Page 12 of Katherine the Vixen

She decided to ask Mel, the only person she’d met so far who spoke more than two words of English. The girl did not seem to hold her origins against her—with reason. She was half-English herself.

“The lord of the castle next to my village at home is renowned for bedding all the servants that take his fancy,” Katherine started when her friend entered the room. This was a lie but pretending she was worried this would happen to her seemed the best way to broach the topic without betraying undue interest in the Welshman. “Do you think this could⁠—”

“You need not fear the master will take advantage of you,” the girl instantly cut in. “Siaspar ap Morgan is an honorable man. Believe me, the servants here wish he took an interest in them. But he never does.”

A sigh. Apparently, Mel was one of those servants.

Katherine let out a breath. Because, unquestionably, it was better if Siaspar never took any interest in her.

4

When Siaspar opened the door of his wife’s chamber later that night, he was not surprised to find the room plunged in darkness. He barely repressed a movement of anger at having his suspicions proved right. The women thought to fool him again. What sort of an idiot did they take him for? How long did they think they could keep this up? He had announced that morning that he wanted to build a family. Surely Lady Malpas knew she would have to grace his bed at least a few times for this to happen? Or did she intend to tell him that she was barren, serve up more lies?

Well, that was a problem for another day. For now he would have to deal with the one in front of him, lying in the bed.

He closed the door behind him.

So the little scullion intended to let him take her? He would make sure she asked for it. And she meant to be silent? He would force her to speak out. Let’s see how long she could resist.

Of course, he could simply have dragged whoever was waiting for him in the bed out into the light and expose the deception that way, but he was loath to manhandle a woman, devious as she might be. Much better to make a mockery of his dear wife’s efforts. He did not doubt that she was somewhere in the vicinity, keeping an eye on her treachery. He would make sure she heard everything.

“Good evening, my lady.”

His lips curled in the darkness at the use of the title. It was no lady waiting for him, but a scullion. He waited. Surely she had realized that she would have to greet him?

“My lord,” she said, keeping her voice as low as possible.

Mm. That would do for now.

He quickly undressed, then walked to her slowly, smiling to himself, stopping only when he had reached the bed. “I am of a mind to light some candles tonight. After all, we are no longer strangers. There is little need for such modesty on your part.”

There was a rustle of sheets as the girl scrambled on the bed in what he imagined to be panic.

“No, please.” The plea was no more than a whisper. In other circumstances, Siaspar might have laughed.

“Very well. Once again, I will respect your wishes. But you will do as I ask. Take your shift off.” He heard her obey after a slight hesitation. “Now stand up.”

An arm brushed against his hip as she did so and Siaspar was surprised to find that simple, chaste contact arousing. But then again, he had never made love to anyone in the dark before. Was that the reason for this unusual sharpening of his senses? Perhaps. There had to be something, for he could not deny being oddly stirred.

He took the woman in his arms. After the meal earlier, whilst talking to Lady Malpas, he had made sure to stand very close to her. Before she’d recoiled in dislike, he’d had time to see that the top of her head was level with his chin. This woman’s head reached about an inch lower but, of course, she was barefoot. That could explain the slight discrepancy. He bent his head down to smell the crook of her neck. Oil of roses, the same as he had smelled on Lady Malpas’s hand when he had pointedly kissed it earlier. They had prepared well, transforming a scullion into a lady. Or…?

Siaspar knew a moment of doubt.

Could this be his wife after all? He allowed his hands to run all over her, trying to ascertain the truth. There was no way of telling if this was the body hidden under the heavy dresses Lady Malpas favored, but the curves he felt under his palms aroused him in a way he had not expected. The skin was as soft as it had been the night before, and deliciously cool. His fingers brushed against hard nipples. Was she merely cold, or aroused? If she were aroused, it proved that she was not his wife. The woman would never have allowed herself to enjoy a savage’s touch.

He dipped his head and almost gave her a kiss, a reflex honed by years of holding desirable women in his arms.

Suddenly the idea that this was not the woman he had married, who looked at him as if he were little more than a beast, fired his imagination. In the darkness the scullion could be anyone he wanted her to be. They were both naked, their bodies were pressed together and, well, he was a man…and she a woman of undeniable sensual appeal. The hard nipples poking at his chest were sweet torture, goading him on. Even the cold of the room didn’t dampen his ardor.

He tightened his hold around her, keeping her close until her skin had warmed under his palms.

“We got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I think we can do better than that. You are not a virgin anymore so there should be no pain today,” he murmured in her ear. “We should both enjoy ourselves a lot more.”

There was a croak and it seemed to him that his words had inflamed rather than worried her. Siaspar flicked his thumb on her nipple and heard a gasp. He teased the little nub between two fingers until it became hard as stone. Yes. She was responding to his touch, whatever her reasons for being here. And his own body had gone taut at her proximity, he could not deny it. He brought his stomach in contact with hers and smiled at the intake of breath she gave when she felt him hard against her.

There would be pleasure in bedding her, pleasure in knowing that Lady Malpas would hear her cry out and wonder what he was doing to provoke such reactions in her little accomplice. Perhaps she would reassess her opinion of him after that performance. Perhaps she would be jealous… He pushed this idea out of his mind, for in truth he didn’t care what she thought. There was a fire in his blood that demanded satisfaction.

“Let us go to bed.”