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Garron’s eyes flew open. For an instant, he simply was unable to understand what was happening, but only for an instant. By all that was holy, it wasn’t Blanche astride him with him deep inside her body, it was Merry, and he could feel how small she was and how he was stretching her and she yelled again, really loud this time, and he knew he was hurting her. But it didn’t matter, for he was swamped with lust. He jerked and heaved, but it wasn’t right, this couldn’t happen or—“No,” he said between gritted teeth, “no, get off me, Merry, now. I will not do this, I cannot do this.”
She realized she was pitiful to cry out. Pain was one thing, surely she could deal with pain, but what she knew she couldn’t deal with was a stranger for a husband.
Get it done, get it done. She pushed down with all her might, felt him burst fully into her, and knew she was going to die. Dead, at least, she wouldn’t have to marry Jason of Brennan, she would never have this happen to her again. Garron didn’t move.
Had he fallen back asleep? Suddenly he began cursing. His hands closed around her waist and this time he was trying to pull her off him, but she wasn’t about to stop now. She knew instinctively she had to move and so she did. “Merry, no.” She leaned forward, grabbed his hair in her hands, and kissed him wildly.
Garron cursed in her mouth, then moaned. He said her name over and over, then quite suddenly, he knew it was too late. It was all over for him and he couldn’t stop it. He was stretched taut as a bow. He sucked in his breath and yelled her name to the beamed ceiling. Never in his life had he felt like this, pushed somehow beyond himself, beyond his earthbound limits, yet he was held deep inside her—his world shattered, and he soared. Surely Heaven was his destination.
Gilpin shouted, “My lord! My lord, oh no, someone is hurting you! Someone climbed over me to get to you, to slay you, and it is all my fault. Oh mighty Saint Albertine, blessed saint of all limping beggars, I deserve to drink the poison the heretics forced down your gullet before they broke your legs and burned you to ashes!” Gilpin banged on the door, sent his shoulder and his foot into it, but that door was thicker than he was, the stout bar could keep out a dozen men, and there was no way he would get through it.
Merry heard the mad knocking and slamming against the door, but it wasn’t important. What was important was that she was no longer a maid. It was done, it had to be since she felt wet inside, and she knew it was his man’s seed. She looked down at him, still inside her. He was lying motionless as a dead man, his eyes closed, his hands palms up at his sides. In the dim candlelight, she saw he was smiling, and he was asleep.
Asleep! How could the lout fall asleep?
The pain was less than it had been, and that was a relief. She leaned over him, her hand cupping his cheek. “Garron, I know I am no longer a maid. I mean, how could I be since you are so deep inside me? Come, you must wake up, you must realize what has happened.”
Gilpin yelled, “I will fetch Aleric! We will save you, my lord!”
Garron’s eyes flew open. He was firmly back on the earth. He grabbed her about the waist, yelling as he rolled over on top of her, “Gilpin, do not get Aleric! Do you understand me? It was a nightmare, nothing more than a nightmare. Do not get Aleric! I am all right. Go back to sleep!”
“How can I sleep, my lord? I heard you yelling. Is there an enemy in there with a knife to your gullet?”
“There is no enemy, no knife. Go back to sleep or I will twist your tongue around your neck and choke you with it!”
30
After a moment of blessed silence, Garron looked down at her pale face. “So, you have brought me low,” and he pushed. She hadn’t realized he was still inside her. She tried to pull away from him, but she couldn’t. Her body wanted him as far away from her as it could get. “It’s done, Garron. There is no reason for you to do more to me. You can stop now, please.”
He stilled over her. “Why should I?”
“It hurts.”
He frowned, and pulled back, just a bit, but stayed inside her. He balanced himself on his elbows above her. He wanted her again, but now his brain was back in his head and he could at last reason. “So,” he said again, “I cannot believe you came into my bedchamber and impaled yourself on me.”
“You thought I was Blanche.”
“I should have known. Even asleep I should have known it wasn’t Blanche. Her breasts are more bountiful than both a man’s hands together. And Blanche always knew exactly what to do.”
She smacked her fist against his shoulder. “Stop thinking about that cow.”
He grinned down at her, moved just a bit deeper, stilled again when she stiffened. “Hold still. You do not even know Blanche. She was clever, was Blanche, and she loved to awaken me in the middle of the night.”
“How?”
“Sometimes she’d have her breasts pressed against my face.”
“Didn’t her bountiful breasts smother you?”
“Aye,” and he once again fell silent and she knew, simply knew he was thinking about his face buried in the cow’s breasts.
She smacked his shoulder again. “Well, you cannot wed this Blanche, you cannot ever have her breasts in your face again. You must wed me, Garron.”
He was inside her, just barely now, but lust was rising again. At her stark words, the enormity of the situation burst clear as a crystal into his brain. Marry her? He’d taken her maidenhead, he’d spilled his seed inside her. She was no longer pure.
By all St. Clementine’s rosary beads, would the king have him drawn and quartered? Would he lock him in the dungeon away from the light and leave him to starve?
Bright clean fury flashed in his brain. He didn’t deserve this. He was panting with rage and lust when he pulled out of her, and came up on his knees between her legs. He waved his fist in her face. “I cannot believe you planned this, that you actually came into my chamber and forced me to take you.”
