For the bewitching Basque beauty.
Dolssa.
Tonight—at long last—she was his.
He swooped down again to taste her full, luscious lips. Roamed his eager, appreciative hands over her tiny waist and rounded hips.
He’d already made mad, passionate love to her.
Twice.
But, by the Goddess, he wanted her again.
Gaultier devoured her lush mouth, parting her sensuous lips with a probing, penetrating tongue. As his hardening shaft awakened for the third exquisite plunge into Dolssa’s delicious depths, a thunderous pounding on the wooden door jolted Gaultier to his feet. Lunging for the sword which leaned against the wooden wall, he unsheathed his blade and bellowed at the unwelcome intrusion. “Who goes there?”
A frantic male voice replied, “Sir Gaultier! There’s been an attack. It’s your brother Basati. Come quickly, my lord!”
Gaultier cursed with an equal measure of frustration and fury.
He gazed longingly at the frightened Dolssa, sitting upright in her rumpled bed, clutching the bedsheets to cover the luscious breasts he desperately longed to caress with ardent lips, fingers, and tongue.
He’d finally made love to her—claimed her as his own—after months of patient, persistent courtship. A tavern maid at the Sultry Siren where he’d frequently bedded many a willing wench, he’d met Dolssa this past spring when she began serving customers at the inn. At first, he’d thought she was like the other ladies—available to satisfy sailors, pirates, and lusty knights like himself. But he’d soon learned that she was a mere server of seafood and mead.
And definitely not for sale.
So, he’d wooed her. Pined for her. And—little by little as he’d slowly and gradually won her pure, generous heart—had lost his own to the inimitable, intriguing Basque beauty.
Dolssa.
Tonight, in making to love to her, he’d glimpsed heaven. Physical bliss and merging of souls, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d lost himself in her. And he wanted so very much more.
But Cardin, the bloody bastard, had done it again. Ruined a perfect evening with Dolssa.
Despite his solemn vow to stay confined to the castle.
Abrupt, insistent pummeling interrupted Gaultier’s train of thoughts. “Sir Gaultier!S’il vous plaît, Monsieur.Open the door!”
Gaultier apologized to Dolssa as he quickly donned his breeches and tunic, strapped on his belt, and sheathed his sword. “I’m sorry,ma mignonne.It seems my brother has started another brawl.” He plopped down on the bed, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her softly. Brushing a silky lock of dark tresses from her thick lashes, he gently stroked her flushed cheek. “I’ll drag him back to the castle. Post guards at the chamber door. And make it up to you tomorrow night.” He lifted her slender hand and brushed his lips upon her long fingers. “I promise.”
He stood and pulled the surcoat over his chainmail armor. With one last look of longing, he bade farewell to Dolssa.
And strode across the room to open the oaken door.
Two of his fellow Breton knights anxiously awaited in the long wooden hall dimly lit by tallow candles in metal wall sconces. Blond head bowed humbly before his higher-ranking lord, Guenole stammered, “Sorry to disturb you, sir. But your brother and Xabi have been robbed and beaten. They’re lying in a dark alley behind the Drunken Crow.”
“Take me to them.” Gaultier donned his coif and followed the two knights down the hall. They swiftly descended the stairs, crossed the animated tavern, and exited the Sultry Siren into the salty air of the starry night sky.
When they arrived at the scene of the assault, half a dozen knights stood guard around Cardin and Xabi, who were battered and bloody, lying face down on the cobblestoned street. Lasko the healer was bent over the victims’ bodies, tending to their injuries.
Gaultier rushed to his brother’s side and knelt beside the grey-haired, elderly man.
“There’s a large, egg-shaped swelling on the back of his head.” Lasko pointed to the wound which indicated how Cardin had been ambushed. “Dried blood and matted hair, but I see no other damage. Same for that knight over there.” He referred to Xabi with a jut of his bearded chin. “I’ve cleansed their wounds, but there’s no need for bandages. They might be a bit groggy when they wake up. But both will be fine tomorrow.”
Gaultier thanked the healer, paid him with coin, and ordered two knights to escort the old man safely home. As he watched the trio depart, one of his guards approached to render a report.
“Basati won at dice tonight, my lord.” Koneg—one of Gaultier’s Breton knights from the kingdom of Finistère—informed him of the evening’s events. “Andoni Zilar challenged him to a game of Hazard. Your brother won a hundred pounds of silver. Xabi won twenty pounds through side bets as well. The two of them left the tavern and were on their way back to the castle when they were attacked and robbed. All the silver is gone, sir.”
Dicing, drinking, and debts. They’ll be the death of him yet.Gaultier nodded gratefully to Koneg in acknowledgment. He returned to his prone brother, who had begun to stir with a low, grumbling groan.
