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  To Catch a Thief

  Copyright ã 2006 Tysche Dwai

  Cover art and design by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books

  www.extasybooks.com

  To my Ranger—always…

  To Catch a Thief

  By

  Tysche Dwai

  The night was hot and moonless. No breath of air stirred the stillness as the girl crouched beneath the shadows of a twisted Maloq tree. She craned her neck, trying to see into the candlelit room above her. The castle wall was smoothly wrought stone, well joined, and offered no finger hold, even for a thief of her caliber. She shivered a little despite the heat, clothes clammy against her skin from swimming the moat to the castle grounds.

  She leapt and caught the lowest branch of the tree and swung herself up. She climbed like a cat, dagger clamped between her teeth.

  The king was feasting in the great hall on the other side of the castle. He should be occupied for hours yet.

  As she reached window level, she cautiously raised her head above the sill and surveyed the room beyond. Her eyes widened, and she drew in her breath with a hiss.

  The chamber was a sumptuous bedroom hung with velvet draperies and silken tapestries. Gilt ornaments adorned the mantelpiece and bejeweled trinkets littered the tops of occasional tables scattered throughout the room.

  She drew herself onto the windowsill, balancing on the balls of her feet and sliding the dagger back into its sheath. The room was empty, as she had expected, and she eased herself to the floor.

  She bit her lip. It was like being let loose in a pastry shop. She didn’t know where to turn first. Stepping to the nearest table, she slipped a tiny snuffbox into her pouch. It would feed her lot for three sevendays if properly fenced, and Berne would know where was best.

  As she crossed the room, her path took her beside the canopied bed, with its heavy velvet spread. She ran her hand over the soft fabric. It felt like stroking a large cat, and she shivered. A crooked smile quirked her lip as she sniffed and ran a grimy hand beneath her dripping nose. She’d never even seen such fabric before. Her life was more burlap and homespun than silk and velvet. For a fleeting instant, she wished herself the kind of lady who would live in a place like this.

  A gilded mirror caught her attention, and she studied her reflection. Short and compact, she was well suited to her profession, but not the kind of girl who drew the eye twice. Perhaps that was why she was so good at what she did….

  Waves of hair of an indifferent brown hung in lank strands to her thin shoulders, framing a dirty face animated by eyes of startling green.

  Her lip trembled.

  Damn it all! Life wasn’t fair.

  She ran an angry palm across her damp eyes and snatched up more oddments, stuffing them haphazardly into her bag.

  She had worked her way halfway around the room, far from the sanctuary of the window, and had her back to the doorway when suddenly she heard a step in the hall outside. She froze in horror.

  In the distance, she heard shouting voices. Then more footsteps. She glanced wildly around her then darted behind a velvet drapery, pulling the heavy fabric closed behind her. Quiet as the feline of her name, Caitlyn the Cat crept to where the curtain met with another, cracking it open at the join. She squinted down a long, gloomy passage. It was no wonder the voices had sounded so near to hand. The chamber door was flung wide, only the curtain masked the chamber from the hallway.

  The king was arrogant in his trust! Anyone could rob him blind. It was an easy climb to the window, and if he didn’t bother even to shut his bedchamber door, any trinkets she took were fairly won.

  The passageway beyond the chamber was dimly lit. The smoke drifted upward from large candles standing like silent sentinels on either side of the hall. They lifted a scent of bayberry into the air with their heavy smoke. The curling tendrils gave the scene an eerie unreality.

  She could hear the footsteps more clearly now. Though the voices had died away, the tramp of booted feet seemed to be closing in on her.

  Caitlyn’s heart pounded so loudly in her ears she almost fancied it was reverberating from the castle walls. In her mind, it was deafening.

  As she peered down the hallway, eight soldiers appeared, marching toward her in formation, each with a pikestaff in his hand. They wore swords at their waists, and in the candlelight their grand red and yellow uniforms seemed to sparkle.

  “The King’s Guard,” she groaned, shrinking back against the wall and praying that her slender figure was not outlined behind the heavy curtain. As the troop drew level, Caitlyn could smell sweat and leather. She swallowed hard against the fear choking her. Then they were past and gone.

  Why was there no sentry here on the door? It seemed the most perfunctory of precautions. Perhaps because the king was in the hall? She didn’t care, as long as it worked in her favor.

  She waited until the sound of their marching feet could no longer be heard then drew a deep breath. Stepping from her cover into the hallway, she studied the gloomy passageway.

  Which way now, was the question. Did she creep along in the direction from which the soldiers had come, or follow in the direction they were headed?

  She cursed under her breath as she searched her pouch and found the crude map of the castle layout was missing. It must have slipped from her bag during the climb, or fallen to the floor of the bedchamber. Time was against her. She could not afford to go back and look for it. All she knew for sure was that Berne was imprisoned in a cell directly below the king’s living quarters.

  Berne was counting on her to rescue him. After all, it was her fault he had been caught. She was slow slipping out a window, and he covered for her. When she saw him surrounded by a squadron of the Guard, she started to go back to him. He waved her on, cudgel swinging about him desperately. One of the pikemen clouted him in the temple with the butt of his spear while she watched in horror from the shadowed alley.

  She owed him her life. If the soldiers had caught her, she would have suffered far worse. She knew what happened to female companions taken by the guard. They were lucky if they made it to the dungeons alive. They never made it unsullied.

  She could not abandon Berne now. She bit her lip once more. The guards had been relaxed and sloppy about their formation. They were probably coming off duty rather than going on. That meant they were likely to be coming from the dungeons rather than heading down.

  She started in the direction from which the guards had come. The candles were widely spaced, flickering in the high draft of the corridor. One light had gone out altogether, leaving a wide swath of darkness.

  Caitlyn gulped, one hand on the hilt of her dagger. She hated dark places. Her steps slowed further, until she crept forward an inch at a time.

  As she entered the area between the lit candles, tracing the wall to keep her bearings, she stumbled into a room when her palm met empty space. Her dagger was in h
er hand without conscious thought as she stared wildly about the darkened room, trying to get her bearings.

  “Well, well, well…what is this?” rumbled a man’s voice.

  Caitlyn turned toward the voice, panic rising in her breast. In the half-light, she saw a man―a huge, mountain of a man, with a wicked-looking scar across his left cheek.

  She slid her dagger back into her belt, and straightened her tunic over it. In a fight―any fight―this giant would easily defeat her.

  “Evening, s-sir,” she stammered. “I be new to tha castle. A maid who got herself lost on an errand. ‘Tis all so confusing to a girl used to a small hovel in tha village. So many passages…” Her voice trailed away.

  The man mountain stared at her, and she saw that, despite his height and girth, his eyes seemed to twinkle in the darkness.

  “The girl is lost?” He gazed at her. “The girl is not allowed in this hallway.” He scratched his head. “The girl might be looking for the kitchen?”

  “Yes!” Caitlyn replied quickly, nodding in agreement. “The kitchen. I must get back before Cook has my hide.”

  The huge man beamed at her. “I am Henry the jailor. I could show the girl to the kitchen.”

  “Oh, yes, please! I would be ever so grateful.” Caitlyn looked up at him with her best beggar’s plead.

  “Follow Henry,” he replied. “Henry is good to all castle girls.”

  Henry held out his hand, and Caitlyn smiled nervously, stepping forward and slipping her hand into his. He led her across the shadowy room to a curtain in the far wall. Behind the curtain was a narrow stairway trailing down into blackness.

  Caitlyn pulled back against his forward progress. No light at all filtered up from below. Caitlyn shook her head wildly. She could not face that darkness, no matter who waited below. Berne would not expect that of her. He knew her phobia of the dark.

  Henry turned to her, his face a vague blur in the shadows. “What is wrong with the girl?”

  Caitlyn continued to shake her head. “I can’t. I just can’t!”

  Henry put an arm around her shoulders gently. “Don’t be scared. Henry will only take you to the kitchen. Henry won’t hurt you.”

  “The dark…I can’t…the dark…”

  Henry folded her to his chest and patted her back awkwardly. “Don’t be scared, little one. Henry will protect you.”

  Caitlyn sobbed against the hard strength of Henry. She was petrified of the dark, and she had no clear remembrance of why. Something skittered through the back of her memory every time she faced the blackness, and she froze. It was a definite liability in her line of work.

  Henry murmured soothingly, continuing to stroke her back.

  She felt herself relaxing into the motion. He was so very strong…and so comfortingly big. She looked up into the blur of his face with a watery smile. He stood two steps below her, and his face was still above hers.

  Impulsively, Caitlyn backed up a step, bringing her face level with his. She leaned forward and kissed him sweetly on the lips. “Thank you, Henry. I feel much better.”

  “Why did the girl kiss Henry?” asked the man mountain, his voice puzzled.

  She had spent so much of her time trying to defend her virginity that it took her aback to have a man ask such a question. “Because you have been so nice to me, Henry. You make a girl feel safe.”

  Henry bowed his head. “Most girls don’t like Henry. They think he is ugly, because of his face.”

  Caitlyn reached out and traced the scar on his cheek. “What happened, Henry?”

  “Henry doesn’t like to talk about it. Does the girl want to go to the kitchen now?”

  Caitlyn slipped her arms around Henry’s neck. Something about this gentle giant called to her soul. With his protection, even the dark seemed less threatening. “Not right now,” she whispered. She pulled Henry’s head to hers. “Not right now.”

  Henry was puzzled. This slight girl, while terrified of the dark, seemed to have no fear whatsoever of him. She had even kissed him. On the lips. Lust and passion were emotions that Henry had not felt in years, yet this little one evoked a strange stirring in his loins. And just as she was scared of the dark, he was nervous about the feelings coursing through his body.

  Henry has always been solitary, not one to mingle with other children, and taken into the Guard at sixteen because of his size. He had been set to the task of jailor when it became clear he had no heart for war.

  It had been years since he had a woman. In the darkness of the dungeons, and when he was alone, Henry often felt the surge of need in his body. He pleasured himself regularly, yet it was always a temporary thing.

  He imagined the girl’s tight sheath accepting his cock and knew it would feel infinitely better than his own hand. But this new scullery maid…what if she told the cook? And what if the cook told the King’s advisors?

  Would Henry find himself incarcerated with the prisoners he was now charged with keeping? He shuddered in the darkness. He could not take that chance…and yet, she still encircled his neck with her arms, her lips smiling invitingly.

  Taking the girl’s small hand once more, he led her away from the darkened stairwell. “We will go another way.”

  He hurried her through a narrow passage, down another flight of stairs, then doubled back the way he had come, but on a lower floor of the castle. Finally, he stopped at a stout oaken door and thrust it open. He pulled flint and steel from his pocket, and―sighing heavily at his own temerity―struck a spark and lit a candle.

  Caitlyn trailed behind Henry like a paper streamer as he led her through the castle. As the candle sparked to life, she saw a room take shape around her.

  It had the spare contours of a monk’s cell. A table and single chair, a washbasin and stand…and in the far corner, a narrow cot. Her heart skipped a beat. Was she prepared to make this sacrifice to save Berne? He had saved her life….

  Henry moved past her to set the candle on the table and turned back to her, his eyes shyly downcast.

  “This isn’t the kitchen, Henry.”

  Henry looked at his feet. “The girl said that she was not interested in seeing the kitchen right now.”

  Caitlyn hid a smile. “You are right, Henry. The girl did say that.”

  “What would you like to see instead?” he breathed, his voice hushed.

  Caitlyn studied the quiet giant before her. His eyes were downcast, his hands twisting nervously, his attraction to her making itself obvious. In the relatively bright light of the candle, she could see that he was much nearer her own age than she had thought. She would guess him to be no more than five and twenty. He seemed a good man, and honorable…but he was so huge. She feared what might happen to her if things got beyond her control. If she tried to give herself to him….

  There were, however, other activities in which she could engage.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped to the table and hopped up to perch on the edge of it. She did not want to create the wrong impression by sitting on the bed. “Come here, Henry,” she ordered, waving him forward.

  Slowly, Henry came to stand before her. As large as he was, even sitting atop the table her eyes were centered on his chest.

  Still not perfect. She slipped off the table and pulled out the chair, sitting upon it. Better.

  Henry stood motionless, but she could sense a trembling in the big man. She glanced up at him, and saw his eyes were studying her face. Never taking her eyes from his, she reached out and laid a shaking hand against the bulge beneath his tunic. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric.

  Henry groaned, deep in his throat, and pressed forward against her hand.

  “I can’t give you what you need, Henry. I fear it would…damage me…do you understand? But I can do other things.” She slipped her hand beneath his tunic and fumbled with the lacings of his leggings. “Let me show you,” she whispered.

  The laces parted, and his member sprang free of its confinement. Her eyes widened at the sigh
t of it. Her hand could not encircle its girth, and she knew her earlier assessment was correct. This gigantic shaft would split her in two if she tried to take it into her virgin slit. Her lips curved. She had often been chastised for her big mouth, however.

  Caitlyn leaned forward and kissed the tip of Henry’s rod. It was soft and warm beneath her lips, and Henry moaned. Taking a deep breath, she ran her tongue around the tip of the shaft, tasting a drop of moisture against her lips. She opened her mouth and slid the rigid cock deeper into her throat.

  She had never seen a cock so huge. Her tongue slipped back and forth against its hole, eagerly trying to probe it. Her lips clenched tight and her head bobbed. She felt the cock’s pulse throb against her tongue.

  Caitlyn was oblivious to Henry’s moans of pleasure as her fingers teased and tugged at his large, soft balls. To touch and suckle such a cock was a sensation she had never felt before, and as she concentrated all her powers towards making the mighty tool spurt its juices into her throat, all thoughts of Henry’s ugliness vanished from her mind.

  She purred with pleasure as Henry’s large hand tugged at her tunic and fumbled clumsily for her breasts and nipples, and her suckling increased. She felt Henry start to buck into her throat, and her tongue danced faster over and around his cock.

  Henry groaned low in his throat, and the warm cock spasmed in her mouth, gushing like a torrent. Caitlyn feared she would gag but, as her swallowing fell into rhythm with each flooding spurt, her task again became one of pure pleasure. Her throat convulsed again and again.

  Then it was done.

  Henry looked dazed. Caitlyn felt a swell of power. She had done this to him. She had brought this giant to his knees—figuratively if not yet literally.

  She looked up at him past the semi-erect cock that formed an obstacle between her face and Henry’s. “Berne,” she whispered urgently. “Where is Berne?”

  Henry’s eyes struggled to focus on her. “Who is Berne?” he asked.