The Scot's Secret - Cecelia Mecca Page 0,38
who torments me day and night. One whose surname I don’t know. . . one who knew how to kill a man and who trusts no one.”
“More ale?” The serving wench, who appeared from nowhere, leaned closer to Alex than was necessary. Then, before he could stop her, she reached down and ran her hand along his chest and shoulder.
“So hard,” she said, giggling.
If he’d worried how Clara would react, he needn’t have. She laughed boldly, and he wanted to grab her in full view of everyone and kiss her.
She understood. Her experiences in the tournaments had taught her about a man’s world. She knew that he’d elicited the woman’s attentions earlier to distract her. She knew, somehow, he did not want the serving wench.
But did Clara know he wanted her?
She took a bite of her meat pie as a new song, more suggestive than the last, began. An English knight made his way past them with a woman on each arm, headed in the direction of the private rooms.
“Are they— ”
“Aye.”
“With two women?”
“Aye, lass, with two.”
He took a bite of the spiced meat, its thick gravy as good as Bernard’s back home.
“Alex? Alex, you have to look at me.”
He turned toward her.
“Gladly.” The meal was quite good. The view, much better.
“I want to know. . . the man with those women. I’ve seen much of the same, not seen precisely, but when that happens. . .”
“What in the Lord’s name are you talking about, Cl— Alfred?”
He looked around. No one appeared to be listening.
“Two women. And one man.”
He nearly choked on his ale. “You cannot be asking me—”
“I suppose I can imagine, but with my limited—”
“And where, exactly, have you seen such a thing before?”
He had previously liked this Gilbert, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“You know, near the tents mostly.”
Tournament wenches. Of course.
He took a deep breath. “What would you like to know?”
Her eyes, always so expressive, widened. Alex found himself fixing his gaze on them so as to avoid looking at the absurdity that was the rest of her disguise.
“Do they? That is—”
He really should not discuss this with her. But then, Alex had never been known for either decorum or a wasted opportunity. This would be enjoyable.
“It depends, lass, on what he desires. Some men prefer to have themselves pleasured all over.” She still didn’t understand. “One woman may. . . make love. . . to him while the other simply teases him from behind. Others may simply sit back and watch as the women—”
“No!” she burst out, her eyes even wider. After a moment, she added, “And?”
“And that is all you will learn from me.”
At least, for now. He took a swig of ale.
“Alex, please. Treat me as if I’m. . . Alfred.”
He would surely be struck down for continuing this conversation. And yet, he found himself saying, “Come closer.”
She leaned in toward him.
“A man gets great pleasure from a woman when she. . . well, when she puts her mouth on that most intimate part of him.”
“You mean. . . Pleasure from—”
“You do realize how highly inappropriate this conversation is?”
“More so than me travelling unescorted, sleeping by your side, and allowing you liberties that no man has ever taken?”
He only registered the last part. ‘No man has ever taken.’
And, if he had his way, no other man ever would.
She had asked; he would answer.
“When a woman touches that part of a man, it feels, well, good. Very good. Depending on her skill—”
“And she obtains this skill—”
“How did you learn precisely where to strike your sword into a man?” He asked, lifting a brow. Her eyes sparkled. “Aye, Alfred. Practice. But if she uses her mouth instead to please him in that way—”
“Her mouth?”
He chuckled, watching her attempt to understand.
“Aye, and he can do the same for her.”
She looked up at him, peered off in the direction where the three lovers had disappeared, and looked back, eyes narrowed.
“He can touch his mouth—”
“To her very core.” He lowered his voice so no one else could possibly hear him. “He could use it to show her what’s to come, even use his tongue to mimic the more intense feelings of his—”
“Alex.”
“Aye, lass?”
“I’ve had. . . feelings there, more than once. And I do right now. What does that mean?”
His Englishwoman could slay a man and wipe his blood from her sword, but she could not identify the source, or the cause, of her own desire.
He waved to the servant for more ale. This time, when she attempted