A Knight of Passion

chapter Seven

Bryant propped an elbow on the mantel in the great hall and leaned towards the fire crackling in the hearth as he nodded to the young warrior he was speaking with. The postern door opened and Sir Dunbar entered. He swept the room with his gaze until he met Bryant’s, and he crossed to where they stood.

“Leave us,” he commanded the young man. With a nod to Bryant, the warrior left. Dunbar remained quiet until they were alone, then said, “Your little bird has flown the coop.”

Bryant straightened from the mantel. “What?”

“Easy.” Sir Dunbar gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of the duchess, who sat beside Lady Siusan Ellis at the table. “Her Grace is a very observant woman.”

“What has happened?” Bryant demanded.

“The stable boy told me Lady Ellis left an hour ago.”

“That was before dawn. Did he say where she went?”

Dunbar shook his head. “Nay, but Klenmarnoch is just an hour’s ride north.”

Comprehension hit like ice water. “By God,” Bryant cursed. “It is. The little fool has gone to the gaol to beg for Glen’s release.”

“Exactly.”

Everyone knew of the duchess’ prison. Arundel Castle where the duke and duchess lodged was the largest castle within two days’ ride. The duchess’ ancestral home, Klenmarnoch, lay on the edge of the village of Geary where, ten years ago, they had established a prison. Thirty-seven cells wound throughout the maze of corridors and stairs of the four-storey castle. Riana could enter the prison and never be heard from again.

“She cannot hope to succeed,” he said through tight lips.

“Beautiful women often succeed where men cannot,” Dunbar said.

“But at what price?”

Bryant envisioned the picture the duchess had painted of Riana’s tender body shackled to a stone wall while the gaol master f*cked her until she was too sore to stand. Fury and fear rammed through his veins.

“You are not taken with the lass, by chance?” Dunbar asked.

Bryant recalled the exquisite torture of her arse tightening around his cock as he had eased into her and the way she impaled herself on the phallus as he thrust inside, and felt himself grow hard.

“You knew what she was when you hatched this scheme,” Dunbar said. “You did not expect her to change?”

“I did not expect her to feel the need to f*ck another man.”

The older knight laughed. “Then you do not know women.”

Sir Bryant scowled and set the goblet on the mantel.

“You are going after her?” Dunbar asked.

“Aye.”

He sighed. “Then let us be done with it.”

“You need not risk your neck.”

“If you wed the wench, my neck is at risk.”

“I can stand on my own,” Bryant said.

Dunbar snorted. “The duke would crush you, then the duchess would have your liver for breakfast.”

If what Riana had said to the duchess was true, Bryant would have the duke’s liver for breakfast.

* * * *

Riana slowly walked around the desk, careful to emphasise the sway of her hips. She stopped in front of the warden and knelt. Cold seeped from the stone through her knees clear to the bone, a strange contrast to the warm fire that bathed the right side of her body. She laid a hand over his groin. The firm cock hidden by his tunic pulsed beneath her fingers, and relief flooded through her.

She looked up at him. “You have the power to do with me what you will, but is a willing slave not more desirable than an unwilling slave?”

She lifted the tunic out of the way, bent her head, and, with her teeth, grazed the mushroom tip of the hard length bulging against the thin fabric of his hose. He groaned, and she slowly sucked along the side before straightening.

He released a slow breath and reached forward. She sat motionless, startled as he smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen forward across her cheek. His thumb traced a gentle line across her cheek, then he dropped his hand onto his thigh and relaxed back into the chair.

“My life will be forfeit if I release your father,” he said.

“You said no one would know I had been here, if you so chose,” Riana persisted. “Could Glen not be killed in a fight? Surely the duchess would accept your word?”

She scooted closer and flattened her palms on his muscled thighs, while strategically allowing her breasts to brush his rod.

His eyes darkened. “How can you be certain I will not take what you offer, then send you on your way without payment?”

“I cannot.” Eyes locked with his, she rubbed her nipples against his rod. “But if you do not release him, I will not return.”

The warden studied her. “You are willing to submit as often as I please?”

“As often as you desire.”

“A fine arrangement,” he replied. “But once I free your father, you have no reason to keep your word.”

“Not so, my lord.” Little did he know she might find herself in this prison. Mayhap he would show some mercy if she dealt straight with him now.

Riana grasped the waistband of his hose and pulled it down. His cock sprang free, pointed directly at her as if in command to suck the hard length into her mouth. She could smell his scent, male musk, ripe for a woman’s tongue. His gaze sharpened as she swung a leg over his, then began to rub against his hose-covered flesh.

“If I renege,” she said, “you can have your revenge in any number of ways.” Still rubbing against him, she leaned against his leg and lowered her mouth towards his cock. “One word from you and the duchess will know I was here.”

Riana circled the weeping crown with her tongue. The clean tang of his pre-cum burst across her tongue and she wanted to weep for relief that this man wasn’t the vile creature she’d feared she would have to give herself to. She took the tip into her mouth and sucked his rod deep inside. He thrust into her. She grasped him at the root and began an in–and-out rhythm.

He groaned and tunnelled long fingers into her hair. She continued the rhythm, slow, sure, and sucking hard. His thigh shifted beneath her cunt and she realised she’d stopped moving on him. Riana slowly slid her moist folds along his leg, careful not to lose the rhythm of her mouth on his cock. He thrust along her tongue until her palm edge met her mouth. He seized her shoulders and yanked her up.

Before she realised his intent, he had hauled her onto his desk. Her legs hung off the edge and he eased her back onto the desktop. He spread her legs and stepped between her thighs. When his mouth closed around a pebbled nipple, he shifted and slid his shaft along her wet folds and into her curls. Riana recalled Sir Bryant, the feel of his cock buried deep in her channel…then her arse.

Feather-light fingers made contact with her ribs, and swirled in slow circles. The soft swirls moved downwards into the curve of her waist, across her belly button, the barest ruffle across her curls until he slipped a long finger inside her. She arched into the sure, long strokes. Her channel walls tightened.

For so long she had only pretended pleasure. Sir Bryant roused more, whispered a voice. The man whose fingers f*cked her cunt was almost as large as the knight. Could he rouse passion in her? Might this task be pleasant? She closed her eyes, but instead of the warden, she saw Sir Bryant’s emerald green eyes, dark with passion as they had been only a few hours ago. The warden thrust his finger deeper inside her.

Had those hours with the knight been a taste of what could have been, God's punishment for not being strong enough to resist the duchess’ threats? When faced with one’s sister being defiled by the Duke of Arundel, blind faith had a sting the priests failed to mention.

The warden inserted a second finger inside her and quickened the thrusts while sucking harder on her nipple. Riana gasped. He shifted his mouth to the other nipple. She moaned, reaching deep for the pleasure that had come so easily with Sir Bryant. She became aware of the warden’s shaft, hard, insistent, rubbing against her mound.

Riana reached down and brushed her fingertips across the velvety tip. He groaned and grasped the hand touching him. His fingers closed over hers as he wrapped them around his warm shaft and thrust into them. He broke off from her nipple and covered her mouth with his. Riana twined her free arm around his neck, drew him close until his chest pressed her breasts flat beneath the steely muscle.

He flicked his tongue against her mouth and she opened for him. He plunged inside and their tongues twirled, his thrusts in time with his fingers inside her. She sucked his tongue hard and stretched his cock tight with the downward motion of her hand around him. He groaned, working his fingers faster, harder. She worked him faster, harder.

Who was this man? Her heart squeezed and shame washed over her. She didn’t even know his name. He thrust into her palm, his rod hard and thick. The rhythm of his fingers faltered and his body spasmed with pleasure. His seed filled her hand. His hand covered hers and squeezed his cock harder. He froze for an instant, then relaxed. He didn’t move for a long moment. When he released her hand, he gently wiped her fingers clean on his tunic, then braced himself over her, and stared.

“Perhaps you are worth risking the hangman’s noose.”

“Sir!” a man shouted on the other side of the doorway.

The warden’s head snapped in the direction of the door.

“Out of my way, fool,” came another male voice.

Riana bolted into a sitting position. “Sir Bryant.”