His Captive, His Conquest by Ashe Barker

Chapter Eight

Stephen was not exactly certain why he had suggested this, but the smile on Flora’s delightful features amply recompensed him for his efforts. He had arrived at the conclusion that he must do something to raise her spirits, and this seemed a simple enough solution.

He failed to comprehend the attraction of these annual gatherings himself, but he fully appreciated that he was in the minority. The people of Elborne had been looking forward to the fair for weeks. It was one of the largest in the county, or so he was assured by Katherine. The local farmers bought and sold livestock. The women exchanged tales of who had wed whom since the last fair, what babies had been born, and who had departed this life. Minstrels and troubadours plied their trade, as did knife sharpeners, bakers, wood carvers, and other artisans. Merchants converged upon the marketplace laden with exotic wares to sell, and the people gathered at their stalls to inspect the goods and haggle over the best prices.

It was all noise and din and mess, but Stephen could not deny that the excitement was contagious.

He had ordered that his mount be saddled again and had swept Flora up to perch in front of him for the short trot down the lane. She had surprised him by her lack of fear around his huge stallion. Normally those unaccustomed to horses gave Hades a wide berth, but Flora just marched up to the great beast and allowed herself to be lifted onto his back.

Her mood had improved considerably since the frosty reception he had encountered on his return from routing the Fenwick raiders, which came as a relief. She chatted merrily the entire way into the village, though she fell silent when the crowds thickened and several less-than-friendly glances were directed her way.

“Do not worry, little Scot. There will be no trouble.”

“I know that. Even so… are you sure this is a good idea?”

“These are my lands, my people. My village. If I say that you are welcome here, then be under no illusion, that will be the way of it. No one will dare say otherwise.”

Flora kept her head bowed until they reached the inn where he intended to leave his mount. Stephen pulled up before the gates to the inn yard and flung his reins at the stable lad who ran out to meet him. He dismounted, then helped Flora down.

“Feed and water my stallion,” he ordered the boy, tossing a coin in his direction.

“Aye, my lord.” The lad hauled on the reins but to no avail. He eventually persuaded the reluctant animal to follow him with the help of a bucket of oats and an apple.

Stephen grinned. “Hades chooses his friends with care. He reminds me of you, little Scot.” He reached for Flora’s hand. “Come. We shall explore the stalls on foot.”

Despite his own lack of interest in the gathering, he found Flora’s enthusiasm engaging. She had completely shed her earlier melancholy and wanted to see everything, pausing to examine brightly coloured fabrics, admire the delicate workmanship of the pieces of jewellery on display, taste the various cheeses and spices.

“This honey is wonderful,” she declared. “I have never tasted sweeter.”

He dipped his finger in the sample and had to agree. “Let us hope Katherine has been this way and purchased some, then.”

“Oh, and those carvings. They are so intricate…” She picked up a carved owl and turned it around to study the individual feathers etched into the applewood. “Look, every detail is accurate. This is such fine work.”

“Aye, an’ all done by me own ’ands, lady,” the craftsman assured her with a toothless grin. “Just a penny, if ye want ’im.”

“He is beautiful, but I cannot—”

“We shall take him,” Stephen announced.

“No, really, there is no need…”

Stephen ended her protests by tossing the required coin to the trader, who hastily pocketed it.

“The owl will bring ye luck, lady,” he assured Flora. “Just ye wait an’ see.”

Stephen slung his arm around her shoulders and steered Flora further into the bustling market. He was mindful of the curious glances which came their way, and the nudges and muttered remarks, but no one openly challenged the presence of a Scot in their midst. It was as he had expected.

He purchased a cloak pin for himself, and a succulent pigeon pie, still warm from the oven. Stephen shared it with Flora. They perched on the edge of a water trough to eat their meal, Stephen using his dagger to lop off a chunk for himself, then one for her.

“Did I not say that the most excellent meat pies could be found in such places?” He wiped the gravy from his chin.

“You did, and you were right.”

He noted that Flora managed not to make quite so much mess as he did, but it was a close-run contest. She had rather better manners than he might have expected form a Scottish peasant.

“This is delicious,” she declared. “I shall—”

“Stephen. I did not expect to see you here. Surely, you told me that you were too busy to attend the fair.”

They looked up to see Lady Katherine approaching, a trio of servants at her heels. Each was burdened with a pile of their lady’s purchases, and she had certainly taken advantage of the opportunity to restock the keep’s stores and larders. Stephen mentally tallied the cost of the bolts of fabric, pots of spices, two barrels of wine, and a range of other bags and sacks. His coffers would be severely depleted by the time his household was properly supplied.

“My lady. You appear to have been busy.”

“Yes. Such excellent wares. And so many bargains. Good afternoon, Flora. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am.” Flora shoved the last piece of pie into her mouth. “Sir Stephen was kind enough to offer to accompany me.”

“So I see.” Was that a smirk upon Katherine’s usually inscrutable features? He suspected as much. “Have you seen the jugglers yet?”

“No,” Flora replied between licking her fingers. “We have not got that far.”

“They will be starting soon, and I was just about to join the audience. Perhaps you would like to come with me.”

Flora started to rise, then hesitated. “I am not sure. I should really remain with the marquis.”

“Flora is worried that the local populace will denounce her for a thieving Scot and hurl mud at her,” Stephen explained. “I have offered my protection.” He did not choose to add that the girl was also in his custody, and he was by no means certain that she would not make a run for it the first chance she got.

“In that case, perhaps you will both join me.” Katherine’s smile was deceptively sweet. “I know how much you enjoy watching mummers and jugglers, Sir Stephen.”

He grunted. The lady was perfectly aware that he detested the entire rigmarole.

“May we?” Flora wondered, her eyes alight with excitement. “Unless you need to be back at the keep. I realise you must be busy, and—”

“No. Let us go forth and enjoy the spectacle.” He resigned himself to that which he could not avoid without appearing a churl and ruining Flora’s fragile high spirits. “Did I hear mention of acrobats and Morris dancers?”

“I had such a good time this afternoon. Thank you for bringing me.”

He suspected the words were something of a concession from her, given her mood earlier. They were seated on his stallion once more, cantering back along the lane in the direction of his keep. Stephen shifted in the saddle. He was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the press of Flora’s shapely bottom against his interested cock. More than once, he was obliged to rearrange his trousers in order to manage the issue.

“I had a good time also,” he replied. And it was true. He had enjoyed the outing, much to his surprise, sharing in Flora’s delight at more or less everything she saw.

She had turned away from the cockfighting, and had no enthusiasm for the dancing bear either, despite the assurances from the handler that the animal was perfectly safe to approach. When the poor beast opened his mouth to roar, Stephen saw why. All his teeth had been broken or knocked out.

“It is cruel,” Flora had declared.

Stephen was minded to agree and had tossed no coins in the man’s direction.

But as for the rest, they had shared the general merriment. Even he had managed to laugh at the clowns and had been persuaded to join in when the minstrels sang folk songs he remembered from when he was a boy. He even consented to dance a lively jig when the fiddler struck up close to where they stood.

Katherine had made her way home some time earlier having completed her purchases, but Flora was keen to visit every stall. By nightfall she was finally satisfied that nothing had been missed, and her feet were aching, so they made their way back to the inn where Hades waited for them.

“I shall have our meal brought up this evening,” he told her as he guided the horse across his drawbridge. “We can eat in my solar.”

“I would like that.”

And so would he. Stephen felt that, at last, matters were right between them, and the tension of recent days dispelled. He was not entirely certain why it should concern him what this fiery little Scot might think, but he knew she did not appreciate being left alone and had not resigned herself to her fate in any way, despite his assurances. He was reluctant to upset her again. His household expected him to be seen in the hall most evenings, but he could be spared for one night.

He helped her from the stallion and handed the horse over to Will who would get Hades settled and fed.

“See to my horse, then you may do as you like. I will not require you again this evening.”

“Very well, my lord.” The lad hurried off, dragging the war horse behind him.

Stephen took Flora by the elbow and escorted her up the few steps which led to the main entrance to his keep. Katherine was already bustling about the hall making preparations for the evening meal, but she paused to greet them and to admire Flora’s little carved owl. Stephen issued his instructions regarding their meal, then ushered Flora on up the stairs.

Flora’s pallet still lay in the corner. Stephen eyed it with distaste. It was not his intention that she should continue to sleep there.

“May I leave the owl here for now?” Flora placed the carving on the end of the mantel, over the fireplace.

Stephen nodded and approached to stand close behind her. He slid his hand beneath her hair to caress the back of her neck, then kissed her on the mouth when she twisted towards him in surprise.

“I… what was that for?” she asked when he broke the kiss.

“Is a reason necessary?”

Her brow furrowed. “I just… I did not expect…”

“Take off your clothes, Flora.”

“My lord?”

“We are alone once more. I prefer you naked.”

“I see.”

He waited. “Do you require my assistance?”

She shook her head. “No, but I thought…”

“Naked, Flora.” He kissed her again, then stepped back to allow her the space to do as he had asked.

She did not turn her back on him this time. Neither did she dawdle about her task. In a few moments, her tunic and linen shift were folded and placed on top of the chest, her leather shoes beside it on the floor. She tipped up her chin, her jaw set in a manner he had come to recognise.

“Are you satisfied now, Sir Stephen?”

“Such formality, Flora. But, yes, your manners are improving. And I am pleased to note that you are much more obedient than you were, and far less concerned with modesty. I might make a harlot of you yet.”

“You will not, my lord. I…”

“You what, Flora?” He reached her in two strides and cupped her jaw in both his hands.

“Nothing. I just…”

“Lying again?” He lowered his mouth to hers. “Must I spank you again? Really?”

“Do not, please…”

“Do not what? Spank you? Or… this?” His lips slanted over hers, and he swallowed her sharp gasp.

He walked her backwards, his mouth upon hers, until they reached his bed. Then, he swung his arm under her knees to lift her, never breaking the kiss. In the next moment, they were lying across the mattress, she completely naked and he fully dressed.

The situation was just as he liked it, for now.

He released her mouth, but only to shift his attentions to her pert breasts. Her rosy, pink nipples had already swelled, and they hardened further when he sucked on them. One after the other, he used his tongue to press each against the roof of his mouth, hollowing his cheeks to increase the suction.

“Oh, dear Lord…” Flora moaned. “You should not be doing that…”

“No? What about this, then?” He moved lower, trailing kisses across her abdomen, and paused to dip his tongue into the hollow of her navel.

She squirmed against the mattress. “That tickles.”

He continued the gentle torture, obliged to hold her still for his ministrations as she arched and bucked beneath him. Not until he was satisfied he had her senses fully aroused did he abandon his sport to proceed further.

Lower.

He buried his nose in the soft triangle of hair and inhaled her heady musk.

Not a harlot, indeed? Flora might protest all she liked, but her body told a different tale. She was loving this.

And for himself, he had no quarrel with harlots. None whatsoever.

He slipped his fingers between her legs to explore the soft, wet folds. She parted her thighs without needing to be instructed to do so but clamped them shut when he inserted one finger inside her tight entrance.

“No, no…”

He stopped but did not withdraw. He would, if she asked him again. He would have no choice.

Stephen waited. He said nothing. If she meant it, she would say so, plead with him, demand that he let her go. And he would do as she asked. He would apologise, calm her down and assure her of his, whilst not good, not entirely dishonourable intentions.

“Stephen…” she rasped.

“Flora?” He found her nubbin with his thumb and stroked gently.

She let out a long moan. “Oh, Sweet Blessed Virgin…”

He used his free hand to sweep the hair from her face and brushed her lips with his. “You like this?”

She shook her head and moaned again.

“If you want me to stop, I will. You have but to say the word…” He caressed her plump pearl again, at the same time swirling his finger within her snug channel.

“I cannot…” Her voice was breathy, her words barely audible.

“You can. We can. We can continue, or we can stop. It is your choice, Flora.” He stroked her again, just to ensure she knew exactly what delights were on offer, the pleasure hovering just beyond her reach, but hers for the asking.

“No, do not…”

“Flora?”

“Do not stop.” She closed her eyes and arched her back. “Please, do not stop…”

Thank you, Lord.

Stephen continued his sensual assault by adding a second finger. She was tight, hot and wet, but her channel wrapped around his questing digits like his finest hunting glove. He moved around until he could see her plump nether lips, could watch his fingers sliding in and out, could witness the moisture glistening on her rosy folds.

Her bud swelled, peeping out from beneath its own little hood. He used his spare hand to further expose it, then he leaned down to flick it with his tongue.

“Oh! Oh, dear, merciful God…” Flora writhed on the mattress. “What are you doing?”

“Sssh. Enjoy,” he murmured, before opening his mouth and closing his lips around the succulent bud. He held it lightly between his teeth and lapped at it with his tongue.

Flora went wild. She bucked and squealed and thrust her hips forward. Her climax was upon her almost as soon as he had started. She reached down to grasp his hair and hang on as she soared.

It was quick, and in its own way, it was brutal. He spared her nothing in the way of sensation, nor himself. His cock was solid in his trousers, throbbing, demanding its own release. But that would have to wait.

He could have slowed things down, proceeded with more caution. He could take more time over the seduction, easing her gently into the art of lovemaking, but his instincts clamoured against that approach. She had not said so, but he was as near certain as he could be that she lacked any prior experience. She had climaxed under his hand already, but the experience was still novel, and she had barely any idea of what was happening between them. He intended to make it memorable for her.

He continued to lick her nubbin then moved to trace the outline off her entrance with the tip of his tongue while her body calmed, and the furious thrashing ceased. Within moments the storm passed. She lay quiet, spent. He propped himself on one elbow to regard her stunned expression.

“You did that before, when you helped me to bathe. How…?”

“I pleasured you, sweetheart. Would you like me to do it again?” His fingers were still buried inside her. He wiggled them, then started to stroke slowly in and out.

Her eyes widened. “Oh! That feels…”

He slid a third finger beside the first two, taking care not to rush. She opened for him, her body stretching to accommodate the additional girth. He kept his movements slow. It would not do to startle or unsettle her when she was, just perhaps, beginning to trust him.

“Stephen, we should not do this.” She squeezed her inner muscles around his fingers, seeking the extra friction.

“No?” He increased the tempo slightly, angling his hand to ensure that each long, deep stroke caressed the sweet spot just inside. He knew the moment he found it because she jerked violently and clenched her fists around the blankets beneath her.

“Stephen! My lord, I… oh. Oooh!”

“I want to fuck you, little Flora. Very slowly, very thoroughly. Is that what you want, also?”

She shook her head. “We cannot. It would be wrong.”

“Is it what you want?” he repeated.

“Yes, but… Oh, please, do not stop…”

There was not even the slightest chance he would, not now. “You want more?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “More…”

“There is more. Much, much more. Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me inside you?” He murmured the words, then held his breath.

She closed her eyes and nodded.

“Say it, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.” He needed to hear it, had to be sure.

“Yes, I want you…”

He kissed her, long and slow. She parted her lips, and he swept his tongue inside, tasting her, exploring her.

She clung to him, her fingers in his hair, her knees bent, and her hips thrusting hard.

It was time.