The gown she wore was too closely fitted, the wool hugging her too intimately, as if she outgrew it a few years ago but never had a new one made. She wore a shift beneath—the white visible just above the neckline and at her wrists—but even that layer did not protect her modesty. Those delightful, rounded titties were accentuated whenever she moved and the material tugged, catching on a pert pair of nipples just begging for his lips. He rolled a small piece of juicy meat on his tongue and swallowed.
“It seems your man has taken an interest in my handmaid. As you have. My lord.”
He barely heard the words at his elbow, but her sharp tone was felt and noted. Turning his head he glowered down at the other woman. “What?”
His “bride” exhaled a querulous half laugh. “Nothing, my lord. You are entitled to look as you please.”
“Hmm.” And he would do more than look.
“But I hope you are not disappointed in me.”
Women. They always needed reassurance. Not like men, who didn’t care what a woman thought of them when they had her.
“You’ll do very well, Lady Sybilia.” He burped. “We shall have many fine sons together.”
She seemed temporarily appeased by his remark, soon bold enough to criticize the spices and the wine that she said was too strong for her. Fidgety and nervous, her fingers skimmed each plate, her teeth taking tiny bites, her nose frequently wrinkled in distaste. Sybilia Senclere was exactly what he’d expected—prim, fragile and whiney.
In truth, if he must marry, he would have preferred to solidify his claim on this parcel of land, as other men like him had done in their new country, by marrying the offspring or widow of the previous landowner. It meant marrying a Saxon, but it would have helped dispel future unrest among the locals. Unfortunately, in this case, there was no daughter or widow available. The Saxon Eaorl of Wexford had only sired sons apparently. Guy had heard a rumor of there once being a little daughter, but she died years ago. Hence, he was stuck with his Norman bride.
“Well, wife,” he managed a terse smile, “it is time we made our first attempt to beget an heir.”
She blanched—either at the taste of the wine or at the thought of being mounted by him.
Guy wiped his greasy fingers down his tunic and gestured for the toasting horn so that his feasting guests could wish him well, before he took his virgin to bed.
Make that plural, he thought with a smirk. His virgins. He’d have them both tonight.
* * * *
Deorwynn saw at once that Sybilia’s mood had changed and she knew why. Guy Devaux was a powerfully attractive man, despite his dark reputation. It was said he’d once slaughtered twenty men in one half hour and used their skulls as candle-holders in his castle. Even if this was mostly said by Deorwynn, that didn’t necessarily make it untrue, did it? Normans were capable of any evil. However, now that Sybilia had met him, she was not happy about anyone taking her place in his bed. Unfortunately for her, he expected a virgin and if he did not get one tonight all hell would break loose.
“You won’t enjoy it,” Sybilia snapped, as she arranged the veil over Deorwynn’s face. “It always hurts the first time. Very badly. I don’t envy you.” Even as she spoke, the demon jealousy shone bright through her eyes.
“I’ll bear it as best I can,” Deorwynn replied distractedly, already anticipating what was to come, remembering the skill of his fingers and how he’d suckled her breast in the bath.
Rotten Norman pig. Murderer. Thief.
Tonight she would get her vengeance for what his countrymen had done to every poor, ravaged, helpless woman in this land they heartlessly conquered. These Normans were cuckoos, taking over the nests of other birds. Well, tonight, he would know what it was to find a cuckoo in his own nest.
“Make sure he pulls out before he spills his seed,” Sybilia lectured.
“Of course!” She spat on the ground. “Do you think I want to be landed with the filthy Norman scum’s bastard?” It was pure Deorwynn, that remark, and it clearly satisfied Sybilia.
“You don’t find him handsome at all?”
“That big-nosed old boar? Why? Do you?”
Sybilia flounced away. “No!”
“Because you are in love with another man,” Deorwynn reminded her.
“Yes.” She plucked at her skirt with nervous fingers. “Yes I am.”
“Good. Let’s get this over with then, so you can ask him for my brother’s pardon.”
Sybilia was busy inspecting a plate of figs and nuts.
Deorwynn repeated, “So you can plead with him for my brother’s pardon.”