Virginblood (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 4) (5 page)

She raised a hand to the side of her
neck, where his breath must have touched her.

"But she ought to be spanked
first."

Both Jeanne and Ram turned in
surprise, for there was Salvador, the eldest brother, hands on his
hips, grinning at them through the shifting swathes of sun and
leafy shadows.

"If she is bent over, she should be
spanked hard on that pretty bottom," he added.

Ram suffered a sharp spur of anger. He
had wanted to do this alone, but always one of his brothers
interfered. They all liked to share, of course, and he was
accustomed to it. But this woman had become his special mission.
Would he never get a moment alone with her?

* * * *

Jeanne was already wet from Ram's
lusty whispers, and had felt herself melting right where she sat,
but the suddenness of Salvador's appearance, not to mention his
suggestion, jerked her up off her stool as if he had indeed smacked
her arse with his large hand. Her mind had been so lost in the
picture Ram drew that she saw the spank too. And felt it
sting.

She would have run out of the dairy,
but Salvador blocked her path and held her by the arms. "Where do
you go in such haste? Don't let me spoil the tryst."

"How long have you been standing
there?" Ram asked, terse.

"Long enough. No need to stop. Keep
going, little brother. I'm impressed."

"The pot is off the boil now, thanks
to your interruption."

Salvador chuckled, his hands
tightening around her arms. "I think not. She's trembling and not
with fear. And look at her nipples! They're almost poking through
her gown, she's so heated."

"Let me go, you foul, disgusting pig,"
she spat. Embarrassed by the sensations Ramon had roused in her and
doubly humiliated at being caught in that state by one of his
brothers, she fought back as best she could, kicking at his
shins.

But he was impervious to her efforts
and held her easily. "Why, you naughty wench, come let us have a
look at those titties. Don't tease us!" He laughed. "Hold her, Ram,
while I have a sup at these plump teats."

"Don't scare her, Sal. She's young and
a virgin."

"I am not afraid," Jeanne shouted. "I
am angry! Let me go. You beasts think of naught but wickedness with
which to taunt an innocent maid."

"Beasts, eh? You should talk to us
with more respect." Salvador's face hardened, his jaw squared, and
his eyes became fierce. "We are your masters now, and you do as we
say."

"You have not earned my respect, and
you will never deserve it," she cried. "I see what you are and what
you do. You are no better than rutting beasts."

"You did not enjoy my brother's
efforts?"

"No," she snapped. A part of her was
sorry for the fib, not only because it was a sin to lie, but also
because it had insulted Ramon in front of his elder brother. Oh,
what did she care? What did it matter? These men had no feelings
and no pity. They were exactly what she called them. "Beasts!" she
yelled again. "Crude, filthy dogs."

Salvador released one of her arms, but
even as she thought she was about to be set free, Ram, standing
behind her, lifted her gown while his brother stuck that free hand
between her legs. She jerked back and came up hard against Ram, her
bare buttocks hitting his brawny thighs in their leather chausses.
Even as she wriggled and cursed, the eldest brother fondled her
pussy, lifting her up with his brutish hand so that her toes
struggled to touch the cold, flagged-stone floor. His palm was
wide, covering her sex. He laughed wickedly.

"For a woman who did not enjoy herself
she's pleasantly damp, Ramon. Dripping wet. Well done. Or was it
her prayers again that got her in this state?"

Jeanne twisted to look over her
shoulder at Ram, but his gaze quickly shifted away from her and he
laughed guiltily. He must have told his brothers what happened
yesterday in the barn. She was dismayed, humiliated.

Salvador now squeezed her
pussy and rubbed his large hand back and forth, forcing her against
his brother until she felt Ram's erection through his chausses,
pushing against her spine. "Is this how you say your prayers, girl?
Oh, yes.
Amen
!"

They both laughed as she shouted
louder, calling them every name she could think of.

Suddenly she was lifted off her feet
and thrown over Salvador's wide shoulder. He marched her out into
the yard with Ramon close behind.

"Now you must be punished for that
lying mouth, woman. We don't tolerate deception here or women who
are quarrelsome and disrespectful."

He sat on a barrel in the midst of the
yard, tossed her gown over her head and held her down over his
knees.

"Go to it, Ram. Spank her. She
deserves it for being a surly, stubborn, lying little
tease."

The cold air on her bottom made her
glad of the wool gown over her head to hide her face. She knew the
yard must be full of people all going about their work, and they
would now be watching, looking at her naked arse. She even heard a
few chuckles. Some of the castle residents had made it plain that
they thought her a haughty miss and now they would relish her
public comeuppance.

She squirmed, gasping for breath, the
buckle of his tunic biting into her side. But Salvador's strength
overpowered her easily. And then came Ramon's flat hand smacked so
hard against her bottom that she bit down on her tongue and her
eyes watered.

One of Salvador's palms pressed down
on her back, while his other arm wrapped around her thigh,
spreading her legs as he held her across his lap in a pose so
undignified that she could not bear it. Now the chill swept her wet
pussy as well as her buttocks and she heard feet moving quickly
over the cobbles, splashing through puddles, as people gathered
around to watch. They called to each other, alerting more folk to
the scene, and Jeanne's heart raced until she was dizzy. With her
free leg kicking wildly she made a last mad effort to get free, but
it was exhausting and futile. Ramon's hand came down on her
buttocks again, and a shout rose up from the crowd.

"Harder!" the blacksmith yelled
throatily. "Spank the pride out of that prissy wench who walks
about with her nose in the air, thinking she's so much better than
us."

"Aye," cried another voice, "Spank the
wench harder! Make those cheeks sore, master!"

And Ramon proceeded to do exactly
that, much to the joy of the rowdy mob.

Chapter Four

With each sting of Ram's hand, she
bounced a little in Salvador's lap. Her bottom throbbed. She knew
her cheeks, at both ends, must be scarlet.

But to Jeanne's shock, the spanking
did not take away from what he had done to her earlier. Her pussy
still felt the pulse of wanton desire. If anything, it was now
doubled.

The crowd around them was loud,
chanting and applauding, but she no longer imagined their faces
leering at her. Their noise was like the roar of the sea and she
was simply a little boat being tossed about on the waves. Even when
she heard the spit boy yelling excitedly that he could see her
cunny, calling to his friends to come look, she quickly cast it
away into the distance and concentrated instead on the shuddering,
jolting desire caused by that hand on her smarting
flesh.

Between spanks, Ram had let his
fingertips stray down to her pussy lips, stroking them slyly,
holding them open, running the rough pad of his thumb over the
sticky inner folds and wriggling it gently against the pearl of her
oyster.

Her hips thumped up and down on
Salvador's lap and he grunted, pinching her arse roughly. "Is the
little brat coming, Ram? She'd better not. Don't you diddle her
clitty. Keep spanking."

Someone—possibly the spit boy— was
howling like a wolf.

She became breathless, waiting for the
next stroke, squirming on Salvador's hard, muscular thighs. He too,
it seemed, grew impatient with Ram's teasing.

"You don't do it hard enough, boy. Are
you spanking her or kissing her?" So he squeezed her arse cheeks
cruelly and began serving her with his own slaps, which were harder
and fell faster, giving no chance for recovery after each one. He
laughed at her blushing bottom and with one arm still hooked around
her thigh, he called one of the bystanders over to hold her other
ankle.

"Keep her legs wide open. If the sly
wench gets her thighs together she'll come. Look at her rose-red
cunt! It begs for release, but she won't have it until we say she
can, eh? I'll spank the sauce out of her first."

Unable to close her legs, her private
regions displayed for the unobstructed viewing of those who
gathered, Jeanne could only curse under her breath and groan. Each
slap of his hard hand jerked her body. Splayed over his lap she
felt his cock stiffen in his chausses, pressing against her groin,
but oddly enough it did not frighten her or disgust her. She
wriggled, pushing herself down on it, grinding against the lump in
some attempt to get relief from the heavy ache inside her, until
she heard him exhale a taut hiss.

"Take your belt to her, Ram. The wench
needs it. I think she enjoys my hand too much."

Oh no, they would not take a belt to
her! Jeanne finally decided she'd had enough, and she sank her
teeth into Salvador's thigh.

* * * *

His brother howled and pushed her off
his lap. Ram didn't even know what had happened, but he saw her
take off running, so he gave chase and caught her before she
reached the ring of the crowd. He swept her up in his arms and took
her into the fortress.

The poor girl's arse was bright red,
and she probably would not be able to sit for a few
days.

"Put me down," she squealed as he
carried her onward.

"Stop wriggling. I'm helping
you."

"Helping me?" She laughed
hysterically.

He frowned. "Does your arse
hurt?"

"What do you think, beast?"

So he carried her to the women's
solar, where they often sat during daylight hours to sew. Only
Princesa, the heavily pregnant first wife, was there at that
moment, and when she saw Jeanne she quickly set her embroidery
aside.

"Well, for pity's sake, what have you
done?"

"She had to be punished for a
disrespectful tongue," he replied and then admitted begrudgingly,
"Sal lost his temper."

"What is wrong with Salvador lately?
He's like a bear with a thorn in his paw. Come. Follow
me."

Princesa led them down to the
stillroom where the nun who came to tend Guillaume kept all the
herbal medicines she brewed. Lately she'd been teaching the wives
her skill and the shelves were stacked with powders, ground horn,
oils and various cordials in a myriad of colors. The thick scent of
so many herbs and spices reminded Ram of his mother. She had died
when he was very small so he had only one clear memory—of a time
when he was ill with a fever. He remembered her scent and warmth
surrounding him while she held him tight and sang songs to take his
mind off the bad taste of the medicine she made him drink. It was
more than twenty years ago now, of course, and in time the memory
would fade. It had already begun to fray around the edges, and that
saddened him.

Gently he set Jeanne on her feet. She
would not look at him. He offered to apply the soothing cream to
her backside, but Princesa politely suggested he'd done enough for
the time being, so he left them alone.

* * * *

Jeanne lay across one of the benches
on her belly while Princesa carefully applied the soothing oil on
her buttocks.

"I called them beasts, and I told
Salvador he was a foul, disgusting pig," she murmured. "So they
spanked me. In front of everyone."

"Poor dear!" Princesa cooed softly,
but Jeanne wondered whether the other woman even listened. She was
a daydreamer, and since she was in the last term of her pregnancy
she didn't seem to think about very much else but the imminent
birth of her baby.

Resting her chin on her hands, Jeanne
glared at the shelves of dried herbs and medicines. "I hate this
place."

There was a pause while Princesa wiped
her hands and replaced a jar on the shelf. When she turned to face
Jeanne again she had placed both hands on her high, round belly and
she was smiling. "How can you hate this place? I think perhaps your
life must have been luxurious and very grand before
this."

Jeanne frowned. The woman was clearly
being sarcastic. "Of course not. But at least I was not manhandled
by ruffians. At least I was left alone to pray."

Princesa waddled to the bench and sat.
"Before I came here I was a bondslave. As a young girl, I was
captured by a rich nobleman. He kept me in chains. I was beaten and
tortured daily for his entertainment. I had run away many times,
but he always found me again." She sighed. "I'll let you into a
secret, Jeanne. I say my prayers every day, but up here," she
tapped two fingers to her brow, "and here," then she placed them to
her heart. "I thank god for sending me to Raul d'Anzeray, for that
man saved me from a life of misery. He brought me here where I am
loved and treasured by seven fine men, where I have good food and
warm clothes. And friendship. This place you hate, Jeanne, has
saved my soul."