Virginblood (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 4) (3 page)

He thought of Jeanne praying to her
deity with her eyes closed. Why did she not have eyes open? Did her
god want his followers blind?

Running a hand over his rough cheek,
he looked back at his father's fortress. Shining in the rain, it
reached up into the dull sky with its grey flint-stone towers
saluting like angry fists. He'd planned on leaving this place
before full winter. It was time he went out on his own, made his
mark, but his thoughts returned again to Jeanne with her softly
bowed pink lips and wide blue eyes. Her hair was one of those
colors that changed depending on the light that day. It could be
dark gold, or nut-brown, or anything in between. When she first
came there with Lady Isobel she wore a wimple all the time, hiding
her hair from view. But after a while she discarded the
head-covering, as her mistress did. Now she kept her long hair in a
serpent-like braid that twisted down her back and tapped her full
buttocks as she walked across the yard. Ramon had watched her many
times and wondered how she would look with that hair
undone.

And he was not the only one who
speculated about the prudish little maid with the shapely backside
and ripe bubbies.

If he left now, one of his brothers
would have her within the next few months; he was sure of it. She
would not long keep her maidenhead. A woman of good age with a
lusciously curved body, a pretty face, and a goodly amount of
curiosity, would become prey sooner or later. Dominigo clearly
found her attractive, and it was only a surprise that he had not
fucked her by now. For some reason he was uncommonly gentle with
the woman, always being first to step forward and help her mount
her palfrey when she went riding with Lady Isobel. He'd passed her
a pear at dinner last night, urging her to taste its sweet flesh,
and then he'd held it for her while she took a shy bite. Now this—
stopping Ram from teasing her about her "prayers".

Aye, Dom surely had his eye on the
wench and was biding his time for an opportunity, softening her up
for seduction.

Her cunny was delicious, sweet as a
peach basted in honey. He wondered if Dom or any of the others had
tasted her yet, played with her at all. She was a young woman who
hid behind her religion, but she possessed a deeply sensual side
too. He'd witnessed it in the threshing barn that
afternoon.

It would be a challenge to seduce her,
of course, and perhaps that was why the idea of it enflamed his
blood. To win her submission would be quite something.

If anyone was to be her first, Ramon
decided it would be him. He must have her.

His brothers could take their turn,
but he would be the hunter who took first blood inside that
luscious little maid.

* * * *

It had been several weeks, but she
still did not think she would ever settle in to life with the
d'Anzeray family. When her mistress chose to marry into it, Jeanne
had no choice really but to go along too. For ten years she'd
looked after Lady Isobel, although she sensed that her mistress
thought it was the other way about.

They'd met as children, running about
the Languedoc castellany of Isobel's powerful father, the Duc de
Bressange. Jeanne's own father was once a vintner on the duc's
estate, but he died suddenly, leaving his wife and many children to
the mercy of charity. Those who were old enough were put to work on
the land and Jeanne, the smallest, was given a place in the duc's
cookhouse. Then, when the duc sailed for England and decided to
bring his daughter too, Isobel insisted that she be allowed to
bring Jeanne, as her maid. In that strange, newly conquered land,
they became even closer friends. Lady Isobel had never had much
affection from her parents, and Jeanne did her best to make up for
it. She had found her use and her place in life. Or so she
thought.

But now Isobel was happy in this
unconventional marriage with seven men, and the maid felt pushed
aside, no longer so needed. She had been essential before. Now she
was almost superfluous, it seemed. Time spent with her mistress
grew less and less, so she had more time to dwell upon her inner
thoughts and sadness, struggling to find a place for herself in
this new world.

She helped the other wives, Princesa
and Aelfa, as much as they would allow, but neither woman had ever
had a maid before, and they were accustomed to looking after
themselves. She worked in the laundry and the cookhouse, making
herself busy as much as possible. Sometimes she even took trays of
food and bowls of water to the notorious master of the fortress,
Guillaume d'Anzeray.

The old man was, supposedly, on his
deathbed, yet he seemed remarkably lively to her. Jeanne had seen
men near death before, and Guillaume was not one. At first she
assumed he simply enjoyed the attention from his sons and
daughters-in-law, and made the most of a few aches and pains. But
then she heard that he had instructed his seven sons to go out into
the world, find brides, expand their power through alliances with
wealthy families and have sons. He wanted to ensure his name would
be carried into the future. This then, was his way of getting
things done, pushing his sons to action by making them believe he
was soon to draw his last breath.

However, of the three wives so far
acquired, only one—Lady Isobel—brought wealth to their castellany.
Alonso d'Anzeray had stolen her away from her previous husband, and
she brought with her a chest of gold, pearls and gems that her own
mother gave her before she left France.

The Duc de Bressange, having heard
news of his daughter deserting her first marriage and riding off
into the blood-red sunset with a d'Anzeray, had disowned her
immediately, abandoning her to the path she'd chosen. But Lady
Isobel remained optimistic about a future reconciliation. She
believed that when she birthed her first child, her father would
have a change of heart. The Duc de Bressange had lost many sons in
battle, and a grandson, she assumed, would bring him around to her
new marriage, however unorthodox.

Jeanne did not share her mistress’
optimism. She wondered if the lady was just so happy now in this
new arrangement that she refused to understand how most people
would not condone what she did. After all, the Duc's grandson would
be a d'Anzeray, and it was doubtful he would see that as cause for
celebration. And when he learned, as he surely would, that his
daughter was part of a growing harem of wives taken to service all
seven brothers, he was hardly likely to raise a toasting horn to
her new marriage.

That evening, as she washed Lady
Isobel's hair and helped her bathe, Jeanne pondered whether she
should complain about what Ramon had done to her earlier in the
threshing barn. She had a bad scrape on her knee and bruises on her
thighs from his fingers, but whenever she thought of his tongue
working over and inside her pussy that same wave of wet heat swept
through her again and she lost her breath. What good would it do to
tell her mistress? She could take care of herself if he tried that
again. He had taken her by surprise, but it would not happen
twice.

But as she watched the waves of cloudy
bathwater lapping against the side of the wooden tub, it reminded
her again of that sensation inside her. The relentless tide he'd
caused with his tongue—more violent and forceful than the rhythm
she had begun with her own fingers. How determined he had been, how
greedy. She had feared for a moment that he would take her there
and then, on the floor of the threshing barn.

"What is wrong with you, Jeanne?" her
mistress asked as she stepped out of the bath and into the clean
fleece held out for her. "You're very flushed."

"It is hot in here, my
lady."

"I am not hot. Perhaps you are
feverish? You have been very quiet."

Jeanne shook her head and complained
softly that she had a slight stomachache, probably due to her
forthcoming courses.

Lady Isobel sighed. "That is something
I do not miss now I am pregnant. The dreaded monthly
visit!"

"Indeed, my lady. You will not have to
suffer that for several more months." She nodded and smiled at her
mistress, knowing how delighted the lady was to have a babe finally
growing in her belly after her fruitless first marriage. "I hope
those men are gentle with you, especially now you are with child,
my lady."

"Of course they are. After today they
will probably enjoy Aelfa most often as she is yet to become
pregnant." Isobel ran a hand over the swell of her belly. "I will
soon be fat, Jeanne. Can you imagine? I have always been so thin
and bony. It will be quite a change. I wish I could be plump all
the time. Like you. Men prefer a rounded body."

"They seem to like yours well enough,"
Jeanne remarked with a sniff. "They can barely keep their hands off
you. All of them."

"These will soon grow heavier." The
other woman cupped her small, firm breasts and let the fleece drop.
"Ouch! They ache already."

Jeanne readied her lady's gown, but
Isobel was too busy inspecting her changing body, fascinated by it.
She did look a lot healthier now that she was away from her
mean-tempered first husband and blossoming.

"I do not think they will ever be as
full as your breasts, Jeanne. Yours are quite splendid."

She looked down at herself. "They
are?" Usually she thought of her large bosom as an inconvenience,
especially when the nipples were sensitive and her bodice rubbed
uncomfortably. An early developer, she had breasts the size of
oranges by the age of eleven and it had brought her unwelcome
attention at times. Now they were three times that size.

Suddenly her mistress reached over and
placed her palms under the rounded weight of Jeanne's breasts.
Gently lifting and bouncing them, she smiled. "Look at them,
Jeanne. I can see the nipples poking through your gown. They react
to the softest touch."

Biting her lip, Jeanne glanced down
and saw those hardened peaks thrusting at the front of her bodice.
Her mistress stroked them with her fingers and then pinched them
lightly.

"Your body is very womanly. You were
made to suckle and nurture a babe, Jeanne. And a man."

"I do not want a man, my lady." She'd
been pawed at enough times and threatened by men who looked at her
with raging, base hunger in their eyes.

Isobel pinched a little harder. "You
do not know what you want, Jeanne."

She pressed her lips tightly together
as her nipples ached.

"Do not pull that angry face," her
mistress chided, "you have only known the intimate touch of a
woman."

"
Your
touch, my lady. I liked when it
was just you and I. When I was of use to you. When you sought me
out to bring you comfort at night in your bed, or after your bath."
She did not believe it would feel as good with any other woman, but
her friendship with Lady Isobel was different and dear to her. She
adored the woman and would lay down her life for her. The first
time she had placed her hands and her mouth on Isobel's naked body,
she knew she would never feel the same deep affection for any other
soul, whatever their gender.

"But until you have tried a man, how
do you know you won't like that too? Some folk enjoy both." Isobel
finally took her hands away from Jeanne's breasts. "You might enjoy
men and women in bed. It is surely best to try something before you
decide you don't like it."

Jeanne flushed hotter and looked down
at her feet, wishing the stones would part and let her vanish into
cool darkness away from prying eyes and questions. Now she knew she
definitely could not tell her mistress about Ramon in the barn, for
if she put it into words she would shame herself by losing her
breath. She might give away the fact that she had enjoyed
it.

Heaven help her. She could not even
admit that to herself, let alone to Lady Isobel. Her stomach
clenched, hating what he had made her feel.

"Perhaps you have tried?" her mistress
urged slyly.

"No, my lady!" She gasped. "I am a
virgin and you know that." She faltered. "You know, my lady, what
I..." Unable to finish her sentence, Jeanne clamped her lips and
eyes shut again, swallowing the sob of anguish that wanted
out.

But then she felt Isobel's soft, warm
hands around her face and heard her kindly urging, "Look at me,
Jeanne. Open your eyes. Don't be afraid to cry. Sometimes it is
good to let the tears out."

So she opened her eyes and blinked as
tears welled over her lashes.

"Of course I know what you went
through," Isobel whispered. "It will always be our secret. I
promised, did I not?"

Jeanne nodded as a hot tear wove its
way down over her cheek.

"That man who attacked you when you
were a child was drunk, my dear Jeanne, and his intent was evil.
You did what was necessary to get away from him."

She saw it in her mind as if it
happened only that morning, yet it was years ago. The fat man with
his stinking breath, holding her down on the wine cellar floor and
trying to force his cock between her legs. Jeanne had reached for
the closest weapon and her small, trembling hand found a shard of
broken pottery from the jug she'd been carrying when he attacked
her. With more strength than she'd ever imagined she possessed,
little Jeanne had thrust that sharp piece into his belly like a
dagger. At that very moment, Lady Isobel, only a few years older
than Jeanne, arrived on the scene. She rushed to the girl's aid at
once, helped burn her bloodstained gown and gave her an unshakeable
alibi. The man's death was eventually assumed a bizarre accident
and from that moment onward the two women were closer than sisters.
And Jeanne had resolved never to let another man touch her. She had
buried her guilt in devout prayer, desperately trying to erase that
stain from her soul.