Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The characters from the Beauty and the Beast are owned by the writers and networks of CW and CBS studios I am just borrowing them.
Another Time Another Place: One Knight's Bargain
Near Paris, 1285
Catherine de Chandler moved her wooden sword before her chuckling as her little brother's battle cry ripped from his lungs. She deflected the strike and twisted her sword to swing back in attack. He moved his feet, lowering his center to take her blows before repelling her strike. Catherine had started slowly letting Nicolas become accustomed to the force of her sword, but with each jab, she increased the pressure to where his comfort level was. Instead of facing her, Nicolas jumped to the stairs, leaping over a coiled rope and out of Catherine's reach.
"Nicolas! Stop the theatrics. I'm trying to teach you the basics".
"I don't need basics. I'm an expert swordsman. Felix and Jake showed me all I need to know".
"Jake is seven, and Felix is eight. They have not learned much at all yet. And who do you think taught them what they know?" Catherine crossed her arms over her surcoat, her sword dangling from one hand. "You are no expert, little boy. Now come back here and face me".
"But I'm not supposed to fight with girls".
Catherine looked down at herself and back at him. "Do I appear to be a girl today?"
Nicolas snickered as he gazed at her standing before him in their father's chainmail and surcoat. "No, you look like an ugly man".
"I suppose I do not make an attractive knight." Catherine laughed as she glanced down at herself once more. "But with our parents away, this is the best I can do to teach you to protect yourself. So come down here and let us start over."
Nicolas jumped back down to the ground, widening his stance and preparing for her attack. The bailey was empty except for them. Jake and Felix leaned against the tower wall above them watching them fight.
"When will our parents return, Cat?"
Catherine paused, worry gnawing at her gut. Her parents should have returned weeks ago. The longer they left the house near empty, the higher the risk of bandits raiding their meager supplies, if they didn't lay claim to the old fortress completely. "I do not know Nic. I wish I did. Each day that passes I fear for the safety of our home."
"We have Guillame and Petior to defend us."
"They are no longer young men, Nic."
"They are strong knights and will keep the bandits at bay. Father told me so before he left."
"They are the only men left, besides the three father took to protect them as they went to Paris. All the others either left for the crusades or left when the gold dried up."
"The gold dried up?"
Nicolas might only be six, but it was about time he started to learn the truth. She had shielded him for as long as she could. "It is about time you knew we are destitute."
"What does that mean?"
"Poor"
"We live in a fine castle. We are not poor."
"Do you see any people here? We have one old servant and two knights. They only remain because they are too old to leave. No one works our meager fields. We have no tapestries to keep our hall warm, no candles to light the night, no animals to get meat or milk from. Our parents and brothers have left with every item of value to sell in Paris while we sit here waiting for anyone to barge in and take over our home. So this is why you need to learn to protect yourself, Nicolas."
"Cat, men approach!"
Catherine turned to Jake and Felix, who were now standing close to the tower wall. Both boys ran down the tower steps and rushed through the bailey, across the bridge, and up the barbican steps. She moved forward, to get a better look as Nicolas rushed past her. All three boys were already at the crenellated wall before she could even get to the bottom steps of the barbican. Her father's chainmail slowed her progress, and it took a moment to ascend. All three boys stood gazing over the edge, their little bodies barely allowing them to see over. She stepped behind Nicolas and gave him a boost, as she peered down herself. Riders on black horses were coming at full gallop, a cloud of dust surrounding them, making it impossible to see how many were in the cluster.
"What do we do Cat?" she could hear the fear in Nicolas voice. He pretended he was invincible and in that moment, she wished he were.
"Felix, go get Guillame and Petior. They are probably asleep in the kitchen. "Felix ran for the stairs as she considered her alternatives.
"They will protect us?"
Catherine looked down a Nicolas, her frown returning.
"They are all we have, Nicolas."
Catherine was rooted to the floor, watching as the men grew close. Guillame and Petior arrived, standing behind Nicolas and the others on the barbican, looking down.
"That's Sir Vincent's flag" Petior said from behind them.
"The devil in black, just what we need here," Guillame added.
Both knights turned on their heels and went down the barbican as Nicolas turned back to watch the raiders stop at the gates below. Guillame and Petior exited the gates and began to talk to the man at the head, a towering man who appeared too large for his enormous horse. The large man handed Guillame a piece of vellum. Guillame handed it to Petior since he could not read, and Petior broke the seal. His eyes grew large as he read over whatever was on the page, his eyes rising as he looked to the barbican wall.
Nicolas strained to hear the conversation that followed, but they spoke too softly, and the words wouldn't glide up the stone walls of the fortress. After a few moments, Guillame and Petior dropped to their knees before the large knight. Nicolas gulped as two of the raiders slide from their saddles and approached Guillame and Petior, plunging their swords into the older men's necks, the writhing bodies dropped to the ground.
Blood rushed from the bodies on the ground, the sun shining on the dark red. Then they men did something surprising. They laid the men on their back and crossed their arms over their chests, placing the dead men's swords within their grasp. Each was then put on a pallet and carried through the gates. Catherine let out a sob and grasped his and Jake's hand, rushing down the barbican's steps and rushing for the keep. Nicolas stumbled and fell in the lower bailey, making them stop. A tearing sound echoed through the inner walls as the iron gates were ripped away. The only thing that stopped them now was the unguarded drawbridge, and it would only be a matter of time before the bandits made it inside the castle.
Catherine threw them both into their parent's bedroom. "Hide in mother's chest. You both should fit inside. I'm going to find Felix."
"No! Don't go Cat!"
Catherine turned at the door, half her body already outside the room. "Get in the trunk and be quiet. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Catherine rushed down the keep's stairs, her heart thundering in her ears. She could only hope Jake and Nicolas could remain hidden until the threat was gone. She had absolutely no idea what she would do next; all she did know was she needed to find Felix and get him to a relative safety while she faced the brigands herself.
Once she arrived at the bottom of the stairs, she heard a yell coming from the kitchen. Magda was inside and had probably not been warned. Catherine ran to the space and saw Felix pulling the old woman into the larder.
"Get inside, Magda!"
"I'm too old. Go save yourself, little master".
"No, you must hide".
"Magda, listen to him. Get in Felix, you get in here".
"No! I am the master of the keep. I should fight them".
"You are a child still. Get in the larder".
Hands wrapped around her throat and brought her up against the largest chest she'd ever felt. "What do we have here? Boys and a kitchen wench?"
Catherine screamed, trying to wrench herself from the man's grasp. "Don't worry. Sissy boy, this will all be over soon".
She hoped they assumption she heard in his statement wasn't true. Would they kill everyone in the house? She hoped they wouldn't find the two upstairs. She closed her eyes in prayer, asking for some small pittance. When she reopened them, two other men had captured Felix and Magda, and they were being brought outside. Her gut clenched as they stepped out into the open air, the sunlight pouring over them as they stopped before the large man who had led the bandits inside.
"No girl?"
"No, just two boys and an old woman".
"They don't interest me. I came here for the girl. We must find her".
Catherine was confused. Were they talking of her? She was the only girl in the keep, but why would they be looking for her? Her mind reeled as she considered what they were about, but her thoughts refocused on the two small boys being drug from the house. Men deposited Jake and Nicolas on the ground within the lower bailey. Red-rimmed eyes looked to her in need. She had no idea what to do.
"So these are the last of de Chandler's whelps?"
"He claimed to have seven sons and had four with him in Paris, yet we find four sons here", came from the young man who had held Nicolas. He looked to be close to Catherine's eight and ten, but there was something about him that made her consider him younger.
"What of the daughter?" asked the big man.
"I do not know. We did not see any other souls here". The younger boy pointed toward Catherine and the others. "Perhaps we ask them. These little ones will not help much".
The bandit strolled over to Catherine, drawing her free from the man who held her and lifting her into the air to face him, her feet dangling in the air. "where is the little wench?"
She in that moment she needed to sacrifice herself for the boys. They had to survive, somehow. The truth was the only way. "I am a lady, not a wench."
The big man chuckled before ripping her helm off, allowing her brown locks to fall about her face and shoulders as he dropped her to her feet and caught her face in his grasp. "You are as fine as your mother. You will warm my bed well"
"I will do no such thing!"
"Did your parents not send word? I have won your hand as well as these lands. All here is now mine, including you and your brothers. Be good to me and perhaps I'll spare their lives".
"My parents sent no word". Catherine gazed at Nicolas, her eyes widening before looking back at the bandit. "And may I ask whose hand I have supposedly been given to?"
"The name is Sir Vincent of Rouen, at your service". The man bowed before her and then rose to his full height, head and shoulders above her own. "Your parents were so relieved with the bag of gold I thrust into their hands, I doubt they stopped counting the pieces long enough to send you word." He thrust the same vellum at her that he'd shown to Guillame and Petior before they'd killed them. She was hesitant to take the sheet as she'd seen the outcome of the last reading.
"Take it, here's your proof."
She grasped the edges in her shaking hands and read over the surface three times, as she couldn't believe it was true. Right there, in her father's own hand, was an agreement such as Sir Vincent had just outlined. The keep and the lands were now his, including everything within it. Including her and the children. How could her father have just sold them off as chattel?
She handed the document back over to Sir Vincent, her body and mind numb. She could be sold as chattel because she was a woman. Catherine had been expecting something of the sort for years, as many young women were already married, with three or four wee ones, by the time they'd turned 12 and 14. She'd always assumed it was her parent's lack of gold that had kept suitors at bay. Being sold to a blackheart shouldn't be so surprising.
At least she kept her home and her little brothers, who weren't as affected as the older boys. After the first few, her parents had lost interest. They had enough boys to inherit and pass along the family name, which was now laughable there was nothing to inherit and who would want their lineage to continue, the name sullied by greed and poverty.
"I suppose you expect me to bow to you now?" she whispered low enough that hopefully Vincent was the only one to hear.
"If you get on your knees, I have something for you to do wench."
She gasped, blood heating her face. As a lady, she shouldn't know what he was speaking of, but unfortunately, her mother hadn't raised her to be a lady.
The man walked away with a smirk and turned his back to Catherine, looking at Nicolas and Jake. "How old are the brats?"
"The- brats- have names."
Sir Vincent grasped her face once more, pulling her close. "I have no time for this. I asked a question wench."
"Felix here beside me is eight." Catherine wrinkled her nose, the foul smell of unwashed bodies making her ill. "Jake is seven. Nicolas is six"
"Ahh, perfect. I will put them to work with my men instead of fostering. I've already paid too much for you and this land, as it is. Time for little boys to become men."
"Can I have the youngest?"asked the boy behind Nicolas.
"You are still but a squire yourself. What do you know about fostering?"
"He's too young to do much yet, and he'll be underfoot, a bother to you. Let him help me with my work to him strength and to understand what is to be expected of him. I'll be responsible for him until he grows a bit older". The squire glanced at Nicolas, and there was something in his gaze that told Catherine he would be kind to Nicolas.
Sir Vincent stared at the squire long and hard before speaking. "You are wise beyond your years, Matthias. Fine take the runt under your care for now and keep him out of my way. Forbes, figure out who will take the other two." Sir Vincent dragged Catherine to him. "As for me, I think I shall acquaint myself with my bride to be"
Vincent drew her inside the keep. He seemed to ignore the surroundings as he moved quickly as she was weighed down by her chainmail. Vincent snorted, stopped midway up the stairs, and turned throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. She squealed as he tossed her onto her parent's bed a few moments later and scrambled to be the headboard, as far away from him as she could get.
"The keep is quite bare. Have you no luxuries here?"
He'd apparently noticed more than it has seemed.
"My parents have sold off most of the valuables over the year to stay afloat. They took the last our goods with them to Paris. We don't even have candles to see at night."
"Then I suppose I will have you undress now while there's still light enough for me to see you."
Heat flooded her face yet again. "I might have been sold as chattel, but the least you can do is treat me like the lady I am."
"Lady?" he laughed loudly, tiny lines forming around his mouth and eyes as he did so. In mirth, his expression softened. He didn't seem so formidable now. She loathed to admit that once he dropped the seriousness, he wasn't a dreadful looking man. He was actually somewhat attractive, in a big brute kind of way.
Clear light brown eyes peeked out from a sun-kissed face. His nose was arrow straight, albeit for the slight bump that hinted it was once broken. His lips were dry from riding, but they appeared curved and bowed, almost a hint feminine in their fullness. Nothing about the towering giant could be considered feminine, though. He was huge, and she was sure battle-hardened muscles lined the mail and surcoat he wore, if the hints of curves didn't lie.
Catherine realized her perusal hadn't gone unnoticed. A hint of a smirk played with his lips as he watched her intently. "Like what you see, wench?"
That bastard! "I have a name, and it is not wench!"
"Ah, a touch exasperated, are you? You can cool your heels for a moment as I tour the keep. While I'm gone, change into a proper gown and ready me a bath. I assume you have a tub still?
She hid a smile, unwilling to tell him of the underground hot spring they had under the keep. "We only have the cook's stew pot, but it'll work to get you cleaned up."
"Stew pot? Ugh, I knew I was buying a poor keep, but I assumed you'd have the basics."
"We have a couple of poor beds, chamber pots, and wood for the fire."
"That's all?"
"Just about."
Vincent shook his head and speared a hand through his unruly mass of brown hair. "I spent most of my gold to buy", his eyes lifted to her, "the keep. I didn't know we'd have to spend another small fortune to outfit the places as well. We have no blacksmith here, no one to work the land. It had better be worth it."
Anger rushed through her. "Petior could do a little smithing, but you killed him."
"The old chap should have told me before he asked me to end him."
"I am quite sure you do not infer that Guillame and Petior asked to be slain."
"That they did. Unless you missed it in the contract I showed you, your two elderly knights had been released from their duties. They knew they could not make it on the outside, not at their age. I suggested they become servants in the, keep and they were shamed by it. They said they wanted to go out like men, not women in the kitchens. They asked for a glorious death."
Catherine felt a sob run through her. Those words sounded like the stupid babble the two old men would spout, but she didn't want to believe the words, no matter how much truth seemed to be behind them. Vincent didn't appear to lie, but she didn't know him, either, and therefore, she couldn't trust him. "Will you give that glorious death to me and my brothers as well, if we do not abide by your rule?"
Vincent came close, grasping her head as he drew her to the edge of the bed. "Is that what you want? Is thus why you play in men's clothing? Do you want to die in battle?"
"No, no. I was trying to teach Nicolas to swordfight."
"A girl, teaching a little boy to wave a wooden sword around? That's laughable."
The nearness of the man was getting to her. Yes, he was ill- smelling from days a horse, but there was a magnetism he claimed, which overrode her instincts. His gaze captured hers, and she felt her body melt into his. She fought the sensation, tried to pull away, but his grip was stronger than iron. "Better to teach him something to protect himself. I am better than nothing."
Vincent looked at her for a long moment as he considered her words. The fierce look in his face suddenly softened, and he brought a gloved hand to her face. The scent of leather and horse hit her as he stroked one finger down her cheek. "My lady, you are much, much better than nothing, believe me."
He drew her close, his lips hovering just over hers, the heat of his breath running over her mouth and fanning along her face. She suddenly wanted his kiss, wanted his lips on hers, but she was robbed as he stepped back, releasing his grip on her. "Ready whatever pot you have for my bath as I tour your fortress. I'll be back within an hour."
Thirty minutes later, after trying to yank the large cast iron pot up the stairs, Catherine determined he would just have to take his bath in the kitchen. She'd stripped of the mail with Magda's help and was making her third trip down the winding stairs under the kitchen to the spring to get more buckets to warm water to bathe in.
The water looked to damn inviting with each trip down. She'd sweated under the heavy weight of the mail and felt offensive. She knew she had time, so she stripped off her tunic and hose, another theft, this one from one of her brothers. Diving into the warm pools had never felt better, the heat easing the pain she'd gotten in trying to move the pot.
She heard Vincent before she saw him. A she spun, she covered her bosom, her gaze moving to his immediately. The smirk he wore aggravated her, as he'd found her secret before she had a chance to repay a small amount of his crimes. After all her hard work with that damned pot here he was.
"Now don't you look lovely there?" he began to take off his surcoat and gloves as her eyes grew large. He certainly didn't think he was going to get into that water with her, did he? Vincent started to work his mail over his head but struggled. "Come help me, wench."
Wench? How did he expect her to want to help him with language like that? She had half a mind to push him into the water with his mail on and hop he drowned. Too bad the pools weren't that deep and he was a bully enough of a man to probably get out on his own. She couldn't imagine what he'd do to her of he didn't die from the action. A shiver ran through her at the thought.
"I said come help me."
"Perhaps if you asked politely I'll consider helping you."
She heard a few grunts and groans, and in a flash the mail was off and a heap on the floor. "If you're looking for polite from me, you obviously haven't been watching me the last couple hours."
His tunic and boots soon met the mail on the floor. He stood in just his leggings and shirt, his hands in the edge of the shirt preparing to raise it. She'd never seen a male nude, well not unless you counted her little brothers when they'd been small and she'd help bathe them. From that knowledge, as well as the animals they'd once had, she wasn't completely ignorant of what was hidden behind his clothing, but she still wasn't prepared to be shown his nudity, either. She cast her face away as he contained to disrobe, heat suffusing her face.
"Oh, lawd be. I had thought perhaps I had a brave lady when I had caught you in a chainmail. Please tell me I don't have a blushing maid on my hands, who will faint at the sight of an arse cheek."
Her gaze whipped to his at his comment, anger filling her. "I'm not the fainting sort." She caught sight of his erect manhood as she finished her comment and immediately reconsidered what she said. He was very large and very ready, she believed. A flush of heat filled her face as she turned away once more.
Vincent lowered himself into the water, if the splashing she heard was correct. She immediately began to pull herself from the water, as best she could while covering her own nudity at the same time. "Woman, if you leave this spring, you will be very sorry."
Her stare darted to his again. Fortunately, this time he was covered up to his chest with the streaming water. His hair was wet and his face cleaner, so he'd apparently dipped in completely as he's entered. He rested against the rocky ledge, his arms extended out on both sides of him. With his hair less of a tangled mess and some of the road soot washed from his face, she was surprised to see he was a bit more handsome that she'd realized. Surprised and upset. She shouldn't find him handsome at all. "This is delightful. No wonder you have no tub, there's no point in one, hmm?"
His eyes closed as he spoke, and she stuck out her tongue at him. His eyes popped open, and he caught the very end of it. Of course she would be caught in the juvenile act, but she'd lost her small chance at some retribution.
"Girl, you must learn some respect for you soon-to-be husband."
"You are to be my husband because you paid for the privilege, not because of any match made for us. I owe you nothing."
Vincent was on her before she had the chance to move. One of his hands was clenched in her hair, pulling her face back so he could peer down at her, the other an iron band around her body. She could feel the hefty weight of his cock against her stomach like a little beating heart, beating in time to the fiery blood flowing through it.
He growled stared at her, his tight hold on her hair hurting. "Regardless of how I came to have your hand in marriage, the point is it's mine. You will be my wife and the mother of my children." He released the hold on her hair, the hand spearing between her thighs and slipping through her folds. She squealed at the intimate touch.
"Are you whole?"
She winced at the question, not wanting to answer such an intimate detail about herself. When she didn't answer, he shook her harshly "I asked if were whole."
"I…am."
A smile formed over his full lips. His fingers shifted, moving to the opening of her channel. She stiffened at the minuscule penetration, but he paused, not going past a fraction of an inch. "So this will be all mine."
She swallowed, fear swirling in her chest. And there was something else mixing with it as well. A warming filled between her thighs, at the apex. Yearning filled her like nothing she'd felt before. Catherine didn't want to admit it, but she wanted his fingers to push forward.
She disgusted herself. Vincent wasn't a man she'd chosen, but a brute. He was barely able to be considered gentry, a half step above the muddied masses. He was base, an animal. He had brought her like a cheap piece of meat, ready to bring her down to his level.
And she was so at his level. If he but put on finger within her.
"Vincent..."
An evil glint came to his eye as soon as the words erupted unbidden from her lips. Embarrassment flooded her as soon as they did, caught in her own lust.
"I believe the lady is enjoying this rough treatment." His lips formed a thicker smile, and she felt even more disgusted with herself for allowing it.
Vincent lowered his head, his warm breath fanning over his face. She noted it now smelled of mint. He must have stopped by the small herb garden and stolen a sprig or two to chew upon. Had he done that for her? The thought was dizzying as it showed a tiny chink in his armor, if she was right.
Even so, she couldn't let him ravage her within hours of meeting. She pushed as hard as she could against his massive chest, but he didn't budge an inch. He was still coming forward, propelled in motion she couldn't stop. His lips found hers, and he kissed her roughly, his arms pulling her close to his chest, his few days of beard growth scratching her face.
As rough as it was, there was timidity to it as well. It wasn't as harsh as she'd expected, as if he held something back. Soon, she was lost in the sensation, opening to him when his tongue sought the seam of her lips. Catherine felt him sweep inside, the caress nearly making her swoon. Not a fainter? He continued to prove her wrong as her knees wobbled under her.
His hand tangled in her curls and massaged her scalp and neck, making her relax further in his embrace. His mouth on hers felt far better than it should, but she was lost in his seductive strokes. She heard a sob and a gasp and was embarrassed when she sluggishly realized it came from her own mouth.
It might as well have been cold water, it splashed along her frayed nerve endings and made her draw away from his searching mouth. She instinctively brought a knee up to push against him and he reared back, an angry sneer twisting his lips, which had just been bringing her such pleasure.
"Minx. You bow to my seduction only to tempt me closer so you can damage my loins."
"No…" she had not been about to attack, although given her lack of control, perhaps it would be best for him to think she would have. He would reconsider his next sensual attack if he thought she would damage his family jewels. A smug smile played at her lips. Let him think what he would.
A hard glint came to his eyes, and the smile left her lips. She had to remember she did not know how he would react to certain situations, so pushing him too far, too soon could be dire consequences for not just her, but her brothers. "I see restraints will be in order when I bed you. I have no problem tying you to the bed."
Fear rushed into her chest along with a pinch of lust at the thought of being tied to his bed. "We are not yet married"
Vincent stepped back and ducked his head under the water for a moment, then rinsed the rest of the dirt from his face and neck, the hot water trailing over his hard packed muscles as he stood. Her eyes were drawn to his chest and shoulders, how lovely they were in their masculine beauty. He caught her staring, and flush burned in her cheeks once more. "I have already sent for the priest. We shall be married soon, and you can forget all these notions in your head to fight me. It should only be a day or two and you will be mine."
The word mine brought a chill up her spine yet it also heated her, bringing a tingling sensation between her legs. Her mind and body were at war, and the confusion that brought her made her head ache. "But I am not yet"
He closed in until he mere inches from her. "It will be a matter of day, and I'll have you tied to my bed, my cock filling that lovely quim of yours."
Vincent's coarse words should have enraged her, but instead they made her melt. She bit her lip to prevent the sob of ecstasy from escaping her mouth. He washed the rest of his body with the rough cloth beside the rim and then lifted himself with ease from the depths. His cock was still big and thick, noted from the corner of her eye. She did not want to look, but she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. She had seen the male form before but never one as fine as his.
When he turned his back to her he began to draw a pair of hose and a tunic from his saddlebag. She noted the lined scars that crisscrossed his back and arse, the faint trails of battled waged. He had apparently warred move them most, his body suffering from arrow and sword wounds, and she felt a pinch of pit for him in that moment, but she released it quickly. Here stood a man used to fight, not lovemaking. He knew nothing of romance; he reached out and took what he wanted with pure violence. Now, he wanted her and her father's lands.
She supposed they were no longer her father's lands. Her father had sold them to the highest bidder, with no care for his children he left behind. Catherine had not allowed her mind to mull that over in the bailey. She had not allowed it to entry as she had gone about her duty in filling his pot. But now the weight of it rested on her shoulders. She and her brothers were but pawn pieces. Uncared for.
Her life would not be much different than it was now. Instead of being her father's property, now she would be her husband's.
Vincent saw the sadness rush over the maiden's face and knew he was part to blame for it. He had no experience with ladies and wooing. He had spent most of his time in taverns with ale wenches and whores. The women he spent his hours with were used to catering to his needs, which were dark and plentiful. Even now his palms itched to take the lass over his lap and spank her for the churlish attitude, but she was already afraid of him, which he did not want her to be.
He wanted her to desire his tough. He wanted her to welcome him into her bed. He had wanted it for three years past, since he had seen her come to Paris with her parents. Vincent had been working for Baron Montblanc, and de Chandler had been a guest of the count.
Catherine's creamy skin glowed in the fire light; her soft brown hair had glistened. She looked like the angels he had seen in the cut glass windows of the Basilica of St. Denis. Her father had brought her in an attempt to find her a husband, hoping her face would buy her contract, but his coffers were too empty and the men the count surrounded himself with too greedy. It was then that he had to decide to buy her hand.
Vincent knew then he didn't deserve her. He was the lowliest of knights, a harsh man who was little better than the thieves and bandits who roamed the countryside. He and his men had become warriors for hire, willing to do about anything for gold. Vincent had even hit the tournament cycle for bit, earning them more.
And it had all been for her.
Every day he prayed to the heavens above that no one else would take her before his fortune was large enough. He had come to Paris on Baron Montblanc's request and run into de Chandler with his eldest sons being thrown from the gates. It had been a stroke of fate. Catherine's father had been desperate for gold. Vincent had given de Chandler nearly every coin he had and walked away with the woman he had desired and would be able to give her a home. The man did not deserve the daughter or the home, leaving it behind without a backwards glance. He did not deserve her for leaving them all alone and open to attack.
It amazed him no one had made the attempt before he could get there. He had rode hard to the castle, afraid he would find it in ruins and his woman dead. It would have been irony he would have deserved considering the life he led, but for some reason favor had smiled down upon him.
Now he had her, and he didn't know what to do with her.
She was a lady, not a whore, yet he had treated her as such just now. And she had responded, although she had pushed him away eventually. He needed to learn to soften his approach when he was near her, let her see she did not need to fear him.
As he pulled his clean clothing over his body, she remained in the waters, apparently not wanting to show her nudity to him. She would need to get over that, and quickly. The priest would probably arrive within a day or two, and she would be his wife. He would keep her nude in his bed for a long as possible. That would cure her for the malady.
He thrust a hand down to her, to pull her from the depths. She spied the hand and then glared at him without taking it.
"Do not make me…" drag you out of there kicking and screaming. He had just told him to soften, and he followed it with a threat. "I want to help you."
The change in tone seemed to have an effect on her. She looked up at him with less vitriol in her gaze. "I am nude. You are not yet my husband."
"I will be soon enough"
Catherine looked at his hand once more and let out a long sigh. She grasped his hand, and he pulled her easily from the depths. He placed her before him, her long hair covering her breast and flowing to her waist. The rosy tips of her nipples peeked out, the rounded swell of her tummy and her thick thatch of curls below it on display between the long curtains of hair. He hips were shapely, meant to bear children and ride husbands.
His cock swelled infinitely harder. How easy it would be to push her to the craggy floor and have his way with her. But that wasn't the way to woo his lady.
Vincent spied a clean scrap of fabric on the stool beside the water and lifted it to her, slowly drying her goosepimpled flesh. She stood like a statue, barely breathing, her gaze glued to his moving hands. He was careful to be gentle with her, like he would caress a skittish horse. When he dropped to his knees before her to dry her long legs, he thought he heard a quiet sob come from her. His bollocks tightened to his body, to the need to have her after three years of dreams and fantasies making him near desperation.
As his fingers began to shake, he knew he needed to stop before he pushed himself over the edge. He was acting like a young lad, ready to pop at the mere tough of her virginal skin. Vincent rose to his full height, towering over her. Before he handed her shift back to her, he dried her hair a bit, loving the soft feel of it in his fingers. As he imagined it curtained around him as she rode him, he let go.
"My men have gone out hunting and should be bringing back some game soon. Will your elderly cook be able to handle the kitchen on her own?"
"I will help her"
He nodded. "I have a small amount of gold left. We will go to Paris soon to buy a small amount of provisions. Perhaps we can find help for the kitchens while there."
"The fields have lain fallow for some time. We have little in the larders to accompany the meat you provide, at least not the size of your group."
"My men offer the protection your father could not. We should not have no problem in getting men to return to the fields soon enough."
"With your reputation?" her eyes grew wide as soon as the words were out.
"My reputation? And what is that, my lady?"
"You are known to be harsh, violent."
He did have a reputation, one that would keep them safer from attack. "The opportunity to work the land and eat will make them overlook my reputation, believe me.
He would work on changing her mind. No one else but hers.
She would grow to love him. He just had to make her see.
Two days later, Catherine was doing everything she could to avoid Vincent. Whenever he was near, she could feel the heat of his stare and did not like what it caused in her body. The nights were difficult, spent dreaming of his fingers caressing her nude body, of his thick cock jutting out before him, ready to spear within her quim, as he called it.
She was out in her meager garden, trying to clear the weeds, which had grown between her rows of herbs and vegetables. The afternoon sun felt warm on her body. Spring had finally arrived, and the chill was leaving the air. As she lost herself in her work, she heard the gates opening. Rising at the sound, she moved through the lower bailey to see what was occurring. A friar rode in on his small horse, stopping amid the bailey, surrounded by Vincent's men fear spiked in her chest as she realized her freedom, if she could even call it that, was over. She would be Vincent's to do with as he wished.
Part of her could not wait to see what he wished, and that made her feel ill.
Vincent came out of the hall and met the friar with a hearty handshake before looking around the bailey. His gaze immediately finding her. He had shaved possibly for the ceremony, and his bare face was devastatingly handsome. Shock filled her at the realization, as well as a swelling between her legs. His stare pinned her into place.
"I see no reason to wait, Catherine. Come. Let's make you my wife"
Her feet felt rooted to the ground. She looked down at her gown, dirtied from digging in the garden, her fingers black from the inky soil. "I wish to bathe first."
He eyed her gown and hands and nodded his head. She dropped her small trowel into her garden and marched to her room to gather her only other dress, which had been her mother's before going to the underground spring to wash. Magda came down to help her dress, braiding her hair with rheumy fingers. Nicolas came down later, with a handful of flowers he had gathered from the fields outside the gates. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, this sweet boy who was almost more her son than brother.
Less than an hour later, she stood in the great hall, surrounded by her brothers, Magda, and Vincent's men and was wed to the giant knight. She felt as if she was not even there, but a spectator on the outer fringes watching the events unfold. Vincent was silent beside her, only speaking when he was instructed to by the small friar.
After the ceremony, the friar brought out a barrel of wine he had brought from the monastery, and they feasted on roasted venison and rabbit, along with small flatbreads Magda had been able to whip up with the last of their grains. It was better than she and the boys had eaten in months and was indeed a grand enough to feast for her.
Each of her brothers came to her one at a time to hug and congratulate her, each getting a swift kick to the bottom from Vincent for their not acting manly enough. She scowled at her new husband. "They are children."
"Who need to be made into men." He looked at her with dismay.
"What, so they can be like you?"
"Exactly like me." His voice dropped as he leaned in closer to her. "You want me, so I must not be too bad."
A blush burned across her cheeks, but he was absolutely correct. She did want him, damn her. Her body trembled even now in anticipation of their wedding night, knowing he would drag her to his chambers at any point. Her nipples were tight under the rough chemise she wore, the fabric scratching at the sensitive tips. She wanted the caress of his fingers, not linen.
Vincent stood and raised his wooden cup to those amassed there. "This day we embark on a new life within these walls, seek out fortunes."
How odd a toast. She brought the edge of her cup to her lips and swallowed a hefty gulp, as did those around her. She felt the burn of his stare moment later and turned to him, lifting her chin to see his face at his great height. He reached a palm to her and she eyed it with a mixture of fear and longing.
"Tonight, I make you mine."
Mine. That word made her shiver. She had been her father's chattel, and now she was her husband's. She was his to do with as he wished, now forever tied before god. Without more thought, she grasped his hand and allowed him to lift her to her feet. The crowd around them cheered as she followed him up the stairs to his chamber, which had been her parents. She was now the lady of the manor, and she suddenly realized that afforded her some small amount of power here, if she was courageous enough to reach for it.
Vincent could be a husband in truth if she was courageous enough to stand up to him and not cower at his feet. The night would be a way to prove to him she was no shy virgin, but she needed to not allow him to shock her. She needed to be open to the desires swirling in her breast.
Vincent opened the door to the chamber then followed her inside, crowding the large room with his gigantic frame. The sun was setting, and the room was filled with deep shadows and his unnerving presence. He moved to the fireplace and started a small flame, the light reaching out and dancing along the walls, making the room warmer on more than one account. Remaining in his knee, he reached out a hand to her. Without consideration, she moved immediately, taking his hand and standing before him.
When he grasped her ankles below her old gown, she trembled with desire.
"Do you shake in fear, my lady?"
"No I do not."
He looked up to her, the fire casting light across his shorn face. "I would never harm you. Not intentionally."
She was quieted by the comment, shocked at his soft admission. His hands began to move up her legs, and the sensation made her knees wobbly. Vincent drew her into his lap and gathered a handful of her hair in his hand, bringing her mouth to his. He kissed her feverously, and she returned his ardor with as much of her own.
He moved his hands to the ties at the back of her dress, and he began to pull them loosing the constricting fabric away. She drew back when he had untied it enough and pulled herself from the bodice. Vincent pulled the skirt down her legs, leaving her only in her thin shift. They has not had the wealth for more underthings, so she was glad for what little she did have, but tonight, in his arms, she felt lacking. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.
"Do not be shamed in your nudity. Your body is lovely."
She sighed, choosing not to correct his presumption.
He slowly removed her shift, and he sat back to look at her body, his eyes roaming over her fire-lit skin. He moved a hand to rest on her stomach, and rubbed small circles over her, igniting a fire in her core.
His hand began to travel higher, and he languidly moved to her breast, weighing one in his hand before grasping the other in a firm squeeze. His head lowered, and he captured one ruddy point with his mouth, drawing on it deeply, enough for her to feel the pull down to her channel. As he suckled her, his hand roamed over her skin and down to her quim. He pressed one finger along the fleshy lips that covered her and spread her open to his inspection.
He released her breast with a pop and smiled at her. "How wet you are."
Vincent returned to her breast, and she moaned as he tugged even harder on her tip with his fiery mouth. His hand began to slide along her slit as he spread her juices around, before stopping at the thick button at the top. He pressed a finger to the nub and pressed tight circles to the flesh, making her cry out with need.
He stopped his motions and lifted her in his arms, depositing her on the top of the bed. As she pulled back the cover, he removed his surcoat and tunic, as well as his hose and boots, dropping them all on the stone floor at his feet. Leaning in, he reached between her thighs and spread them wide so he could look upon her flesh. She fought the need to cover herself, instead watching his reaction to her to body, enjoying his bald pleasure.
Soon, he lowered between her legs, but dropped his head to her quim. She let out a gasp as he trailed his tongue along her slit and attempted to close her legs. He only growled at her and pressed her knees even wider, his mouth locking on the nub of flesh he had touched earlier. Her hips came off the bed as he suckled it hard. The sensation was unlike anything she has ever experienced, and she never wanted him to stop. Ever.
When he added his fingers to her quim, she was sure she would pass out from the sheer pleasure. Pressure started to build, almost to the level of discomfort at his fingers, but he began to lap more of her nub, and she forgot the pressure. His tongue lashed at the sensitive spot, making her writhe below him. She cried into the pillow beside her, unaware at the level of ecstasy he could bring her to.
Something built low in her belly, the need to reach higher, go faster. He was pushing her toward whatever it was, and she felt overwhelmed with the pace. Yet he pushed faster, harder, making her face the sensuality building within her. His teeth grazed her nub, and she arched her back, pressing her quim closer to his eager lips. He chuckled against her flesh, the vibrations moving through her battered sex. Once he gently bit the tender skin, she screamed with the intensity of an incredible wave of pleasure as it coursed through her body.
She felt her eyes roll back in her head as her toes curled, and she felt a slight pinch in her womb. Breathless, she lay limp as a wet rag once she floated back to earth and saw him hovering over her limp body, a sly smile curving his lips.
"I think my lady enjoys my touch." He leaned in to kiss her lips, and she tasted her musk on him. After, he drew back and lifted his hand, a smear of red on his fingers.
"Is that…"
"Your maidenhead." He gathered a cloth and wiped his hand along it. Later, he would take the cloth out to show his men she had been pure, a horrid custom she disliked immensely. She pushed it from her mind as he moved up her body and his hips came to rest within hers. His cock was hard and lay along her slit.
He captured her gaze as his hips began to rotate. The tip of his shaft found her entrance, and he forged in a few inches. She gasped, the sensation of fullness more than she expected, he continued to move, slowly spearing an inch or two into her sheath, stopping when he came to where her maidenhead had been.
"Am I hurting you?"
She was touched by the question. Fully expecting a rough mating, she was surprised by his tenderness with her. He might not be the man she had imagined herself with, but in time, she thought she could grow fond of him. His love making alone made her hopeful.
Lovemaking, not a beastly rutting.
"No, it does not hurt."
He captured her gaze once more and entered her fully, his cock spreading her wide. She gasped at the sensation, more from the pleasure than any pain. Once he was seated within, he paused and let her capture her breath before he started to move, sliding in and out of her in a rapid tempo, the friction of his movements building another fire in her core.
The plump head of his shaft pressed against her womb, stretching her channel to accommodate his thick length. He now seemed to reach for something, his movements quickening, which spurred the same sensation within her. They rocked together, her moving her hips to keep pace with his grinding rhythm.
She teetered on edge once more, the chasm calling her as she felt the first hot, wet jets of his seed hitting the inside of her channel. His cock trembled within her, and it pushed her off the cliff into a spiral of unending pleasure.
Soon after, she was held in his massive arms, his lips against her brow, and for the first time in a long time, she felt wanted. Perhaps he had bought her, taken what he desired, but he had wanted her. She belonged in his arms; the truth struck her in that moment.
Catherine snuggled closer to him, and smiled against his brow as he cock stiffened against her thigh. She lowered her hand to the organ, her curiosity getting the better of her.
"Wife I think you will be the death of me."
"And how is that?" she lifted her head to gaze at him and was once again struck by how handsome he was when he wasn't snarling.
His smile vanished, and he grew quite somber. "I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in this world. And to have you touch me so lovingly, it is more than I have ever asked for."
His words took her breath away. She felt the sting of tears burn the back of her eyes, and she forced them back.
"No crying. I can't handle tears."
"You are softer under that evil reputation you wear like a shield. You can hide it from everyone else, but promise me you won't hide it from me."
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze seeking hers. "And if I promise that, what do I get in return?"
"I will be yours. I will help make us a home here, one you can be proud of. Just show my brothers and me kindness."
"You, I will show kindness, your brothers need to be raised into men. I will push them hard, but I will never be cruel, even though you may suspect I am. The world outside those gates is a hard one, and it will eat a soft man. I will raise your brothers to be men capable of surviving the hell that is this life." He sighed deeply before kissing her softly. "And I want a home we can be proud of, filled with life and promise. And children."
"So you can raise them to be hard?"
"If it need be"
She smiled at him and kissed his lips. "So be it."
A year or so later and Vincent had proven good to his word. The castle was busier than it had been in years. Catherine remembered it being this way when she was a small child, but never expected to ever find the former glory of that long past time. Seeing it bustle with life made her happy, knowing they were building a life together here.
Men worked the fields surrounding the castle, their fallow fields now filled with barley, oats, and beans. The bailey and lower bailey had been cleaned and packed, and warriors practiced their skills with sword and bow. A blacksmith's hammer beat metal into shape, making weapons and such in wheat, the kitchens and halls filled with servants.
Catherine was on her knees in her garden, which was much larger this season. Her herbs grew well in the fertile soil of this spot, and she enjoyed the relaxation of getting her hands dirty. She spied Vincent in the lower bailey with Felix, teaching him swordplay, although she was nervous that they did not use wooden ones. She was waiting for her husband to cut her brother to shreds, which she knew wouldn't happen, no matter how much she worried.
She tried to stand, but struggled to get to her feet. Her rounded belly grew larger each day, and it was becoming harder and harder to stand.
"Wait!" Vincent left Felix and rushed to her side, helping her to her feet. Catherine saw the hidden smiles from his men. They all knew Vincent was besotted fool for her, just as much as she knew it. Concern filled his gaze as he looked down at her "you need to be resting, not out here at your garden. The midwife says the baby will come any day now."
She had been feeling the pains of labor all morning. "It comes now."
His eyes grew large as he wobbled before her. "Now?" he whispered.
"Now."
The End
O'Hurley, A. (2013). One Knight's Bargain. Evernight Publishing at Smashwords.
Authors note: I know you liked this story if you made it this far. I bet your like damn her writing got better...lol I got a confession to make this isn't my story. The whole story belongs to an author by the name of Alexandra O'Hurley. The only thing I did was change the names around but I was reading this short story and thought oh my god this would make an awesome VinCat story. So that's what I did turn it into a VinCat story. Sooo to be on the safe side this and all words and story concept are not from me. All rights belong to Evernight Publishing and Alexandra O'Hurley. Anyways until next time! Review, Review, Review!
P.S.yes I am going to go back to writing for Netherworld this week actually. :D