"P. N. Elrod & Nigel Bennett - His Father's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

“Hush, child,” she said, keeping her in place. “’Tis natural. Rest yourself a moment. Lord Richard
is”—she glanced at him, the light of mischief in her eyes—“a demanding man. Drink this, then you may go
to your supper and bed. You’re excused from your -duties until the morrow.”
Sabra’s soothing voice had its effect on the girl, and Ghislaine obediently emptied the wine cup, her gaze
straying over its rim to Richard. He wasn’t sure how he should respond to what looked to be nascent
adoration, and tentatively settled on a smile and nod of appreciation. Apparently it was enough; Ghislaine
finished, curtsied low to them both, and departed without another word, leaving him alone with Sabra.
“Will she not speak of this?” he asked.
“She will remember little of what happened here, simply that you and she gave each other pleasure.”
Sabra’s gaze wandered to his still ample manhood outlined under the thin cloth. “A great portion of
pleasure, it seems.”
He began to blush at his body’s betrayal of his still-active desire. “Forgive me, my lady, she means
nothing to me, I assure you. I know not why it happened.”
“You may say you know not, but I do, sweet Richard. It is our nature to enjoy their lives and flesh in all
ways, and I take joy in your delight. She is a pretty creature, after all, deserving of appreciation.”
“You are not jealous?”
“No more than you should be of me when the blood calls to my hungers . . . all my hungers.”
That gave him pause, the implication being that of Sabra feeding from another man. Richard didn’t care
for the idea, but had no wish to spoil the moment. Better to deal with the subject later. He pulled Sabra
back to the comfort of their bed, wrapping his arms protectively around her as she lay her head on his
-shoulder.
“Will all my feedings be thus?” he asked, murmuring into her thick hair. It smelled of flowers.
“Not always. I thought your first one should be memorable, though.”
“My lady is the soul of kindness.”
“Sometimes you may feast slowly, others will be catch-as-may as you go along with no time for
dalliance. No matter what befalls, make certain the one you choose remains unaware, and that none chance
to see you. It could mean your death.”
He grunted in short reply, knowing the truth of it. The consequences of what had transpired over the last
hour had anyone observed them did not bear contemplation. “I will take care, I promise.”
“One other thing, and mark this well: beware of attachments to them, my love.”
“What mean you?”
“These fragile children abide with us but a little while and then are gone, and I would not have thee
heartsick from the loss. You are ever my true love, and I yours. We two will endure long after Ghislaine is
dust. That is the way. That is why the Goddess chose thee, for strengths even you may not yet know about
yourself.”
 “Then you must tell me about them, sweet lady.”
“When the time allows . . . and we have more of time than anything else.”
Certainly while waiting in the empty feast hall away from Sabra’s intoxicating presence Richard had had
an abundance of it to think everything through. He was mildly surprised to determine that from a loss that
should have saddened him, a transformation that should have terrified him, a craving that should have
disgusted him, he could see nothing but goodness and bold promise for his future.
His eternal future . . . with Sabra.
He shut his eyes, holding the wondrous image close lest it fly away from him in this chill and hollow
place.
But his gladness was interrupted when an apologetic servant hurried into the room bearing a single
candle and placed it on the table. Richard’s vision was such that he’d not noticed how dark it had gotten.
“Does the duke summon me yet?” he asked, staying the man’s excuses for being late.
“I know naught of it, Lord Richard,” he said, ducking his head. “Do you wish anything?” Cold was
settling in for the night and the man shivered in his tattered clothes. The castle was always cold, even this
far into spring.