hands cupped her breasts in a tender embrace. 'Tell me,' he said quietly. 'You are not slave born. I would know who you are and how you came to me.'
Wynne told him. She didn't know what else to do, even though she was uncomfortable in her present position. Eadwine Aethelhard seemed a kind man. When she had finished, she said, 'Will you return me to my husband, my lord?'
'No,' he told her, and when she stiffened in his arms, he continued, 'this is the way of the world, Wynne. There are always captives who are sold into slavery. Perhaps the story you have told me is entirely true and perhaps it is not. I cannot trek you across the countryside ascertaining the truth of the matter. You have been sold to me as a slave, and I have paid for your purchase. You will be safe with me, Wynne, and your child too. I have not taken a woman since my wife's death. You will have a place of honor in my household, and if after you have borne the child you carry you give me a child, so much the better. I should not be unhappy to have another child.'
'You cannot mean to couple with me,' she said, shocked.
'Do you dislike the act then?' he asked gently.
'No,' she replied, 'but I am a married woman!'
'No longer,' he answered. 'Whatever you once were, you are no longer, Wynne. You are my wild Welsh girl, and I mean to love you. What fine breasts you have,' he noted, and he fondled them.
With an agility that surprised even herself, Wynne squirmed about so that she was facing him. 'Eadwine Aethelhard,' she began, 'if I must be your slave, I will be your slave. I will do your bidding in all things, but please, I beg of you, do not force me to couple with you. There must be other slave women and serf girls who would be honored by your attentions, but I am a married woman.'
'Slave women do not wed,' he said patiently. 'You are my slave, Wynne, and you must accept it. A woman with child should not fret herself so as you are doing.'
'I will run away,' she said defiantly.
'You will not be allowed the opportunity,' he said with a small chuckle.
'I will find the right moment,' she persisted.
'Having found you, my wild Welsh girl, I will never let you go,' Eadwine Aethelhard told her. Then he leaned forward and kissed her.
She realized his intent just a fraction of a second too late. His mouth closed over hers warmly, pressing firmly, gently coaxing a response from her though she strove to deny that impression. How could she feel anything toward this Anglo-Saxon when she loved Madoc?
Eadwine Aethelhard sensed her sudden distance from him. He pressed the woman in his arms back into the mattress and allowed his passions somewhat freer rein. This girl set his blood to boiling as no woman ever had. Not even his late wife, he thought guiltily. He knew as he kissed her that he wanted far more from Wynne than she was able to give him at this moment in time, but eventually she would give him everything he desired from her. For now, however, he must impress upon her the need for change, because whatever her life had been, it was now changed. In order to be happy she must adjust to that change. He wanted her to be happy.
She was not made of stone, Wynne thought, shamed as his lips traced a trail of kisses across her face and down the straining column of her throat.
'Your skin is so fine,' he murmured against the throbbing pulse at the base of her neck. 'It is like silk cloth.' He tasted the flesh he praised with his tongue and his lips. 'You smell of fresh air and the sun, my wild Welsh girl.'
She wanted to fight him, but she feared his reaction should she seriously defy him. She had her child to consider. She had heard of warriors like this one going berserk in the heat of battle, and this really was a battle between them. As his hot kisses and his sensual caresses increased in ardor, Wynne was suddenly very aware of his big naked body pressing against her nude form. She had been so concerned with trying to divert him from his intentions, she hadn't even considered their mutual state. Now she was very aware of it and increasingly mindful of her own rising passions.
She had never expected to feel passion for any man other than Madoc, but she knew from her grandmother and from the women's chatter she had overheard in her childhood at Gwernach that such a passion was possible. A woman's body was a delicate and frail thing. It could be played upon like a lute, and in the hands of a skillful lover, it would respond. There was no doubt in her mind that Eadwine Aethelhard was just such a talented lover. If her heart and mind could not respond to him, her body surely could.
'My babe,' she protested softly, hoping against hope to elude him.
His big hand delicately caressed the gentle, barely discernable mound of her belly, which was only beginning to swell with her child. 'You are still able,' he said softly, 'and I will not hurt either you or your son.' The hand slipped lower and pushed between her tightly clenched thighs.
'H-How can you be certain I carry a son?' she asked, and felt his fingers exploring the wetness of her. Her cheeks grew warm with her embarrassment.
'Because a woman like you would sire a son first,' he said, and then he kissed her once more.
Her lips parted slightly beneath his. She simply couldn't help it. He was arousing her passions in a most masterful fashion. She felt his tongue move into her mouth and his breath was sweet. Finding her tongue, he caressed it adroitly, and Wynne could not contain the little moan that welled up in the back of her throat. The taut nipples of her breasts were tingling painfully; and all the while his fingers continued to play with the sentient flesh between her thighs. The heat of her desire was almost suffocating her, and she pulled her head away from his, gasping for breath.
'Look at me,' he commanded her.
Wynne raised her eyes to him, surprised that in such an intense juxtaposition she should feel shy of this man with whom she was so intimately entwined. The pink in her cheeks, however, entranced him greatly. 'Many men,' he said softly, 'will take a woman with no care for her own pleasure. I have found greater pleasure, however, in the knowledge that my lover is as well satisfied as I am. I know you fear for the child, Wynne. I am a large man and I could crush so delicate a creature as yourself if we did not take a care. I do not want you to be afraid.' Then to her great surprise he turned her over onto her stomach and continued, 'Draw your legs up, Wynne, and trust that I will not hurt you.'
To her own surprise, she obeyed him, silently shocked by knowing that she wanted him. His clever ministrations had seen to her full arousal, and she shuddered as she felt his hands closed firmly over her hips. She bit back a cry as he carefully slipped between her thighs, and her back arched slightly as, finding her woman's passage, he pressed his manhood home, sliding deep into the dark warmth of her. She felt engorged by him as he delved and probed into the secret depths of her. Her face was hot with her shame as she felt the throb of his male organ, and then he began to move upon her; his fingers marking her white skin as he held her tightly in his grasp; his great lance thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting and withdrawing, until she could no longer contain her cries, and her own body plunged up and back with frantic impetus to meet his downward drive. Her head whirled in confusion at this assault upon her most tender senses. She tried desperately to block his final victory over her, but she could not stem the tide of pleasure that was beginning to wash over her.
He was groaning with intensity. The sound of a man close to his own crisis and well-pleased with his efforts, and yet he held back. She could feel it and realized that he needed the knowledge of her own pleasure to release his own satisfied passions.
Wynne burst into tears and found herself swiftly turned about and cradled in Eadwine Aethelhard's strong arms. 'There, my sweeting,' he crooned low to her. 'There, my wild Welsh girl. Now you know to whom you belong. Do not weep, Wynne. Do not weep!'
