CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ROYCE ESTIMATED that it was an hour past midnight.
He walked between the armed guards into the queen’s antechamber, where two of her ladies eyed him, blushing furiously.
He was angry, and blood filled his manhood because of it.
He did not mind fucking a beautiful woman, but he despised being disloyal to his liege lord, the king.
However, a year and a half ago he had failed to outmaneuver Joan Beaufort, who was very clever, and he had had the equally pleasant and unpleasant task of pleasuring her until she wept for mercy. He knew exactly what she wanted now.
The ladies whispered and giggled, ogling his bulging leine. Sometimes the queen preferred an orgy to a single lover, although he knew that would not be the case tonight.
He smiled at them, but his smile was as hard and tight as his body. What he minded was being summoned by Her Majesty as if he were her sexual slave.
Their affair had started six months after the coronation.
The queen’s lusty interest had begun as he was making homage to her and the king.
There’d been no gossip about her voracious appetites then.
He had knelt, making his vows, surprised to find her every bit as beautiful as the poets claimed, and then he’d lurked.
He’d been shocked to find her thinking of the various ways she could suck, fuck and ride him.
Of course he’d been aroused. He had wanted nothing more than to leap on her then and there, but that was politically dangerous.
He’d escaped court immediately after the coronation, but six months later, affairs of the Brotherhood had required he go back.
There had been no escaping or denying his queen then.
In fact, she had been waiting for him. She had manipulated the Brotherhood to have him sent there.
He would not deny that he’d enjoyed every moment in her bed.
But she had been very annoyed when he had returned to Carrick.
Twice since then she had sent him missives.
In the first, she had requested his appearance at court.
In the second, piqued, she’d summoned him.
He had politely explained, both times, that great affairs of the earldom prevented him from returning to court.
It had not been wise to continue an affair with her then, just as it was not wise to do so now.
But she was the queen, and she could not be denied. So he would let her use him—and he would use her in return.
He walked inside her private chamber, the door closing behind him, both guards remaining outside.
The large, well-appointed chamber was lit with sconces, candles and the hearth’s fire.
The queen stood facing the fire, her back to him.
She wore a long, golden-yellow chemise the color of her hair, which fell in soft waves to her hips.
The chemise was sheer. He looked at her plump buttocks and hardened even more.
Her shoulders were rigid. “How dare you refuse us.”
He went into her mind. She was dripping wet and riding him, shouting in pleasure. He walked up to her and raised his bound wrists over her head. Then he slid his arms down so she was in his bound embrace, locked there, and he pushed his cock against one hip.
She trembled.
“I ken ye have missed me,” he murmured, lust now fueling his anger. “Admit it.”
“You refused our summons,” she gasped. “Your fate is hanging by a thread.”
“Is it?” He laughed. “I dinna care if ye take my head, Joan. I dinna care if the king takes it.” He lowered his arms and rubbed the rope against her swollen mons.
She gasped and leaned back against him, throbbing against the abrasive cord. “How dare you…”
“Did ye bring me here to converse?” he murmured, moving his mouth against her ear. As he did, he shifted her away from the hearth.
“You know what I want,” she said harshly, her tone still filled with anger. “If you ever refuse me again—”
He pushed her to the wall and used one thigh to spread her until she rode the muscles there. “Ye dinna own me, Joan. Dinna ever mistake it. Ye have my favors only if I wish to give them. An’ I am in the mood to give them tonight.”
She was shaking wildly now. “Hurry, Ruari!”
He smiled and rubbed himself against her buttocks. “Untie the cords.”
She instantly fumbled to obey. When his hands were free, he lifted the chemise out of his way and seized her sex. She began to pant, moisture dripping.
“But as randy as I be, I need a favor from ye in return fer my favors.”
“What?” she gasped, outrage mingling with desire.
He lifted one of her legs high with his thigh, bent and pushed his huge head against her very wet, throbbing heat. “Ye want this to come in ye? Ye free Malcolm. Ye free him now.”
She trembled in fury. “I negotiate with no one!”
He laughed and pushed a mere inch inside her. “Really?”
She gasped, moaning, trying to wriggle down his length.
He stepped away from her.
It took her a moment as she stood pressed against the wall, shaking and near climax. She whirled and struck his face. He just shook his head, amused, and stripped off his leine.
She looked at him and choked on a sob. “How dare you bargain with me now!”
He flicked his hand over his length. “Order the guards to free him.”
She watched him playing with himself. “He is the king’s prisoner.”
He gave her a look. “Do ye nay wish to fuck all night? Do ye nay remember that I never tire, never slacken? Do ye nay wish to put yer tongue here?”
Tears rolled down her face. “I can make you pay dearly, Ruari.”
He ignored that. “I want to make ye come, Joan. I want to make ye come a hundred times.” She gasped, and he knew she would come the moment he touched her. “But my duty is to my nephew. We both ken ye can control yer husband when ye wish to. Release Malcolm.”
She was flushed with arousal and breathing so hard it was a moment before she spoke. “I believe you don’t care if you die. But you must know that I can release him today and imprison him tomorrow.”
“Yer right. I am an old, tired man who doesna care if he dies at yer hand or the king’s.” He wanted her to make up her mind. He was ready to go inside her now and enjoy himself immensely.
She understood what he meant instantly. Her eyes widened.
He no longer smiled. If he had to expose the queen’s infidelity, so be it. He’d lose his head, but she would never recover her lost power.
“If you were not such a great lover,” she managed, “I would kill you with my own hand.”
“I want to fuck ye, woman. Hurry up.”
She turned to the door, parted it. “Release Malcolm of Dunroch. He is free to leave the court tonight.”
Royce began to smile, very pleased. He strode up to her as she closed the door and before she could face him, he put his arms around her, clasping her between her thighs.
He lifted her higher. She went still, convulsively, eagerly, and he felt his arousal grow to a fever pitch. “Who be master now? Who be the slave?”
Red need blinded him; he drove deep.
The queen wept in her release.
CLAIRE COULDN’T SLEEP. The moon was high and she stared through her window at it.
She had dreamed of trying to find Malcolm, and she was very tempted to try to do so now, in the dead of the night.
On the other hand, she knew he would be under guard and she was fairly certain she would not be able to charm the guards into letting her see him. And then there was Moray.
The last thing she wanted to do was run into him in the middle of the black night while alone in the palace.
She turned away from the shining moon to stare at the fire. What was going to happen to Malcolm and his uncle now? Would they be charged for assaulting Sibylla? Did Sibylla live? And how were they going to deal with Moray?
And Claire felt Malcolm.
Confused, she glanced toward the chamber door, which was closed. And then the door was thrust open and Malcolm strode into the room. Claire cried out, rushing into his arms. He held her tight.
“Is this a dream?” she gasped, aware of his heat, his strength.
He smiled tenderly at her. “’Tis no dream. Royce is with the Queen. They be lovers. I imagine he has used his powers o’ persuasion to order my release and his.”
Claire could not think about Royce now. She touched Malcolm’s cheek, and to her surprise he clasped her hand there. His eyes shimmered the way they had in her dream. Claire tensed. She would give anything to hear him say those three words.
“I be free to go.”
He dropped his hand, only to let it settle on her shoulder. “You are?”
“Aye, but Claire, how can I leave my uncle now? As long as he beds the Queen, he be in jeopardy.” He looked slowly around the chamber.
Claire hesitated, realizing what Royce’s affair could cost him. “Malcolm, if Royce’s affair is discovered, no one can help him. Only a leap will save him.”
An anguished expression crossed Malcolm’s face and he turned away from her.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. “He won’t leap, Claire. I dinna think he cares much fer this world anymore.”
What did that mean? She went to Malcolm, but he gave her a dark look.
Claire did not like it and she tensed.
“What happened in this chamber t’ night, Claire?”
She recognized his dangerous jealousy, but she had not been thinking about that terrible encounter with Aidan. “Nothing,” she began.
He looked at the bed. “I dreamed about ye a few hours ago. I dreamed ye were on the run from Moray,” Malcolm said softly. He finally looked at her. “Then I dreamed we were in bed. I can sense ye had pleasure tonight, Claire.”
“I was dreaming of you, too,” she whispered, stunned. “It was so real.”
“Why can I scent Aidan in yer chamber?”
Claire tensed. No good was going to come of this.
He began to tremble with anger. “I ken ye didna break yer vows. Why was my bastard brother in here with ye? Did he try to seduce ye while I was locked up in the tower?”