An Excerpt From: Winter Pleasures

© Copyright Anya Bast, 2003.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave, Inc.

Chapter One

Sienne glanced up, then lowered her eyes as was proper, but in that moment she memorized the visage of the man who would be her temporary keeper.

A long fall of onyx-in-shadow hair framed a face that was close to handsome, but not quite. His chin was strong and his features well crafted, his body muscular in the way of warriors. This was no weak-limbed nobility seated before her on the dais. That alone worried her. One of his huge hands could probably span her pelvis; break her neck with just a little extra pressure. She hoped he knew his own strength. Some of the large ones didn’t and would subject her to pain without realizing it…or realizing it.

But it was not her place to complain. Never that.

“My lord, the winters here in Nordan are long and without distraction. I have brought this tribute to you to entertain you and warm your bed over the long months ahead.” Cyrus pushed her forward into the circle of nobility and retainers that had grievances to air before Lord Marken’s court.

Sienne glanced up. She could not determine the color of the gaze that rested on her, taking her in from her battered slippers to her thread-worn kirtle.

Cyrus had dressed her in what he deemed finery, designed to display her “assets.” The gown was a peach-flesh color. A necklace of pale green stones, to match her eyes, hung around her throat, a crystal the size of her thumbnail rested in the hollow between her collarbones. The gown dipped low in the front to show the swell of her breasts and clung tight to her hips. The sheer fabric outlined of her breasts and dark areolas, and the patch of red hair between her legs when she moved just right. It was designed to tantalize—whet the appetite.

She was Cyrus’s choicest morsel, trained for the last three years in the sexual arts. Her current keeper intended to gift her to this lord as a peace offering, from Cyrus’s country of Sudhra to Marken’s homeland of Nordan.

It was a well-known fact that open sexuality abounded in Lord Marken’s court. Some said that here the nobles copulated freely, the lord took any woman in full view of others, and sexual games were rampant.

Sienne could not believe such a thing possible. Sex was not a game. Sex was not a pleasurable thing to be engaged in at a whim. For a man, yes…but not a woman. A woman never enjoyed the act. It was a simple unpleasant fact.

“Lord Cyrus of Sudhra, I acknowledge the generosity of your gift,” came Lord Marken’s deep, reverberating voice.

Sienne shivered. It was like heated chocolate on a cold winter’s day. It was nearly sin the voice that came from his throat. But no matter how nice his voice, he’d be a cruel keeper.

They all were.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sienne saw Cyrus bow deeply, likely inordinately proud of the praise from one of the most powerful lords of Nordan. “She is educated and speaks your tongue, my lord.”

Marken raised a dark brow, his eyes sweeping over her with renewed interest. Sienne looked away out of respect.

“Look at me,” Marken commanded.

Confused, Sienne kept her eyes averted.

“Look at me,” he repeated.

Cyrus gave her push on the shoulder. “Your new lord and keeper has given you an order. Obey it.”

But it was such a strange one! Never did her keepers wish to look into her eyes. She raised her head. “Yes, my lord.”

“What is your name?”

Her eyes widened. “My lord wishes to know my name?” she asked in halting Nordanese.

“You do have one, do you not?”

She averted her eyes. “Yes, my lord, my parents gifted me with the name Sienne.”

“Sienne.” He rolled her name around in his mouth like it was a choice sugared raisin. “I am pleased. Cyrus, she is a true beauty with those light green eyes and that dark red hair. I see the rest of my court is also pleased to have such a fine woman join us for the cold season.”

Sienne glanced around. Many of the men had their eyes on her, their gazes heated and intent. She knew all too well a look of desire. Apparently, she’d quickly become an object of fascination to the Nordan noblemen. Cyrus would be pleased.

“Bring her to my chamber, Cyrus. Talyn, the captain of my guard, will lead you. Leave her there alone.”

A tall, muscular man who Sienne surmised was Talyn stepped from the crush of nobles lining Marken’s court. His long dark brown hair was caught in a thin leather thong at the nape of his neck. His chocolate colored hair framed a well-made face with vibrant green eyes and full lips.

“I shall return for her in the spring when the passes melt clear of snow,” replied Cyrus.

Marken waved a hand. “Come back then and we shall share a glass of spiced wine and discuss trade opportunities between our peoples.”

Cyrus bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Talyn led them from the court into a corridor with stone walls and a cobblestone floor. Thick naarbranch rushes crunched under Sienne’s feet and sent up a scent of spice. Wordlessly, the warrior Talyn led them up a flight of stairs and down another candlelit corridor. Unsmiling, Talyn halted in front of an ornately carved door, flicked a glance at Sienne that spoke of pity mixed with a touch of lust and left them there.

Cyrus pushed the door open and pulled her into the room. A huge see-through fireplace dominated the center of the chamber, driving out the chill so prevalent in the castle. An enormous bed stood across from the fireplace, heaped with soft blankets and pillows. Tapestries depicting spring-tide hunts covered the walls. A table stood to the left of the bed, scattered with papers and books.

Sienne considered the books and wondered if her new keeper was a learned man. She’d been fostered in a scholar’s family and they’d taught her much of philosophy, art, and languages. Her skill in Nordanese was rare in a slave and one of the reasons Cyrus had selected her for this errand.

Cyrus yanked her hard toward the four-poster bed and tied her to one of the posts. He slipped his hands to the neckline of her gown and pulled it down, so that the very top of her breasts showed and the fabric lay right above the nipple. He brushed his thumb over one, causing her to flinch, and then brought his hand to her chin, tipping it up. His brown eyes narrowed and his dirty blond hair fell into his eyes.

“Get what I need from him, Sienne. If you don’t, the price will be your life. And in case you don’t care about that, know I’ll hold your foster family accountable for your ineptitude. Believe me, I’ll make them hurt before they die.”

She winced and looked away. Her foster family had been as kind to her as possible under Cyrus’s constant threat. She had no wish to see them harmed.

Cyrus had placed her here to get as much information as she could from Lord Marken, about Nordan politics, military positions…and weaknesses. It was amazing what a man would reveal to a woman when comfortable, warm, and sated with sex.

Most men wanted to talk of their intelligent, strategic plans, of their conquests and political maneuverings. They didn’t think a woman would understand their ramblings. Talking to a woman of those things was safe, and they believed built them up in a woman’s eyes to God-like status. Sienne knew all of the correct things to say to encourage their bragging; just as she knew what to do to their bodies to keep them satisfied and wanting more.

When she looked back Cyrus was striding to the door, his black cloak swirling around him and his boots clicking soundly against the polished stone floor.

She shuddered and glanced around at the books that lined the shelves of the room. Her mind worked, trying to think of all manner of ways to get close to Lord Marken, to get him to confide in her, to believe she was safe. Every man in power needed someone safe. She’d learned that long ago.

Footsteps of a different cadence than Cyrus’s sounded at the door and Sienne jumped.

Lord Marken closed the heavy, gold inlaid door behind him. Sienne twisted in her bonds, her stomach tightening low in sudden fear. Although, something deep and dark within her always thrilled at the prospect of a new man to please with her skills. Even though she was a slave, she had power in some things, and she’d learned to exploit it.

And this one was far from displeasing to the eye. His black hair reached the middle of his back. Eyes the color of the river in winter, a cool blue-green, peered from a well-sculpted face. His best feature by far was his lips. Full and sensual, they looked perfect for tracing with the tip of her tongue.

Maybe she could get what she needed from this man if she proceeded carefully.

Marken crossed the floor like one of the big jungle cats of Sudhra, taking in her appearance. She knew how she looked, her hair free over her shoulders, her gown clinging to her curves, her nipples, tight from the cold, showing through the sheer, flesh-colored fabric.

He stopped in the center of the room, his gaze intent. His leather jerkin was open halfway down his chest, showing an expanse of smooth, sculpted muscle. His leggings fit tight over powerful looking thighs. She shivered in fear spiced with the slightest pinch of desire and looked away.

“Look at me, Sienne. You are forever looking away.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “Yes, my lord.”

“You are not here of your own free will, are you?”

She let out a laugh of derision. “My lord sees me secured thus and asks such a question?” She bit her tongue on the last word, not believing she’d had such impudence.

She waited for a cuff, but only got a bemused smile. “Ah, so there is some fire left in you after all. They haven’t beaten it all out of you yet.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I shall endeavor to be more submissive.”

“Oh, now what fun would that be?”

He walked near her, so close she could smell the heady mix of sandalwood and citrus, the soap he must bathe with. He drew his dagger and raised it. She closed her eyes and tensed, waiting for the bite of the blade into her flesh. Only the sound of fabric slicing met her ears. Her arms went lax—suddenly freed.

“I do not abide slavery, Sienne. I know it is a practice in Sudhra, but not here in Nordan. I have no wish for a sex slave. I did not tell Lord Cyrus this because I had no wish to offend him and because it gave me an opportunity to set you free.”

She looked up at him with what she knew was an expression of shock on her face. “My…my lord?”

He picked up a pouch from a drawer near his bed. He threw it at her and she caught it. It clinked heavily with coin. He turned and motioned toward the door. “Go. You are free. If you hurry, you will beat the first snowfall. If you would like, I will send men to accompany you to the nearest town.”

She stood, stunned…and free. For the first time since she was five years old, she was free.

The pouch lay heavily in her palm. She looked toward the door and realized she didn’t have the slightest clue what to do!

And besides that, Cyrus would track her down and punish her. He’d kill her and her foster family for not fulfilling the duty with which she’d been set. Cyrus’s reach extended to the ends of Aran. There was nowhere for her to go, no one she could trust.

Her next question quavered in her throat for a moment before she could force into the open air. “But…what will you tell Cyrus, my lord, when he comes for me in the spring?”

Marken shrugged. “Lord Cyrus is a greedy man. I will give him gold enough in recompense so that he will not think of you again.”

She walked to a chair and sat down, turning her head so he could not see the sudden tears that pricked her eyes. She held the pouch loosely in her hands. He was actually willing to pay gold for her freedom. Her life meant something to him. She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly.

It only made what she had to do that much more difficult. She had to fulfill her obligation to Cyrus or her foster family would suffer for it, but she could not reveal that information to Lord Marken.

She turned toward him. “Does my lord know I have been trained these three years since my eighteenth birthday in all ways to please a man?”

“The women who come to my bed, come of their own free will and I have plenty of partners. I do not need another.” His eyes flicked down her body and her nipples hardened in response.

Sienne wondered at her reaction. Perhaps kindness was an aphrodisiac…or maybe she was simply cold.

“No matter how comely she might be,” he finished.

She lowered her eyes and looked up through her lashes. She knew well the different paths to seduction. Lord Marken was a protector. That was more than apparent. She could easily play the role of one needing protection. It was no guise, after all. “My training goes beyond that of the ordinary women who warms your bed, my lord.”

“Are you trying to convince me to keep you? I just gave you enough money to begin a new life and set you free.”

“If it pleases my lord, I shall go, but I have no location to which to travel.” She didn’t hide the genuine quaver of fear in her voice.

He turned. “Do you not have family somewhere?”

She shook her head and dropped her eyes. “They’ve all been killed by Cyrus and his thanes.” She looked up. “I am good at what I do, my lord. I can please you, make your body never wish to give me up.”

“I’m sure you could. That is not in question—”

“I’ve known nothing but servitude since I was five years old, my lord,” she said quickly. “I don’t know what I would do out there alone.” She let tears shine in her eyes.

Marken turned and paced the room, then whirled with anger drawing harsh lines on his face. “How can you not wish for freedom, Sienne?”

Her lower lip trembled. She fell to her knees in front of him, making sure the gown dipped low enough that Marken had a view of her bare breasts, and averted her eyes in respect, looking at him sidelong. “Please, my lord. I…I would perish, surely.”

Marken pushed a hand through his thick mane of ebony hair. “The chains are no longer around your wrists, but in your very mind. It is more difficult to loose those.”

He dropped his gaze to her breasts and hips. “I’ve no doubt of your skills. But know if you stay, you stay of your own free will. You can leave whenever you choose it.”

She left the pouch on the floor, scrambled to her feet and instantly dropped low into a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”

“First thing, Sienne. Raise your eyes when you speak to me.” His voice dropped a notch and infused with heat. “You’ve lovely eyes. I would like to see them.”

Hope sprung within her so fast and so hard it hurt. Maybe he did want her. It would make the task set before her so much easier if he did. She raised her eyes and took several steps in his direction. She wanted to prove her worth quickly, so he would not send her away. It was a bold move and she half-expected to be rebuffed, but he didn’t move as she walked toward him.

She placed her hands on his powerful chest and slid them down, feeling her fingers glide over his nipples to the ties on his trews and beneath, his braies. With deft fingers she undid them...

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