meager fields. We have no tapestries to keep our
hall warm, no candles to light the night, no animals to get meat or
milk from. Our parents and brothers have left with every item of value
to sell in Paris while we sit here waiting for anyone to barge in and
take over our home. So this is why you need to learn to protect
yourself, Nicolas.”

“Sybille, men approach!”
Sybille turned to Gui and Felix, who were now standing close

to the tower wall. Both boys ran down the tower steps and rushed

through the bailey, across the bridge, and up the barbican steps. She
moved forward, to get a better look as Nicolas rushed past her. All
three boys were already at the crenellated wall before she could even
get to the bottom steps of the barbican. Her father’s chainmail slowed
her progress, and it took a moment to ascend. All three boys stood
gazing over the edge, their little bodies barely allowing them to see
over. She stepped behind Nicolas and gave him a boost, as she peered
down herself. Riders on black horses were coming at a full gallop, a
cloud of dust surrounding them, making it impossible to see how
many were in the cluster.

“What do we do, Sybille?” She could hear the fear in Nicolas’

voice. He pretended he was invincible and in that moment, she wished
he were.

“Felix, go get Guillame and Petior. They are probably asleep

in the kitchen.” Felix ran for the stairs as she considered her
alternatives.

“They will protect us?”
Sybille looked down at Nicolas, her frown returning. “They

are all we have, Nicolas.”

Sybille was rooted to the floor, watching as the men grew

close. Guillaume and Petior arrived, standing behind Nicolas and the
others on the barbican, looking down.

“That’s Sir Eustache’s flag,” Petior said from behind them.
“The devil in black, just what we need here,” Guillaume

added.

Both knights turned on their heels and went down the barbican

as Nicolas turned back to watch the raiders stop at the gates below.
Guillaume and Petior exited the gates and began to talk to the man at
the head, a towering man who appeared too large for his enormous
horse. The large man handed Guillaume a piece of vellum. Guillaume
handed it to Petior since he could not read, and Petior broke the seal.
His eyes grew large as he read over whatever was on the page, his
eyes rising as he looked to the barbican wall.

Nicolas strained to hear the conversation that followed, but

they spoke too softly, and the words wouldn’t glide up the stone walls
of the fortress. After a few moments, Guillaume and Petior dropped to
their knees before the large knight. Nicolas gulped as two of the
raiders slid from their saddles and approached Guillaume and Petior,

plunging their swords into the older men’s necks, the writhing bodies
dropped to the ground.

Blood rushed from the bodies onto the ground, the sun shining

on the dark red. Then the men did something surprising. They laid the
men on their backs and crossed their arms over their chests, placing
the dead men’s swords within their grasp. Each was then put on a
pallet and carried through the gates. Sybille let out a sob and grasped
his and Gui’s hand, rushing down the barbican’s steps and rushing for
the keep. Nicolas stumbled and fell in the lower bailey, making them
stop. A tearing sound echoed through the inner walls as the iron gates
were ripped away. The only thing that stopped them now was the
unguarded drawbridge, and it would only be a matter of time before
the bandits made it inside the castle.

Sybille threw them both into their parent’s bedroom. “Hide in

mother’s chest. You both should fit inside. I’m going to find Felix.”

“No! Don’t go, Sybille!”
Sybille turned at the door, half her body already outside the

room. “Get in the trunk and be quiet. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Sybille rushed down the keep’s stairs, her heart thundering in

her ears. She could only hope Gui and Nicolas could remain hidden
until the threat was gone. She had absolutely no idea what she would
do next; all she did know was she needed to find Felix and get him to
relative safety while she faced the brigands herself.

Once she arrived at the bottom of the stairs, she heard a yell

coming from the kitchens. Magda was inside and had probably not
been warned. Sybille ran to the space and saw Felix pulling the old
woman into the larder.

“Get inside, Magda!”
“I’m too old. Go save yourself, little master.”
“No, you must hide.”
“Magda, listen to him. Get in. Felix, you get in with her.”
“No! I am the master of the keep. I should fight them.”
“You are a child still. Get in the larder.”
Hands wrapped around her throat and brought her up against

the largest chest she’d ever felt. “What do we have here? Boys and a
kitchen wench?”

Sybille screamed, trying to wrench herself from the man’s

grasp. “Don’t worry, sissy boy, this will all be over soon.”

She hoped the assumption she heard in his statement wasn’t

true. Would they kill everyone in the house? She hoped they wouldn’t
find the two upstairs. She closed her eyes in prayer, asking for some
small pittance. When she reopened them, two other men had captured
Felix and Magda, and they were being brought outside. Her gut
clenched as they stepped out into the open air, the sunlight pouring
over them as they stopped before the large man who had led the
bandits inside.

“No girl?”
“No, just two boys and an old woman.”
“They don’t interest me. I came here for the girl. We must find

her.”

Sybille was confused. Were they talking of her? She was the

only girl in the keep, but why would they be looking for her? Her
mind reeled as she considered what they were about, but her thoughts
refocused on the two small boys being drug from the house. Men
deposited Gui and Nicolas on the ground within the lower bailey.
Red-rimmed eyes looked to her in need. She had no idea what to do.

“So these are the last of de Campion’s whelps?”
“He claimed to have seven sons and had four with him in

Paris, yet we find four sons here,” came from the young man who had
held Nicolas. He looked to be close to Sybille’s eight and ten, but
there was something about him that made her consider him younger.

“What of the daughter?” asked the big man.
“I do not know. We did not see any other souls here.” The

younger boy pointed toward Sybille and the others. “Perhaps we ask
them. These little ones will not help much.”

The bandit strolled over to Sybille, drawing her free from the

man who held her and lifting her into the air to face him, her feet
dangling in the air. “Where is the little wench?”

She knew in that moment she needed to sacrifice herself for

the boys. They had to survive, somehow. The truth was the only way.
“I am a lady, not a wench.”

The big man chuckled before ripping her helm off, allowing

her golden locks to fall about her face and shoulders. “The lady thinks
herself a boy?” He looked closely at her as he dropped her to her feet
and caught her face in his grasp. “You are as fine as your mother. You
will warm my bed well.”

“I will do no such thing!”

“Did your parents not send word? I have won your hand as

well as these lands. All here is now mine, including you and your
brothers. Be good to me, and perhaps I’ll spare their lives.”

“My parents sent no such word.” Sybille gazed at Nicolas, her

eyes widening before looking back at the bandit. “And may I ask
whose hand I have supposedly been given to?”

“The name is Sir Eustache of Rouen, at your service.” The

man bowed before her and then rose to his full height, head and
shoulders above her own. “Your parents were so relieved with the bag
of gold I thrust into their hands, I doubt they stopped counting the
pieces long enough to send you word.” He thrust the same vellum at
her that he’d shown to Guillaume and Petior before they’d killed
them. She was hesitant to take the sheet as she’d seen the outcome of
the last reading.

“Take it, here’s your proof.”
She grasped the edges in her shaking hands and read over the

surface three times, as she couldn’t believe it was true. Right there, in
her father’s own hand, was an agreement such as Sir Eustache had
just outlined. The keep and lands were now his, including everything
within it. Including her and the children. How could her father have
just sold them off as chattel?

She handed the document back over to Sir Eustache, her body

and mind numb. She could be sold as chattel because she was a
woman. Sybille had been expecting something of this sort for years,
as many young women were already married, with three or four wee
ones, by the time they’d turned ten and eight. She’d always assumed
it was her parents’ lack of gold that had kept suitors at bay. Being sold
to a blackheart shouldn’t be so surprising.

At least she kept her home and her little brothers, who weren’t

as affected as the older boys. After the first few, her parents had lost
interest. They had enough boys to inherit and pass along the family
name, which was now laughable. There was nothing to inherit and
who would want their lineage to continue, the name sullied by greed
and poverty.

“I suppose you expect me to bow to you now?” she whispered

low enough that hopefully Eustache was the only one to hear.

“If you get on your knees, I have something for you to do,

wench.”

She gasped, blood heating her face. As a lady, she shouldn’t

know what he was speaking of, but unfortunately, her mother hadn’t
raised her to be a lady.

The man walked away with a smirk and turned his back on

Sybille, looking at Nicolas and Gui. “How old are the brats?”

“The—brats—have names.”
Sir Eustache grasped her face once more, pulling her close. “I

have no time for this. I asked a question, wench.”

“Felix here beside me is eight.” Sybille wrinkled her nose, the

foul smell of unwashed bodies making her ill. “Gui is seven. Nicolas
is six.”

“Ahh, perfect. I will put them to work with my men instead of

fostering. I’ve already paid a too much for you and this land, as is.
Time for little boys to become men.”

“Can I have the youngest?” asked the boy behind Nicolas.
“You are still but a squire yourself. What do you know of

fostering?”

“He’s too young to do much yet, and he’ll be underfoot, a

bother to you. Let him help me with my work to give him strength
and understand what is expected of him. I’ll be responsible for him
until he grows a bit older.” The squire glanced at Nicolas, and there
was something in his gaze that told Sybille he would be kind to
Nicolas.

Sir Eustache stared at the squire long and hard before

speaking. “You are wise beyond your years, Matthias. Fine, take the
runt under your care for now and keep him out of my way. Jerar,
figure out who will take the other two.” Sir Eustache dragged Sybille
to him. “As for me, I think I shall acquaint myself with my bride to
be.”

Eustache drew her inside the keep. He seemed to ignore the

surroundings as he moved directly to the stairs, dragging her behind
him. She struggled to move so quickly as she was weighed down by
her chainmail. Eustache snorted, stopped midway up the stairs, and
turned, throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. She
squealed as he tossed her onto her parents’ bed a few moments later
and scrambled to the headboard, as far away from him as she could
get.

“The keep is quite bare. Have you no luxuries here?”
He’d apparently noticed more than it had seemed.

“My parents have sold off most of the valuables over the years

to stay afloat. They took the last of our goods with them to Paris. We
don’t even have candles to see at night.”

“Then I suppose I will have you undress now while there’s

still light enough for me to see you.”

Heat flooded her face yet again. “I might have been sold as

chattel, but the least you can do is treat me like the lady I am.”

“Lady?” He laughed loudly, tiny lines forming around his

mouth and eyes as he did so. In mirth, his expression softened. He
didn’t seem so formidable now. She loathed to admit that once he
dropped the seriousness, he wasn’t a dreadful looking man. He was
actually somewhat attractive, in a big brute kind of way.

Clear gray eyes peeked out from a sun-kissed face. His nose

was arrow straight, albeit for the slight bump that hinted it was once
broken. His lips were dry from riding, but they appeared curved and
bowed, almost a hint feminine in their fullness. Nothing about the
towering giant could be considered feminine, though. He was huge,
and she was sure battle–hardened muscles lined the mail and surcoat
he wore, if the hints of curves didn’t lie.

Sybille realized her perusal hadn’t gone unnoticed. A hint of a

smirk played with his lips as he watched her intently. “Like what you
see, wench?”

The bastard! “I have a name, and it is not wench!”
“Ah, a touch exasperated, are we? You can cool your heels for

a moment as I tour the keep. While I’m gone, change into a proper
gown and ready me a bath. I assume you have a tub still?”

She hid a smile, unwilling to tell him of the underground hot

spring they had under the keep. “We only have the cook’s stew pot,
but it’ll work to get you cleaned up.”

“Stew pot? Ugh, I knew I was buying a poor keep, but I

assumed you’d have the basics.”

“We have a couple of poor beds, chamber pots, and wood for

the fire.”

“That’s all?”
“Just about.”
Eustache shook his head and speared a hand through his

unruly mass of dark hair. “I spent most of my gold to buy,” his eyes
lifted to her, “the keep. I didn’t know we’d have to spend another

small fortune to outfit the place as well. We have no blacksmith here,
no one to work the land. It had better be worth it.”

Anger rushed through her. “Petior could do a little smithing,

but you killed him.”

“The old chap should have told me before he asked me to end

him.”

“I am quite sure you do not infer that Guillaume and Petior

asked to be slain.”

“That they did. Unless you missed it in the contract I showed

you, your two elderly knights had been released from their duties.
They knew they could not make it on the outside, not at their age. I
suggested they become servants in the keep, and they were shamed by
it. They said they wanted to go out like men, not women in the
kitchens. They asked for a glorious death.”

Sybille felt a sob run through her. Those words sounded like

the stupid babble the two old men would spout, but she didn’t want to
believe the words, no matter how much truth seemed to be behind
them. Eustache didn’t appear to lie, but she didn’t know him, either,
and therefore, she couldn’t trust him. “Will you give that glorious
death to me and my brothers as well, if we do not abide by your
rule?”

Eustache came close, grasping her head as he drew her to the

edge of the bed. “Is that what you want? Is this why you play in
men’s clothing? Do you want to die in battle?”

“No, no. I was trying to teach Nicolas to swordfight.”
“A girl, teaching a little boy to wave a wooden sword around?

That’s laughable.”

The nearness of the man was getting to her. Yes, he was ill–

smelling from days ahorse, but there was a magnetism he claimed,
which overrode her instincts. His gaze captured hers, and she felt her
body melt into his. She fought the sensation, tried to pull away, but
his grip was stronger than iron. “Better to teach him something to
protect himself. I am better than nothing.”

Eustache looked at her for a long moment as he considered her

words. The fierce look in his face suddenly softened, and he brought a
gloved hand to her face. The scent of leather and horse hit her as he
stroked one finger down her cheek. “My lady, you are much, much
better than nothing, believe me.”

He drew her close, his lips hovering just over hers, the heat of

his breath running over her mouth and fanning along her face. She
suddenly wanted his kiss, wanted his lips on hers, but she was robbed
as he stepped back, releasing his grip on her. “Ready whatever pot
you have for my bath as I tour your fortress. I’ll be back within an
hour.”
****

Thirty minutes later, after trying to yank the large cast iron

pot up the stairs, Sybille determined he would just have to take his
bath in the kitchen. She’d stripped off the mail with Magda’s help and
was making her third trip down the winding stairs under the kitchen to
the spring to get more buckets of warm water for him to bathe in.

The water looked too damned inviting with each trip down.

She’d sweated under the heavy weight of the mail and felt offensive.
She knew she had time, so she stripped off her tunic and hose, another
theft, this one from one of her brothers. Diving into the warm pools
had never felt better, the heat easing the pain she’d gotten in trying to
move the pot.

She heard Eustache before she saw him. As she spun, she

covered her bosom, her gaze moving to his immediately. The smirk
he wore aggravated her, as he’d found her secret before she’d had a
chance to repay a small amount of his crimes. After all her hard work
with that damned pot and here he was.

“Now don’t you look lovely there?” He began to take off his

surcoat and gloves as her eyes grew large. He certainly didn’t think he
was going to get into the water with her, did he? Eustache started to
work his mail over his head but struggled. “Come help me, wench.”

Wench? How did he expect her to want to help him with

language like that? She had half a mind to push him into the water
with his mail on and hope he drowned. Too bad the pools weren’t that
deep and he was a bully enough of a man to probably get out on his
own. She couldn’t imagine what he’d do to her if he didn’t die from
the action. A shiver ran through her at the thought.

“I said come help me.”
“Perhaps if you ask politely I’ll consider helping you.”
She heard a few grunts and groans, and in a flash the mail was

off and a heap on the floor. “If you’re looking for polite from me, you
obviously haven’t been watching me the last couple of hours.”

His tunic and boots soon met the mail on the floor. He stood in

just his leggings and shirt, his hands on the edge of the shirt preparing
to raise it. She’d never seen a male nude, well, not unless you counted
her little brothers when they’d been small and she’d helped bathe
them. From that knowledge, as well as the animals they’d once had,
she wasn’t completely ignorant of what was hidden behind his
clothing, but she still wasn’t prepared to be shown his nudity, either.
She cast her face away as he continued to disrobe, heat suffusing her
face.

“Oh, lawd be. I had thought perhaps I had a brave lady when I

had caught you in chainmail. Please tell me I don’t have a blushing
maid on my hands, who will faint at the sight of an arse cheek.”

Her gaze whipped to his at his comment, anger filling her.

“I’m not the fainting sort.” She caught sight of his erect manhood as
she finished her comment and immediately reconsidered what she
said. He was very large and very ready, she believed. A flush of heat
filled her face as she turned away once more.

Eustache lowered himself into the water, if the splashing she

heard was correct. She immediately began to pull herself from the
water, as best she could while covering her own nudity at the same
time. “Woman, if you leave this spring, you will be very sorry.”

Her stare darted to his again. Fortunately, this time he was

covered up to his chest with the steaming water. His hair was wet and
his face cleaner, so he’d apparently dipped in completely as he’d
entered. He rested against the rocky ledge, his arms extended out on
both sides of him. With his hair less of a tangled mess and some of
the road soot washed from his face, she was surprised to see he was a
bit more handsome than she’d realized. Surprised and upset. She
shouldn’t find him handsome at all. “This is delightful. No wonder
you have no tub, there’s no point in one, hmm?”

His eyes closed as he spoke, and she stuck out her tongue at

him. His eyes popped open, and he caught the very end of it. Of
course she would be caught in the juvenile act, but she’d lost her
small chance at some retribution.

“Girl, you must learn some respect for your soon-to-be

husband.”

“You are to be my husband because you paid for the privilege,

not because of any match made for us. I owe you nothing.”

Eustache was on her before she had the chance to move. One

of his hands was clenched in her hair, pulling her face back so he
could peer down at her, the other an iron band around her body. She
could feel the hefty weight of his cock against her stomach like a little
beating heart, beating in time to the fiery blood flowing through it.

He growled as he stared at her, his tight hold on her hair

hurting. “Regardless of how I came to have your hand in marriage,
the point is it’s mine. You will be my wife and the mother of my
children.” He released the hold on her hair, the hand spearing between
her thighs and slipping through her folds. She squealed at the intimate
touch.

“Are you whole?”
She winced at the question, not wanting to answer such an

intimate detail about herself. When she didn’t answer, he shook her
harshly. “I asked if you were whole.”

“I … am.”
A smile formed over his full lips. His fingers shifted, moving

to the opening of her channel. She stiffened at the miniscule
penetration, but he paused, not going past a fraction of an inch. “So
this will be all mine.”

She swallowed, fear swirling in her chest. And there was

something else mixing with it as well. A warming filled between her
thighs, at the apex. Yearning filled her like nothing she’d felt before.
Sybille didn’t want to admit it, but she wanted his fingers to press
forward.

She disgusted herself. Eustache wasn’t a man she’d chosen,

but a brute. He was barely able to be considered gentry, a half step
above the muddied masses. He was base, an animal. He had bought
her like a cheap piece of meat, ready to bring her down to his level.

And she was so at his level. If he but put one finger within her.
“Eustache—”
An evil glint came to his eye as soon as the words erupted

unbidden from her lips. Embarrassment flooded her as soon as they
did, caught in her own lust.

“I believe the lady is enjoying this rough treatment.” His lips

formed a thicker smile, and she felt even more disgusted with herself
for allowing it.

Eustache lowered his head, his warm breath fanning over his

face. She noted it now smelled of mint. He must have stopped by the

small herb garden and stolen a sprig or two to chew upon. Had he
done that for her? The thought was dizzying as it showed a tiny chink
in his armor, if she was right.

Even so, she couldn’t let him ravage her within hours of

meeting. She pushed as hard as she could against his massive chest,
but he didn’t budge an inch. He was still coming forward, propelled in
motion she couldn’t stop. His lips found hers, and he kissed her
roughly, his arms pulling her close to his chest, his few days of beard
growth scratching her face.

As rough as it was, there was a timidity to it as well. It wasn’t

as harsh as she’d expected, as if he held something back. Soon, she
was lost within the sensation, opening to him when his tongue sought
the seam of her lips. Sybille felt him sweep inside, the caress nearly
making her swoon. Not a fainter? He continued to prove her wrong as
she her knees wobbled under her.

His hand tangled in her curls and massaged her scalp and

neck, making her relax further in his embrace. His mouth on hers felt
far better than it should, but she was lost in his seductive strokes. She
heard a sob and a gasp and was embarrassed when she sluggishly
realized it came from her own mouth.

It might as well have been cold water; it splashed along her

frayed nerve endings and made her draw away from his searching
mouth. She instinctively brought a knee up to push against him, and
he reared back, an angry sneer twisting his lips, which had just been
bringing her such pleasure.

“Minx. You bow to my seduction only to tempt me closer so

you could damage my loins.”

“No—” She had not been about to attack, although given her

lack of control, perhaps it would be best for him to think she would
have. He would reconsider his next sensual attack if he thought she
would damage his family jewels. A smug smile played at her lips. Let
him think what he would.

A hard glint came to his eyes, and the smile left her lips. She

had to remember she did not know how he would react in certain
situations, so pushing him too far, too soon could have dire
consequences for not just her, but her brothers. “I see restraints will
be in order when I bed you. I have no problem tying you to the bed.”

Fear rushed into her chest along with a pinch of lust at the

thought of being tied to his bed. “We are not yet married.”

Eustache stepped back and ducked his head under the water

for a moment, then rinsed the rest of the dirt from his face and neck,
the hot water trailing over his hard packed muscles as he stood. Her
eyes were drawn to his chest and shoulders, how lovely they were in
their masculine beauty. He caught her staring, and a flush burned in
her cheeks once more. “I have already sent for the priest. We shall be
married soon, and you can forget all these notions in your head to
fight me. It should only be a day or two and you will be mine.”

The word mine brought a chill up her spine yet it also heated

her, bringing a tingling sensation between her legs. Her mind and
body were at war, and the confusion that brought her made her head
ache. “But I am not yet.”

He closed in until he was mere inches from her. “It will be a

matter of days, and I’ll have you tied to my bed, my cock filling that
lovely quim of yours.”

Eustache’s coarse words should have enraged her, but instead

they made her melt. She bit her lip to prevent the sob of ecstasy from
escaping her mouth. He washed the rest of his body with the rough
cloth beside the rim and then lifted himself with ease from the depths.
His cock was still big and thick, she noted from the corner of her eye.
She did not want to look, but she was drawn to it like a moth to a
flame. She had seen the male form before, but never one as fine as
his.

When he turned his back to her, he began to draw a pair of

hose and a tunic from his saddlebag. She noted the lined scars that
crisscrossed his back and arse, the faint trails of battles waged. He had
apparently warred more than most, his body suffering from arrow and
sword wounds, and she felt a pinch of pity for him in that moment,
but she released it quickly. Here stood a man used to fighting, not
lovemaking. He knew nothing of romance; he reached out and took
what he wanted with pure violence. Now, he wanted her and her
father’s lands.

She supposed they were no longer her father’s lands. Her

father had sold them to the highest bidder, with no care for the
children he left behind. Sybille had not allowed her mind to mull that
over in the bailey. She had not allowed it entry as she had gone about
her duty in filling his pot. But now, the weight of it rested on her
shoulders. She and her brothers were but pawn pieces. Uncared for.

Her life would not be much different than it was now. Instead

of being her father’s property, now she would be her husband’s.
****

Eustache saw the sadness rush over the maiden’s face and

knew he was part to blame for it. He had no experience with ladies
and wooing. He had spent most of his time in taverns with ale
wenches and whores. The women he spent his hours with were used
to catering to his needs, which were dark and plentiful. Even now his
palms itched to take the lass over his lap and spank her for her
churlish attitude, but she was already afraid of him, which he did not
want her to be.

He wanted her to desire his touch. He wanted her to welcome

her into her bed. He had wanted it for three years past, since he had
seen her come to Paris with her parents. Eustache had been working
for Baron Montblanc, and de Campion had been a guest of the Count.

Sybille’s creamy skin had glowed in the fire light; her soft

blonde hair had glistened. She looked like the angels he had seen in
the cut glass windows of the Basilica of St. Denis. Her father had
brought her in an attempt to find her a husband, hoping her face
would buy her a contract, but his coffers were too empty and the men
the Count surrounded himself with too greedy. It was then that he had
decided to buy her hand.

Eustache knew then he didn’t deserve her. He was the lowliest

of knights, a harsh man who was little better than the thieves and
bandits who roamed the countryside. He and his men had become
warriors for hire, willing to do about anything for gold. Eustache had
even hit the tournament cycle for a bit, earning them more.

And it had all been for her.
Every day he prayed to the heavens above that no one else

would take her before his fortune was large enough. He had come to
Paris on Baron Montblanc’s request and run into de Campion with his
eldest sons being thrown from the gates. It had been a stroke of fate.
Sybille’s father had been desperate for gold. Eustache had given de
Campion nearly every coin he had and had walked away with the
woman he had desired and would be able to give her a home. The
man did not deserve the daughter or the home, leaving it behind
without a backwards glance. He did not deserve her for leaving them
all alone and open to attack.

It amazed him no one had made the attempt before he could

get there. He had rode hard to the castle, afraid he would find it in
ruins and his woman dead. It would have been an irony he would
have deserved considering the life he had led, but for some reason
favor had smiled down upon him.

Now he had her, and he didn’t know what to do with her.
She was a lady, not a whore, yet he had treated her as such just

now. And she had responded, although she had pushed him away
eventually. He needed to learn to soften his approach when he was
near her, let her see she did not need to fear him.

As he pulled his clean clothing over his body, she remained in

the waters, apparently not wanting to show her nudity to him. She
would need to get over that, and quickly. The priest would probably
arrive within a day or two, and she would be his wife. He would keep
her nude in his bed for as long as possible. That would cure her of the
malady.

He thrust a hand down to her, to pull her from the depths. She

spied the hand and then glared at him without taking it.

“Do not make me—” drag you out of there kicking and

screaming. He had just told himself to soften, and he followed it with
a threat. “I want to help you.”

The change in tone seemed to have an effect on her. She

looked up at him with less vitriol in her gaze. “I am nude. You are not
yet my husband.”

“I will be soon enough.”
Sybille looked at his hand once more and let out a long sigh.

She grasped his hand, and he pulled her easily from the depths. He
placed her before him, her long hair covering her breast and flowing
to her knees. The rosy tips of her nipples peeked out, the rounded
swell of her tummy and her thick thatch of curls below it on display
between the long curtains of hair. Her hips were shapely, meant to
bear children and ride husbands.

His cock swelled infinitely harder. How easy it would be to

push her to the craggy floor and have his way with her. But that
wasn’t the way to woo his lady.

Eustache spied a clean scrap of fabric on a stool beside the

water and lifted it to her, slowly drying her goosepimpled flesh. She
stood like a statue, barely breathing, her gaze glued to his moving
hands. He was careful to be gentle with her, like he would caress a

skittish horse. When he dropped to his knees before her to dry her
long legs, he thought he heard a quiet sob come from her. His
bollucks tightened to his body, the need to have her after three years
of dreams and fantasies making him near desperation.

As his fingers began to shake, he knew he needed to stop

before he pushed himself over the edge. He was acting like a young
lad, ready to pop at the mere touch of her virginal skin. Eustache rose
to his full height, towering over her. Before he handed her shift back
to her, he dried her hair a bit, loving the soft feel of it in his fingers.
As he imagined it curtained around him as she rode him, he let go.

“My men have gone out hunting and should be bringing back

some game soon. Will your elderly cook be able to handle the
kitchens on her own?”

“I will help her.”
He nodded. “I have a small amount of gold left. We will go to

Paris soon to buy a small amount of provisions. Perhaps we can find
help for the kitchens while there.”

“The fields have lain fallow for some time. We have little in

the larders to accompany the meat you provide, at least not for the
size of your group.”

“My men offer the protection your father could not. We

should not have no problem in getting men to return to the fields soon
enough.”

“With your reputation?” Her eyes grew wide as soon as the

words were out.

“My reputation? And what is that, my lady?”
“You are known to be harsh, violent.”
He did have a reputation, one that would keep them safer from

attack. “The opportunity to work the land and eat will make them
overlook my reputation, believe me.”

He would work on changing her mind. No one else’s but hers.
She would grow to love him. He just had to make her see.

****

Two days later, Sybille was doing everything she could to

avoid Eustache. Whenever he was near, she could feel the heat of his
stare and did not like what it caused in her body. The nights were
difficult, spent dreaming of his fingers caressing her nude body, of his
thick cock jutting out before him, ready to spear within her quim, as
he called it.

She was out in her meager garden, trying to clear the weeds,

which had grown between her rows of herbs and vegetables. The
afternoon sun felt warm on her body. Spring had finally arrived, and
the chill was leaving the air. As she lost herself in her work, she heard
the gates opening. Rising at the sound, she moved through the lower
bailey to see what was occurring. A friar rode in on his small horse,
stopping amid the bailey, surrounded by Eustache’s men. Fear spiked
in her chest as she realized her freedom, if she could even call it that,
was over. She would be Eustache’s to do with as he wished.

Part of her could not wait to see what he wished, and that

made her feel ill.

Eustache came out of the hall and met the friar with a hearty

handshake before looking around the bailey, his gaze immediately
finding her. He had shaved, possibly for the ceremony, and his bare
face was devastatingly handsome. Shock filled her at the realization,
as well as a swelling between her legs. His stare pinned her into place.

“I see no reason to wait, Sybille. Come, let’s make you my

wife.”

Her feet felt rooted to the ground. She looked down at her

gown, dirtied from digging in the garden, her fingers black from the
inky soil. “I wish to bathe first.”

He eyed her gown and hands and nodded his head. She

dropped her small trowel into her garden and marched to her room to
gather her only other dress, which had been her mother’s, before
going to the underground spring to wash. Magda came down to help
her dress, braiding her hair with rheumy fingers. Nicolas came down
later, with a handful of flowers he had gathered from the fields
outside the gates. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, this sweet
boy who was almost more her son than brother.

Less than an hour later, she stood in the great hall, surrounded

by her brothers, Magda, and Eustache’s men and was wed to the giant
knight. She felt as if she was not even there, but a spectator on the
outer fringes watching the events unfold. Eustache was silent beside
her, only speaking when he was instructed to by the small friar.

After the ceremony, the friar brought out a barrel of wine he

had brought from the monastery, and they feasted on roasted venison
and rabbit, along with small flatbreads Magda had been able to whip
up with the last of their grains. It was better than she and the boys had
eaten in months and was indeed a grand enough feast for her.

Each of her brothers came to her one at a time to hug and

congratulate her, each then getting a swift kick to the bottom from
Eustache for their not acting manly enough. She scowled at her new
husband. “They are children.”

“Who need to be made into men.” He looked at her with

dismay.

“What, so they can be like you?”
“Exactly like me.” His voice dropped as he leaned in closer to

her. “You want me, so I must not be too bad.”

A blush burned across her cheeks, but he was absolutely

correct. She did want him, damn her. Her body trembled even now in
anticipation of their wedding night, knowing he would drag her to his
chambers at any point. Her nipples were tight under the rough
chemise she wore, the fabric scratching at the sensitive tips. She
wanted the caress to be his fingers, not linen.

Eustache stood and raised his wooden cup to those amassed

there. “This day we embark on a new life within these walls, seeking
our fortunes.”

How odd a toast. She brought the edge of her cup to her lips

and swallowed a hefty gulp, as did those around her. She felt the burn
of his stare moments later and turned to him, lifting her chin to see his
face at his great height. He reached a palm to her, and she eyed it with
a mixture of fear and longing.

“Tonight, I make you mine.”
Mine. That word made her shiver. She had been her father’s

chattel, and now she was her husband’s. She was his to do with as he
wished, now forever tied before God. Without more thought, she
grasped his hand and allowed him to lift her to her feet. The crowd
around them cheered as she followed him up the stairs to his chamber,
which had been her parents’. She was now the lady of the manor, and
she suddenly realized that afforded her some small amount of power
here, if she was courageous enough to reach for it.

Eustache could be a husband in truth if she was courageous

enough to stand up to him and not cower at his feet. The night would
be a way to prove to him she was no shy virgin. She was a shy virgin,
but she needed to not allow him to shock her. She needed to be open
to the desires swirling in her breast.

Eustache opened the door to the chamber then followed her

inside, crowding the large room with his gigantic frame. The sun was

setting, and the room was filled with deep shadows and his unnerving
presence. He moved to the fireplace and started a small flame, the
light reaching out and dancing along the walls, making the room
warmer on more than one account. Remaining on his knee, he reached
out a hand to her. Without consideration, she moved immediately,
taking his hand and standing before him.

When he grasped her ankles below her old gown, she trembled

with desire.

“Do you shake in fear, my lady?”
“No. I do not.”
He looked up to her, the fire casting light across his shorn

face. “I would never harm you. Not intentionally.”

She was quieted by the comment, shocked at his soft

admission. His hands began to move up her legs, and the sensation
made her knees wobbly. Eustache drew her into his lap and gathered a
handful of her hair in his hand, bringing her mouth to his. He kissed
her feverously, and she returned his ardor with as much of her own.

He moved his hands to the ties at the back of her dress, and he

began to pull at them, loosening the constricting fabric away. She
drew back when he had untied it enough and pulled herself from the
bodice. Eustache pulled the skirt down her legs, leaving her only in
her thin shift. They had not had the wealth for more underthings, so
she was glad for what little she did have, but tonight, in his arms, she
felt lacking. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

“Do not be shamed in your nudity. Your body is lovely.”
She sighed, choosing not to correct his presumption. He

slowly removed her shift, and he sat back to look at her body, his eyes
roaming over her fire–lit skin. He moved a hand to rest on her
stomach, and he rubbed small circles over her, igniting a fire in her
core.

His hand began to travel higher, and he languidly moved to

her breast, weighing one in his hand before grasping the other in a
firm squeeze. His head lowered, and he captured one ruddy point in
his mouth, drawing on it deeply, enough for her to feel the pull down
to her channel. As he suckled her, his hand roamed over her skin and
down to her quim. He pressed one finger along the fleshy lips that
covered her and spread her open for his inspection.

He released her breast with a pop and smiled at her. “How wet

you are.”

Eustache returned to her breast, and she moaned as he tugged

even harder on her tip with his fiery mouth. His hand began to slide
along her slit as he spread her juices around, before stopping at the
thick button at the top. He pressed a finger to the nub and pressed
tight circles to the flesh, making her cry out with need.

He stopped his motions and lifted her in his arms, depositing

her on the top of the bed. As she pulled back the covers, he removed
his surcoat and tunic, as well as his hose and boots, dropping them all
on the stone floor at his feet. Leaning in, he reached between her
thighs and spread them wide so he could look upon her flesh. She
fought the need to cover herself, instead watching his reaction to her
body, enjoying his bald pleasure.

Soon, he lowered between her legs, but dropped his head to

her quim. She let out a gasp as he trailed his tongue along her slit and
attempted to close her legs. He only growled at her and pressed her
knees even wider, his mouth locking on the nub of flesh he had
touched earlier. Her hips came off the bed as he suckled it hard. The
sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and she
never wanted him to stop. Ever.

When he added his fingers to her quim, she was sure she

would pass out from the sheer pleasure. Pressure started to build,
almost to the level of discomfort at his fingers, but he began to lap
more at her nub, and she forgot the pressure. His tongue lashed at the
sensitive spot, making her writhe below him. She cried into the pillow
beside her, unaware at the level of ecstasy he could bring her to.

Something built low in her belly, the need to reach higher, go

faster. He was pushing her toward whatever it was, and she felt
overwhelmed with the pace. Yet he pushed faster, harder, making her
face the sensuality building within her. His teeth grazed her nub, and
she arched her back, pressing her quim closer to his eager lips. He
chuckled against her flesh, the vibrations moving through her battered
sex. Once he gently bit the tender skin, she screamed with the
intensity of an incredible wave of pleasure as it coursed through her
body.

She felt her eyes roll back in her head as her toes curled, and

she felt a slight pinch at her womb. Breathless, she lay limp as a wet
rag once she floated back to earth and saw him hovering over her limp
body, a sly smile curving his lips.

“I think my lady enjoys my touch.” He leaned in to kiss her

lips, and she tasted her musk on him. After, he drew back and lifted
his hand, a smear of red on his fingers.

“Is that …”
“Your maidenhead.” He gathered a cloth and wiped his hand

along it. Later, he would take the cloth out to show his men she had
been pure, a horrid custom she disliked immensely. She pushed it
from her mind as he moved up her body and his hips came to rest
within hers. His cock was hard and lay along her slit.

He captured her gaze as his hips began to rotate. The tip of his

shaft found her entrance, and he forged in a few inches. She gasped,
the sensation of fullness more than she expected. He continued to
move, slowly spearing an inch or two into her sheath, stopping when
he came to where her maidenhead had been.

“Am I hurting you?”
She was touched by the question. Fully expecting a rough

mating, she was surprised by his tenderness with her. He might not be
the man she had imagined herself with, but in time, she thought she
could grow fond of him. His lovemaking alone made her hopeful.

Lovemaking, not a beastly rutting.
“No, it does not hurt.”
He captured her gaze once more and entered her fully, his

cock spreading her wide. She gasped at the sensation, more from the
pleasure than any pain. Once he was seated within, he paused and let
her capture her breath before he started to move, sliding in and out of
her in a rapid tempo, the friction of his movements building another
fire in her core.

The plump head of his shaft pressed against her womb,

stretching her channel to accommodate his thick length. He now
seemed to reach for something, his movements quickening, which
spurred the same sensation within her. They rocked together, her
moving her hips to keep pace with his grinding rhythm.

She teetered on the edge once more, the chasm calling her as

she felt the first hot, wet jets of his seed hitting the inside of her
channel. His cock trembled within her, and it pushed her off the cliff
into a spiral of unending pleasure.

Soon after, she was held in his massive arms, his lips against

her brow, and for the first time in a long, long time, she felt wanted.

Perhaps he had bought her, taken what he desired, but he had wanted
her. She belonged in his arms; the truth struck her in that moment.

Sybille snuggled closer to him, and he smiled against her brow

as his cock stiffened against her thigh. She lowered her hand to the
organ, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Wife, I think you will
be the death of me.”

“And how is that?” She lifted her head to gaze at him and was

once again struck by how handsome he was when he wasn’t snarling.

His smile vanished, and he grew quite somber. “I want you

more than I have ever wanted anything else in this world. And to have
you touch me so lovingly, it is more than I could have ever asked
for.”

His words took her breath away. She felt the sting of tears

burn the back of her eyes, and she forced them back.

“No crying. I can’t handle tears.”
“You are softer under that evil reputation you wear like a

shield. You can hide it from everyone else, but promise me you won’t
hide it from me.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze seeking hers. “And if I

promise that, what do I get in return?”

“I will be yours. I will help make us a home here, one you can

be proud of. Just show my brothers and me kindness.”

“You, I will show you kindness. Your brothers need to be

raised into men. I will push them hard, but I will never be cruel, even
though you may suspect I am. The world outside those gates is a hard
one, and it will eat a soft man. I will raise your brothers to be men
capable of surviving the hell that is this life.” He sighed deeply before
kissing her softly. “And I want a home we can be proud of, filled with
life and promise. And children.”

“So you can raise them to be hard?”
“If it need be.”
She smiled at him and kissed his lips. “So be it.”

****

A year or so later and Eustache had proven good to his word.

The castle was busier than it had been in years. Sybille remembered it
being this way when she was a small child, but had never expected to
ever find the former glory of that long past time. Seeing it bustle with
life made her happy, knowing they were building a life together here.

Men worked the fields surrounding the castle, their fallow

fields now filled with barley, oats, and beans. The bailey and lower
bailey had been cleaned and packed, and warriors practiced their
skills with sword and bow. A blacksmith’s hammer beat metal into
shape, making weapons and such in the great fire of his. The larders
were full of game and winter wheat, the kitchens and halls filled with
servants.

Sybille was on her knees in her garden, which was much

larger this season. Her herbs grew well in the fertile soil of this spot,
and she enjoyed the relaxation of getting her hands dirty. She spied
Eustache in the lower bailey with Felix, teaching him swordplay,
although she was nervous that they did not use wooden ones. She was
waiting for her husband to cut her brother to shreds, which she knew
wouldn’t happen, no matter how much she worried.

She tried to stand, but struggled to get to her feet. Her rounded

belly grew larger each day, and it was becoming harder and harder to
stand.

“Wait!” Eustache left Felix and rushed to her side, helping her

to her feet. Sybille saw the hidden smiles from his men. They all
knew Eustache was a besotted fool for her, just as much as she knew
it. Concern filled his gaze as he looked down at her. “You need to be
resting, not out here at your garden. The midwife says the baby will
come any day now.”

She had been feeling the pains of labor all morning. “It comes

now.”

His eyes grew large as he wobbled before her. “Now?” he

whispered.

“Now.”

The End

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Other Books by Alexandra O’Hurley:

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