Everyone is silent, expectant. Waiting to see if I’ll humble myself and beg forgiveness for being so bold with the king. Lord knows I should. But I’ve never backed down before and I’m not starting now. Besides, this man might be arrogant, but there’s intelligence in his eyes, as well. He’d see right through me if I apologized, because it wouldn’t be genuine. “If you’re expecting a curtsy, you’ll be waiting a while,” I say, brushing my sleeve.
More gasps.
One of the girls even starts crying.
Corbet stares at me hard for long moments, before a wolfish smile shapes his mouth. “Save the curtsy. Give me an hour of your time, instead.” He flicks a glance over my shoulder where the loch curves around the base of a mountain. “A walk, perhaps.”
I almost gasp at that.
When a man and woman go on a walk at the Joining, it is understood that something clandestine will be happening. Kissing is the mildest of possibilities. By day two, it will not be unusual to hear the sounds of rutting coming from that direction. If the king is asking me on a walk around the loch, he is expecting to know me in the biblical sense.
Which most certainly will not be happening.
I’m a virgin and I plan to stay that way until my wedding night.
Still, even I can’t deny the king a direct request. Even if he isn’t my king.
To do so would label me as disrespectful. A troublemaker.
No man will dare select me at the auction tomorrow evening if that happens—and I have no choice but to leave this Joining betrothed, if not married.
I sigh. “Well, Your Majesty, it appears you have me between a loch and a hard place.”
He barks a laugh. “Oh yes, she’ll do.” Stepping closer, he offers me his arm, wafting the scent of oranges and cloves in my direction. “My lady…?”
I swallow, sensing some sort of finality. Like there’s no going back. “Gwen.”
The heat in his expression intensifies. “Lady Gwen.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that the king’s friend appears stupefied.
With a sense of impending doom, I curl my hand around Corbet’s elbow and allow him to lead me toward the moonlit loch.
3
Corbet
Christ, she’s not only better than I’d hoped…she’s fucking extraordinary.
There is a pulse beating to the left of my jugular I wasn’t even aware I had. Meaning it doesn’t even race like this in battle. The girl only reaches my shoulder and I can’t seem to stop staring down at the part of her hair, memorizing the way the starlight bathes each of the midnight strands. My gaze tracks lower to the pale globes of her tits that wobble subtly with every step we take toward the loch. And if she only knew how my cock stretches the front of my trousers, she’d probably go running back in the other direction.
But my God, I am aching for her.
Gwen.
A woman who would stand up to a king, sass him without batting an eyelash.
Sharp of wit.
Proud.
I’m not so much of a barbarian that I don’t realize how quickly I’m moving. I should at least sit beside her at the bonfire, talk to her, share a couple of ales, before spiriting her off to the loch for our first fuck, but I’m already dangerously close to spilling my come down the leg of my pants. She is affecting me like nothing I’ve ever experienced. As soon as I’ve been between her thighs a few times, I’ll bring her back to the Joining and treat her properly. I swear it.
I’ll propose.
That she become my mistress.
And she’ll say yes.
Because what woman wouldn’t be overjoyed to live in the castle? I’ll dress her in the finest clothes, fill her with the best food, satisfy her sexually. Give her children. There is nothing else a woman could ask for.
Right?
It is unlike me to feel doubt—and I don’t like it. So I ignore the feeling and continue guiding the beautiful Gwen toward privacy. We’ll need to be out of earshot of the Joining for what I have planned.
“Have you come to the Joining alone?” I ask, eager to know more about this interesting female. One who would give no quarter to a king. One who would tell a man to drop dead without hesitation. God, I like the hell out of her. A woman! Who thought it possible?
“No. I am here with my two sisters, Viola and Sadie. They are too young for the nighttime festivities, so they’ve gone to sleep in our tent.”
“Your voice warms when you speak of them.”
“Yes.” She averts her face, but I catch the color on her cheeks. “I love them with all my heart and soul.”
I stoop down to study her face, laughing when she ducks her head. “Does it embarrass you to speak about your emotions?”
“Yes. It’s horrible.”
“It is,” I agree, chuckling. Goddammit, I like her so much.
A woman!
“I don’t know how people manage to…define their feelings so easily. And then talk about them to complete strangers,” Gwen continues. “Why not just hand them a—”
“Weapon,” we say at the same exact time.
“Yes,” she breathes, studying me with a puckered brow. “But my sisters deserve to have someone who professes love for them, so I force myself to do it. Only for them. Even if it makes my face feel like it’s on fire.” She pauses. “Do you have anyone like that in your life? Someone you would let your face burn for?”
“Perhaps my sword.”
“Ah. It must be magnificent.”
“A flick of my wrist and she’ll leave a man’s entrails at his feet.”
“Wow. Entrails. Do you talk like this to all the ladies?” She glances back over her shoulder. “It’s a wonder there aren’t a trail of them swooning in your wake.”
My laughter echoes off the side of the mountain. “God, woman. You amuse me.”
“Are you looking for a new court jester?” she quips, her expression so charming, I almost pull her down onto the grass, eager to put my mouth on her full, clever, beguiling one. Now. “Is that where your interest lies?”
“Far from it,” I rasp, reaching beneath my tunic to adjust my throbbing dick.
“Too bad,” she sighs. “I wager a jester makes decent coin.”
Concern briefly eclipses my hunger. “Are you in need of coin, my lady?”
Firmly, she shakes her head. “That is not your worry.”
Obviously she doesn’t see where this relationship is going. “Oh yes it is.”
Her nose wrinkles. “No, it is not. You are a king, but you are not my king. Besides, not even the ruler of my kingdom worries himself over a lower class farmer.”
The fact that someone else rules her, even temporarily, is repugnant.
It results in an erosion in my chest. A cascade of ugliness down to my belly.
“You are a farmer,” I force out, imagining her sowing a field on her hands and knees. The image is pleasing and unacceptable at the same time. Pleasing because farming fits her exactly. It’s honest work. It’s real, like her. But I don’t like the idea of her toiling under the sun, and I don’t plan to allow it any longer.
“Yes, we have a small family farm in Lavere.” She stares ahead, as if seeing a very different landscape. “The earth has not cooperated for the past two harvests, unfortunately, leading to a position as jester to sound more and more appealing.”