“Are we done, my lady?" he asked, as the sounds of feasting ceased and the long dark serpentine coils of her lower limbs slid and lapped to either side of him. He turned, and she was standing in front of him – if ‘standing’ were the word for her monstrous pose. Even at floor level she overtopped him by a head. Her long hair eddied like seaweed in a tide-pool. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Are we done?”
“When you give me the men who let slip the hawk and the hound.”
His blade was still bare in his hand. “They came with me from England. They hunted at my command, and did not know the land was yours.”
“I want more meat, King Henry.”
He shook his head, once. “Those men are mine. So I will pay their debt, my lady. Take it from me, if you must.” He eased his feet subtly into a defensive stance, and the muscles in his sword-arm tightened.
She laughed, with a noise like breaking sticks. “You’d provoke me to a fight here, in my own house?”
“The burden of hospitality lies upon you, my lady – you are the landholder. But I’m not afraid, if it comes to that.”
“Liar.” She licked blood off her lips. “But you are braver than most. I like a man with courage in his belly and fire in his blood. Are your balls as big as you’d have me believe, I wonder?”
“Come find out.” He didn’t give much for his own chances against a monster whose trade was illusions, but he would give it his best try.
“You’ve fathered enough bastards, I hear. Despite being wed to that fair Scots lass.” Her sly grin was full of knives. “You’ve bollocks enough to have brought half the maidens of England to a shameful state.”
“Hardly.” Henry couldn’t stop the heat flushing to his cheeks. “And I brought no shame. Every one of my natural children I’ve acknowledged as my own, and provided for. Every one of my paramours I’ve seen wedded well.”
“Then you won’t scruple to lie with me, will you?”
He inhaled sharply and tried not to pull a face.
“What? Are you hesitant? Do you not find me beautiful, Henry, my sweet?” She cupped the heavy orbs of her breasts mockingly. All around him in the shadows the coils of her serpent limbs slithered an expectant susurrus.
“You are… formidable,” he rasped, stalling for time, “in your femininity.” Demons were renowned for their sinful appetites, he reasoned; it should not surprise him that one, even one as ancient and horrific as this, should wish to wallow in carnality. And she was so foul to look upon that there was a kind of fascination to her.
“Heh heh. I want meat, King Henry. Your meat.” Erecura cocked her head. “Pleasure me and your debt is paid. I’ll let you and your men, your hounds and your horses and your hawks, all go.”
A bargain, he thought, if it came from the lips of any human woman. If I can trust her word. If… I can perform. In Christi nomine – can I even get a cock-stand for such a one as that? He dropped his gaze to the lavishly mounded orbs of her breasts. If they weren’t grey as ash they’d be luscious. He’d want to bury his face in them. Henry only wished the rest of her were that alluring. Maybe, if I just keep my eyes on those. Or if I keep them closed…
“Have we an understanding, my sweet?”
“It would be," he said through gritted teeth, as he wondered how on earth to lay hold of a body that size, how to overbear her and bring her to yielding, “an honour and a pleasure, my lady.”
“Then cast off your clothes, Beauclerc. Don’t keep me waiting.”
He raised his eyebrows. He was not used to being ordered about, and it occurred to him that this might all just be a ruse to make him lay his sword aside.
“Shall I promise not to hurt you?” she hissed, seeing his anxieties very well. “Are your nuts shrivelled in their shell after all?”
Damn you. Fixing her eyes hotly with his own, he sheathed his steel and dropped his sword-belt to the side. “Don’t doubt me, my lady,” he growled.
Amusement bubbled at her thin lips. “And the rest.”
He clenched his jaw and, with jerky motions of his hands, stripped himself of his clothes: the short outer tunic he’d worn for hunting instead of his usual robes, the tight-fitting inner tunic of linen, his shoes and long hose and braies. He stood before her naked, shoulders back and chest full, feeling the damp air of the ruined hall tickle through the hair on his chest and belly and groin. God be praised, anger was standing in for desire for the moment, and he was not shamed by the length that hung between his thighs.
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