Chapter One
Her rapidly beating heart pounded. She must not be found. She calmed her gasping breath. The thick, ancient, solid oak door creaked ominously as someone entered her semi-darkened cool chamber. Small flickers of light danced haphazardly from the large hearth close to where she crouched, casting eerie mind-playing shadows. Constantine held her breath as long as she possibly could, knowing instinctively she was not alone. Her slight body huddled curled beside the massive armoire, spine tingling. Her chestnut hair, a riot of long ringlets, fell forward into her eyes. She dare not move to brush them away. She balled her hands into fists and pressed them to her mouth, stopping any telltale sound. Quiet footsteps sounded, closer, closer. Pensively, she glanced up through her wayward strands of hair. No one.
Constantine listened, her ears tuned to any sound. The footsteps were gradually fading. The large solid oak door swung closed, a distinctive familiar crunch sounded as it settled into place. She sat still for just a moment more, releasing a deep sigh, then emerged. Her thundering heart began to calm. The young woman gazed around the room and emitted a small sound of relief. She was alone…
A shriek ripped from her mouth as Constantine was tackled from behind. Her breath came out in a whoosh as she landed on the bed in a tangled heap of arms and legs. Hardly able to breathe, Constantine shoved the warm small body off her as she dropped to the other side of her bed, landing undignified, bottom first on the hard cold floor.
“Capture!” a smug voice bellowed into her ear. Constantine could hear the laughter in her younger sister’s voice as a slight arm wrapped itself around her neck possessively from on top of the bed.
“Yes, fine. You have captured me,” Constantine admitted annoyed, feeling defeated, harassed, yet resigned.
The small arm relinquished its hold, and the excited girl sat back on the bed expectantly.
Constantine looked up into the animated face of her younger sister from her position on the floor. The young girl’s long flowing raven-black hair was in chaotic disarray, her dark deep brown eyes, so like her own, looked back at her so hopefully alight Constantine relented.
“Oh, very well. I will tell you what the old crone said,” she grouched, as she struggled to her feet, sitting next to her sister.
Constantine felt vexed. Why had she promised to tell her little sister what the old crone had told her about what sex with a man was like? Most likely because she told her sister everything, she thought ruefully. That would be her downfall her father had always warned. Drat and double drat. Woefully, she felt perhaps he had been right, just this once. But Juliette was not just her younger sister; she was her very best friend. Although Juliette was ten and one-half months younger, it made no difference, sometimes Constantine felt they should have been twins. They may as well have been; they shared clothes, stories, fears, hopes, and dreams. Both were happiest when together, and they never quarreled with one another. They’d had no other playmates over the years; their father was terribly overprotective.
Why should this be any different? Constantine knew why, and she shuddered regretfully. Only three nights ago, her father informed her she was no longer a child. Now that she was of a mature age, he’d made ironclad arrangements with King Edward for her to be wed to the notorious Lord Rory Broc. She was informed it was in her best interests, a brilliant match—there would be no escape. She could never undermine her father by refusing; the thought never once entered her mind.
Lord Rory Broc was a despicable knight whose lands bordered their father’s. Just back from the Crusades, the hardened warrior had left his younger brother in charge of his lands while he rampaged across God’s green earth to kill, rape, and pillage. He was said to be nigh on eight feet tall with red eyes and the fangs of a great mad wolf, and without a shred of mercy or decency. Although, she doubted that much was true, as her dear father would not wed her to a monster. Her father had taken great pains, pointing out her happiness was foremost within his mind. Nevertheless, Constantine was terrified of Broc and of their betrothal. She did not want her sweet and gentle caring sister to fear for her.
“Well?” Juliette gazed at her, wide-eyed with eager innocent anticipation.
“I was told—she said, um, she said...” Constantine stammered, feeling a rush of heat flood her face.
“She said what?” Juliette demanded.
“She said I needed—I needed to make it pop,” Constantine confided finally.
“Pop?” Juliette questioned. She sat back looking as confused as Constantine felt.
“Yes, of course pop,” Constantine said brusquely as though she were well aware of what the old hag meant.
Juliette sighed heavily. “You have no idea what she meant, do you?”
Constantine looked at her sister and released a matching sigh. She could never lie to her. “No, not a clue.” She felt her shoulders slump.
“Sounds rather painful,” Juliette said thoughtfully after a moment.
“One can only hope.” Constantine sneered.
Juliette looked to her older sister; she knew she was afraid, whenever Constantine grew fearful she hid it under sarcasm or bravado. Juliette knew Constantine tried hard to protect her. When they were younger if ever a problem presented itself her sister would take the blame, keeping Juliette as safe as was possible. Constantine’s only failing seemed her use of excessive vocal cords when overwrought. Thankfully it did not happen overmuch. Their father referred to it as—the howling.
Their father was not at all a cruel man. After their mother had died of illness when Juliette was only seven months, their father had become very devoted. He loved his girls; they were his entire world, his only link to his dearly departed wife. Ever indulgent, he allowed his daughter’s free roam of their small castle. On a few rare occasions his counsel of them from an old family friend had some of his punishments seem overbearing, but never unbearable. Lord Emit, an elderly uncle from his wife’s cousin’s side, had come to live with them shortly before their mother died. He was a mousy looking man with sharp angled features that the girls always laughed at. Constantine had Juliette convinced Uncle Emit could cut castle stones with his nose.
“All will be well, Pepper,” Juliette soothed, referring to her in the well-used nickname she had used ever since she could remember.
“Yes, of course all will be well,” Constantine declared. She jumped to her feet and began an erratic pacing. “All I need to do is wed with Lord Horrible, get into bed, and make it pop.”
“Just whatexactly is to pop?” Juliette tilted her head to the side, revealing her delicate profile.
“Hopefully his head,” Constantine replied, crossing her arms.
“His—head?” Juliette asked a bit of fear in her voice.
“’Tis what I was told,” Constantine said adamant.
Juliette’s look was less than favorable at that comment. Her delicate brows dipped down in deep concentration.
Constantine knew what Juliette was thinking. Most certainly a man’s head did not spew at sex; he would not like it so much if it did. None of the men in their father’s castle seemed averse to coupling, though they were exceptionally discreet at their father’s demand, neither girl had ever been exposed to lewd or indecent behavior. Neither knew what a man’s anatomy was made up of. Perhaps there was something more to it.
“Perhaps there is more?” Juliette questioned.
“Of course there is more.” Constantine sped her pacing. “There is groaning and grunting and...”
“And what?” Juliette whispered with trepidation.
“There is blood,” her sister confided in a quiet tone, her erratic pacing ceased abruptly.
“Whose?” Juliette asked her tone apprehensive.
“The woman’s.” Constantine slumped onto the bed beside her sister and could not, to her shame, stop trembling. “He will hurt me.”
“No. I will not allow it,” Juliette thundered in outrage.
“You cannot stop him, and no one can once we are wed,” Constantine told her. “Oh, if only I could have a man before him, then Lord Horrible could not possibly hurt me or do damage.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Juliette asked, peering at her curiously.
“The old crone told me I would hurt and bleed only once, thereafter it would not be so bad.”
Juliette added her pacing to her older sister’s as they moved off the bed once again as one. They marched back and forth across the semi-darkened room, the hearth crackling and flickering, while both young women thought hard.
“Perhaps,” Juliette said and paused suddenly, her look a sea of thoughtful wonder.
“No, no, it would never work,” her sister countered sharply. “Although...”
“I do not think so,” Juliette said flustered, throwing up her hands.
“Suppose?” Constantine stopped in mid-stride, her enlightened thoughts focused intensely.
“Mayhap, but it would be quite dangerous; it would take careful planning,” Juliette agreed with a nod.
“We must, Juliette, I am...I am frightened.” Constantine’s head bowed with the admission.
Juliette moved to embrace her sister. Constantine knew she would do anything to help…or die trying.
* * * *
Lord Rory Broc was feeling beyond harassed. He’d arrived at Castle Braven only weeks prior and had ridden with his younger brother, Devon, out and amongst his people daily, people who were obviously terrified of him. People who had no doubt heard rumors of his exploits; frightened people who hid and cowered beneath wagons. Women snatched up their babes and fled into small thatched huts upon his approach. Men sent their daughters to hide in fields of tall grass.
At one time, Rory would have laughed at their fear, exalting in his fierce reputation and been proud of it. But not now, these were his people. People he had sworn to protect. His people should clamor for his approval: a slight nod of recognition, a humble wave of his hand. And did they seek such gratifying gifts of his thoughtfulness? No. They ran from him; cowered and quaked before him. They smiled when first his brother Devon had approached, but when realization dawned as to Rory’s identity, they fled like rats from a flood. It seemed not to matter he had secured a brighter future for them with his recent prenuptial to the wealthy Lady Constantine Campbell. They loathed him, feared him; he was not a lord they welcomed.
Rory trudged along a lone dreary track of land dejectedly. He had separated from his brother a short while ago and wanted solitude. He needed to collect his mountainous thoughts. He admitted he was putting off his nuptials. The Crusades had been exciting, if somewhat exhausting. Although he was looking forward to settling down, he wondered if he could overcome this feeling of slackness. Granted there were a great many undertakings of importance, but it was so humdrum: a roof needed repair, a fence or two replaced...no blood loss or heightened awareness needed there.
While listening to a day of allegations he had almost, to his great embarrassment, fallen asleep. A pig had been stolen, though not really; it only wandered off into another neighbor’s yard who kept it out of spite when it trampled a row of flowers. A multitude of petty differences ensued, one even involving an old shoe; that was when he nodded off. A loud ‘hurumf’ had startled him awake to listen to more ramblings. A once full jug of ale found suddenly half full, no mystery there when the man’s own young son had stumbled in bleary eyed and red faced. The lad loudly asked his father where Lord Rory’s fangs were, then proceeded to vomit on his father’s dirty feet. The lot of them, in Rory’s opinion, fools, flittered out sheepishly. ’Twas apparent they had only come to gawk at their new lord—safety in numbers.
Day after day, his training of the men proved hard and unrelenting, he was, after all, a superior fighter. Obviously they were as slack as the villagers and just as wary of him. There wasn’t anywhere that presented one decent challenge to add excitement. His horse stumbled a short time later, breaking Rory from his reverie.
“What is it old man? Are you injured?” Rory asked concerned, steadying himself against the pommel.
His horse, Adamas, meaning ‘rock hard’, stopped short and neighed a warning. Rory drew his knife. He berated himself fiercely, he never went anywhere without his sword, but Devon had pleaded, knowing the people would be even more fearful of him if they saw his huge longsword, and he foolishly left it behind. He was on a small trail in a deep part of the expansive forest. If there were many assailants, he would be doomed; forced to fight for his very life and limb. His fingers tingling, he felt the old familiar surge of his blood quickening. He lifted an eyebrow. Many would be good.
Suddenly, two spindly young men appeared before him from the bush on palfreys, swords drawn. Rory looked at them, mouth agape, utterly amazed at their audacity. They couldn’t have been more than young lads, and he a seasoned warrior who stood taller than most warriors. His disappointment flowed so obvious he thought he heard his blood moan. Before he could speak, one of the young men leveled a small shaky sword at his chest. Rory groaned aloud. The weapon was so small he could pick his teeth with it.
“You will accompany us,” the young voice demanded, the sword held awkwardly, drooping momentarily toward the ground before being hastily drawn up. The palfrey danced, frightened of Rory’s huge warhorse, and he could see the young lad was having the devil’s own time holding the little mare.
“What if I choose not to?” Rory asked with some amusement, as his own mount stood quietly watching with curiosity. His arm draped to languish upon the saddle pommel. Both palfreys pawed at the ground and shied back fearfully.
“I will be forced to hurt you,” a young voice cautioned sternly.
Rory’s eyes widened at the sheer audacity of the young lad, he had a moment’s thought of dispatching the both of them, but they were so young and though he had been spoiling for a fight killing children did not appeal to him, even obnoxious children. He then considered his present position. Rory thought of his options. He was alone. Darkness would soon descend. Both of the young men were armed, although he felt in armed combat he could thwart them both easily, smoothly, without the aid of his sword if it came to it. Also he was intrigued; what a nice diversion. He had been bemoaning sedentary life, for the past few weeks had been boring at best. He was used to being surrounded in action. This was the most fun he’d had in such a long while. Perhaps a small game of cat and mouse would be entertaining.
“Please, I am unarmed; do not hurt me,” Rory begged, his one hand rising to hide a small smile. He watched with growing amusement as both lads struggled to control their mounts.
Their agitation was apparent. One palfrey shook herself and the lad clung tight, his teeth rattling together, almost dropping his sword. The laugh that escaped Rory’s lips was covered with a hasty cough. Rory sheathed his knife, knowing neither lad had seen it. Finally, one of the lads jumped from his mount to stand at its head, controlling the palfrey effectively. He talked soothingly to the skittish palfrey while the other youngster followed suit. Soon both little horses stood docilely as the children regained control of them. They seemed completely oblivious to the fact Rory could now just turn his warhorse on its heels and be away.
“We are not going to hurt you.” Rory heard one of the youngsters declare. The voice was quiet, soft, and Rory’s curiosity intensified. What were they up to?
“But you have swords,” Rory said, mimicking a frightened plea. He was beginning to enjoy the game, the part he played was so foreign to his personality he decided he rather liked the ruse. He realized immediately the task they had undertaken must be their first attempt at something—he knew not what. It became apparent to himself he was in no serious danger. Besides, he was too formidable an opponent to worry about two mere youngsters.
“Obey me, follow us and you will not be harmed,” the smaller young man informed him with an air of patient superiority, and indicated another path Rory was now to take.
Intrigued, Rory turned, guiding Adamas to follow the two younger much smaller males through the woods into a dense area. Still he remained atop his mount. For some reason he highly doubted the lads were leading him to any others. They appeared to be acting on their own. They seemed too agitated and almost frightened by their deed, as they glanced about often.
Rory, being a seasoned hunter, could see no signs on the ground indicating any great number had traversed this path recently. His own mount showed no heightened peculiarities to alert him to any danger in the distance, no flickering of fine ears, no tossing of his magnificent head. No, most definitely they were acting alone, and they would give him no trouble.
The forest thickened, and the horses’ way was made much harder, but they plowed ahead, steadfast. Their determination to reach their goal was apparent. Rory’s curiosity intensified. Soon enough a small clearing came into view. The young lads pulled up their mounts, and they ordered Rory to dismount as well. Both were quiet, one casting furtive glances to the other, older sibling, perhaps?
The youngsters quickly unsaddled their mounts, then moved toward the thatched building while beckoning to Rory. To Rory’s great surprise they had left their swords with their little mares by the saddles as though forgotten. Did they really think their prowess so great they could defeat him or force some kind of victory without any aid? Ludicrous. Giving his head a shake Rory realized ’twas not their prowess that was so great but their stupidity. Their poor sire, if they had one, did he realize how daft his children were?
“Come inside,” the elder of the youngsters demanded. Rory detected an almost tired tone to the voice. They were at a small sod structure Rory had seen years before. He and his younger brother had played here a few times as children. No one inhabited the dilapidated hut, he was certain. Unless the boys were orphaned and hoped to ransom him.
Chuckling, filled with curiosity, wanting to make certain the daft youngsters were not up to no good on his lands, Rory complied after telling his own mount sternly to wait. A seasoned warhorse, the powerful stallion stood quietly enough but eyed the two female palfreys with some unveiled interest.
“I know that look old man, try and behave yourself,” Rory threw over his shoulder with a laugh.
Distracted by Adamas, who obviously sensed no danger, Rory never saw the wooden beam aimed at his head as he stepped through the small darkened, open doorway. His eyes had yet to adjust to the dimness. He was hit soundly and dropped to the dirt floor like a hard stone.
“Now look at what you have done. You have killed him. Oh, now it will never pop,” Constantine cried out dismayed. Her hand rose to her mouth in worry as she stood over the large man’s inert body.
“He is not dead; he breathes still. See how his chest rises and falls? Now help me before he wakes,” Juliette said and groaned as she tried to lift the man.
Constantine added her own struggles to her sisters. Both girls tried lifting with all their might. They yanked and pulled to no avail tugging on his clothing.
“Drat. He weighs as much as his horse,” Constantine grunted, his one leg was up off the ground clutched in both arms. She dropped it suddenly and went sprawling backward landing in a hard heap onto her bottom.
Juliette dropped the hold she had on his other leg and stood thinking thoughtfully. “You will just have to do it here,” she declared shrugging.
“I will not have my first bedding be on a filthy dirt floor,” Constantine snapped arrogantly.
“Then you best think of something quickly,” Juliette replied.
Constantine stood up scowling; she never realized coupling would be so difficult. Juliette should have hit him closer to the bed, they couldn’t possibly hope to lift him. He was huge. Suddenly she snapped her fingers.
“Juliette, do you remember Puddles?”
Juliette did remember Puddles. Laziest dog the girls had ever encountered. He had belonged to their Uncle Emit. A great bear of a dog with the patience of a doddering old nanny. Constantine and she used to roll him over to a table in the kitchen that held the jam-filled pasties and sweetmeats; both girls had an insatiable sweet tooth. They would then climb on the dog, belly or back it made no difference; the dog was too lazy to protest. Constantine would then lift her smaller sister up those few extra inches, enabling her to grab two handfuls of the delicacies.
Smiling at the ingenuity, Juliette joined her sister on one side of the motionless man. They each grabbed a handful of clothing and rolled him onto his belly, then his back and so on until they reached the bed. Again another dilemma presented itself; how to get him onto the bed? Thankfully, it was exceptionally close to the ground, a small enough entity in the otherwise empty hut, though surprisingly well made for its age. It would just barely accommodate the man.
Constantine grabbed at a leg and bid Juliette grab the same leg. Soon both legs lay on the bed, the man’s bottom and torso still languishing upon the ground. With a tremendous effort
Constantine grabbed hold of his arms and pulled firmly, with Juliette pushing from behind.
Unfortunately Juliette’s slight body slipped under the weight and pressure and she fell beneath the unconscious man.
Juliette groaned painfully. “My goodness. You were right; he does weigh as much as his horse. Get him off. Get him off. Oh, he is killing me, Constantine,” Juliette howled in distress.
Seeing her beloved sister’s face contort in pain had Constantine in quick motion. She pulled with all her might and with a furious heave, they both managed to propel him off Juliette and onto the bed.
“Well, the old hag was certainly right. I have never grunted or groaned so much in my entire life,” Constantine declared, a hand to her breast, her breath coming in quick gasps.
“Well neither have I, and this is supposed to be your coupling, not mine,” Juliette replied, her expression was decidedly annoyed.
“I am sorry to be such a bother dearest, but I do appreciate your help,” Constantine said soothingly.
Appeased, Juliette grabbed up a rope and began binding one of the man’s hands up behind his head to a sturdy post at the top of the bed. Constantine stopped her.
“Does he not need to be undressed?” she inquired.
“I think perhaps you are right,” Juliette said, and then frowned. “All of him?”
“I am unsure. It is not like I have done this before,” Constantine declared annoyed. Just because she was older did not necessarily mean she knew everything.
“Well what did the old crone say?”
“She did mention he would remove my clothing.”
“Why? Is he too poor to afford servants?” Juliette gave her a curious glance. She was beginning to wonder at her father’s logic and could see the evil hand of Uncle Emit rearing its ugly head.
“I highly doubt our dearest father would wed his eldest child to a lowly pauper,” Constantine snapped a little ruffled. She always suspected Juliette was his favorite; she needn’t throw it in her face.
“It was not my intention to be cruel,” Juliette snapped back. She had always suspected
Constantine was her father’s favorite; she needn’t throw it in her face.
“Oh, never mind. Just help me.”
The girls went to work removing the man’s clothing. Once done he was trussed securely to the head of the bed. The girls then stood back to catch their breath and admire their handiwork.
“Um, Constantine? What is that?” Juliette stood staring intently at the man’s member.
Constantine gaped as well. “Perhaps a growth of some kind,” Constantine mumbled, just as transfixed. It was truly a remarkable growth. It was quite large and long and somewhat fascinating. It lay off to one side as if in slumber. Their staring was interrupted however by a furious howl of outrage.
“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” Rory had awoken to find himself bound like a pig and completely nude. He was no longer amused or intrigued and his head ached as though he had been drinking ale all night.
“You needn’t yell; we are not deaf and you have frightened Juliette,” Constantine declared angrily. The fact she had also been frightened by his outburst added petulance to her voice.
“Juliette?” Rory questioned and blinked hard. It was indeed an odd name for a lad. Rory looked closer. One of the lads had a long tendril of hair that had escaped from his cap trailing down a slight back and rounded hips. Realization dawned, he was astounded. “Why you are not lads at all, you are but girls.”
“I am not a girl, I am a woman,” Constantine rebuffed with annoyance.
“Woman or no, you let me loose or you will find yourself over my knee,” Rory demanded in his loudest gruff commanding voice, giving a sound tug to his bindings for emphasis and gnashing his teeth.
Neither Constantine nor Juliette had ever been struck in their lives. Their eyes widened in fear, both of them took an involuntary step backward.
Seeing their distress, their anxious faces paling from his threat, Rory thought quickly. Regardless of the fact he was tied, he was a great deal larger than the both of them. If he frightened them away, and they left him here, who knew how long it would be before he was found. He would also rather not be found like this, he would never hear the end of it from his brother. Damnation. This never would have happened if he hadn’t been feeling so smug. He certainly wasn’t feeling cocky now. Still, he needed another approach.
“Now, now, do not be afraid, ’twas just my anger talking. Let me loose and we will forget the entire episode,” he promised in a much lighter tone, although his insides seethed, and he was itching to get his hands on the both of them.
“I am afraid I cannot as yet,” Constantine replied. She looked at the man her tone sad.
“But why? What is it you want? Coin?” Rory inquired. Indeed he had brought none, this they must have discovered whilst he lay unconscious. They couldn’t hope to keep him prisoner on his own lands for some type of ransom. The very thought was insane.
Constantine lifted her slender hand pulling down her cap. Her thick chestnut hair cascaded around her beautifully, falling softly to curl against her slim hips like a caress. Rory sucked in his breath thinking she was the most beautiful creature he had ever set eyes on, and she was right, she was no girl, she was all woman. He must have been daft for not noticing she was female.
“Do not be afraid, sir. I will try not to hurt you,” Constantine told him her tone grave.
For a moment Rory felt true concern. Just what did they plan on doing with him? “What are you about?” he asked quietly.
“I intend to initiate coupling with you.” Then quietly under her breath muttered, “I hope.”
Rory almost laughed aloud feeling a great sense of relief, thinking this must be a joke from his brother to lighten his mood. But seeing the girl’s heartfelt look he decided she was serious.
“What on earth for?” He would happily oblige if she would but cut him free, he could feel himself stirring just at the thought of bedding this whimsical beauty, he could envision her length of hair wrapping around his body. Her beautiful full sensuous mouth would feel heavenly pressed to his. It had been some time since he’d had a woman and though the situation wasn’t a way he’d been interested in she was appealing enough to know his body would be happy to accommodate her.
“Enough talk, Pepper. The hour grows late, just make it pop and be done with it,” Juliette demanded.
Constantine realized her sister was right, she was stalling, yet she was afraid. She was concerned the frightened man might beg her for mercy and she must do this deed. With resolve
Constantine wadded up some cloth and stuck it in the man’s mouth stopping all communication.
“I am not quite certain where to begin.” Constantine sent her sister a mournful look.
“Well try getting closer,” Juliette suggested, giving her a nudge.
Constantine sat on the bed beside the man, her bottom perched near the edge. Tentatively she reached a slender hand to stroke his furrowed forehead. His thick dark wavy hair reached his broad shoulders and felt silky smooth to her touch. His angered dark-brown eyes bore deeply into hers, her breath caught, best not to look at them, she thought. He was hairy everywhere. Constantine wondered if the hair on the rest of his body was as soft as that on his head. Her hand slid caressingly down the side of his just-barely-beginning-to-stubble face, along his throat that rose and fell as he swallowed hard.
She rubbed in a circular motion on his powerful chest and noted the shorter hair was coarse but not at all unpleasant, curling pleasingly around her fingers. He was rather beautiful in a strong way; his body appeared sculpted by an expert craftsman. Constantine’s hand swept lower and reached his muscled waist that quivered with her soft exploration on his warm body, becoming ever closer to his growth. Her gaze settled onto his affliction, she wondered if it pained him and she found she grew concerned for his wellbeing while fondling him with such intimacy. With trepidation she reached out to touch it, her hand felt its warmth and she ran a hesitant palm down its length.
Constantine leaped off the bed suddenly in horror. Juliette, so surprised at her sister, jumped out of her way lest Constantine end up in her arms.
“What ails you?” Juliette demanded.
“It lives,” Constantine shrieked.
“What lives?” Juliette asked mystified.
“The growth, ’tis possessed,” she howled.
“Nonsense,” Juliette muttered, certain her sister was stalling once again.
Juliette reached out a tentative hand and stroked the growth. Shortly she joined her sister in a far corner shaking in disbelief.
“It moved.” She breathed out shakily.
“I know,” Constantine concurred.
“Do you think it will move again?” Juliette asked with fear.
“Perhaps,” Constantine replied. Both girls, clutching one another tightly, moved forward at a slow pace, starring at the man’s member fascinated, eyes wide.
“Look. There it goes again,” Constantine yelled.
They both stood over Rory who was three shades of red, staring intently.
“Touch it again,” Juliette whispered.
“Why?” Constantine asked in utter disbelief.
“Perhaps this is what needs to pop,” Juliette said in a reasonable tone.
“Really?” Constantine replied full of dread. She had an uneasy feeling Juliette was right.
With apprehension Constantine lowered herself to the bed. She reached out a hand but stopped before it reached its goal.
“What now?” Juliette asked exasperated.
“What if it bites? The old hag said I would bleed.”
“Then you will just make it pop after and be done with it,” Juliette reasoned.
Ruefully, Constantine realized her sister was right, either way she must bleed for the deed to be done. Taking a deep breath she seized the growth in firm hands and hung on. Rory groaned.
“That’s it, Pepper, you must be doing it right, there is the groaning,” Juliette declared triumphantly.
Constantine looked up at the man. His eyes were squeezed shut and moisture was forming at their sides.
“Oh, look, he is frightened, he is crying,” Constantine said distressed. “I am hurting him.”
Feeling ashamed, Constantine loosened her grip and rubbed at him gently instead. “There, there. Do not be afraid. I am trying not to hurt you. I will try to be tender.” Constantine fretted that this might be the man’s first time as well. She must double her efforts to be more careful with him.
She stroked him in a soothing fashion, yet his groaning seemed to increase. Concerned, she used both hands and put forth a better effort. His member seemed to leap at her touch; she was a bit fearful it was trying to get at her. But with it safely tucked into two softly stroking fists, she sensed it was trapped.
“Beware sister,” Juliette exclaimed suddenly.
Surprised, Constantine looked up at her. Juliette’s look was clear amazement.
“What?” Constantine asked.
“It grows,” Juliette cautioned.
Removing her hands, Constantine noted with interest her sister was right. The growth was increasing in size.
“’Tis huuuuge,” Constantine declared on an expelled awed breath.
Rory clamped his jaws hard around the cloth in his mouth and ground out foul muffled oaths and obscenities he was somewhat grateful the girls could not make out; else they would have run screaming from the hut in terror, their hands upon their ears. He swore he would seek his revenge. He would have them he vowed if it was the last thing he ever did. She was killing him with her innocence.
Constantine clutched at the monstrosity. “I do not understand how something so hard can feel so soft and smooth,” she marveled.
Her curiosity was getting the better of her and Juliette reached out to feel for herself. She too marveled at the warm smoothness, the amazing unimagined strength. The round globes the size of swan’s eggs beneath were too compelling to resist and she moved her hand to explore in innocent wonder.
“Juliette, do you mind. This is my coupling,” Constantine complained.
Embarrassed, Juliette removed her hands and stepped back. She noted the man was now not only moaning but thrashing as wildly as the bonds would allow. Perhaps he was in pain. Poor man, hopefully he would pop soon and they could leave him be.
A disgusted cry from Constantine jarred Juliette’s thoughts back. Constantine was sitting on the bed with a mess all over her hands.
“What on earth happened?” Juliette cried.
“It popped,” Constantine said with disgust.
“Wonderful!” Juliette exclaimed.
“Wonderful for whom?” Constantine bit out sarcastically, looking with loathing at her filthy sticky hands.
“But Constantine, you are no longer a virgin. Lord Horrible can no longer hurt you,” Juliette said.
“But I have not bled,” Constantine said miserably, wondering what went wrong.
“Perhaps the bleeding comes after,” Juliette replied.
Constantine wiped her hands on the bed. She realized suddenly that this is what her husband would want from her. Granted it was not as painful as she was led to believe, but it was so darned messy. Oh, I will never last. She then glanced at the man on the bed and hoped she had not hurt him.
“We need to return home now. I fear we have been gone too long,” Juliette warned.
“Thank you for not hurting me,” Constantine told the man in earnest. Then to Juliette, “Prepare our mounts. When you are ready, come for me and I can cut loose an arm.”
Sensing her sister needed a moment alone; Juliette did as she was asked.
After Juliette left, Constantine sat again beside the man. “I am happy my first time was with a handsome man,” she confided to him with shyness, feeling the need to say something. Her head was bowed with her embarrassment. “I am truly sorry if I have frightened you or caused you any pain. You see I am to be wed soon. My betrothed is a heartless man who would have caused me great harm on my wedding’s eve. I was afraid to let him be the first to have me.” Constantine leaned over and removed the wadding from his mouth. She expected him to rail at her and she knew she deserved it.
“Who is your betrothed?” Rory asked tightly.
Surprised, Constantine looked into his eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Do you not fear you will be punished if you do not go to him untouched?” Rory asked curiously. The girl’s fear of her betrothed must be great indeed for her to risk such a venture.
Constantine’s eyes flashed. “He would have hurt me. Perhaps he will lock me away. I do not care,” she insisted with a cheeky toss of her long locks.
But Rory could see beneath the bravado, she was indeed terrified.
“What is his name, woman?” Rory questioned again. He was afraid he already knew. He had heard the young accomplice call her Constantine. It was the name of his betrothed. It was not the common name of a lass, but a favorite name of her eccentric father. The other female could be none other than her younger sister.
“Come, Pepper. I have done,” Juliette called from the doorway.
Constantine removed the man’s own knife. She cut through the bond on his left arm freeing it. Once removed Rory quickly grabbed her wrist painfully in a powerful grip.
“His name, girl. I want your betrothed’s name,” Rory demanded.
Constantine cried out with fear. He was hurting her. He was crushing her wrist. She sobbed pitifully and tried to yank herself free but he was too powerful.
“’Tis Rory, my lord. “’Tis Lord Rory Broc.” Constantine pulled violently, but Rory released her. She fell backward hard, injuring her arm. Juliette had her up in a moment and both raced to their mounts. They leaped into their saddles, urging their normally quiet palfreys on, and were off riding at a frantic dangerous pace through the woods to be away from him.
Rory cut himself free. He had been hoping his reputation had not reached his young sheltered betrothed. But it had and with a vengeance. What to do? If she was already this terrified of him, what would she do when they came face to face? He did not want his squire racing for buckets of cold water to revive her on their wedding day. Granted some of the rumors were fact based, but he did not eat babes, nor did he rape virgins for sport. How on earth could he hope to explain to one so innocent it was necessary at times to have untruths about oneself to stay alive? Sighing deeply Rory walked to his horse. He had learned a great many things about his little bride to be. She was for a fact completely innocent. She was indeed quite beautiful, and perhaps it was best not to turn his back on her. Damnation his head hurt.
* * * *
Once the girls had put distance between themselves and the man, they slowed to an easier pace. Constantine remained quiet until her sister grew concerned.
“Are you hurt?” Juliette asked.
Constantine looked over at her sorrowfully. She held up her injured hand, the one she had fallen on.
“The old woman was right, Juliette. Look, I bleed.” Sure enough when Juliette looked at her sister’s injured wrist it was not only turning color, there was a small trickle of blood oozing from a cut that dripped onto her sleeve. The deed was complete, their mission accomplished and apparently successful.