Passion's Thief - Chapter 16

1978 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Bodice Ripper

THEY CALLED HER THE QUEEN OF THE BEGGARS!

Denise de Chabionniere had been abducted from her ancestral chateau by her cousin Charles, who intended to kill her and assume control of her estates. Rescued by the handsome nobleman Lyle de Boulangier, Denise eluded him as well, despite the immediate attraction that sprang up between them.

Disguised as a beggar-maid in the slums of 15th century Paris, Denise dreamed of regaining her estates and her rightful position among the nobility. She became known as the Beggar Queen, leading her vagabond army to prey upon the rich.

With the help of de Boulangier, who sought her out and became her lover, Denise vowed revenge upon her cousin. Together, they formulated a plan that was to carry them from the gutters of Paris to the court of the King himself!

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

There were five of them, big fellows with broad shoulders and clubs in their hands. Their faces were dirty and lowering, their clothes were little more than rags. They were not beggars—at least, Lyle did not think so. They had more the look of robbers.

His sword came out. He spurred his horse and drove forward.

Steel went into flesh and a man screamed. At the same moment a club landed against his thigh, almost breaking it. It seemed to Lyle that there were clubs everywhere. He saw them flailing the air at him even as he struck with sword and dagger.

There was little room for swordplay, they crowded him too closely for that. Yet he fought as he had fought on the battlefield, using his weapons as he had been taught.

Two men were down. The others seemed a little cowed by his proficiency with his weapons. Yet they came back, swinging their clubs, snarling curses under their breaths. The air seemed filled with those knotted sticks. No matter which way he turned, one of them was thudding into him.

Lyle strove as best he could, but there came a moment when his back was unprotected. A man leaped high, swinging a club. It thudded against the back of his head.

He fell sideways, down onto the muddy street.

He had no awareness of what was happening. He fully expected to be killed, to be battered into a bloody nothingness by those clubs and then robbed….

He opened his eyes on Denise de Chabionniere.

She was bending above him, weeping softly. Her lips quivered as emotions stormed through her and her lips were moving as though in prayer. Lyle sought to speak; his tongue and lips moved, but no sound came out.

He felt himself falling back into unconsciousness.

He woke again to a faint flicker of light. For a time he stared at the candle-flame as it moved slightly in the flow of air. He was in a bed, and as his eyes went about the room, he recognized it as belonging to Denise.

Lyle tried to sit up, but he was too weak. His head was wrapped in something, and there were other bandages about his chest.

No doubt those foot-pads had robbed him of the promissory notes which Charles de Chabionniere had signed. Lyle’s lips curled in scorn. He should have known!

That was why Charles had left him alone for so long. He had clad his men as ruffians, had dispatched them out onto the street to attack and kill him and to bring back the notes which Charles had signed.

He should never have trusted the man. He should have made him come with him, and at the first sign of treachery he should have run steel into him. Well, that was something he could yet do. If he lived, of course.

He tried to move and desisted. The pain was too great. But at least, he was alive. His eyes closed and he slept.

It was morning. Out beyond the opened window he could hear a bird singing. There was bright sunlight in the room, together with fresh flowers and a hint of perfume. Lyle turned his head, saw a pillow beside his own, a pillow that bore the imprint of a head.

His heart began to beat faster. Had Denise lain beside him during the night? Of course! This was her bed. Where else would she have slept?

The door opened.

Denise stood there, gazing at him, eyes wide and her lovely lips parted. “Lyle,” she whispered, then ran to him.

She fell to her knees beside the bed, arms clasping him, but gently. “You’re alive. Alive at last! Oh my darling, how I have prayed for you!”

His smile was gentle. “And tended me too, I should imagine.”

Denise was indignant. “Certainment! Who else should have done it if not I? But you have lain like a dead man for so long!”

“So long? I have been here a night.”

“Five nights, four days. I have had physicians to attend you, I have prayed and nursed you myself. And now—thanks to le bon Dieu—you are well again. Or almost.”

Lyle whispered, “I’ve been a great fool. Against your advice I went to see your cousin—and now I’m afraid he’s taken back his notes.”

A smile dimpled Denise’s cheek. She shook her head. “No. He did not get them. Do you think I would have allowed you to go visit that villainous cousin of mine without taking some precautions? As it was, they almost killed you.”

“Precautions?”

Denise settled herself more comfortably on the bed, lying on its covers with an arm about the man she loved. “I sent my beggars to go to my cousin’s house, to appear if you were attacked.”

Lyle gasped, staring at her. “You did this?”

“But of course! I’ve already told you I don’t trust my cousin. He did just what I expected him to do. He set his bullies on you to rob and kill you.”

“Ah! And when the attack was made, your beggars rushed from cover. I did not see them.”

“The action was so fast and furious, that by the time they arrived, you had been hit a number of times and were falling from the saddle. They prevented those villains from killing you. They attacked and drove them away, then bundled you back onto your horse and brought you to me.”

Her arms tightened about him. “And here you shall stay, my love, until I can think of a way to hurt my cousin so badly that he will never dare show his face in public again.”

“But your deeds and other papers!”

“They can wait. My revenge cannot.”

She looked very angry, very dangerous, thought Lyle as he studied her. She was still beautiful, of course! She would always be beautiful. But there was an added fire in her that made him almost sorry for Charles de Chabionniere.

She was as a mother with her young. She was not like this where her own interests were concerned, but where it came to him, then she was like a wounded tigress.

Tenderness moved in Lyle de Boulangier. He wanted to move closer to her, to take her in his arms and cover her mouth with kisses. But at his first attempt to do this, a weakness washed over him and he lay back, moaning in his throat.

As though she sensed what he wanted, Denise rose up and leaned over him, bringing her open mouth down on his. He felt the flicker of her tongue and knew an instant bliss.

Laughter danced in her eyes. “We must make you better, mon cher! It must be very difficult for you to lie here so helpless.”

“It is,” he smiled. “I want to hug and kiss you, and do... other things.”

She nodded. “But first we must get you back on your feet, hein? Make you as strong as ever. And for that, you must go to sleep. Now. At once.”

He grumbled, but she only laughed at him, low in her throat, as she scrambled from the bed and began to undo the lacings of her bodice. As she did, her breasts pushed into the thin linen of her chemise. He could see the outline of her nipples, the sway of her figure as she moved. It was torture to lie here and see her walk about the room and not be able to reach out and drag her body in against his, to make love to her.

Something of this Denise must have guessed, for her lips were smiling as if in secret thoughts, and from time to time she glanced at him. Then the dress was being dropped downward, about her hips, and she stepped out of it.

Lyle groaned.

Denise looked at him and laughed. “You will be better very soon, my love. Then you will not have to lie there so helpless.”

She bent to blow out the candle, then lifted the covers and slipped in beside him. She snuggled up close to him so that he could feel the touch of her breasts and belly.

“Go to sleep, my pet,” she breathed.

He could never sleep, of course. It was too exciting, lying here with her. Yet even as he thought this, his eyelids fell and he was breathing slowly, heavily.

Next day he was allowed up, to walk about in the bedroom. Denise was always with him so that he could lean on her, and when he admitted his weakness, she ordered him back between the sheets. Yet he made good progress; in two more days he was allowed downstairs and out upon the riverbank, to hobble up and down.

Denise was always with him. It was as though she had no other interest in life but him. She danced attendance on him, making certain that he was comfortable, that he felt no pain. When the physician came to look at him, she was always there to listen carefully, intent on following whatever orders she might be given as to his welfare.

Now, while the sun was shining, they began to take their lunch with them as they walked along the riverbank for miles, finding a lonely little spot to eat, to lie back on the grass and stare at the sky.

It was on one of these walks that Denise said slowly, “I have been thinking, Lyle.”

He glanced at her, seeing her grave face. “Oh? And what have your thoughts told you?”

“That I should leave the inn and go with you to your home.”

He rolled over and lay staring down into her bright black eyes. “So, then. You have come to your senses.”

She shrugged almost petulantly. “I have been thinking, that is all. I have realized that I cannot fight Charles from where I live. Here I am the Beggar Queen, but in those circles where Charles walks, I am no better than a slut.”

Lyle frowned. “Go on.”

“My beggars have been very active. They have made friends with certain servants of my cousin. Besides, Blanche is his bed partner. To her he tells many things.

Blanche, naturally enough, confides what he tells her to me.”

He watched her lips. They were red, and very shapely. Lyle could not resist them. He bent his head and his mouth captured them. They were soft and wet and warm, and after an instant he felt the touch of her tongue on his own.

“What does he tell her that interests you?” he whispered.

“Charles is giving a great fete, a masked ball.”

Lyle drew back and gazed down into her eyes. What was this she was trying to tell him?

“How does this interest us?”

“I would like to attend such a fête. Masked, of course.”

“With me?”

“Certainly, with you. How else?”

He lay back on the grass, staring up at the sky. His heart had begun to hammer. Could it be possible? Would Denise at last consent to leave this inn, to take her place among the nobility of France, where her birth placed her?

“I have had made certain gowns,” she went on almost dreamily. “Gowns that will show me off to the best advantage. And my beggars will also be there.”

That brought Lyle upright. “Your beggars!”

She laughed at his dismayed face. “But naturally! I shall need them, very much. But this does not concern you. All that should interest you is that you shall have me at your manor house in Paris for some time. Doesn’t this interest you?”

He turned to her, his hands reaching for her breasts even as his lips came down on hers. Her breasts were hard, he felt the rigid nipples. His hands were tender with them, stroking them, toying with the nipples.

Her mouth was open wide to accept his tongue and under him her body was soft and giving. Swiftly his hands worked, drawing down her bodice until her breasts lay bare to his eyes.

“Lyle,” she whispered. “You must not. You are not yet fully recovered.”

“Am I a man of wood, to be unaffected by your nearness? I love you, Denise! I belong to you as you belong to me. This body of yours is mine. And I so love to kiss your breasts, to hold your nipples between my lips.”

“Yes, then,” she whimpered. “It has been so long!”

He did not take her immediately but contented himself with sliding his hands under her skirt and along her bare thighs, which trembled, seeking to open for him. His fingertips touched the crisp hairs between them.

Then he was upon her, kneeling between her open thighs and driving himself deep. Denise cried out with rapture, with the reawakening of desire. It was so good to hold her man in her arms and between her widespread thighs, where he belonged. Her hips surged upward.

For long, uncounted minutes, their rapture continued. Only when her body had convulsed several times, only when she was wailing with the delights he was bringing her, did Lyle pour out his own offerings to Venus.

They lay for several minutes, just savoring the moment.

Then Denise whispered, “If only we could have each other like this, for all time.”

“And we shall, my darling. It’s up to you. Merely say the word and we can be married.”

Denise shook her head. “Not until I can come to you as the heiress I am. But I’m working on that.” She snuggled closer, hugging him. “Our appearance at my cousin’s ball is part of the plan, darling. No! Don’t ask me any more questions.”

She hugged him, then murmured, “I’m hot. The sun is so strong, and these clothes are stifling.”

“We could go for a swim.”

Denise half rose, staring about her at the trees bordering this part of the river. “There’s no one around. Shall we?”

Lyle laughed, rose up and shed the rest of his clothing. Naked he stood, tall and strong, as he watched Denise slither out of her dress and stand naked also. For a moment they eyed each other gravely and then Denise giggled.

“Like Adam and Eve,” she whispered, and began to run toward the water.

They swam out into the river side by side, and there they floated for a time, letting the heat of their bodies slowly cool. The sun was hot overhead; there was a deep silence here, so far from the city. It was peaceful and pleasant, it seemed almost to belong to them.

When they went back to shore, they lay in the sun until they were dry, and then they put their clothes back on. It was idyllic here, Denise thought, and wondered if she would ever be so happy again.

Side by side they walked back to the inn, and now Denise confided her plans to Lyle, explaining that she had been accumulating the wardrobe which she would need as his wife.

“Everything depends on the fête my cousin is giving,” she murmured. “If all goes well—why, then we may be wed.”

“Tell me what I can do to help.”

Her eyes glanced at him roguishly. “It’s better that you don’t know all the details, my love. Just be guided by me.”

“As I always hope to be,” he chuckled.

For the next two days, Lyle saw little of Denise. She was always busy somewhere about the inn on errands of her own. He wandered along the riverbank, missing her sorely, but finding solace in the fact that she would always dine with him and later walk with him in the moonlight.

Now that he was well and strong again, he did not share her bed. She refused him admittance, informing him capriciously that it was not decent for two unmarried people to sleep together.

She said it with a twinkle in her eyes, and Lyle grinned, nodding agreement to her will.

Then one morning, when Denise came into the tiny room where they ate their breakfasts, she told him that this was the day when they would be leaving the inn. “To travel to your manor house in the city,” she explained.

Lyle hugged her, kissing her.

Denise permitted his kisses for a time. Then she pushed him away and shook a finger at him. “You are not to understand that I am coming to sleep with you, Lyle. This is a serious matter upon which I am engaged.”

“Whatever you say,” he nodded gravely.

She glanced at him sideways. “I mean it,” she muttered. “Everything depends upon what may happen in the next week. Our entire future, our happiness, our marriage.”

He sensed her deadly seriousness, and nodded again. “Whatever you want done, shall be done. And I shall obey your orders.” He smiled slightly. “It is as if we were going into war and you are the general.”

“That’s just what we are doing, going into war. My cousin Charles is our enemy.”

After breakfast, Denise led him out into the inn-yard, where two mules were harnessed with two big bales on either sides of their backs. Lyle stared at them a moment.

“Do these mules go with us?”

Denise smiled. “Of course. My clothes are in those bales. I would not disgrace you, my darling. It is no tattered beggar-woman whom you will be taking to my cousin’s ball!”

Denise did not look at all like the Beggar Queen. Gone were the rags, her face was lovely, and her black hair was carefully coiffed. She wore a gown of embroidered moire over a brocaded velvet under-dress, and on her black hair she wore an intricate headdress, lavishly embroidered and veiled.

Her eyes sparkled as she saw how his own eyes went over her. Her head lifted upward, proudly.

“Well? Do I pass your inspection?”

Lyle chuckled. “You make the day seem brighter.”

Denise repressed an urge to giggle, holding out her hand. “You may assist me to mount, seigneur.”

Then they were moving through the streets, the sumpter mules behind them. They plodded on between throngs of people moving this way and that, and as they rode, Lyle saw that there were beggars here and there who kept an eye on them. It was almost like having an army at your side, he told himself.

They clomped across the Petit Pont with the great arches of Notre Dame Cathedral to their right, and made their way toward the Grand Pont. Denise rode beside him, her body swaying gracefully to the gait of her horse, like the fine lady she was. Glancing at her, Lyle thought that no one would ever recognize, in this woman, the pitiful cripple who had been the leader of the Beggar Queen’s ragged thieves.

When they were come to his manor house, servants came running to hold their horses’ reins as Lyle himself stepped to lift Denise down from her saddle.

“I want the panniers brought to my room,” she told him. “They contain the clothes I’ll be needing.”

Lyle gave the orders, then with her hand on his wrist, he brought her through the arched door of his manor house.

Denise looked around her with wide eyes, missing nothing. One day, please God, she would be mistress of this house, and she wanted to know all she could about it. Her eyes took in the massive furniture, the tapestries that hung upon the walls, the mullioned windows, open now but able to be pulled closed when winter howled beyond the walls.

In the hall, battle standards and weapons hung from the walls. There was a big oak table or two pushed against those walls, with here and there a massive chair.

Denise nodded. She liked this house. There was an air almost of friendliness about it.

Lyle said, offering her his hand, “Come and explore. If there’s anything you don’t like, we can change it.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine as it is, my love. But show me everything.”

They moved here and there, from the great salon to the smaller rooms, out into the huge kitchens, up the great stairs to the upper chambers.

Lyle said, “This is where I sleep,” showing her a small room midway down the long hall.

Denise opened her eyes wide. “In there? With that huge bedchamber at the other end standing empty?”

“That shall be your room. And our, hopefully, when we are married. It’s a little too large for my tastes. However, with you in it…”

Her soft palm across his lips silenced him.

“We shall not talk of that. Not yet. In time, of course. But at the moment, I am more concerned with what we are to do at my cousin’s fête.”

Lyle brought her into his room, ensconced her in a big carved chair and sat on a stool at her feet. “Tell me, then. What part am I to play?”

“You are to be my escort. Nothing more.”

Lyle scowled. “Neither of us will be welcome, you understand this?”

“We shall not use our own names. We are to be masked for the event. We shall mask our names, as well.”

Lyle shrugged. “I hope your plan will succeed.”

A curious smile twisted Denise’s lips. “It will succeed, Lyle. If it does not, then there is nothing left for me to live for.”

A coldness entered into Lyle de Boulangier’s heart. It was not eased by the sadness of Denise’s quiet smile.