Free By Right of Arms by Robyn Carr Page A

served your pleasure with my virginity. Will you shout it from the highest citadel, that Giles failed with me? Surely even your cruelty has an end.”
    Hyatt sat back in his chair and looked at her, a frown wrinkling his brow. “You are a very difficult woman to please, lady. Most women like to be told that they are much appreciated for their chastity.”
    “Not I. Why would such please me? I do not wish to be your wife, nor do I find much solace in being a pleasing bedmate.”
    Hyatt put down his cup and raised a foot again to the bed, casually unlacing the straps around his boot. He drew it off and repeated the action with the other foot, speaking without looking at her. “You lie to yourself, Aurélie. ’Tis a pity. You delay any good settlement of our lot with your foolishness.”
    “You are not a man,” she said angrily. “A beast from the forest, rutting aimlessly, keeping whore and wife and finding base pleasures where they lie.”
    “Aurélie,” he sighed. “You are such a challenge.” He stood and pulled his linen shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His chausses soon followed and he stood before her in only his loincloth.
    “Hyatt, no,” she murmured. “I beseech your kindness, do not hurt me.”
    He laughed and his knee was on the bed. “You hurl your insults, then beg me not to bring you pain.” His hand touched her cheek tenderly. “I have not hurt you yet. Nay, your deflowering would have been painful with any man, for it is the way of such things. But with you I have been gentle and kind, giving far more than I have asked in return.” He lazily pulled the fur covers down to expose her nakedness. His hand made a soft sweep over her bosom, resting on her flat belly. She trembled in spite of herself. “Ah, Aurélie, you may cry out your hate for me, but when I touch you as your lover, your body rises to meet mine. It is a good place to begin.”
    “You shame me,” she whispered. “You torment; you hope to find this fleshly weakness in me.”
    “Nay,” he said huskily, softly caressing her waist, her breast. He pulled her hand and placed it atop his, forcing her to follow his movements as his fingers became more bold. “When I do this, lady, I am loving you. You will learn to know the touch, the pleasure, and you will find that it eases the hurt. You may despise me in the courtyard, the common room, the corridors of our castle, but in my bed your venom will cease. Here, if you cannot answer my kindness with equal weight, you will at least be silent when I touch you.” A half smile played on his lips. “Just let your body speak to mine. That will be enough for now.”
    “You …”
    “Hush,”
he demanded. His fingers touched the soft mound of hair between her legs and she snatched her hand from his, the color burning on her cheeks. Her eyes closed as she gritted her teeth both in embarrassment and rousing pleasure. “There is ever accusation in your tone. In every word from your lips I hear pain, doubt, fear, hate. Yet in no action since my arrival can you claim I have been cruel to you.”
    His hands again brought to life the yearning. She moaned in misery, for the longing from deep within her womb had cried out for fulfillment. How did this devil know so much? She had craved to be in a lover’s arms, to be touched, caressed. She had desired to take the seed of a strong man, to bring to life a child. For as many as seven years she had been ready for love, life, joy.
    He played casually with her body and she opened her eyes to look at the hardened features of his face. He quickly stripped away his loincloth and his eyes smoldered with passion’s fire. She could feel his probing manhood against the inside of her closed thighs. Her heart beat wildly, her breathing came in labored gasps, for his fingers brought the response from her body. Tears clouded her vision as she studied his handsome features. Why could he not be a knight of John’s France, come to console her in her loss? Why