him, and peered into the pot. "The smell is familiar."
"I am making a syrup of lettuce," Elf told him. Why would he not go?
"I have heard lettuce dulls desire," he remarked.
"You obviously do not eat it," Elf replied tartly.
Saer de Bude laughed aloud. There was more to the little nun than they had realized. She could be humorous. Something he had not expected. And she was not as vapid as she appeared. No, not at all. "Lady," he said, "I will be frank with you." He had decided in that instant that to dissemble with the girl was not wise. "I am a younger son. I want my own manor. If you would reconsider your decision to return to your convent to take your final vows, I should make you a good husband. My mother was a de Warenne, and my father’s family is a respected one in Normandy. I have always been a man of honor."
"Nay, sir, you are not honorable at all, for you have committed adultery with my brother’s wife. I am not so great a fool that I did not realize it, although I prayed it not be so. I hope Dickon never knew, although I think he did, for he was no fool, either. There is talk among the serfs that you and Isleen poisoned my brother. No formal accusations can be made for nothing can be proven. In that you are safe. As for me, I am God’s chosen, and will wed with no man. If you want Ashlin, then speak with the Reverend Mother Eunice at the convent. It will be her decision as to how Ashlin is disposed of, and she may be seeking a tenant."
"I will be no one’s tenant," he said grimly. Then reaching out, he pulled her into his arms. "Lady, I will have Ashlin, and I will have you whether you will, or no."
Elf attempted to squirm from his grasp, but he held her too tightly. "Let me go this instant, sir!" she said in her firmest voice.
Laughing mockingly he kissed her, his lips smashing hard on her soft mouth. One arm pinioned her to his broad chest while his other hand reached up, hooked itself into the round neckline of her tunica, and yanked the fabric of both her gown and her camisa asunder. The marauding hand pushed the materials aside and captured a round breast, squeezing it hard.
His sudden attack both astounded and terrified her. She couldn't breathe, and his grasp on her person was like iron. Desperately she tore her mouth away from his, and tried to scream, but her throat muscles seemed constricted and nothing but a small squeak came forth. She grew faint, and struggled to maintain consciousness even as she fell back against his arm.
"There is a river of passion within you, Eleanore," Saer de Bude growled. "I will awaken it." His mouth pressed kisses against her white throat while his hand fondled her breast hungrily. "By the time I am through with you this day, no convent on earth will have you, my pretty. You will be a very despoiled dove, Eleanore." Then he kicked her legs from beneath her.
She fell to the floor with an "Offffff," the wind temporarily knocked out of her. He stood above her, straddling her as he loosened his garments, then pulled forth his swollen manhood. "This, my pretty, is all for you!" Then he lowered himself, covering her body with his.
The sight, her first sight, of an engorged manhood restored Elf’s voice, and she began to scream at the top of her lungs. Strength flowed back into her body, and she fought him as if she were fighting for her very life, and in a sense she was. If he violated her, her life as a nun was finished. She would be forced into marriage with him, and that was the last thing on earth that Eleanore de Montfort wanted. Her hands reached out, clawing at his handsome face as he pushed her skirts up and began to push her resisting thighs apart with his knee. Her shrieks grew louder, frantic peal after frantic peal rending the quiet afternoon air.
Saer de Bude slapped the girl beneath him, hard. "Shut up, you little bitch!" he shouted at her, and he slapped her again and again to silence her cries, but Elf would not be silenced.
"Help! Help!" she
"I am making a syrup of lettuce," Elf told him. Why would he not go?
"I have heard lettuce dulls desire," he remarked.
"You obviously do not eat it," Elf replied tartly.
Saer de Bude laughed aloud. There was more to the little nun than they had realized. She could be humorous. Something he had not expected. And she was not as vapid as she appeared. No, not at all. "Lady," he said, "I will be frank with you." He had decided in that instant that to dissemble with the girl was not wise. "I am a younger son. I want my own manor. If you would reconsider your decision to return to your convent to take your final vows, I should make you a good husband. My mother was a de Warenne, and my father’s family is a respected one in Normandy. I have always been a man of honor."
"Nay, sir, you are not honorable at all, for you have committed adultery with my brother’s wife. I am not so great a fool that I did not realize it, although I prayed it not be so. I hope Dickon never knew, although I think he did, for he was no fool, either. There is talk among the serfs that you and Isleen poisoned my brother. No formal accusations can be made for nothing can be proven. In that you are safe. As for me, I am God’s chosen, and will wed with no man. If you want Ashlin, then speak with the Reverend Mother Eunice at the convent. It will be her decision as to how Ashlin is disposed of, and she may be seeking a tenant."
"I will be no one’s tenant," he said grimly. Then reaching out, he pulled her into his arms. "Lady, I will have Ashlin, and I will have you whether you will, or no."
Elf attempted to squirm from his grasp, but he held her too tightly. "Let me go this instant, sir!" she said in her firmest voice.
Laughing mockingly he kissed her, his lips smashing hard on her soft mouth. One arm pinioned her to his broad chest while his other hand reached up, hooked itself into the round neckline of her tunica, and yanked the fabric of both her gown and her camisa asunder. The marauding hand pushed the materials aside and captured a round breast, squeezing it hard.
His sudden attack both astounded and terrified her. She couldn't breathe, and his grasp on her person was like iron. Desperately she tore her mouth away from his, and tried to scream, but her throat muscles seemed constricted and nothing but a small squeak came forth. She grew faint, and struggled to maintain consciousness even as she fell back against his arm.
"There is a river of passion within you, Eleanore," Saer de Bude growled. "I will awaken it." His mouth pressed kisses against her white throat while his hand fondled her breast hungrily. "By the time I am through with you this day, no convent on earth will have you, my pretty. You will be a very despoiled dove, Eleanore." Then he kicked her legs from beneath her.
She fell to the floor with an "Offffff," the wind temporarily knocked out of her. He stood above her, straddling her as he loosened his garments, then pulled forth his swollen manhood. "This, my pretty, is all for you!" Then he lowered himself, covering her body with his.
The sight, her first sight, of an engorged manhood restored Elf’s voice, and she began to scream at the top of her lungs. Strength flowed back into her body, and she fought him as if she were fighting for her very life, and in a sense she was. If he violated her, her life as a nun was finished. She would be forced into marriage with him, and that was the last thing on earth that Eleanore de Montfort wanted. Her hands reached out, clawing at his handsome face as he pushed her skirts up and began to push her resisting thighs apart with his knee. Her shrieks grew louder, frantic peal after frantic peal rending the quiet afternoon air.
Saer de Bude slapped the girl beneath him, hard. "Shut up, you little bitch!" he shouted at her, and he slapped her again and again to silence her cries, but Elf would not be silenced.
"Help! Help!" she
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