De Warenne Dynasty 01 - The Conquerer

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The Conquerer

De Warenne1

BrendaJoyce

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An erotic medieval romance tells the story of Rolfe the Relentless, a notorious invader who claims an English castle and its Saxon lady as his bride, only to find himself drawn to the lady's seductive illegitimate sister.

Like a pagan god,Rolfe the Relentless rode into Castle Aelfgar to claim it as his prize--andLadyAlice as his bride. Lauded for his bravery inFrance , inEngland he was the hated enemy. Once ensconced in his new domain,Rolfe became determined to tame the Saxon beauty Ceidre,Alice 's illegitimate sister, whose spirit and sensuality make him risk treason to have her--notLadyAlice --in his bed...

Mysterious and seductive, she was no lady but a spy for the rebel cause of her noble half brothers. Refusing to bow to this arrogant warrior who ignited her forbidden passion, Ceidre was swept into a dangerous liaison tied to the fate ofEngland and kings. Yet with his kisses on her lips, his skillful hands on her body, she would have to struggle not to surrender to... The Conqueror SHE BEGAN TO WRITHE....

And he came down on her, his arms going around her, steel bands, unyielding, and he felt the heat of her against the stiffness of his groin. He pressed against her, grunting with pleasure. Her sobs mingled with his labored breathing. But that was not what stopped him. It was the sound of galloping destriers. One more moment and he would be deep, so deep inside her. He was on his feet, his sword battle-ready in hand, in the next scant second.

"Rolfe, my lord, stop!"

Guyreined in, andRolfe , standing there with blade upraised, was a hair's breadth from killing his best vassal.Guy knew it, for he shouted, "She'sMercia 's sister! Good God, she'sMercia 's sister!"

"What?"

"She'sEdwin 's sister,Rolfe .Edwin and Morcar's sister."

Rolfeturned, stunned, to look at the wench who lay curled up on the ground, the wench he had been an instant from raping. His intended.

Copyright © 1990 by Dworman

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Chapter 1

NearYork , June 1069

"My lord?"

"Rouse out all the villagers."

Rolfe of Warenne watched expressionlessly as his vassalGuyLe Chante wheeled his destrier around, calling to his knights. He sat motionless on his massive gray stallion in the middle of the road. He had removed hishelmut ; it lay in the crook of his left arm. His hair, flaxen and curly, was dark and damp with sweat. His mail hauberk clung to his broad frame, and his right hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword.

He watched his men rousing the remaining villagers. He had only to turn his head slightly to the left to see the dozen slain Saxon rebels, their bodies already giving off that peculiar stink of death in the warmJune sun. His blood still coursed from the recent battle, his muscles were still thick with it. Another nest of Saxon rebels, yet the king would not be pleased. Far from it. The war in these savage northern climes looked to be endless. It had been a fortnight sinceWilliam 's iron fist had come down hard enough to shake the entire table as he sat with his vassals atYork . They had just turned the Danish invaders back, retakenYork , and sent the Saxons fleeing into the Welsh marches. This was the second uprising in as many years, andKingWilliam had been furious, especially as the Saxon lordsEdwin and Morcar had escaped. Again. "No mercy," he had roared. "We will burn out every croft and every cranny until these barbarians learn who their holy and anointed king is!"

The orders stood.

Rolfesaw his men herding a dozen villagers, male and female, away from the village. Like most of these hamlets, it consisted of a dozen small thatched huts, a watermill, a few common pastures for sheep, a cornfield, and vegetable patches. A cry of outrage made him turn his head.

"No!" The young woman had hold ofGuy 's arm as he lifted his sword to sever the head from a sow. She screamed again;Guy decapitated the creature effortlessly. Blood sprayed her gown andGuy 's horse.

Rolfewatched with a twinge of interest. He wasn't sure if his interest was due to her daring and foolishness in opposingGuy , or to her hair, the most magnificent and unusual mane he had ever seen. The color of the richest bronze, in the sunlight it sparkled as if seeded with gold flakes. The braid was as thick as his destrier's tail.

She stood in shock, clutching herself.Guy came trotting up the road. For a momentRolfe did not take his eyes off her; he felt the stirring in his groin and made another decision.Guy reined in as the wench was led to the group of pale, stricken villagers by one of the peasants. He wondered what she looked like up close, then dismissed the question as needless. It didn't matter; she would serve. "My lord?"Guy asked.

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Two oxen and a dozen sheep had been slaughtered, enough to feed his men for a sennight. He waited a beat, until one of the knights had dragged the slaughtered sow aside, then piercedGuy with cold blue eyes. "Burn everything."

"The cornfield?"

Rolfe's jaw clenched. Without their livestock and without their corn, the peasants would starve this winter. But they would not harbor any more rebels. "Everything."

Guyturned with a cry. No war cry, but a shallow, lacking rendition. His men were not looters, not like many of the mercenaries come toEngland . Rather, his men were highly trained, the most elite Norman fighting force there was, the king's personal household troops. They had been honed by years of war to establishWilliam in the duchy ofNormandy , in resisting invasion inFrance andAnjou , in conquering and holdingMaine .Hastings had been a lark in comparison; and three years later the Saxons had proved they were no threat on the battlefield. Only in the hills and vales and forests of the borderlands,Rolfe thought.

Then they were very skilled warriors, indeed.

He did not have to look to feel the agitation coming from the peasants, for his senses were keen. But look he did. He saw an old woman and a man holding the honey-haired girl, who was struggling to break free. He watched keenly. She slipped their grasp and, with her skirts lifted, giving him a glimpse of bare, dirty feet and slim, shapely calves, she ran up the road to him.

Bloodlust, thick and hot, filled his sac, tightened it, weighted it. He watched her approaching. "My lord, please," she cried, panting, her hands clasped to her bosom. "Please, stop them, it's not too late!"

For an instant,Rolfe couldn't answer. She was dirty -dirt smudged her face, her gown and tunic, her hands. But he barely saw her filth. He was looking at her perfectly oval face, at the high, aristocratic cheekbones, the straight, slightly tilted nose, big, wide pur-ple eyes. And that mouth. Too full, the only imperfection, a mouth made for a man's pleasure. Some Saxon lord's by-blow, he thought, and knowing what was to come, there was the slightest easing of the hard line of his lips. His friends would know he was pleased.

He ignored her plea, of course, and turned his head slightly to watch one hut go up in flames. It was instantaneous, because of the thatched, straw roof. Another followed. He did not feel satisfaction. There was no satisfaction to feel. He was the king's man, he was his sworn vassal, he was doing his duty. And as a warrior andWilliam 's most trusted knight, he knew the soundness of this policy. It would, eventually, break the back of the rebellion.

She grabbed his foot.

Shocked,Rolfe twisted, as his steed pranced furiously and then lashed out. She jumped back asRolfe fought to control the maddened stallion, who was meanly humored and as likely to kill men as not. When he had his mount under control he pierced her with a look that combined anger and incredulity.

"Please spare the corn," she cried. Tears streaked her grimy cheeks. "Please, my lord, please."

She would starve along with her village, he thought, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He looked away again and watched as the corn went up in a blaze of flames. He heard her gasp out a choked sob, then knew she was leaving. He was compelled to gaze after her, running, stumbling, not back to the villagers but into the forest. He watched her hips. The heaviness in his groin grew. Smoke billowed over the village; the old women were sobbing. His knights had finished their job, andRolfe saw two of them turn
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and set chase after the girl, no doubt with the same intention of bedding her that he had. Instantly adrenaline tightened every fiber of his being and reflex had him leaning over his stallion's neck, spurring him on.

Guyand Beltain were ahead of him, pursuing her at an easy canter, and he heard Beltain laugh.Rolfe smiled. Beneath him, his destrier stretched out into a gallop. The two men heard him and looked back, startled. Ahead of themRolfe saw the girl disappear into a copse. She knew she was being chased and her feet had wings.Rolfe reached his men and surged between them. He was vaguely aware that they had dropped out of the chase, as he had known they would. The girl came into sight again.

Every muscle ofRolfe 's body was taut with tension and expectation. He was hard and throbbing beneath his undertunic. He could almost feel her soft woman's body beneath his, the sticky heat of her sheath around him. She screamed as she fell, looked back, saw him. She was up and running again. He was behind her. Alongside her. He easily drew her into his arms and up onto his thigh. She screamed again, clinging, though, not struggling, as his destrier was in a battle gallop, and one fall would be her last. He pushed her completely over his lap, facedown, and felt soft breasts on his thigh, her ribs against his stiff groin. He brought the stallion immediately to a blowing halt.

She was twisting wildly, and her elbow almost caught his manhood as she tried to right herself and slip off, butRolfe was too fast and too strong. He slid to his feet with her in his arms, went down on his knees, and pushed her flat on her back.

For an instant, their eyes met.

Hers terrified and furious, his hot and bright.

He had to have her, and now. He caught her braid by the nape, and even as he leaned over to claim her lips he was shoving her gown and tunic up to her waist. She writhed but his one hold was enough to pin her.

He kneed her thighs wide apart. "My brothers," she said, gasping. "My brothers will-"

His mouth closed on hers, his tongue delving deep into the space she had provided. He ran one hand over her breasts, full and lush. His hand didn't stop. He tore his mouth away and reached down to clasp her woman's mound; she arched in panic beneath his touch. "They'll kill you," she screamed, her body coming up off the ground to try to escape his touch. But he still had her nape and her head remained a firm anchor; she wasn't going anywhere. Not until he allowed it.