Magnus Rayvanne And Mistress Swan

MAGNUS RAVYNNE AND MISTRESS SWANN An Ellora's Cave Publication, January 2004 Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. PO Box 787 Hudson, OH 44236-0787 ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-793-X Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML MAGNUS RAVYNNE AND MISTRESS SWANN © 2004 SAHARA KELLY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Edited by Briana St. James Cover art by Nathalie Moore

MAGNUS RAVYNNE AND MISTRESS SWANN Sahara Kelly

Sahara Kelly

Chapter 1 She was the most incredibly beautiful woman Magnus Ravynne had ever seen, and he felt as if her image had been burned indelibly into his brain. Mistress Anne Swann. Tall, stately, with skin like pale cream, her eyes were the softest blue of the calm summer skies, and her hair—her amazing hair—fell in two thick braids to her knees. Not quite a common gold, nor the glittering white of the swan whose name she carried, Anne’s hair defied description. Her body was slender, with breasts no bigger than a ripe apple—just perfect for sucking into his mouth as he took her. His loins tightened as he wondered how she would look spread upon his bed, clad in nothing but her hair. He’d pull it around her, sweeping it over her soft mounds, allowing him just a glimpse of her pouting nipples. Perhaps he’d tickle her delicate cunnikin with it, and watch as it produced tears of pleasure. The pommel of his saddle smashed against his growing cock and made him wince. The long days of riding had been hard on him, and now he was getting hard on his saddle. Not a good combination. He sighed, and let his thoughts drift. How right his Steward had been to send him to Maltby Abbey to meet the luscious Anne. It was indeed time for him to beget an heir for Ravynne’s Keep—past time many would say. But he had reached his thirtieth year through sheer determination, serving his country and his lands in peace and in war. He much preferred the former, even though his prowess in the latter had brought him fame and more lands. So now, in a time when his world no longer rang with the sounds of blade upon blade, a period of tranquility had descended on this part of England. Landowners, such as himself, had chance to attend their demesnes, make repairs and improvements to their estates, and generally set about building an inheritance for their heirs. The ones he would beget with Mistress Anne Swann. Just thinking of begetting heirs made his cock rise again. By the Saints, he was in a needy state. He’d parted company with his baggage train earlier in the evening, preferring to ride the last few miles to his home by himself. They’d be wending their way down the well-traveled road by now, the jangling of the horses’ tack alerting the castle staff to his homecoming, and causing fires to be lit and the kitchens sent into a bustle of preparation for their Lord’s return.

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Selfishly, he wanted there to be lots of anticipation. It would be sadly flat if, after three months away, he were to return to a cold hearth and even colder food. So he’d decided to meander through his forest, listening to the sounds of the night as it fell, and reflect upon his journey and, of course, Mistress Anne Swann. She of the probably beautiful bosoms. And the doubtless soft and pink cunnikin. Ow. Magnus squirmed as his cock thrust hard against the rough fabric of his breeches. He toyed with the idea of releasing it and bringing himself to his ease. At least it would make the ride home a little more comfortable. But it seemed an empty gesture—if he could wait, there would be willing maids to tend to his needs. His Steward, Edward Mansfield, would see to that. Edward made sure that his Lord had all his needs fulfilled, but also ran Ravynne’s Keep with an iron hand that brooked no misbehavior. Even from the Lord. Magnus grinned. The old man was truly a tyrant and as bad as Magnus’ father had been in that respect. Edward and the late Lord Ravynne had had some truly amazing fights. Yet their friendship had lasted for nearly forty years, and Edward had transferred that loyalty to the young Lord without a blink. He was Ravynne’s man, through and through, regardless of which Ravynne he served. Yes, Edward would see that all was in readiness for Magnus’ return, including a couple of willing wenches in his bedchamber. Magnus’ heartbeat accelerated at the thought. He’d been quite celibate for the last three months which was quite unheard of for a man in his position. But he’d felt it appropriate seeing as he was hunting for a bride. It wouldn’t do for him to visit other lands and estates, survey the marriageable females within and then fuck his way through their maidservants. Other men would find that perfectly acceptable, but to Magnus it lacked style. And after having met Mistress Swann, he knew that style was essential. She was so much the lady, so delicate, so fragile. He worried that one touch on her soft skin might bruise her. Such a woman would not have appreciated a lusty fellow bedding her maids and then looking her over as a potential bride. He had visited seven estates, but none had offered what he was looking for, until Maltby Abbey. Small, but well-organized and elegant, Maltby Abbey had been in the hands of the Swann family for several generations. There was an oldest son, followed by Mistress Anne, and her other siblings. Since Magnus possessed a wealth of lands, he needed a bridenot her property. He was free to pick and choose amongst the marriageable women and this was a freedom he much appreciated.

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Not for him the stilted coupling brought about by a land merger. He could pick a wife who possessed the attributes he felt appropriate for the mother of the next generation of Ravynnes. And Anne had them in abundance. She’d greeted his party with the right amount of deference and pleasure, dropping her eyes shyly before him, yet making sure he noticed the sway of her buttocks beneath her fine kirtle. Her father, Augustus Swann, had been intelligent, well-read, a good conversationalist, and not averse to admitting his daughter would indeed make a fine bride. He’d even permitted Magnus the luxury of a short walk in their orchards with Anne herself, who had contrived to leave her companion behind. They had discussed the weather, the varieties of fruit that would come from the trees they passed, and the excellence of the local Maltby mead. It had been all Magnus could do to restrain himself from taking her right there and then. But she’d allowed him to help her over a large root, and had graciously placed her cool hand on his. Her eyes had lowered and a blush spread over her cheeks at their touch. Magnus grinned to himself. Oh yes. She would be his, without a doubt. The moon was rising as he wound his way through familiar lanes, its light obscured now and again by the overhanging horse chestnut trees. Their fragrance was soft, and sweet, and brought back memories of games with their hard, russet-hued fruit in the fall. Suddenly, Magnus felt grubby, itchy and in need of a good bath. He could wait until he got home, but he remembered the small lake that nestled into a glade less than half a mile away from the Keep. He turned his horse into the forest, following paths that were now overgrown, and clearly not well traveled. Before long he arrived at his target, a quiet spot where the river had flooded its way over its banks thousands of years before man arrived to admire it, and created a small lake that was continually refreshed by a little runoff back into the river itself. He’d spent many a happy hour here, learning to swim, playing with other boys. Later he’d played with the girls who would sneak away and vie with each other to take “swimming lessons” from the handsome youth he’d become. Those swimming lessons had been most pleasurable. In fact, the small patch of soft grass that had served as his bed for so many splendid trysts would probably still be there. Although he doubted if more than the occasional deer dented the grass with its hooves now. It was most definitely time to bring his children into the world and introduce his own son to the pleasures of the water.

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Quietly, he reined in his horse and dismounted, sighing in relief as his muscles stretched and reacquainted themselves with the business of walking upright. Then he heard it. He stilled, ears focusing, head tilted. His horse whinnied slightly, and he covered its nose with a soothing hand. “Shhh,” he breathed, senses leaping to battle readiness. There it was again. A song. A woman was singing. There was a sudden splashing sound. Someone was in his lake. He hobbled his horse, quickly leading it deeper into the undergrowth where it could graze, but not flee. On silent feet he returned, finding the one large tree where he knew he could spy out over the lake and not be seen. He grinned as he remembered the many young ladies whose nakedness he’d privately enjoyed as a lad from this very lookout. With a brief grunt he hoisted himself into the branches and found the one lowhanging one that had served him so well in the past. And there she was. The moon was almost full, and by its light he could make her out quite clearly. His first thought was that she was a wench from the Keep, but that quickly disappeared as he noted her smooth golden skin and rounded muscles. This was no serving girl or field worker. Her hair was a black slick in the night, falling down her back past her lusciously curved buttocks, and when she turned, his mouth dried up and his throat contracted on a gasp. She had the most incredible breasts. Full, heavy, yet tipped with dusky and erect nipples, they were begging to be weighed in a man’s hand. Crying out for the touch of a man’s mouth. By the Saints, a man could bury his cock between them and think himself one step from heaven’s gates. Her waist was slender, almost too slender for the curves above and beneath, and yet she carried herself like a queen, striding from the cool water to the small pile of clothing lying on the grassy patch near the edge of the lake. Her woman’s hair was a dark shadow between her thighs, and he bit his lip as he felt the urge to explore those secrets transfer itself to a savage arousal within his breeches. There was no way he could leave this woman unattended. She was standing, nude, silvery now in the moonlight, rubbing her cloth over her body, lingering at each breast and between her thighs. Magnus’ gaze sharpened as he watched her dry off, noticing her subtle touches to herself. He was going to have to do something about this, or fall out of the tree and impale himself on his own cock.

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Slowly, quietly, he slid down the trunk and dropped his leather jerkin beneath it. He unfastened the ties to his shirt and left that there too, along with his boots which he struggled awkwardly out of with a savage curse. His breeches followed. Barefoot and naked, he picked his way through the foliage until he was within yards of her. She was standing almost motionless, eyes closed, head thrown back, and her hands…they were moving over her body and rubbing between her thighs. She was pleasuring herself in front of him. Well, by the Saints, it looked like she needed some help, and, gentleman that he was, he couldn’t leave a lady in distress…

***** Constance felt the cool night air like a lover’s kiss on her damp body. The strands of her wet hair touched her back and her buttocks softly, leaving little trails of moisture wherever they chose. The trickles down her spine made her shiver, and heightened the pleasure she was feeling as she rubbed the rough cloth over her skin. She took a deep breath and let her hands linger over her nipples, relishing the spear of delight that her touch brought. It was the work of a moment to slip one hand to her mound and find that exquisitely sensitive spot which burned and ached now, readying her for a sensual invasion by…by… By no one. There was no one to take his cock and ease her need. There hadn’t been for three years now, since her husband had died on the battlefields in some senseless fight for a useless piece of land. Oh, she’d had offers, and plenty of them. But being a landless widow, those offers had seldom come hand-in-hand with a marriage proposal, and those that did were unacceptable. She refused to be a brood mare for some lusty Lord who had gone through three wives already, and wanted a ready-made caretaker for his family. Nor did she relish the thought of being bedsport for some uncouth and unwashed man who simply needed a warm body to fuck at his whim. Her next marriage, if there was one, would be by her choice. Her choice alone. Her fingers plunged deep within her swollen folds, stimulating her juices which began to run freely, mixing with the rivulets of water that trailed down over her thighs. A moan erupted from her throat, startling a frog, which leapt into the lake with a small splash. Her late husband had not taught her much of the pleasures of the flesh, and had unthinkingly gone and gotten himself killed, leaving her alone, childless, and with a

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limited knowledge of what her body could achieve in the way of sensual delight. She missed him in some ways, still. His presence had been some sort of security, even if his bedding had left much to be desired. She didn’t know if she’d loved him, in fact she didn’t know if such a thing actually existed. So for the time being, stolen moments like this kept her desires abated and her life relatively content. But…it would have been nice, she mused, feeling every part of her body rising to the touch of her own hand. It would have been nice to have someone else feel her quicken beneath him. To have a hard cock rubbing against the place she now caressed. To have a rough chest abrading her nipples and pressing her breasts between them. To lie on the grass beneath the moon and… Suddenly the moon went out. Constance opened her eyes in surprise and found a large shadowy figure in front of her blocking the gentle moonlight. With a gasp of fear, she dropped her towel and made to turn and flee, but it was too late. Strong arms captured her and pulled her up against the solid rough chest that she had just wished for. “Permit me to assist, lady,” said a deep voice. Before she could utter the thousand things that trembled on a scream, hard lips came down on hers and she was swept into a kiss that turned her world upside down.

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Chapter 2 His hands were all over her, stroking her, driving her upwards into her own arousal. Constance groaned as he pulled his lips away from hers, then gasped as he found her breast with one callused hand. His mouth returned, his tongue thrusting into her, mimicking the act that she knew was to come. And, God help her, she wanted it. Wanted him. He was tall—she had to stretch to get her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. His hair fell through her fingers as she gripped him to steady herself and return his kisses, parrying his tongue and matching its moves with her own. He fondled her breast, taking it in his palm and raising it, then finding the nipple and squeezing almost to the point of pain. She grabbed his hair and pulled his head downward, needing the hot suckle of his mouth around her swollen flesh. It was sheer bliss when he obeyed her silent urging and took her into his mouth. His tongue was hungry, and when he pressed her nipple between his teeth and sucked strongly, she nearly came from the pleasure of it. As if he sensed her condition, he swept her into his arms and laid her down onto the grass, following her, lowering his head to her other breast and lavishing the same fierce attention on its rosy peak. He freed a hand and found her curly hair, riffling his fingers through it as he dove between her legs to feel her moisture and the opening to her body. She could have sworn it was widening for him as he touched her. She spread her legs, unable to stop the instinctive gesture of need. He needed no further urging. With a swift move he was between her thighs, pushing them apart and making a place for himself, his huge cock blindly seeking its target like a lance to the quintain. Sobbing and panting now, she raised her hips in a mute plea. He grabbed his cock, steadied her hips and with a single thrust buried himself inside her, pushing and pushing until he could push no more. She was stunned into immobility, and she vainly tried to make out his face in the darkness above her. But all was shadows, blended with the stars and the filtered touch of moonlight on his hair.

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His cock filled her to overflowing, touching places that had slept for too long. He withdrew and plunged again, bringing a cry of mad joy to her lips and making her hips rise in an effort to push back, bringing him deep into her body. She gasped for air as he thrust again and again, slamming into her with force yet not quite hurting her, not quite taking her to the very edge of madness. He let his cock speak for him, of his intense desire for this coupling, and of his care in bringing her slowly to her climax. He teased and touched, and licked and nipped, all the while keeping up the steady pounding rhythm which was now driving her higher than she’d ever imagined. He smelled of horses and man and sex and the combination was lethal to her senses. She squirmed and convulsed beneath him like a wanton trollop, oblivious now to everything but the growing eruption that had begun deep in her womb. His fingers found her pearl, the little concealed nubbin that was swollen and screaming for his touch. With consummate skill he strummed it like a lute player, making her gasp out the song he was creating with his passions. She felt her buttocks tighten, and her muscles turn to stone as her vision blanked out and her toes curled. “Oh God,” she cried. “By the Saints,” he roared. They came. Together. In an unspeakably brilliant shower of explosions that rattled Constance’s teeth and sent her eyeballs rolling back into her head. It went on and on, shudders wracking her body and his, and the feel of his cock pumping his seed into her set her off again, into another round of sensual spasms that ripped her breath from her lungs and left her limp. Finally, he slipped from her, easing their bodies apart and rolling onto his side. She was shattered. She’d acted like a common whore, and let a stranger take her in the night without a word of protest. Not only had he thrust himself inside her, he’d spent his seed, and while doing so had brought her more pleasure than she’d known in the four years of her marriage. Her last thought as she drifted into an exhausted sleep was that it had been the most wonderful experience she could ever remember having.

***** Magnus awoke to unfamiliar darkness and a rather stiff neck.

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He opened his eyes and rose up on one elbow, looking around him, not knowing quite where he was or why. Then he smelled it—a light fragrance of apple blossoms mixed with a healthy dose of sex and woman. The memories flooded back, and he sat up, looking for her, but knowing deep inside that she would be gone. And she was. He cursed. Fluidly, elegantly, noisily and with great feeling. The lake beckoned, its still dark waters no threat to the man who knew it as well as he knew the back of his hand. He stumbled in, letting the cold rouse him from his sexual torpor, and bring his thoughts back to their usual organized pattern. He’d taken a woman, and relished each and every moment. Just thinking of her hot silken cunnikin sent a shaft of lust through him, and in spite of the cold lake waters, his cock stirred. Well, damnation. She’d gone and left before they had the chance to explore some other sensual games he liked to play. He doused his head and came up sputtering, chilled now as the night air evaporated the moisture from his skin. It was time to go home. God only knew what the Keep was thinking. If he didn’t get a move on they’d have search parties out, and that would be embarrassing. Caught in a post-fuck haze by his own lake, and lacking his partner. He grinned wryly at his own thoughts and dressed hurriedly, finding his horse and mounting before the droplets had fully dried from his body. He was cold, damp and dressed in his dirty riding clothes again, but a warm fire was burning in his loins. He had to find her again. What a leman she’d make. And what tumbles they could share together. He’d like to teach her so many things. He turned his horse towards Ravynne’s Keep and wondered how he could go about finding her. Perhaps Edward would be able to help. She’d not spoken, other than her cries of pleasure, but he had several clues to go on. She smelled of apple blossoms, a fragrance he knew would be forever associated with her in his mind. She had very long dark hair. Of course, so did at least half of the women in the shire, but hers was special. Silken and smooth, it had fallen across his hands like gossamer. Grinning, Magnus put his spurs to his horse. He would find her. And then the grin faded as he remembered something. Or rather someone. Mistress Anne Swann.

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***** “So who was she?” The question was barked at him as he dismounted in front of the great steps that led to Ravynne’s Keep’s main building. Magnus laughed and shook his head at the elderly man standing in the light from the hall with his hands on his hips. “Good to see you too, Edward. And that is the question of the hour.” Edward snorted. “Well, get yourself in here and let me look at you, boy.” Magnus handed his reins to a waiting stable boy and took the stairs two at a time. With arms wide, he took the old man into a bear hug, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Saints, lad, put me down. You’ll be cracking these old ribs if you carry on like that. Besides, it’s not manly.” Magnus laughed. “As if we need worry about that. As I recall, at least twelve of your bastards are currently working somewhere around Ravynne…” Edward had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. And it’s to be hoped that your night’s play didn’t add another bastard to the lists.” Magnus paused. By the Saints, he’d not pulled out of the wench. He gnawed on his lip as another bolt of lust hit his loins at the thought of how he’d felt spilling himself inside her. He’d totally surrendered to the madness of the moonlight. He never spent his seed inside a woman. He had no wish to pepper the countryside with his bastards. “Hmmm,” said Edward, narrowing his eyes beneath his white eyebrows. “I suppose we’ll have her at yon gate in a few months.” He sighed. “Getting more like your father every day.” Magnus shrugged. “It’s to be hoped not. And I need you to find out who she was for me, Edward.” The men walked through the great hall of Ravynne’s Keep as they spoke, heading by mutual consent to the steps of the circular stairwell that led to the floor above and Magnus’ chambers. A crack of laughter from Edward caught Magnus by surprise. “You didn’t find out her name? I don’t think even the old Lord was that bad.” He paused and caught Magnus’ elbow. “You did not rape the wench, Magnus?” Affronted, Magnus stopped dead. “Edward. Is that what you think of me?” Edward shook his head. “Nay, lad. I do not. But ‘tis not like you to spend time with a woman and not even learn her name. Both your father and I taught you better than that.”

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Magnus chewed his lower lip. “It was…I cannot explain, Edward. Just put it down to a bit of magic in the moonlight and leave it at that, all right? We’ll talk tomorrow. Now I’m for my bed.” Edward nodded and preceded Magnus up the staircase to a large door, which was ajar. Light and bustle was coming from within, as the servants prepared his room for their Lord’s return. With a sigh of pleasure, Magnus threw his jerkin down across a heavy chest and ripped off his shirt. There was a light repast awaiting him on a low table and he hungrily tore into the bread and cheese, washing it down with a flagon of ale from his own brewmaster. It was good to be home. He glanced around his chamber, idly noting the bare walls and floors. Spotless, but rather harsh. “Edward,” he said, looking at the older man. “Does it strike you that this Keep lacks a woman’s touch?” Edward raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s not had a woman’s touch since your sainted mother passed on. That was twelve years ago, and you’ve not mentioned it in all those years? I doubt that it’s a big problem.” Thoughts of the gracious Anne Swann returned to plague Magnus’ mind. “Well, no, in the ordinary way of things, I suppose not.” “So you’ve found a bride then. The woman from your—what was it—moonlight magic?” “Good God, no. She was probably some local strumpet.” His cock jumped a little, whether from the memory of her hot and welcoming cunnikin or in affront that it would be so insulted as to imply that it would have taken a strumpet with such pleasure, he didn’t know. And he preferred not to think about it. With a sigh, he returned to the problem at hand. “‘Twas Mistress Anne Swann, Edward. From Maltby Abbey. You mentioned the place, I went there, and…well…she’s perfect. She’ll make the ideal wife, mistress of Ravynne’s Keep, and mother of the next Ravynnes. She’s a slender, golden-haired angel.” Magnus frowned as he tried to remember exactly what shade of blonde her hair was, but visions of midnight black wet silk kept flooding his memory. By the Saints, perhaps he was bewitched. Or, more likely, he was just tired. “It will wait ‘til morning, Magnus,” said Edward fondly, resting a gnarled hand on a broad shoulder. “Take your rest, and tomorrow we’ll talk.” Magnus gratefully nodded. “I’ll need your wisdom on this, I think, my friend. And you’re right. I’m ready for my own bed this night.” But as he lay alone in the familiar darkness of his chamber, Magnus’ weary mind would allow his equally weary body no respite. 14

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Images of Mistress Anne swam hazily through his thoughts, chased away by images of a lush body, full breasts that had fit into his hands as if they were made just for him, and a mouth that welcomed him with passion and desire. His cock rose again at the remembered fragrance of apple blossoms, and he knew if she’d been next to him, he’d be pounding himself against her womb once again. Had she bewitched him? Had she put some spell on him that made him hungry for her and as randy as his youngest stable boy? He ached anew as his treacherous cock throbbed in need. He imagined for a moment that she was there, hot for him, covering him with her softness and pressing those incredible breasts against his chest. With a groan he reached for himself, knowing that sleep would never claim him with this hardness burgeoning between his legs. He wondered if his mystery wench would allow him to slip this weapon of his between her lips. Those pouty and firm lips that had opened for him so readily. He’d wanted to taste her too. To sink his face into her swollen flesh and investigate her cunny with as much of his tongue as he could push into her. His hand moved faster, as he recalled the scent and the feel of her and within a few short moments he was grunting and spilling himself for the second time this night. Only now it was over his own belly, not inside the woman with the silken hair and even silkier skin. Awkwardly, he cleaned himself, cursing his inability to control his own lusts. Finally at ease, he lowered his tired head to his pillow once more. He would find this woman. He would take her, keep her for a while perhaps, and get her out of his system. Then he would wed Mistress Anne Swann. They would have perfect golden children together. His mind dwelt on the future, and with visions of a horde of young ones galloping through his fields, Magnus slipped into sleep, vaguely wondering why those children all had black hair.

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Chapter 3 In spite of his late night, Magnus was up and around betimes the following day. The sun had barely risen above the forests surrounding Ravynne’s Keep when Magnus broke his fast with a goblet of watered wine and some bread in his chambers, and then dressed, eager to reacquaint himself with his home after three long months away. Emerging from his rooms, he glanced along the corridors from which the other chambers branched and smiled as he noted that all was in order. Servants were busy with their duties, sluicing the garderobes, sweeping the floors, and keeping his world tidy. Then he noticed something untoward. The door to what used to be his mother’s Solar was ajar, and light was coming from within. He walked quietly down the passage to investigate. His memories harked back to the times he’d spent as a boy in this chamber with his mother, listening to her stories and watching her as she sewed, created her tapestries, wrote voluminous notes in her ledgers, and laughed with him as he told her of his day’s adventures. In truth, she had been a woman out of the ordinary, a woman whose knowledge and education had far surpassed any he’d known. Few women could read, and even fewer participated in the day-to-day running of an estate such as Ravynne. But his father had loved her to distraction, forbidding her nothing, and treating her as a valued advisor and companion as well as a lover and the mother of his son. It had been their earnest wish to have more children, and she had never raised her voice against the old Lord, even when word of his bastards filtered through the chain of gossips to her door. Magnus knew she’d felt herself responsible for the absence of other legitimate Ravynnes, and he had tried to fulfill the role of eldest son in the best way he knew how, for her, and of course for the dominant presence that was his father. A fleeting thought crossed his mind. How could his father have loved her so much and yet succumbed to the lure of other women? Would he be the same with Mistress Anne? Bedding her, making her large with his child, and then going off to fuck wherever and whomever he chose? A touch of distaste disturbed his thoughts. He hoped in this one instance, he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. He gingerly pushed the door open, and stood there in amazement. Instead of the dark room with little in the way of furnishings, this was now a bright and sunny chamber.

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The rough wooden floors had been covered with tightly shorn animal skins, and the bed had been furbished with new hangings, coverlets and a couple of longhaired furs tossed over the bedding. A tapestry frame stood to one side, near the large fireplace, and he could see that a new tapestry was well underway. Chests ranged around the sides of the room, and the oriel window had been reglazed and was open to let in the fresh air along with the sunshine. Fresh herbs must have been scattered somewhere, for the room was redolent with the fragrance of lavender, lilacs and something else…something that could have been apple blossoms. His mind blurred for a moment, then cleared. Someone was using this room, obviously. But who? That was the question. There was one person who could answer it. He strode from the empty room and hurried down the narrow stone staircase leading to the great hall. Edward had some explaining to do. And the Steward himself was only too happy to converse with his young Lord, but their words didn’t go exactly as Magnus had intended. “So when are you going to wed the wench? Mistress Swann?” Magnus’ feet had barely touched the floor of the great hall when Edward was upon him. “I…well…and good morrow to you too. I slept well, thank you. Did you enjoy a good night’s rest?” “Don’t shilly-shally around with me, boy. We need to make plans. Is she able to bear your get? Does she bring any dowry?” Edward plunked himself firmly down in one of the large chairs by the empty fireplace and pointed at the other, with a fierce frown creasing his brow. Magnus, used to such displays, grinned and sprawled in the matching chair. “Edward, it’s a wonder my father didn’t spear you like a wild boar if you did this to him first thing every morning.” Edward snorted. “Ravynne’s Keep is a heavy responsibility, lad. It requires constant work and attention, all of which are for your benefit, I might add. While you’ve been lazing away a good portion of this day, I’ve been working myself to the bone in your service.” Magnus chuckled, not taken in for a minute. Every single thing Edward did, he did because he loved the place and the people, and would have laid down his life for it. “Well…” Magnus leaned back and settled his leg over the arm of the chair more comfortably. “I have yet to formally request Mistress Swann’s hand in marriage. It’s my understanding that the Swanns will be traveling this way to visit family shortly, and her father and I discussed the possibility of them breaking their journey here. He probably guessed that, all being well, I’ll suggest the alliance at that time.” Edward ran his teeth over his lower lip. “So she’s your heart’s desire, lad, is she?” 17

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A vision of black hair and golden skin shimmered over Magnus’ brain. “Heart’s desire? What romantic nonsense is this, Edward? She’s an ideal wife for me and will make an excellent Mistress for Ravynne’s Keep. Theirs is a large family, so I see no problem in fathering children on her.” Edward was silent for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. His shoulders rose and fell beneath the dark fabric of his jerkin. “Magnus, you know your father loved your mother.” Magnus blinked. “Well, of course.” “There is an old saying that love must be present for Ravynne’s Keep to hold strong. And in truth, when Ravynne Lords have married for gain not for love, troubled times have followed.” Magnus frowned. “Stories for maidens, Edward. I have heard no such legends.” “It’s only mentioned at such time as the Lord considers a marriage. It was told to me by my grandfather and I told your father the same thing before he wed your mother. Of course, he ignored me too, but he was blessed. From the day he met her, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Damn near insane to bed her, he was. The love was there, Magnus. Never think otherwise.” Magnus straightened slightly. “And I’m sure Mistress Swann and I will find the same happiness, Edward.” Edward sighed. “Well then. We should prepare.” Magnus glanced around the room. “I wanted to talk to you about that. This place…Ravynne’s Keep…the hall here, they’re all—what’s the word I’m searching for— austere.” Edward raised an eyebrow. “They’re clean and functional, and have housed this family well, but since Mother died, they’ve become less welcoming, less…homelike. Colder and harsher, somehow.” He paused, thinking of the elegance of Mistress Swann’s residence, and, suddenly, of the warmth he’d felt in his mother’s Solar. “We need to make changes, Edward. Before the Swanns arrive. I need some woman to add those touches to Ravynne’s Keep that will make it a gracious castle and not just a Keep, more fit for knights than their ladies. Do you understand?” Edward nodded thoughtfully, a gleam in his eye. “I do indeed, my Lord. And how do you suggest we do this?” “Well, perhaps there are some women, tenants or servants maybe, who have traveled with other families, someone who would be able to advise us on how to go on…” Magnus trailed off as he noticed a smile barely quirking the corner of his Steward’s normally forbidding mouth. “You have a plan, Edward. I can see it.”

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Edward rose and crossed the room to a servant who was freshening the rushes beneath the large wooden dining table. He whispered something and the servant nodded and left. Edward returned to Magnus. “As it happens, lad, I have just the solution to your request. While you were gone, a relative of mine arrived here, and requested permission to stay a little while. She…” “You put her in the Solar, didn’t you?” asked Magnus, interrupting. “Damn you, lad, haven’t I taught you to keep a civil tongue in your head and not interrupt others?” Magnus looked suitably apologetic, suddenly feeling about seven years old. “Yes, I put her in the Solar. She is a distant connection of my sister’s, and I’ve always looked upon her as my niece, although there are few, if any, blood ties between us.” Edward paced slowly up and down as he spoke. “She was married young to an older knight. She had no land to bring with her to the match, her dowry was in more portable riches, jewels and the like. They lived at his castle for four years before he felt the urge to go off and fight, and managed to get himself spiked by his enemies during the battle. Their marriage had not been fruitful, and the castle went to his son by his first marriage, leaving her at loose ends.” Magnus nodded, knowing well that women had the most to lose from these marriages of convenience. “She has wealth,” continued Edward, “and could have settled in any one of the small homes that dotted her husband’s property. But her desire was to travel, to find her own way and her own independence, and for this I respect her enormously.” Magnus listened, interested at Edward’s praise of this woman. His Steward was not a man to give such praise lightly. “And so she is here?” Edward nodded. “She arrived scarcely a week after you left. It was not her intention to take up residence here permanently, but simply to visit for a short while, subject to your permission. She and I have some shared memories, and it has been pleasant spending time with her and reminiscing. Of course, if you want her gone…” Magnus waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t be absurd. Any relative of yours is always welcome at Ravynne. You know that.” “Well, it occurs to me that she is the ideal person to advise you on how to turn the Keep into a Bower.” Magnus snorted as Edward’s lip curled scornfully. “Neither of us knows frills and furbelows, or how to make a silk purse out of a cow’s udder. Perhaps she can be of use while she’s here?” Edward looked over Magnus’ chair and beyond to the stairs. “And perhaps it’s time for you to make her acquaintance.” Magnus rose, stretching to his full height as he turned.

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A woman stood on the bottom step. She was of moderate height, and her figure was cloaked in kirtle and overtunic of some dark stuff, embroidered heavily with silks in many different colors. A white veil was secured to her head by a rolled band of dark fabric, and the ends of the veil passed beneath her chin to fasten above her ears. Her features were calm, her expression tranquil. Edward beckoned her forward with one of his rare smiles. “Magnus, here she is. May I introduce Lady Constance Atherton?”

***** Constance felt certain her feet were frozen to the floor. It was him. There was no doubt in her mind. Although she’d not seen his features clearly when he’d claimed her body and her soul, she knew without question that this was the man who had sent her into a whirlwind of ecstasy. His hair, his stature, the low rumble of his voice…by Saint Beatrice, she could almost smell him. What to do? Where to go? To run? To hide? To pack up and leave as fast as she could before he came to the same conclusion? Edward was holding out his hand to her, encouraging her to come forward. There were no real choices to be made. She would have to see this through, and pray he didn’t recognize her. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, she made her way to the two men, schooling her features to reflect none of the turbulence that made her want to seek the nearest garderobe and vomit. “Magnus, Lady Constance is indeed using the Solar at the moment, and I believe you’ll find that recommendation enough for her abilities to help you in your project.” Her attention was caught. He needed her help? “Lady, it’s an honor,” said Lord Magnus, formally accepting her outstretched hand and barely touching it with his lips. She curtsied, trying for balance and elegance in spite of the trembling knees hidden beneath her skirts. “My Lord,” she replied, voice low but thankfully firm. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for your hospitality.” “It seems that we have found a way for you to repay that debt, Lady,” smiled Magnus. Oh the man could smile.

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Constance stared at his handsome face, blue eyes twinkling down at her from beneath strong brows, white teeth glinting, lips curved in a grin. And oh, those lips. She knew only too well how they felt, how they tasted, and how much she yearned to feel and taste them again. “How may I render assistance, my Lord?” she asked, fighting the urge to tell him exactly how he could render her assistance. For at least the next few hours. “We need your feminine wisdom, my Lady.” She raised one eyebrow in question. “‘Tis true, Constance-lass,” grinned Edward, looking affectionately at her. “His Lordship here is to take a wife. This wife would not, in his Lordship’s opinion, enjoy finding the Keep as it is now, but would prefer something a little less—what was that word? Austere?” Magnus nodded. Constance felt her heart splatter on the stone floor at her feet. He was to wed. Well, damn it all to the darkest depths of Purgatory. She squared her shoulders and kept her voice cool. “I’m sure there must be others better qualified than I to take on such a task, my Lord, Uncle Edward. I know naught of the lady who is to be Mistress of Ravynne. Not her tastes, her preferences…mayhap she would prefer to accomplish such things herself…” “Nonsense, Lady,” interjected Magnus. “You are a woman of taste, I can tell…” he grinned apologetically. “I peeked into the Solar earlier. You have excellent taste. You have traveled, managed a castle, from what Edward tells me, and have all the attributes necessary to be my advisor in such things. And it’s of no matter what Mistress Swann likes or dislikes, she can take care of such stuff herself. My goal is to attain an elegant and welcoming appearance for Ravynne’s Keep. One that will insure her approval.” Constance blinked at this little speech. No matter what his bride liked? It didn’t sound like much of a love match, that was for certain. She turned to Edward. “And your opinion, Uncle Edward?” He was silent for a moment, watching the two of them. “My opinion? Well, not that Magnus here gives a rat’s arse for it, but I think you two will work well together. Very well. So get to it. The day is half-wasted already.” And on that gruff note, he spun on his heel and marched from the hall.

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Chapter 4 Well, damn Edward, thought Magnus, staring down at the woman in front of him. Now what was he supposed to do? “Perhaps if you’d care to tell me what sorts of things you’d like to see in the Keep, my Lord?” she asked, her voice pleasingly gentle. “I understood you to say you’d seen the Solar and graciously approved the additions Uncle Edward permitted.” Magnus nodded and moved towards her. She moved back. He took another step, piqued by her reluctance to come too close. Women usually did the reverse where he was concerned. “I would say the Solar is a good place to start, Lady Constance. If you wouldn’t mind?” He waved his arm for her to precede him up the stairs and managed to close the distance between them as she turned away. It was with great difficulty that he stopped himself from stumbling as he neared her. That scent. Redolent of apple blossom, it wafted from her like a faint cloud and sent shivers of desire running to his loins. Was it likely that every damn woman he was fated to meet wore the same fragrance? Or was it remotely possible… He slowed his pace, taking his first good long look at the woman striding the stairs ahead of him. She was of a fair height, and carried herself well, but of her figure he could detect little, thanks to the obscuring folds of her clothing. Her hair was hidden beneath the light but opaque veil that swirled around her face, and he hadn’t thought to look at her features with any degree of intensity. Her backside swayed above him as she trod the stairs, and she slowed, sensing his presence behind her. She glanced back at him and the light struck sparks from her hazel eyes, turning them for an instant into the golden-green of an early spring field. By the Saints, even if he’d never touched this woman before, she was doubtless attractive. But as he followed her up the steps, Magnus became more and more convinced that it must be the woman from the lake. It all added up. 22

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She would have access to his property and would have lived there a sufficient amount of time to find his private lake. She was no shy virgin, unskilled in lovemaking yet looking to expand her knowledge. No, she was a woman secure in her own desires and her ability to enjoy the act, even match his passions with her own. And she could have fled back to the Keep on foot, thus vanishing from his side as he slept. And above all, there was her scent. The fragrance she left behind her that delicately swirled up his nostrils as he mounted the stairs in her wake. He could close his eyes and breathe it in, much as he had done when he was buried to the hilt inside her. She was, unquestionably, the woman he’d fucked with such joyous abandon. She was also the woman who had pulled him even deeper with her legs behind his backside, who had moaned out her pleasure and then cried with joy as she’d climaxed around the hardness of his cock and squeezed him into traveling to oblivion with her. And she was treating him like a complete stranger. That would never do. Magnus Ravynne, Lord of Ravynne’s Keep, knew a challenge when he saw one and Lady Constance Atherton was a challenge. One he intended to master.

***** She could feel his eyes on her backside. Literally feel the heat of his gaze as she preceded him up the circling steps to the hallway leading to the residential chambers. Her soft slippers made no sound, so she was very aware of the thud of his boots as he followed her, and the silken swish of her skirts as she carefully lifted them before each step. Why did this man affect her like this? Granted she’d lain with him and cried out beneath him, but it was naught but a momentary lapse in judgment on her part, and a natural instinct on his. The coming together of man and woman in a basic coupling that should have meant no more than the mutual fulfillment of the need to mate. They were both adults, and she was a widow. Neither were immature nor possessed of anything other than the need to enjoy each other’s bodies. So why was she so intensely aware of his body behind hers, his eyes as they swept her backside, and even the heat radiating from him which felt like a hand caressing her? She suppressed a tremble and led him to the door of the Solar.

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There she paused, waiting for him to enter the room first, wondering what he wanted her to do for the castle. Needing to catch her breath without him behind her where she couldn’t see him. And above all, aware of his forthcoming marriage. But he politely ushered her in before him, and once again she turned away, knowing that her back was to him and his eyes unreadable. Damn the man. He was putting her on the defensive and they’d spoken barely a word to each other. Magnus closed the door behind them and the large room suddenly shrank as his presence filled it. Nervously, Constance crossed to the window and sat in her favorite place, a padded seat next to the embrasure. She watched as he strolled around the room, examining the hangings Edward had found for her to cover the walls, and bending to touch the furs that lay on her bed. The curtains were tied back with cord now, revealing the bed in all its softness. She blushed, for some completely unknown reason, at the sight of his fingers stroking the fur. She recalled how his hands had felt as they stroked her own curly pelt between her legs, and her nipples beaded beneath her kirtle. He was radiating a sexuality that was finding a responsive audience in the depths of her body, and it was most unnerving. She took the opportunity to study him from beneath her lashes. Very tall and wellbuilt, as behooved a knight of renown. Those shoulders had been earned beneath the weight of his sword and the incredible stresses of battling in armor and mail. Yet the overall appearance was not wholly muscular, being tempered with a goodly length of leg, showing firm thighs and nicely turned calves. He was clad now in soft wool braies, which clung to him, showing every line and twist as he moved around the room. He clearly was no follower of courtly fashion, as he disdained the codpiece that was beginning to become essential for men of a certain wealth and dignity. His waist was supple, his movements sure. His hair brushed his shoulders, shining now from his recent bath, and it was a burnished mahogany in the sunlight. His intensely blue eyes were focused and assessing as he completed his tour of the Solar. “Lady, I compliment you. This room has all the marks of a comfortable place of rest and leisure, fit for the finest hands.” Constance nodded, not trusting her voice yet, and not quite sure how to answer such a pleasing phrase. “I will give you complete freedom. You may ransack my storage lofts, raid my treasury, and conscript my servants. Take whatever you need.” He drew a breath, and glanced around him once more. 24

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“Just bring your touch of elegance to my Keep. Turn it into a welcoming place like this room. A place fit for…” “Your bride?” Constance couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. She knew it was wrong, inappropriate, and no business of hers. But the thought of this man, whom she had known so intimately, lying with another, raised a small flame of anger deep within her breast. He nodded, and crossed to her tapestry frame, distracted from her words as the sunlight brushed glittering fingers across its surface. Quickly, she rose. “So, my Lord, you’d wish me to work on all the chambers? Or just the great hall?” She turned his attention back to herself and slipped between him and the tapestry. “Just the great hall to start, I think,” he murmured, trying to see over her shoulder. “And perhaps the Lord’s chamber.” He tried to see over the other shoulder. Constance moved casually to intercept his gaze. “Lady, it would appear you have some skill with the needle. May I not be permitted to view your work?” Constance’s heart tripled its rhythm. “Nay, my Lord. I cannot think that you’d be interested in a simple piece of needlework. Besides, my skills are commonplace, I assure you.” Magnus’ jaw firmed. “I doubt that anything about you is commonplace, Lady Constance.” With a swift move, he grasped her waist, lifted her, swung her to the side and plopped her down on her feet again, before she’d had time to do more than draw a breath. By Saint Beatrice. He was going to look at her tapestry. Damn him. She should have had the wisdom to hide the bloody thing when she wasn’t working on it. He bent over, examining the design, and made a slight sound. Hell and Purgatory. It was too late now.

***** Magnus leaned closer, eyeing the tapestry, and blinking. He wasn’t quite sure he’d seen what he thought he’d seen. She hovered around him, fussing, trying to distract him. It was working on some levels but not on others. He knew she was there. He could sense her, scent her, feel her body close to him. He was pretty certain he could hear the silk as it slipped over her skin and he was

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having a very hard time keeping his cock under control. He was none too sure that the length of his jerkin would conceal the length of his lust. But his mind concentrated on this tapestry, which she had tried so hard to ignore. There was a thick border already worked, several inches of ornate decoration, interspersed with the touches of golden thread that had first caught his eye. Words had been woven into the design, subtle and beautifully blended—but words, nevertheless. And in Latin, too. “Aspicio Amor,” he read aloud. He flashed a quick glance at the woman standing nervously next to him. She was blushing, a deep fiery red spreading from her neck over her complexion to her brow. She held her hands against her cheeks and turned away from him. He looked down again. “A Look at Passion,” he muttered quietly. He traced the already-worked design with careful fingers. Beneath the border was a glorious tree, vividly alive with various shades of green. He bent closer. There—there in the leaves, cunningly and intricately blended, was the figure of a woman, one hand on her breast, one hand between her legs and a look of bliss on her face as she lay on a branch with her eyes closed. He drew back. It was completely undetectable unless one was looking for it. His eye traveled to the green fields and the barn that was taking shape on the taut fabric. The barn contained a tumble of hay, and sure enough, when he lowered his head close to the stitching, once again he found an erotic illustration. This time it depicted a couple, making love in the hay, her legs wrapped around his waist and his back arched as he plunged deeply into her. He would have had to be looking very closely indeed to spot it, so cleverly had the stitches been arranged within the rest of the picture. He hissed out a breath between his teeth, feeling his cock throbbing against his thigh. “Lady, to describe your skill as commonplace is to do you a great disservice.” He turned to find her back facing him, as she was apparently staring intently at something through the window. He saw her shoulders straighten. “May I inquire as to the purpose of this piece? It is, on the surface, a lovely work, but I detect that there are secrets lurking within its stitches…” Lady Constance whirled around on him, face still flushed, but this time with no embarrassment or hesitation in her gaze. “And that, Lord Magnus, is just the problem.” She strode to her tapestry frame and waved a hand across it. “Secrets. Hidden secrets. Do you have any idea what kind of instruction is given to a girl before she’s shipped off to wed?” Magnus shook his head cautiously.

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“None. Absolutely none.” Constance paced the floors. “Most girls are barely into womanhood when they’re given—or sold—to some man as his wife. They’re told that their husbands will educate them on their duties. Well, splendid. Do you know what they too often get?” Again, Magnus held his tongue and shrugged slightly, wondering where this discourse was leading. “They get a man who has no clue about the fragility of a virgin. They get a man who thinks that all he needs to do is to stick his…his cock in his wife, deposit his seed, and his job is done. Heaven forbid his wife should demand anything more from the experience. Like tenderness, or touching, or anything that might convince her that this coupling could be pleasurable.” Constance snapped her mouth shut, and frowned. “For some unknown reason, men seem to think that their wives are so gently bred that to offer them pleasure in the marital bed would be to dishonor them. Such acts are restricted to the local whore, who has a damn sight more fun with the husband than the wife does. This, from my way of thinking, is wrong.” “And you intend to correct the situation with…this?” asked Magnus, waving his hand at the tapestry. “I intend to suggest to anyone who takes a closer look, that lovemaking between a man and a woman can be not only pleasurable, but exquisite. Something to be anticipated, enjoyed, perhaps even treasured, when both parties have a better knowledge of such things.” Magnus caught her hazel gaze and held it with his own, watching as the realization of what she’d said took hold of her senses. “You mean like we did?”

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Chapter 5 “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words of denial leapt from Constance’s mouth before she could think of a better way to refute his suggestion. It was utterly impossible for her to admit to this stunningly handsome man that she had willingly lain with him, welcomed him into her body, and tightened around him like a well-made gauntlet. She turned her face away, unable to complete the lie by staring him down, much as she would have liked to. “Lady Constance, remove your chaplet and your veil,” he said. “What?” “Do as I say.” He was nearer now, his voice lowering, his presence making her senses swim. “Remove it.” “I will not.” “Lady, do it yourself, or I’ll summon the servants and have them hold you while I do it. This is my Keep. I am its Lord. Remove your chaplet.” There was no doubt in Constance’s mind that he meant every word he said. But somehow, she was not afraid. The threat she heard in his voice was not violent—it was sensual. And damn her body to the grave of Saint Beatrice, she was responding to each and every nuance, every breath, every soft intonation. If he kept this up she’d be taking off a damn sight more than her chaplet. Slowly, she raised her hands, keeping her back to him. With deft fingers she unhooked the veil and lifted the padded fabric chaplet that held it in place. Both veil and chaplet tumbled from her fingers to puddle on the floor. She heard his breath tighten in his lungs as her head was bared before him, and within seconds she felt his hands withdrawing the pins from the neat coil of hair that rested at the back of her neck. Her black braid fell free, down the length of her spine to brush her buttocks. There was silence in the Solar for long moments, and Constance waited, until she wanted to scream at him to say or do something, anything. His touch, when it came, was almost a relief. He grasped her braid and tugged her gently backwards, pulling steadily until she came to rest on his solid body. “Lady, you are a very poor liar,” he whispered, leaning so that his lips were mere breaths from her ear. “I remember the women I take. I remember their taste…” His 28

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tongue flicked out and circled her lobe, making her shiver. “I remember their scent…” He tugged her head backwards, exposing her throat, and buried his nose beneath her jaw. “And above all, I remember how they feel.” He slipped his free hand around and beneath her over-tunic, slipping upwards until he cradled one full breast. He moved them even closer, and Constance could feel his hardness growing now against her buttocks, in spite of the fabric that separated them. This was truly a man to be reckoned with. He was demolishing her defenses and breaching her soul with his words and his touches. She dared not let down her guard. “You are bold, Lord Magnus,” she hissed, through clenched teeth. “Taking advantage of a defenseless woman. My word. Such valor.” His chest rumbled with his laughter. “Defenseless? I think not, Lady Constance.” His hand tightened around her breast and her traitorous nipple solidified into a granite lump of sensation beneath his seeking fingertips. “You possess more weapons than most of the knights who have ridden at my side into battle.” His tongue traced a slow path along the tendon in her neck and she gasped at the pleasure of it. “You mock me, Sir,” she choked. She battled the urge to tilt her head and give him better access. “Indeed not, Lady.” His fingers tightened around her nipple, pulling and tugging it into a state of exquisite hardness. “Are these not sharper than any dagger a soldier might wield against an adversary? Pointed enough to breach his armor and reach the man beneath?” His hand slipped down from her breast across her belly. “Are these curves not dangerous enough to lure a man from his path and into the hidden valley of danger?” He traced his way to the dip between her thighs and pressed the fabric of her dress roughly against her now-swollen softness. “And isn’t this valley deep enough to encourage the most noble of knights to enter its darkness and run the risk of losing himself within?” She sighed with pleasure as he stroked her, feeling her moisture flow beneath his touch and her legs spread in invitation. He tugged more forcefully on her braid, twisting her head around so that he could see her face. She resolutely closed her eyes, unwilling to take the chance that his eyes might be laughing at her. This was too close, too personal, too…everything for her to run the risk of seeing that it was all a game to him. “And though you shutter those eyes, do they not fire heat into a man’s loins with a single glance? Hotter than the fieriest arrow ever used in a siege…” He dropped light kisses on her eyelids, drawing a hesitant sound from her throat.

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“Would these lips not suck the very essence of a bold warrior from his body, the way a wound leaches the blood from his veins?” Suiting words to action he lowered his mouth to hers. Constance was lost. His discourse had heated her, stoked her inner furnace to the point where she was ready to explode beneath the onslaught of sensation he was causing. She sighed into his mouth and welcomed his tongue as it stabbed demandingly between her lips. Somebody groaned, but Constance had no idea who it was, so involved were they both in the embrace. She wanted nothing more than to strip him naked and sate her needs with his fine body and that stupendous cock that she could feel jabbing against her buttocks. And then what? The thought shot through her mind like cold water, recalling her to her surroundings. She pulled away, hating to lose the warmth of his mouth, but knowing it was imperative that she retain some control over this flammable situation, which could turn wanton in seconds. She thrust her buttocks back against him, daringly. “It would seem that you are not without weapons of your own, my Lord. Is that not a mighty lance threatening my welfare?” He grinned, a sweep-a-woman-off-her-feet sort of grin. Constance reminded herself to keep her slippers firmly on the floor. “‘Tis only a threat of pleasure, my sweet,” he quipped, rubbing his groin suggestively against her. She stepped carefully away, and he released his grip on her braid. “I’m sure the pleasure would be as mighty as the weapon, my Lord. But you forget something.” He raised an eyebrow, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy. By Saint Beatrice he was a sensual man on so many levels. “You are to be wed. I am to prepare your Keep to welcome your bride. Surely such lustful ‘weaponry’ should best be kept for that occasion.” Magnus narrowed his gaze at her. “I would not want it to become rusty through lack of use.” “Then polish it yourself, my Lord. I understand that will provide a satisfactory— shine?” Magnus tipped back his head and laughed aloud. “A wit. Lady, your tongue is every bit as sharp as my sword.” His lips curled, making her want to pull them to her aching breasts and have him suckle her for about a week or so. “But I would prefer you test your wicked blade along the length of mine…” She shuddered at the images his teasing words evoked. To touch him, taste him like that. How entrancing such a thing would be. And how sinful.

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As if he could read her thoughts, Magnus neared her again. “Think on it, Lady. Would it not make a fine image for your tapestry?”

***** And there it was. The key to the situation that Magnus’ busy mind had been searching for throughout his verbal seduction of this woman who played hell with his resolutions and brought his cock to an amazing state of hardness with just her scent. “You want to embroider an…an instruction manual, if I understand you correctly. To show how it can be between a man and a woman when both are educated and aware of the possibilities. Am I correct?” Lady Constance gave him a slight nod, eyeing him warily. “And for my part, I require you to work hard on my Keep, creating an elegant residence from a pile of rather ugly stone.” His innate sense of discretion warned him that now was not the time to mention his upcoming nuptials. Seducing one woman while talking about another was simply unacceptable in his book, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it might earn him a blade between the ribs from Constance. “I suggest a bargain between us.” “A bargain?” Magnus caught the hint of curiosity in the back of her eyes, and quelled a triumphant smirk. “A bargain. In exchange for the work you will be called upon to do over the next few weeks, I shall offer myself as a volunteer each night, and together we can investigate more possibilities for your tapestry.” She drew her brows together suspiciously. “You will ‘offer’ yourself? That sounds enormously generous of you, my Lord.” She puckered her lips in a little moue of disbelief. “So in exchange for my services, I am to come to your bed each night and sport with you, thereby adding something new in the way of illustrations for my tapestry.” She snorted. “Forgive me if I don’t quite see where the advantages to me lie in this ‘bargain’ you would make.” Magnus’ mind churned. He was too damned close to what he wanted to give up now. “The advantages? Why, Lady, think this through. You have at your disposal a healthy, able knight, willing to do your bidding and pleasure you in as many ways as possible. And there are lots of ways…” Mindful of her earlier response to his touches, Magnus reached for her hand. Absently, she let him take it and raise it to his lips. “Have you ever ridden, Constance?”

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She blinked, caught by surprise as he casually used her given name. “Of course. I have my own palfrey stabled in the outer bailey.” Magnus’ lips curved sensually. “That’s not what I meant.” She stared at him, completely lost now at his train of conversation. “I don’t understand you, my Lord.” “When a woman rides a horse, it moves beneath her and takes her from one place to another. When she rides a man, he moves beneath her and takes her to a magical place no palfrey could reach.” Constance mulled over his words, then felt the blush begin as she realized the implications. He gave her no quarter. “Have you ever polished a floor, Constance? Ever been on your hands and knees with your beautiful arse thrust into the air?” His lips were brushing her knuckles now, to and fro in a mesmerizing rhythm that had her spellbound. “Imagine, Lady, were you to be in that position, but not to work, oh no. Instead, you’d feel the heat of a man against your thighs as he sought entrance to your sweet cunnikin from behind…” “Like an animal?” she gasped. “Oh, yes and so much more. It’s animalistic all right, but it’s also powerful and exciting, and it lets a man touch something deep inside a woman, something so pleasurable she can scream and sob and soak his cock with her body’s tears.” Constance sensed that she was fighting a losing battle. Magnus’ words were evoking images in her brain that threatened to send that organ boiling over and dripping from her ears. “You have knowledge of the marriage bed, Lady Constance. The act of passion between a man and a woman is not foreign to you. You wish to improve the lot of other women who might need such knowledge. You have been a wife.” He paused and stared at her, the startling blue of his eyes reflecting the sunlight from outside and sending it back like twin beams from the bottom of a magical ocean. “But have you truly been a woman?” Constance’s mind reeled, and her body throbbed as his words aroused her senses. She was scared to close her eyes, lest she see visions of the two of them, naked and writhing in the positions he’d described. Oh how she wanted it. How she wanted him. A loud cough made them both jump and Magnus turned with a snarl to see a servant cowering in the doorway. “Forgive me, my Lord,” he said nervously. “Sir Edward requests your presence in the bailey…something about discussing the work that needs to be done?” Magnus nodded abruptly.

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Constance dragged her hand from his, thankful for the reprieve. “My Lord, I would that you leave me now. I have work, as do you.” Magnus’ face fell into unrevealing lines. “And our bargain?” Constance drew a breath. “I…I need time. Time to consider the advantages and disadvantages of your offer.” “Constance…” he said hesitantly. “Know this. If there were to be a child…if that is what’s worrying you…” She snorted. “No, my Lord. That is not one of my worries. I failed to produce an heir through four years of marriage to my husband. He had sired a son on his previous wife, so it was quite obvious that my womb was barren. Bearing a child is the least of my worries.” If he only knew what her worries were. If she only knew what they were. But perhaps she did and was just afraid to admit them, even to herself. “I repeat, my Lord. I need time to think on this.” She raised her chin and glared defiantly at him. “Very well, Lady. I will respect your wishes.” He bowed elegantly, and left her, pausing at the door. “You have ‘til sunset.”

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Chapter 6 Magnus wondered if time was passing as slowly for Constance as it was for him. His day alternated between bouts of hard labor and periods of annoying idleness, during which times he did nothing but fight his arousal and try and hide the front of his breeches. By the Saints, he wanted that woman in his bed this night. And he wanted her willing too. Thankfully, Edward summoned him before his cock could embarrass him further. Ravynne’s Keep was a tidy property, and Magnus loved it. He’d been gone for three months, which was no great length compared to some Lords, who would journey for years on one quest or another. But to Magnus, this was his home, and to be away for a quarter of the year was to be away too long. He prided himself on knowing his tenants by name, and on keeping their housing within the bailey snug and weather tight. It was his considered opinion that these were the real holders of Ravynne’s Keep. The people who lived and loved and worked and laughed within its huge stone walls. Originally a wooden castle built on a motte, Ravynne’s Keep had been converted to the dark gray stone of the area by one of Magnus’ forebears. The walls of the outer bailey, the barbican, and the Keep itself were almost forbidding in their stone shielding, but once through the portcullis, the Keep teemed with the busy lives of those within. Many of the wooden structures that had housed tenants for uncounted generations still stood, and homes had been created from the earliest stables and now ringed the inner bailey. Here, the families that tended the land and the livestock lived in relative comfort, along with the workers, blacksmiths, stablehands, and others whose contributions to Ravynne’s Keep were vital. Magnus had been raised to regard this community as part of his extended family. His responsibilities included their care and protection, along with the continual attention to every detail of the Keep. Edward had wholeheartedly supported the old Lord’s views, and consequently, Magnus thought nothing of knowing the names of the tenants, their wives, their children, and when a new one was due. The affection in which he held his estate was reciprocated, and there were many who left their homes and their tasks to come out and welcome the Lord home on this sunny morning.

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He had been cheered, smiled at, curtsied to, and slapped on the back by the blacksmith, whose brawny arms had nearly knocked him across the forge. He’d admired the new member of Thomas John’s family, who looked amazingly like Thomas himself, having been born with an equally unkempt tuft of bright red hair. He’d tried some of the fresh milk to the delight of three giggling dairymaids, and discussed the pros and cons of his stable with his Master of the Horse, who’d admired the new destrier Magnus had purchased on his travels, and had nothing but praise for the neat palfrey that was tossing her head over the stable doors as Magnus passed. “Right lovely lass, that,” murmured the man respectfully. “Like Lady Constance herself.” It was yet another word of praise for Magnus’ guest, and the one thing that he’d noticed all day. No matter where he went or whom he spoke to, all had a kind word or a message for the Lady in question. “If you’d be kind enough, my Lord, please tell Lady Constance that her physik worked?” “My Lord, our thanks go to Lady Constance for the blanket, our lad is sleeping much better now.” “Lady Constance suggested we move that slightly, and it’s helped us when it rains…” His head was spinning after several hours of this, and he realized that Edward was quietly smiling at his side. They rested for a moment and tore into the bread and ale that they’d received from Mistress Leigh’s cottage as they’d visited. She too had asked to be remembered to the Lady. “I know she’ll be by later, my Lord, but such a sweet lass she is. Brought me all kinds of liniment for my back when it ached bad…” Mistress Leigh had been in the corner home for as long as Magnus could remember, and probably before that. It was rumored that she was his grandfather’s whore, but no one, looking at the elderly and now toothless dame, would mention such a thing. He’d had nothing but kindness from her his entire life, and knew her as unfailingly honest, shrewd, and the maker of the best pies he’d ever tasted in his childhood. His mouth watered even now as he remembered the blackberry and apple confection she’d plied him with when he’d stolen away from his tutor for an hour’s freedom. Of course, his mouth watered even more at the thought of the Lady to whom Mistress Leigh had sent her greetings. “It would seem, Edward, that Lady Constance has made her presence felt during my absence,” he said around a mouthful of bread. Edward simply raised an eyebrow. “Of course. You’d not expect a Lady to neglect those with whom she’s staying? Constance was raised to be the mistress of just such a

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Keep as this. She would be unable to not act that way. It’s in her bones, lad. As, I devoutly hope, it’s in the bones of your future bride.” A cloud floated across the sun, and sent a little chill dancing down Magnus’ spine. It was echoed by the shiver in his body. Suddenly, the memory of Mistress Anne Swann intruded. She had barely allowed him to touch her hand, and he remembered how abruptly she’d dismissed her companion. He thought nothing of it at the time, but now, faced with the high regard held for Lady Constance by his household and his Keep, he found himself comparing the two women. Mistress Swann did not fare well from such a comparison. He’d noticed no pleasure on the faces of her maids, her servants had failed to meet her eyes, or his for that matter, and Maltby Abbey was efficiently but formally managed, with none of the human warmth he’d just experienced. No one had come from their homes to greet Mistress Swann as they’d walked to the orchard together. But he’d bet his best saddle that if Lady Constance were to put in an appearance, she’d be surrounded by his people within minutes. He chewed on his lower lip. “Picking a bride is a difficult matter, lad.” Edward was watching him closely. “It’s time you did, but by the Saints you’d better make sure your decision is the right one. No Ravynne has ever dissolved a marriage, and god willing your wife survives the birth of your children, you’ll be lying with her for the rest of your life.” Magnus took a long draught of ale and swiped his hand across his lips. “Do not think I’m not aware of that fact, Edward.” His conscience niggled him. “Lady Constance is a fair wench. I am surprised she’s not remarried.” He missed the quick grin that swept over Edward’s countenance. “She’s a feisty one. There’s no telling that girl what she should or should not do. Always been of her own mind, she has. It was my opinion that she should never have been forced to wed Atherton, although I’ll say this much for him, he treated her pretty well.” “Hmm. Atherton…I don’t think I know the name?” said Magnus casually. He was damned if he’d let Edward know that he was hanging on his every word. “A landed knight, although one prone to like politics and court life more than his country estates. He spent little time there, even after taking Constance to his bed. Not for him the life of a country Lord, but the pleasures of London and the intrigues of the nobility.” Edward’s lip curled scornfully. “She never complained, though. Just managed his estates in his absence, and buried him respectfully when they brought his body home from battle.” Magnus leaned back and belched slightly. “And then?”

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“And then she packed up all her personal items, took only those jewels she’d been given by her family, albeit that was a sizeable dowry, and set out to see something of the land. She has family spread far and wide, and has traveled extensively, never staying too long in one place. In fact, I think this past three months is about as long as she’s stayed anywhere.” Edward chuckled. “She seems to like Ravynne’s Keep, and as you’ve seen, Ravynne’s Keep certainly adores her.” “Indeed.” “And she’s a comely lass, too. Takes after her mother. And wait ‘til you see her ride. Got a seat on her that looks like it was made for the saddle…” Magnus’ cock leaped within his breeches and visions of Constance, hot and sweaty, hanging her long hair down over his chest as she rode him, took the breath from his lungs. “I see you’ve noticed,” said Edward, with an amused glance at Magnus’ distended clothing. “Yes, well…I…” “Nothing wrong in that, lad. ‘Tis good to see your manhood ready to do its job and make heirs for Ravynne’s Keep. I’ll wager your future wife will be pleased too.” And that, mused Magnus as he sank into his bath that evening, that was a very troubling thought.

***** For Lady Constance, the day had flown past. She had begun the job of renovating the great hall, listing those items she felt would turn it into a “bower of delight”. She snorted. She strongly doubted whether anyone would care about the bower features, but much more that the rushes were fresh, the food hot and plentiful, and the fire ready for lighting to warm the occupants of the hall. She did set men to cleaning the high windows. They were small, but let in sufficient light to illuminate the massive room during the day, and once the small panes of glass were wiped free of grime the whole room brightened. She paused at the long trestle table where she knew the Lord would take his meals. Some men preferred dining with their peers or other nobles, but not Magnus. She was convinced that this is where he’d eat, surrounded by his friends and guests, a welcome in his eyes and a joke on his lips. She’d spotted him at irregular intervals at such times when she felt a breath of air to be necessary. She had most certainly not been hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but sure enough, there he was. 37

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Sometimes chatting casually, at other times listening intently. He’d spent much time in the forge, emerging without his shirt and taking her breath away. He’d swept a small child up in his arms and carried her over to a pony, letting her sit atop for a short time. There was no doubt about it, whatever she did, he was on her mind. As was his suggested “bargain”. Oh it was an excuse. She was too intelligent to view it as anything else. He wanted her in his bed. He had obviously enjoyed their tryst by the lake, and here she was, in his Keep, and apparently available. There was no shame in it. Many women in her position had become lemans, mistresses of the Lord, and many were very well-treated. But she knew such a thing was not for her. When—if—she gave herself to Magnus, it would be because she wanted to, not for any other reason. She would not become his leman, especially as he was close to offering his name to another woman. She could not—would not—sit around in her chamber with visions of him bedding another plaguing her and making her restless. As they had done all day long. She’d known him for such a short time, mere hours really, and yet even now the thought of his marriage curled her fingers in upon themselves. This was where the true danger lay. In the knowledge that emotions other than simple desire or lust had been aroused by this man. That she was suffering slight pangs in some unspecified region of her chest, which could not possibly be her heart, as she reminded herself of his upcoming wedding. Constance retired to her chambers at dusk to change for the evening meal. There was a small celebration planned, and some local musicians and jongleurs were to entertain in honor of the Lord’s safe return. It would be a pleasant night. And could be more so if she agreed to his bargain. Her nipples tightened at the thought of lying with him again. Of exploring that magnificent body in a firelit room this time, on soft bed furs, so that she could truly see all the pleasures he would bring her. Could touch and admire his cock, and watch as he slid it into her heat. Which was, even now, moistening at the thought. She stripped off her soiled kirtle, noticing the dust and grime that her day’s work had ground into the skirts. A bowl of warm water had been place on a low table, and she neared it now, looking for her favorite oil. Her apple blossom scented oil. She could have called for a bath, but knew that the Lord was doubtless in greater need of one than she, so a quick sluice would serve her well. Sighing, she swept her washing cloth over her body and felt the warmth of the water cleanse her. 38

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Her skin seemed sensitive this night, each pass of the fabric raised little tingles and shivers, and the breeze blowing through the open window wrapped soft fingers over her damp flesh and brought a sigh of pleasure to her lips. She knew, deep in her heart, that the decision had been made. That she would go to Magnus tonight and let him show her what he had promised. New ideas, new pleasures, which she could add to her instructional tapestry. She could no more have refused his bargain than she could have cut off her hands. For he offered her more than education. Whether he knew it or not, he was offering her a chance to explore her sensual nature. And such a chance would seldom come knocking at her door in the guise of such an appealing man. The late Gervaise Atherton had been a kind husband to Constance. But his idea of bedding his wife entailed plunging his already aroused cock between her legs and bringing himself to his peak. He would then withdraw, lower her nightgown, kiss her cheek and bid her goodnight, returning to his own chamber for the rest of the night. She had become used to “preparing” herself for his actions, learning that her own juices would smooth his way, and even, once or twice, finding that his pounding touched a certain place that brought her exquisite pleasure. A little further investigation in private had resulted in the discovery that what he could do with his cock, she could do better with her own hand. Thus Constance had embarked upon a life that was filled with an affectionate husband who probably couldn’t spell the word ‘sensual’, and a relationship with her hand, which taught her that such desires were, indeed, part of her makeup. And now she burned. Burned for the man who in one frantically hot coupling on the banks of a small lake had taught her that her own hand might not be the only thing that could bring her pleasure. She yearned for the feel of him against her, around her, inside her, once again. And she yearned to feel that building, growing, boiling sensation that had erupted within her cunnikin as he stroked deep and touched her heat. She gently touched herself, feeling the hot honey leaking already from her body, as her mind filled with images of their coupling in new and inventive ways. She wanted to touch him, taste him, ride him, and “scrub floors” with him behind her. She was greedy. She wanted it all. It was a chance for her to spend a few days in the sensual thrall of a man who had already proved himself to be a considerate and effective lover. A man who was seemingly unselfish with his passion, and who knew how and where to touch a woman. Yes, he was a man on the verge of marriage to another. There would be no life pledging resulting from this bedding.

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But she was well past the point of needing promises of such a nature from a lover. She needed the sensations, the sensuality, the joy of fucking, that she felt sure he’d bring to their bed. It would be like a holiday for her body, a short time spent exploring the needs of the flesh. And when it was over, he would wed his perfect Mistress Swann, and she…she would embroider the most intricately magnificent tapestry that she would take with her on her travels. She would be able to enlighten women about what their bodies could do, and what they might expect from a good lover, or change about a bad one. She would become a governess in the arts of nuptial bliss. Even though she would enjoy none of her own. Just the memories that Magnus was about to create for her. With that thought in mind, Constance completed her toilette, slipped a clean robe over her head, secured her hair beneath its customary veil, and stepped out of her room to see the last rays of the setting sun as it brushed Ravynne’s Keep and turned the walls to bronze. It was sunset. It was time to tell Lord Magnus that the answer to his offer was—yes.

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Chapter 7 She’d done nothing in particular to his great hall, but already it seemed brighter and more welcoming to Magnus. Or was it, perhaps, just her presence? He sat in the Lord’s large chair in the center of the long trestle table watching as jugglers and magicians brought laughter and gasps of amazement to the assembled guests. For this night, Magnus had decreed that all residents of Ravynne were welcome at his table, and that the great hall would serve as the central point for the festivities that his people had planned to celebrate his return. So there were children darting between the tables, and the doors had been left open to the night air. Couples strolled in and out of the hall, mothers watched their little ones, and babies slept peacefully in their father’s arms. There was music, provided by a local group of players, and a troubadour whose humorous and fun-filled songs brought tears of laughter to the eyes of his audience. Slightly risqué verses were chuckled and tutted at, and Magnus found himself doubled over with mirth several times. And everywhere he looked, there was Constance. Or could it be that his eyes were following her, as she made her way around the hall, chatting with people, laughing, bending to stroke the curly head of a child, and reuniting a lost tot with its parents. Her deep ruby chaplet held a simple veil shot through with golden threads, and he came to look upon her as a flame flickering through the crowds. The evening darkened and the servants began to bring out the repast, great trays bearing the produce of the Keep, and trenchers overflowing with his favorite foods. Edward was seated to his right, but this was not a night for formality, and the squire who had been to his left was now off somewhere chasing the maiden who had caught his fancy during an earlier stroll in the twilight. Magnus had great difficulty in catching Constance’s eye. It would appear that the Lady was not about to fall prostrate at his feet. Finally, he surrendered. He beckoned a servant, and whispered to him, then watched as the man delivered the message to the Lady herself. She turned her head and for the first time that night, their eyes met.

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Magnus felt the touch all the way to his kneecaps. The torches had been lit and their flickering fire reflected a sharp golden glow in Constance’s gaze. By the Saints, she was a desirable woman. He ached for what was to come. At least, what he hoped was to come. He couldn’t deny that he wasn’t absolutely sure what her answer would be. So he had summoned her to his side, ostensibly to share his meal as a mark of respect, but in reality to find out her decision. Whether tonight he could bury himself once more in her blossom-scented warmth, and flood her with his seed. Whether he could do the two thousand other delightful things he wanted to do with her. Whether his cock would actually survive long enough or explode long before she’d given him a yea or nay. And, as she neared the table, hips swaying, eyes downcast, the likelihood of the latter drastic event occurring became much stronger. He politely seated her in the chair next to him. “Good evening, Lady Constance. Is this not a grand celebration?” It was a miracle. His cock was still attached to him, and his voice was actually functioning. Of course his hands were trembling a little as he poured her some wine, but he prayed she’d not noticed. She cleared her throat. Apparently her voice was not functioning quite so well. “Indeed, my Lord. Your Keep does you proud.” She took a thirsty drink from her goblet. “Will you dine, Lady?” asked Magnus, selecting a choice morsel from his trencher and offering it to her. Such gestures were commonplace, and a mere sign of respect to an honored guest. But Magnus knew she’d have to let him place the food in her mouth. She’d have to let him brush her lips with his fingers. His body was close to igniting as he watched her open her mouth to accept his offering. She swallowed as he fixed her gaze and slipped the meat onto her tongue. He grazed the inner surface of her lip with his rough finger as he pulled his hand away—a quick touch, unnoticed by anyone but Constance. Who squirmed on her chair. Magnus bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from grinning like a madman. She was going to say yes. He just knew it. His spirits soared to the rafters and danced among the smoke of the torches as the minstrels played a merry tune.

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“And so, Lady Constance. The sun is set and it is time for you to give me an answer to my offer.” He placed his knife down next to his trencher and wiped his mouth and hands on a moist cloth. “What say you? Will you come to me and learn from me? Will you give yourself over to the pleasures we can explore together? And will you undertake to begin this very night?” Magnus could have sworn the entire world held its breath waiting for her response, but in reality the entire world couldn’t have cared less. It was only he who was poised for her answer and only he possessed of a cock harder than the rafters of his great hall. He was the only man whose heart was pounding like a war drum. She also passed a cloth over her lips, although she’d eaten little, then raised her eyes and met his gaze. “Yes.”

***** Well this was it. She’d made her decision. The flare of passion that lit Magnus’ eyes as he stared at her nearly choked her with its intensity. “I am well pleased, Constance. ‘Tis my desire to pleasure you. Fully. To take you, and by default me, to wonderful places and explore wonderful new sensations.” His voice sounded strained, a little rough, as if he too was anxious, ready and more than willing for what was to come. By Saint Beatrice’s slippers, she was certainly ready. She made to rise, but his hand stayed her in her seat. “Not yet, my Lady. There is still a meal to be finished and this gay evening to be enjoyed. I cannot desert my guests so early. And neither can you.” She tried hard not to let an exasperated sigh erupt from between her lips, but a smile told her that she’d failed. He knew she was as anxious as he was. “Have you ever considered that the process of arousal can be as pleasant in many ways as the act itself?” She blinked. “I don’t understand, my Lord.” The smile widened. “Think, Constance. Think how you felt when I gave you that morsel of meat…let’s try it again.” He searched for another piece in the trencher before him, and raised it once more to her lips. This time, he brushed them with the food, teasingly and lightly, encouraging them to part for him.

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Constance was helpless. She opened her mouth, only to find his finger and thumb pressing the meat between her lips. He deliberately let his finger slide across her tongue as she accepted his gesture. As he withdrew, he allowed his thumb to catch inside her mouth and tug it slightly, encouraging her to suckle it along with the juices from the morsel. She felt more than heard his indrawn breath, and something pleasurable shot to her groin as she watched him respond. His eyelids lowered and his eyes fastened on her lips as he slowly slid his thumb from her mouth. He shocked her when he brought that same thumb to his own mouth and licked it clean of her taste and the remaining gravy. “Do you see? See how the slightest suckle from your sweet lips makes my whole body pound? This is the beginning, Constance.” She shook her head, trying to deal with his words at the same time as her body was quietly trembling from his touch. He took her hand from the table and dropped it to his thigh, pressing it hard against the length that swelled there, turning to gaze at the revelers as he did so. She nearly jumped as the heat from his aroused cock burned through his breeches and into her palm. In spite of herself, her fingers curled to hold him, and once again he suppressed a gasp. The thin fabric did little to cloak the veins and ridges of his splendid weapon, the one he’d be using to conquer her in a short time. “Feel how ready I am, sweet Constance? Ready to take you, plunder your secrets, dive deep into your cunnikin.” She swallowed. “And I know you’ll be ready too. I’ll wager that were I to slip my hand beneath that fine kirtle of yours, I’d find you hot and wet betwixt your thighs. Wouldn’t I?” He squeezed her hand tighter around his cock, and she squirmed again, the tell-tale dampness leaking profusely now from her cunnikin. She was, as he so aptly said, hot and wet. She prayed that her dark ruby skirts would hide the evidence of her state. “What shall we do first, my Lady? Shall you undress me, or shall I slowly peel you out of your garments, kissing each and every spot of naked skin that I reveal?” Eyes wide she turned to his gaze. “You mean to completely disrobe?” It was Magnus’ turn to blink. “Lady, lovemaking is always a matter of nakedness. That’s part of the pleasure.” “Oh.” Her mind churned. They’d been naked together at the lake, true, but that was because she’d been bathing. She had not considered the possibility that she’d have to completely undress. And yet…to have him cover her with his heat, and press that firm flesh against hers without the barrier of a night robe, well… 44

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She drew a shuddering breath, aware that she was still cradling his cock within her grasp. “This is…this is…” she stuttered, vainly seeking the words to express her confusion and her needs. “I know, my sweet. And it’s only the beginning.” His voice was low and held promise of wild and wonderful things to come. Constance was wondering if she’d survive long enough to enjoy them. For the next hour, Magnus tormented her, leaning close to whisper in her ear how he was going to enjoy licking her and what places were specifically going to receive his close attention. Her breasts began to ache as he described how he wanted to suckle them and pull on them and maybe even bite them a little bit. Her heart pounded as he told her where he was going to go from there. He was not unaffected, she knew, because beneath her hand his cock jerked as he detailed some juicy little thing he intended to do to her. He was seeing it as clearly as she was. And it was the only thing she was seeing. The festivities continued unabated, the music played, people danced and laughed and ate until they were sated. But Constance saw none of it. They could have been beheading traitors or crowning a new King before her and she’d have been unaware. And all the while, Magnus appeared benevolently pleased while seated in the Lord’s chair at the main table, smiling and nodding at the revelry taking place in his Keep. No one could possibly guess, from looking at him, that in the shadows beneath that same table, Lady Constance Atherton was grasping his cock with a grip of iron. As the hours wore on, and Constance’s resistance was reduced to a sopping lump of exhausted scruples, Magnus leaned towards her again. She had reached the point where she wanted nothing more than to grab his head and drag it to her own, and finally begin the process of satisfying the needs he’d so successfully aroused. “My Lady, you may retire now. Go to your chamber, and think carefully. If you are still set on agreeing to our bargain, then come to my room in an hour. I shall be waiting.” Constance’s head jerked. “You’d still allow me the chance to say no?” His lips tightened. “Make no mistake. I’d rather you didn’t. As if you couldn’t tell…” Once again he pushed her hand along his cock, and bit back a groan as he did so. “It’s getting more difficult for me to control this…need. I’m only human after all.” Constance was starting to have her doubts about that last statement. Especially given the enormous erection beneath her palm. No man she’d ever known could have spent so long arousing a woman and not succumbed to the need to sate his own desires. 45

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“But…” He reached to her chin and pulled her face so that he was staring directly at her. “I must know that you make this choice of your own volition. By coming to my chamber you tell me that you are there because you will it. Not because I have done anything to coerce you. It must be your choice, Constance. That will free me to pleasure you. Anything else, and it would be no better than rape.” Constance snorted. The way she felt right now, it was a matter for discussion as to who would be raping whom. “Very well, my Lord. Within the hour.” She dragged her hand away from his cock, feeling the emptiness as she pressed it to her belly. It was hard to stand, her legs were weak and her thighs soaking. But she managed it, and with a polite curtsey to Magnus and a smile for Edward, Constance slipped quietly around the shadowed edges of the room and disappeared up the staircase to the Solar. Magnus leaned back in his chair and ignored the sweat that was trickling down his spine beneath his shirt. He’d never come so close to losing his seed in a woman’s hand. The heat of her palm, coupled with the erotic visions he was deliberately creating in her mind had played havoc with his own lusts. He was ready to batter down the walls of a besieged castle, and had the ram ready to do it between his legs. He sipped his wine carefully, knowing he’d already drunk one goblet, and not willing to sacrifice any of his pleasures to the god of the grape. And by the Saints, it would be pleasurable. Edward leaned over. “I’m glad to see you sent Constance to bed. She’s worked hard this day. ‘Tis to be hoped that your future bride will be appreciative of her efforts?” Magnus’ cock wasn’t fond of being reminded about Mistress Anne Swann, not when it was so desperate for another, and it softened slightly. “I’m sure,” he answered, noncommittally. “So you said she’s a beauty, eh lad?” Damn Edward. Why did he have to pick this particular moment to begin a discourse on Mistress Swann? “Um, yes. Blonde.” “Well, it sounds like you’ll breed good looking heirs on her. Good hips, has she?” To Magnus, whose entire focus was on getting his cock nestled into a completely different set of hips, the question was irrelevant and impossible to answer. “Um, yes.” “Good.” The abrupt response was lost on Magnus. He nodded and rose, knowing it was time to put an end to his own torture lest he throw his head back and howl like a wolf to the rafters of his own hall.

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“I’m turning in, Edward. Let these folks make merry as they will, but try to keep most of ‘em alive. I don’t care if they’re sober or not, pass the word, there’ll be no punishments for a late morning on the morrow.” He glanced at the now noisy crowd, which was kicking up its heels to the music in the center of the hall. “There’s going to be plenty of heads hurting, I’ll warrant, and many a body making a run for the latrine.” “But not you?” Edward’s brow lifted. “No. Not me. I have found that the morning after wasn’t worth the night before in most cases.” Edward chuckled quietly and returned Magnus’ nod, watching as the handsome Lord strode through his people to the staircase beyond and the sanctity of his own chamber. “So, old man. What do you think?” A gnarled hand fell on his shoulder, and a raspy voice muttered in his ear. Edward turned to see Mistress Leigh grinning at him, the torchlight winking off her one remaining tooth. “I think, old woman, you are up late this night.” “Oh bollocks, you old pall of fog. You’d put the flames out in Purgatory with that attitude.” Edward couldn’t suppress a laugh at her outrageous statement. “That’s as may be, but neither you nor I are getting any younger. These late nights are getting a lot harder to recover from.” “Hah!” She looked down her bony nose at him. “That’s because you’re an old fart, who never did know how to enjoy himself. Got to practice when you’re young for the times when you’re old.” “Oh, I see. And you got enough practice to be up at cock’s crow tomorrow, did you?” She grinned. “Oh yes. And you damn well know it. Many’s the time you were lying outside the old Lord’s door, listening, and probably jerking on your own weapon at the same time. As a matter of fact, didn’t you join us at one point?” Edward colored slightly, but shook his head. “That was years ago, old woman. Those fires are burnt out now.” She gripped his shoulder even harder. “For us, mebbe. But not for them. ‘Tis a clever move, Edward. And the right one, I think.” Edward stilled. Slowly he tilted his head in question. “Oh yes, I see what you’re up to. I’ve spent too many years watching folks come and go…” she cackled…”often from beneath ‘em…to make a mistake like that. You’ve found the ideal woman for young Magnus. He’s just going to have to look past the end of his prick to see it.”

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Edward pursed his lips. “I’m worried about her barrenness, Mistress,” he confessed quietly. “Pah! That girl’s no more barren than the blacksmith’s wife. And she’s just birthed her fifth. Nothing to say a man’s seed gets the job done every time. Don’t know why she never bore a child before now, but mark my words, she’ll be with child sooner than she thinks.” “You believe that?” Edward allowed her to see a little of the worry that plagued him. “I know that.” Her certainty eased the doubts in Edward’s mind and his shoulders relaxed beneath Mistress Leigh’s light touch. “Just as I know I’ve a nice fresh pie in my larder, rhubarb and strawberries, fresh picked, and the chessboard set up next to my fireplace. What do you think about us old folk rattling our bones across the bailey for a quiet game or two?” Edward smiled. Too many people made the mistake of underestimating Mistress Leigh. He was not one of them. “Think you can keep those ugly old hands off my fine body, then, woman?” he teased. “Weellll,” she drawled. “It is a fine body, if a woman likes her meat stringy and gaunt. And I have no taste for dried fruit, so don’t be expecting me to finish the pie off with a lick of what’s left of your manhood…” Edward sighed. “Well, if all I can expect is pie and a game of chess…” Mistress Leigh stepped back as Edward rose. He offered her his arm in a surprisingly courtly gesture, and for a moment the firelight transported them back to a time long past when she was possessed of more beauty than any woman had a right to, and he was a young and eager lad, with the urge to bed anything that wore skirts. “The years have been cruel, robbing us of those desires, Edward. But we’re still healthy, and a damn sight smarter than half these drunken idiots. Let’s go eat and drink, and leave the rest to God.” The elderly couple strolled unnoticed from the great hall, and Edward spared a brief thought for what might be happening in the private rooms of Lord Magnus. A chain of events had been set in motion, and Edward wasn’t ashamed to confess to himself that he had been responsible. It was now up to one beautiful and uncommonly sensual woman, and one lusty and handsome man. He devoutly hoped that both would see how perfect for each other they would be. But, having lived for so long and learned a hard lesson about hopes as opposed to reality, he doubted that it would be that simple.

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Chapter 8 Constance felt as if she was in a dream, and that she was watching someone else’s hand as it hovered over the door to Lord Magnus’ chamber. She could hear him moving within, in spite of the sounds of merriment and music that filtered up from the great hall beneath. Biting her lip, she leaned her forehead against the hard wood. By Saint Beatrice, she was no trembling virgin. Pleasures beyond imagination lay inside in this man’s embrace. She wanted to find and explore all of them, coincidentally while lying in this man’s embrace. So why was she hesitating? A small voice whispered uncomfortable suggestions to her mind. Things like the fact that she could find more than simple physical pleasure in the night to come. Things like the fact that she might find herself falling into a fatal trap, one that could be sprung by Magnus’ touch. One that might capture her heart. Sighing, she straightened. It was too late to withdraw now. She resolutely put the small voice from her, and raised her chin. With a firm hand, she tapped on the door. Immediately, it swung open and for a second the glow from a roaring fire dazzled Constance into blindness. Then a figure moved to her and drew her into the room, closing the door tight and sliding the bolt home with a loud clack. Blinking, she stared at him. He’d shed his jerkin and fine regalia, and was now clad only in his unlaced shirt and breeches. His feet were bare. By Saint Beatrice, he had nice feet. Constance’s mind tried very hard to take a tally of his assets, and remain alert to his every breath. But her body was calling to his, quite loudly in fact, and her thoughts were confused and needy. “I’m glad you’re here,” he breathed, coming to her and running his hands down her braid. “There’s something I must do first.” He moved behind her and pulled the tie from the end of her braid, slipping his fingers through the tresses as they unraveled and combing them over her shoulders and down her back. They fell in a cloud down over her soft night robe. “Better, much better,” he said on a sigh.

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She stirred, uncertain what to do next, and unusually self-conscious at the thought of him seeing her hair unbound. “Wait, my sweet. Wait…” He circled her once again, tugging at the laces on his shirt and opening it all the way. With a swift shrug his chest was bare. He was behind her, in front of her, around her, moving silently on naked feet, and surrounding her with his presence. He stopped at her back and slid his arms around her, pulling her backwards against his body. The heat of his chest burned through to her flesh, igniting it into a soaring blaze. She sighed with pleasure as he bent and snuffled her neck and shoulders. “So good, so sweet. Your scent…apple blossoms and you…” He nipped at her neck at the same time as his hands found her breasts. She moaned at the touch of his fingers, pulling, rubbing, and teasing her nipples through the thin cloth. “Are you cold, Constance?” His whisper penetrated her tumbling thoughts. “No, oh no,” she sighed, leaning against him and letting him take her weight. “Then you’ll not be needing this, will you?” He grasped handfuls of fabric and with one swift tug pulled her night robe from her body and tossed it into the shadows. “Even better, my Lady.” He pulled her back again, with a sigh of pleasure, letting their nakedness mingle. Constance was astounded at the feel of him behind her. His hands caressed and smoothed her body, and found places to touch that sent exquisite tremors shivering down her muscles. He pushed her hair forward and rubbed against her spine, while teasing her nipples through their silken shield. She felt him pause and release the ties on his breeches, and then he was back, with something hard and long and hot pressing firmly against her buttocks. She sighed with pleasure and let her hips move against him, telling him without words how much she was pleasured by his actions. “Magnus,” she groaned. “I know, love, I know.” He moved and quickly seized her, sweeping his arm beneath her knees and sliding her onto his bed, clambering in after her. The hangings were still tied back, and she could now see the firm lines of his face in the firelight. His face was so beautiful, she thought dreamily. He was tugging at her hair, making sure she was comfortable, and teasing her with its prickly tips as he did so. She smiled at him, loving the attention and the wonderful sense of joy and play that his actions were invoking. This was no quick coupling done out of necessity. This was making love. 50

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She lay quietly, watching him, hazel eyes shadowed, but lips parted and shining. Magnus had never seen anything as beautiful as Constance at this moment. Her body was a work of art, all soft curves and womanly angles, with breasts that cried out for a hard suckle from his mouth. Suiting thoughts to action, he leaned over and began brushing kisses all around the ripe mounds, licking and nipping the soft undersides of her breasts, and leaving trails of cooling moisture in his wake. He worked slowly, nearing the nipples each time he moved, until she was thrusting her breasts at him in mute invitation. No, more than that, in a serious demand for him to satisfy her desires. With a slight smile, he did so. She cried out in pleasure as his mouth fastened over one hard point, and he suckled hard, trapping the nipple against the roof of his palate and widening his lips to take as much of her breast as he could. Her hips thumped up against him as the shocks of pleasure he was giving her seemed to quicken her entire body into shudders of desire. He transferred his attention to the other breast, loving the little moans that she now made as he continued his seductive touches. Her legs were thrashing, opening on the bed, and he took advantage, settling his body between them. Immediately, as if in response to some primeval drive, she thrust up against him, finding the hardness of his chest against her cunnikin and sobbing with pleasure as she moved, rubbing, needing, and clasping him so tight with her thighs. By the Saints, he was in for a wild ride with Lady Constance. He eased down from her breasts and nibbled his way further, finding her navel and paying his respects to it with some energetic tongue maneuvers. Her hands were alternately gripping his head and then flying off to wrestle against his bedding, and her whole body was arching into his touch. He slid down even more and paused, pushing her thighs wider apart and letting his breath touch her swollen lips. She stilled, trembling a little. “What are you doing?” The voice was hoarse and hesitant. “Looking at beauty. Getting ready to worship at a shrine,” he answered reverently. She squirmed. Her cunny was truly beautiful. He had not lied. A thatch of dark hair curled over the roof of her womanhood, framing the loveliness beneath. Swollen now, her flesh was a dark and vivid pink, shining with drops of her juices that flowed hotly from within. Ruffles of flesh begged him to plunge past their guardianship and seek the secrets of her darkness.

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His fingers touched her gently, spreading the lips and exposing the little hardening button of flesh. She cried out as he leaned forward and flicked it so softly with his tongue. She was very sensitive, he found, responding best when he kept his licks light and away from the head of the little pearl. Within moments he’d learned her, and was playing her, running his fingers and his tongue along her slit, and thrusting into her only to withdraw immediately and leave her aching for more. She was panting, and the thrusting of her hips had resumed once she’d become accustomed to the touch of his mouth. Her scent was strong now, and mixed with the apple blossoms, it was making him dizzy. Or perhaps it was just the wonderful sensation of being between her legs with his tongue thrust deep into Constance’s cunnikin that was sending his mind into some kind of lustful haze. Her body was tensing beneath his touch, and her legs were clamping him tight, her heels pressing hard into his back. He guessed she wouldn’t last much longer, and decided it was time for the first peak of the night. He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and grasped a cheek in each, moving slightly and parting them enough to put a little tension on the flesh between. His shoulders held her thighs wide, and he bent his head, intent now, tonguing the most sensitive place he had found. Her sobs became pants, and her panting breaths became little cries. Her hips jerked, but he held her tight, wondering if his fingers were bruising her buttocks, but at this moment not really caring. He wanted her to come for him, around him, to feel her spasm against his tongue and watch her flesh as her cunny contracted into her own explosion. He got his wish. Constance cried out, and her body convulsed beneath him. Her swollen lips clenched and released in a visible sign that her body was coming, and her thighs spasmed against him, muscles iron hard and holding on to him for all they were worth. He watched as the honey drenched her thighs, and when he pressed a light kiss against her flesh, she started all over again. It was enough. He could wait no more. He rose on his hands and slipped up over her, positioning the head of his cock next to the liquid heat that was pouring from her. With one thrust he was inside, and his entrance brought on another round of ecstasy. He gasped as her inner muscles grabbed him and held on tightly. Truly this woman was incredible.

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***** By Saint Beatrice, this man was incredible. Constance felt her heartbeat pounding as he thrust his cock into her body. She’d known she was coming, and welcomed the peaks as he brought one after another with his tongue. But there was something missing. And this was what it was. That ridged length of hardened flesh that was scorching her cunnikin with bold and demanding strokes. She had stopped coming, yet still felt taut, as if trembling on the edge of something. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His hair was tousled, his eyes wide but unfocused now, as his concentration centered on where their bodies were joined. His thrusts were deep and slow, and seemed to find every single nerve ending she possessed. The strength she sensed in him was tempered. He could easily have pounded her into the headboard had he chosen to do so, and she would have welcomed it. But this stroking of his was even better, a gentle maintenance of her arousal and a lifting onto another plane of sensation. Her flesh was tender and her little bud extra sensitive, but the brush of his body’s hair against it or the slap of his balls on her buttocks caused no pain, just an increasing need for something… His tempo increased, the muscles in his shoulders straining as they took his weight. He was holding himself above her, watching her body, her face, eyes roving all over her, stripping her pretenses away and demanding she respond to him as a woman to a man. No more, no less. And she was responding. Wildly. “Put your legs around me,” he urged. She complied, and found that she could now hold him tightly, restricting his movements and keeping his thrusts inside her where she so desperately wanted them. He was pounding her now, and the sounds of their bodies colliding acted as an enhancement to the feeling it engendered. She felt her breath shortening, and her pulses galloping, and drops of sweat sizzled onto her breasts as Magnus worked above her. So sensitive was she that she could feel his balls tightening and slamming into her with a new hardness. She could feel the muscles in his cock begin to twitch, and when he thrust deeper than ever and held there with an agonized cry of release she could feel his cock pulse and spill his hot seed inside her. It was enough. She tumbled into her own eruption, but this time she was filled. Filled with Magnus, his cock, his touches, his gaze. 53

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Her body forced a scream from her lungs and then went completely berserk. She convulsed, tremors of pleasure shuddering through her womb and down her cunny onto his cock. She knew she was grasping him with her thighs but was powerless to stop—her body was out of her control as she came in a mighty eruption of joy. Her breath stopped, her vision swam, and she saw stars exploding behind her eyelids. Her brain clogged up for long moments as she rode out the most exquisite sensations she’d ever experienced. Slowly, very slowly, her senses returned. Limp and sated, she lay beneath Magnus, who was every bit as exhausted as she was. He shifted, taking his weight off her chest, and letting her drag a breath into her starved lungs. Then he withdrew, the simple feel of his cock sliding from her enough to send little shivers racing up her cunnikin and over her cooling skin. He eased himself up the bed until he lay beside her, and he tugged her into his arms, fitting her against his body and drawing a light coverlet over them. The air was redolent with the scent of sex and Magnus, mixed in with her own light touch of apple blossom and she breathed in contentedly. “That was…oh Magnus,” she breathed. A little chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” He stroked her long hair away from her cheek, gently spreading it on the pillows behind her head. “Not bad for our first session.” Constance froze. “By Saint Beatrice, there’s more?”

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Chapter 9 Magnus suppressed a grin of amusement and slid from the bed, going to a chest along the wall where a bowl and cloths had been stacked. He rinsed a cloth, wrung it out and returned to stand next to Constance. “More? Oh, sweet Lady, we have only scratched the surface.” He noticed her self-consciously tugging at the linens to cover herself, and teasingly held tight, refusing to allow her to pull the sheet over her nakedness. “Don’t even try, Constance. Our bodies are to be enjoyed, touched, stroked and admired.” He ran a hand down her soft thigh and watched her respond with a little sigh of pleasure. Taking his cloth he pushed her legs apart and began to cleanse her swollen flesh, noticing her flinch a little from his touch. “Sore, sweet?” “N…no…not really—that cloth is cold.” She stuttered and blushed, eyes wide as she watched him tend to her. “I rode you hard, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I forgot that it’s been a long time for you.” Constance’s breath caught in a chuckle, which blended with a little moan as he delicately wiped around her most sensitive spots. “It’s not so much that it has been a long time.” She raised her eyes to his, a smile lurking in their depths. “At the risk of adding to your already overblown ego, Magnus, it’s more a case of ‘never’ being ridden like that.” Magnus laughed back at her. “I’m glad. Glad to be the first to break you to my riding habits. Although I have a feeling that our ride for tonight may be done. I’ll not hurt you, Constance, ever.” “I know that.” Her answer came quickly and confidently, and Magnus’ heart swelled. She trusted him. It was a heady feeling and went straight to his cock, which was amazingly showing signs of life as he transferred his cleaning cloth to his own body. “Magnus?” The word crept out shyly. “Mmm?” “You know what you did to me—with your mouth?” He swore he could feel her coloring up as he resumed his place beside her, snuggling her against his body. “I do indeed. ‘Tis fun to taste a woman and make her shudder and scream and come like that. Nothing else like it in the world.” Her fingers trailed over his chest, tracing the ripples of his muscles and circling his flat nipples until he had to bite back a small groan of pleasure.

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“Is it possible for a woman to do that to a man?” Well, by the Saints. Now his cock was hardening and growing, readying itself for another adventure. Damnation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d recovered so quickly. “Yes, love. It is certainly possible.” “And do men enjoy it too?” Magnus choked slightly. “Yes, indeed.” “Then—may I try it with you?” Magnus wondered if his guardian angel was working extra hours this night. How to respond to a question like that? Grabbing her head and sinking his cock into her hot wet mouth probably wouldn’t be the gentlemanly response, although his hands twitched as he restrained them from doing just that. “Would you like to? I would certainly get much pleasure from it, Constance. But only if you are of a mind to try. I would not force you into anything you might deem unpleasant…” Hah! If she decided against it, he’d bawl like a baby. “I would very much like to.” She pulled herself on her knees next to him, and carefully and intently studied his body. Her hands drifted from his chest down around his navel, the lightest of butterfly touches stimulating him more than anything she could have devised. She explored the texture of his skin, paying particular attention to the flickers she aroused as her hands brushed the sensitive spots low on his belly. She laughed as he squirmed slightly. “My, my. One never thinks of brave knights as being so ticklish.” “Hmm. I’m not so sure it’s ticklish. More a case of being aware.” His cock was hard now, standing proud from his thatch of curly hair. “Yes, I noticed your—awareness…” Magnus pulled a pillow roughly behind his head, desperate not to miss a second of Constance’s exploration. Her hair was tossed carelessly behind her, and her face intent as she studied, touched, caressed, and generally drove him completely and totally berserk. Finally, she reached his manhood, which was now trembling in its need to receive an equal share of all this attention. “So amazing, Magnus. How different you are. Is it not incredible that humans have such different body parts?” Seeing as she was gently stroking his cock from base to tip as she spoke, Magnus was rather hard-pressed to find any coherent words in answer. He compromised with a sound that he hoped would indicate agreement, approval, and God-please-let-her-puther-mouth-on-me.

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A small drop of fluid was seeping from the slit in the head of his cock, which aroused endless fascination in Constance. Surely his enemies could never have devised such an effective torture. He would have confessed to anything and everything at this point if she would only—if she would—aaaaahhhh. She did. Magnus held himself together by sheer force of will. Her hot tongue was touching him, tasting his juice, smoothing over the head of his cock. He allowed a moan to escape, distracting her. She lifted her head. No, no, go back, go baaaack… “Do I hurt you, Magnus?” The question was asked in a part playful, part serious fashion. He didn’t care how she’d asked it. “No, Lady. Far from it. ‘Tis wonderful. Do it again, please…” He prayed the last word hadn’t come out as a whimper, but part of his mind noticed a speculative gleam in her eyes. He’d probably be whining and begging before too long. He sucked in a deep breath and resolved to meet this torture with all the control and strength he possessed. And he prayed she would continue to torture him for at least a week or so. Growing bolder in her movements, Constance began to learn the landscape of his cock, running her tongue down the large pulsing veins and circling back up again to explore the ridges and lines of the head. He was harder than the walls of his Keep, and she showed no signs of losing enthusiasm for her task. Finally deciding that she’d used her tongue enough, she subjected him to the ultimate glorious punishment and sucked him into her mouth. In an enticing mixture of innocence and coyness, she slid him a glance from beneath her lashes as she lowered her lips. She pulled on his skin, tugging at his cock and sliding her mouth to and fro on him. He couldn’t help it. He moaned, loud and long, and hissed out his pleasure. “By the Saints, woman. Sooooo good,” he murmured. He felt her lips curve into a grin as she pulled on him once more, taking as much of him as she could. It was incredible, magnificent, and Magnus found that in this activity, at least, he was the student and she was the teacher. He’d been pleasured this way many times before, but never with such shy enthusiasm, and—his heart admitted the truth—never by Constance. It was different with her. It was nearly disastrous when her questing fingers found his balls. “Constance…” he groaned. “I cannot control myself much more…if you touch me there I shall spill my seed…” 57

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“Is it poisonous?” “What?” “Your seed. If you spill your seed when I am…um…here, and I happen to swallow some of it, will it poison me?” Magnus’ eyes crossed. “No. No, it’s not poisonous. Um…I…” “Oh good. Don’t worry about it, Magnus. It’s all part of my learning, yes?” By the Saints. He was going to explode in a mighty shower of cum in her mouth any second, and she wanted to discuss lessons. Her fingers played gently with his sac, tumbling his balls around like fine jewels and stroking them as they pulled tighter beneath her touch. Her mouth returned to his cock, working it enthusiastically now that she had realized his pleasure in her actions. He closed his eyes, saw stars, and opened them again, lost in the vision of Constance’s lips and his cock, meeting, plunging, disappearing and sliding out again, sheening with wetness from her mouth. It was the most erotic thing he could remember, and when she allowed her hair to fall between his legs and slip around his balls and his upper thighs he was lost. “Constance…” he warned, hands fisting in the bedclothes. “Mmmm…” she answered, moving faster, and taking him almost to the back of her throat. “Constance…” he whispered. It was too late. His spine was hit by a bolt of lightning, and his buttocks clenched as the spasms came upon him. With a shout, his hips thrust up, deep into her mouth, and his cock spewed his seed in seemingly endless spurts. His vision blanked out and he was lost in a whirl of hot wetness, his world narrowed down to one woman’s mouth. His heart stopped, his breathing froze, and he emptied everything he had, everything he was, into Constance’s willing throat. He could feel her tongue move as she swallowed and it was even more stimulating, taking him to the brink of unconsciousness. Finally, he ran dry. Although Constance gave him a couple of extra suckles, just to be sure. She licked all the way around his softening cock, and delicately cleaned the small slit which was probably as exhausted as its owner. Magnus wondered if he dared open his eyes. He would probably find that he’d died and was even now in Heaven. A husky chuckle reassured him and he slowly raised one eyelid. “That was fun.” 58

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***** Constance remembered her comment as she leaned against the embrasure in her Solar several days later. Fun hadn’t begun to describe half of what they did together when darkness fell and the Keep retired for the night. It was as if the click of the locks on their chamber doors shut out the rest of the world, and freed them to be as sexual and as sensual as they wanted. They were set free to enjoy each other. Constance had learned the pleasure of so many variations of lovemaking. Just last night, they’d knelt before a roaring blaze and she trembled as she recalled the heat of the fire on her back and the heat that was Magnus on her front. Face to face, they’d pressed together, his cock nestled into her belly, her breasts squashed against the rough planes of his chest. They’d rubbed against each other like cats, his chest hair abrading her nipples to the point of pain, and she’d slid her hands between them and pulled his cock tight to her flesh so that her body served to arouse it even further. He’d slid his hands to her cunnikin and plunged within, and for long moments they’d pleasured each other with abandon. She had crumpled first, tossing back her head and crying out as the spasms took her. He’d followed, spurting his seed over her body and bathing her in his juices. They’d collapsed, sticky and exhausted, onto the tightly woven wool rug before the fireplace. It was incredible, wonderful, ecstatic, and all those other things that were so casually used to describe moments of extreme pleasure. During the day, they both worked hard, he turning his hand to whatever needed to be done around the Keep, and she never knew if he’d be sore from working the anvil with the blacksmith, or stiff from sitting with Edward and going over the account ledgers. For her part, Constance was determined to make Ravynne’s Keep as beautiful as possible. She’d already worked her magic on the great hall, adding colorful hangings she’d found stored away in the Keep’s tower rooms, cleaning the grime of years from the high rafters, and encouraging the carpenters to add decorations and carvings to the now glowing corbels that supported the high ceiling. The floor had been scrubbed and a good supply of fresh rushes had been laid in, so that every day would begin with a hall that smelled of lavender and new grass instead of leavings from the dogs and the previous night’s repast.

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Constance had moved on to the upper chambers, ousting Magnus from his rooms as she had the floors sandstoned down to a soft glow, and the walls cleaned and covered with more hangings. There was an air of enthusiasm about the Keep, with everyone busily assigned to their tasks. The weavers were hard at work spinning wool for new fabrics, the lambs had been born and were in need of constant protection from marauding wolves, and the days sped past for Constance in a blur of activity and passion. And it was of the passion that she was thinking as she glanced from her window to see Magnus in the bailey saddling two horses. One was hers. A polite scratch on the door yielded a smiling lad with a message for her. “Lord Magnus asks ye come with him, Lady. He’s some kind of ride planned for ye. To the orchards, mebbe…” The imp grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Her heart leaped at the thought of being alone with Magnus, even if just for an hour or so, and it would be good to get out of the Keep for a short while and leave her duties behind. A little cloud rose within her heart as she tried to repress the memory that all this was for the benefit of another woman. Magnus’ future bride. Putting that thought firmly behind her, she grabbed her cloak and hurried from the Solar. It was her avowed intent to seize every moment of joy she could before she was forced to say farewell to Ravynne’s Keep. Her steps slowed as she neared the great hall. Light was pouring in from the clean upper windows, and shining from the polished beams. The carpenters had outdone themselves, not only with the interior carving, but also with the elegant new chairs that were starting to appear around the huge trestle table. She’d set one young maid to gathering flowers each morning and making sure that there was a small bowl full of them on that table every day. It was a small thing, but it added a touch of warmth and elegance, and she’d noticed Magnus’ smile as he’d passed by. In truth, she knew it was his approval she sought in every improvement she made. She honestly cared not one whit for any future mistress or bride, or whoever might take control of her domain. It was all for Magnus. He seemed as caught up in the endeavors as she was, complimenting her on her work and occasionally dropping a spray of flowers on her bare breasts as they lay together at night, as a surprise and a gesture that warmed her soul.

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She faced the fact that she was now entertaining feelings for this man that went far beyond affection and sexual interest. She was no longer learning about sensuality and the act of intercourse from him. She was learning how to love. As she crossed the great hall and saw him outside in the sunshine, her heart thumped wildly and she put her hands against her breast to calm it. He could never be hers. She would do her best to give him all she could, and bring him pleasure and a Keep to be proud of. In exchange he would give her memories that would last a lifetime, images that she would transfer to her tapestry, and a taste of what life could have been like under different circumstances. It would have to do. But it would leave a big aching hole in her soul when she had to leave.

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Chapter 10 Magnus raised his eyes to the sky and breathed in the scent of the approaching summer. There was not a cloud to be seen, and his heart felt as light as the butterflies that were investigating the flowers blooming around Mistress Leigh’s windows. The old crone had cornered him earlier and pressed a small vial of liquid into his hand. “Here, lad. You might find a use for this.” He’d looked cautiously at the golden fluid inside and taken a sniff. “Smells like herbs…” “Aye. And oils. A little mixture of my own that will grease your way into pleasure.” She’d cackled and nudged him with her bony elbow. “An old recipe that I’ve found to be of help from time to time. Keeps that portcullis slippery and gets you into the secrets of the Keep.” He’d nearly blushed. Mistress Leigh was nothing if not outspoken. Whether anyone else at the Keep was aware that he was enjoying Lady Constance on a regular basis, he knew not. Nor, at this point, did he care. She was still welcomed, and treated with respect, the tenants and servants alike deferring to her opinions and seeking her out on a regular basis. It pleased him that she was receiving such deference, because heaven knew she was working hard enough to deserve it. His rooms glowed, his great hall was a joy to enter, and the Lady herself? Well, she was a joy to enter too. Magnus couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier. And there she was. Descending the steps towards him with a smile on her face and a light veil covering that glorious hair of hers. With the knowledge of that little vial tucked in his saddlebags along with the victuals he’d swiped from his grinning cook, he planned a little restorative outing into the sunshine with this woman, and a little restorative fucking outdoors for their pleasure. He smiled, and willed patience downwards to his groin where his cock was responding as it always did when seeing Lady Constance. “Good morrow, Lord Magnus. We are going riding?” He snickered. “Indeed Lady. If your duties can spare you for an hour or two, I thought we might venture to the orchards on this glorious day. The blossoms are out, and it’s worth a visit.” “Indeed, my Lord. It would be most pleasurable.”

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My Lady, you have no idea! He assisted her into her saddle and tucked her cloak behind her. The sun was warm, the ride less than an hour, and it was unlikely that she’d need it. Unless it was to lie upon, of course. He quickly mounted his own horse, lest his cock make the journey a nightmare. Nodding at the stable boys, they gathered their reins and set off, hooves clanking past the portcullis and across the drawbridge, out into the fields beyond the Keep. They kept their conversation light and casual, Magnus directing her attention to the well-kept fields, sprouting green now with the growing things that would provide a healthy harvest in the fall and sustenance for the Keep during the winter. He refused to acknowledge that she might not be here to share it. Today was just for them. The scent of the apple orchards reached them a full ten minutes before they arrived. The white blossoms covered the branches, weighing them down, and bees buzzed furiously throughout the trees, doing their job and ensuring a good crop of apples in the autumn. Magnus took the lead along a narrow path between two rows of trees and led her to the end, where the apple trees yielded to more general forest growth and the shade covered their heads. A short way further on was a sheltered grove, almost hidden by tall rhododendrons just coming into bloom. Life was exploding all around them, and Magnus felt his heart was in a similar state as he looked across at Constance, whose mouth was agape as she stared around her at the beauty of it all. “Sweet Saint Beatrice, Magnus. It’s incredible, isn’t it?” He reined in his horse and slid from the saddle, leading his mount to a small clearing and tethering it to a convenient branch. Within seconds, Constance was beside him, slipping from her own palfrey with carefree abandon and laughing as her horse bumped her with its nose. He tugged her hand, and with his saddlebag in the other led her into the grove and the soft silence of their forest privacy. Constance found her heart beating faster as she followed him. She watched as he casually dropped his bundles onto the grass and turned to her. “Come here.” She obeyed with alacrity, wanting to be in his arms as much as he evidently wanted her. His lips were on hers before she could gasp another breath. They plunged and sought and demanded she return their passion, which she did— tenfold. She let her tongue tell him of her desire for him, and her hands slipped around his neck to find his hair and encourage him to take more liberties.

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He backed her up, pushing her until the bark of a tree grazed her skirts and put a halt to her movements. “Now, Constance, I need to have you now,” he muttered, sucking her earlobe into his mouth and finding her breasts with his callused fingers. “Yes,” she whispered, automatically widening her stance and making room for the cock that was distending the front of his breeches. It was the work of a moment for him to free himself and scoop her skirts up to her waist. His strong hands gripped her waist and before she realized quite what he was going to do, he had lifted her clean off her feet, thrust his cock between her thighs and lowered her onto his hardness. A great sigh burst from his lungs, matching the breath that she’d drawn as she felt him slide deeply into her welcoming cunnikin. One look at him and she was wet and ready, and this morning’s ride had done nothing to change that. Oh how she wanted him. Wanted this. Needed this. Her eyes remained fixed on his, blue sparks shooting wildly as he moved against her, abrading her, rubbing her, touching her in all those places that served to ignite her body and set fire to her soul. She raised her leg and trapped his thigh with hers, pulling him even further into her. A drop of sweat formed on his forehead and traced its way down his face as he thrust into her, pounding, plundering, giving her such pleasure she thought, as always, she’d be like to die from it. Her buttocks tightened and her body trembled. With a groan of release, Magnus came, filling her with his hot seed and starting her own climax. Her cunny locked tight around him then spasmed, sending flames of boiling heat throughout her body. She cried out and pressed herself to his hardness as tightly as she could. It was as if they had become one at that moment. She shivered as the sensations eased, leaving her breathless and weak. A slow smile played around Magnus’ lips. “You are a witch, Constance. I vow I cannot look at you without thinking of this…” He thrust gently against her. “Of how it feels to be buried to my balls inside your heat. Truly you have put a spell on me. I’m as randy as a lad, and as hard as the blacksmith’s hammer almost all the time, and even when I have you, I want more…” “I know,” she answered. “I look at you and my thighs shake, my body weeps tears of desire because it is missing this…hardness, this tenon to my mortice…” He laughed and eased her down, sliding from her body with a soft plop. “You’ve been with our carpenters too long, love,” he said, shedding his clothes without

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embarrassment. “Come, let’s explore. And you may leave your kirtle here. There’s none to see us now.” Awkwardly, Constance stripped. She was not used to being naked in the daylight, but the glow in Magnus’ eyes gave her courage to drop her skirts and unpin her veil. His hands went to her hair, but she pulled back a little. “Magnus, no. Not this time. We must return at some point, and I’ll never get it back up if you pull it out of its coil.” He sighed. “Well, if I must make do without your hair, I’ll have to pay extra special attention to other places.” His hand stroked her buttocks and caressed her cleft. She trembled and her nipples hardened. “Magnus…” she said, a question in her voice. He grinned. “There’s a little brook over there. Let’s take a quick dip. The water should be warmed by now and the sun will dry us.” True to his word, the water was warm, and the sunlight filtering through the light canopy dried the droplets from their skin as they lay together after their impromptu bath. Magnus reached for his saddlebags and passed her a little cheese and bread, and offered a skin of wine. Constance accepted, and together they dined, with the song of the birds for accompaniment, and the rustle of small woodland creatures as their guests. Magnus leaned back and pulled a vial of something from his bundle. “Mistress Leigh asked if I might enjoy using this,” he said casually. “I believe it is used to smooth the skin. Would you like your skin smoothed, my Lady?” “Why, thank you, my Lord,” answered Constance with a giggle. “How pleasant that sounds.” “Turn over, love. Onto your stomach.” Constance did as she was bid, stretching and enjoying the feeling of lying naked to the skies. A light drop of something at the base of her spine was followed by the sensation of Magnus’ hands sweeping in long movements up and down her body. She moaned in pleasure. “Oh, Magnus. This is truly…truly…there are no words. It’s soooo good.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Then go ahead and enjoy it, my sweet. Just let me smooth away your cares.” His hands continued their massage, kneading and easing her muscles. They moved downwards a little more with each sweep, until he was massaging her buttocks with as much skill as the rest of her. She couldn’t help it—she squirmed, feeling the dull glow of her arousal beginning deep in her body.

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Magnus was now concentrating on her lower body, smoothing down to the backs of her knees and back up again and rendering her limp with pleasure. He gently spread her legs and moved between them, continuing his rhythmic strokes and adding a little oil now and again. The scent of apple blossoms, sex and herbs was mingling and Constance felt herself getting a little lightheaded and heavy limbed as he stoked her sensual furnace. “Oh, Magnus,” she moaned, floating on a sea of sensation. “Yes, love, I know,” he murmured. He placed his hands on her cheeks and gently spread them, allowing some oil to trickle down between. He followed it with his fingers, gently massaging and rubbing her tight little muscles. She gasped, the sensation being like nothing she could have imagined. “Do you like this, Constance?” Magnus was praying she’d answer in the affirmative. His fingers were slipping over her flesh, thanks to Mistress Leigh’s oil, and her puckered rose was shiny and beckoning him. But he’d not hurt her and would not do anything she did not approve. He was no ravager of women. At least, not unless he knew they were welcoming him. She sighed. “Oh yes…it feels so…so strange…” He continued to add more oil and work it into the tender flesh of her backside. Daringly he pressed, allowing a finger to break the seal and penetrate her, bringing a moan to her lips. “All right?” he asked, careful not to move or cause her pain. “Magnus? Is this…is this right?” Her voice was low and aroused, but hesitant. “Anything we do together is right, love. Anything. As long as we both enjoy it. If you are not enjoying this, tell me and I’ll stop.” “Oh no. Please. By Saint Beatrice, don’t stop, it’s…it’s exquisite.” He felt her muscles relax as she accepted his touches and he knew he was hardening now with the urge to bury his cock into this tight and virgin passage. But he was big. Too big to just ram himself into her. Not yet, at any rate. For now, it would be just this, an added sensation for her and a little fun for him. He tugged his bundle over and with one hand crumpled his clothing into a makeshift pillow that he shoved beneath Constance’s hips. All the time his finger stayed inside her, moving slightly every now and again, just to keep her aware of his presence. With her hips raised now, he had access to all of her womanly secrets, including the cunnikin that was turning that wonderful deep pink and beginning to blend its own lubricants with his oils.

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He sighed. This was how he would always think of her. Welcoming and ready for him. As he moved forward and touched her with the tip of his cock, he smiled as she accommodated him with that little gasp of pleasure she always gave as he entered her. Slipping into her, he deepened the penetration of his finger and began to move, setting up a rhythm that kept her arousal going every second and soon reduced her to a shaking, gasping, tensed mass of sensation, responding to every thrust and press with a little moan of delight. The sun burned through the leaves, warming Magnus’ buttocks as he slid in and out of Constance. The birds sang, the little sounds of nature rustled softly around them, and Magnus felt this was a moment he’d like to hang on to, with both hands. For a second, an unaccustomed desire to create something magnificent in honor of this special feeling crept over him. He wanted to write a song, paint a mural, make a statue, find a new star—anything that would serve to stay the passage of time and keep him right where he was, buried within this woman, loving her, listening to her little grunts of pleasure as he touched her delicate arse and abraded her hot cunny with his cock. Nature, however, had other ideas. His body responded as it always did, with vigor and need, and he soon felt that tickling sting of his orgasm beginning and sending his balls into a tightened knot. Constance was writhing now, wet and anxious, meeting his thrusts with ones of her own, desperately trying to increase the friction between his hands and her body. The muscles in her arse were tightening and relaxing as the shudders of pleasure began their course through her loins, matching the ones that were bringing beads of sweat to his brow and a feral grimace to his face. “Magnus…now, dear God, now…” Her cry echoed around the little clearing, and Magnus did as he was bid. He pushed deep and hard, feeling his cock against her womb as he broke. He flooded her, with endless spurts of all that he was. It wasn’t just seed that he was burying inside her, it was his heart and his soul. A chill mixed with his ecstasy as he realized he’d done the worst thing he could possibly do. He’d fallen in love with Constance Atherton.

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Chapter 11 Both Magnus and Constance were quiet on the return trip to Ravynne’s Keep. Both were exhausted, yet content, knowing that each had loved to their limits and found that sentiment returned tenfold. It was a silence that held deep emotions, unspoken feelings, and more than a little dash of fear. They were two people who were coming to terms with a shift in their positions and a change in the manner of their coupling. What had been a sexual pleasure had become a sensual need. What had been a joyful romp between two healthy human beings had become a matter of the deepest and sweetest desires. Magnus couldn’t begin to guess at Constance’s reactions—she was quiet and distracted during the ride, although she raised no demur when he leaned over and brushed a fly from her shoulder, just smiling her thanks with eyes that were full of some warm emotion. Gratitude? Appreciation? Possibly even love? Magnus had not earned his reputation as an outstanding knight by being stupid. He knew that their situation was untenable. He was all but promised to another, and had the future of Ravynne’s Keep and the Ravynne line to consider. Had he not, it was a given that he would have taken Constance as his bride. Right that moment, if at all possible. She completed him, challenged him, made him a better man and brought joy and sunshine into his life. He had no idea if she’d accept him, but to judge from the way she tumbled into his embrace at the earliest possible moment, she wouldn’t be averse to the idea. His mouth curled into a grin as he envisioned long nights of trying to persuade her that they were meant to be together. The grin disappeared as they neared the Keep and noticed an unusually high level of noise coming through the opened portcullis. Constance looked across at Magnus and raised an eyebrow. He answered her unspoken question with a shake of the head and a slight shrug. He had no idea what was afoot. Before many moments had passed, they found out.

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A large traveling party had just arrived at Ravynne’s Keep, and even now, as Magnus and Constance rode through the barbican, horses were jangling their harnesses, people were running hither and yon, and Edward was standing on the steps welcoming a group of people. Magnus dismounted, tossing his reins to a stable boy. Constance followed at a distance, eyes wary. “My Lord, here you are. Good.” There was relief in Edward’s voice, along with something else. A warning, perhaps. Magnus mounted the steps two at a time, only to reach the party at the top and slow to a complete standstill. He found himself staring into the limpid blue eyes of Mistress Anne Swann.

***** A maid hurried to Constance’s side. “My Lady,” she whispered, tugging anxiously at Constance’s kirtle. “My Lady, I’m so sorry…” “What is it, Mary? Calm down.” The young girl wrung her hands together in distress. “As soon as their outrider arrived, Sir Edward told me to hurry and move your belongings—the Solar was the best room we have for the visiting Lady and her companions…” Her eyes drifted over to the group of people on the stairs that was now chatting politely. Constance’s eyes narrowed as she watched a slim blonde woman place her hand delicately on Magnus’ sleeve as she spoke to him. “We took your things to the tower room, Lady Constance. ‘Tis nice, but not as nice as the Solar…I’m sorry…” “Mary, you did the correct thing. And Sir Edward was right. These are honored guests and must be treated as such. Now run along. I’m sure there must be a lot of things for you to do. Don’t trouble yourself about me. The tower room will suit me very well.” She looked back at the blonde. “And in truth, I may not be in it for very long.” “Oh Lady Constance, never say so,” Mary wrinkled her brow in distress. “You cannot leave us?” Constance simply gave the girl a little smile, and sent her on her way. Gathering her skirts and her dignity, and blessing providence that she’d not let her hair down beneath Magnus’ hands scarce an hour or so ago, Constance crossed to the steps and began to ascend. She arrived just as introductions were completed.

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“And here is Lady Constance now,” said Sir Edward. “If you will permit me, Sir Augustus, Mistress Swann, this is my niece, Lady Constance Atherton.” “An invaluable asset to our Keep,” added Magnus warmly. Constance could have screamed at him. It was plain as the nose on her face, that Mistress Swann was not one to accept praise of another woman within her hearing. The elegant pale eyebrows rose slightly, and she cast a critical glance over Constance, sweeping her from head to toe. “So you act as housekeeper for Lord Ravynne? How strange.” She tittered. “Of course, being widowed and older, I suppose it’s a useful occupation?” She smiled at Magnus. “Come, my Lord, I’m anxious to see your Keep. I hear that it has much to commend it.” She turned her back on Constance and tugged Magnus’ arm, leaving Constance in no doubt as to what Mistress Swann found commendable about this particular Keep. Sir Augustus, a bluff and genial man, smiled politely at Constance. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady. My daughter…” He waved vaguely after the retreating couple. “Well, I daresay a woman of your years understands these matters better than I. She’s been after me to pay this visit ever since she laid eyes on young Ravynne. Yes indeed.” He rubbed his hands together. “A fine match in the making, I’ll warrant. Wouldn’t you say?” Edward and Constance exchanged a look that shared many emotions. Neither spoke. It was the beginning of days of endless tongue-biting for Constance as she tried to keep her patience intact and her mouth shut. Courtesy demanded that Magnus be attentive to his guests, so she had little chance to converse with him, other than the customary interchange necessary for residents of the Keep. At mealtimes, she had been moved to the very end of the head table. Her status as widow of a titled Knight required she be seated there, but it was clear that Mistress Swann was making sure of her own position and not hesitating to squeeze Constance out. With the uncanny perspicacity that tells a woman where a man’s interests lie, Mistress Swann was moving heaven and earth to eliminate the competition. On many occasions her somewhat piercing voice was raised in a comment aimed directly at the other woman. “Oh look, how quaint. I remember my mother telling me that hangings like these were popular with older ladies.” Thus Constance’s decorating efforts were consigned to the “hopelessly out of date” category.

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“You don’t mean to say you’ve not tried to find poor Constance a husband, my Lord? Surely one of your older friends needs a comfortable widow to tend to his needs?” Constance couldn’t even meet Magnus’ eyes across the trenchers as she heard that comment one evening. “Poor Constance. A woman her age must be so tired at the end of each day, running a Keep as splendid as yours, my Lord. Do grant her permission to retire. For me?” The batting of eyelashes that accompanied this ingenuous statement turned Constance’s stomach and she was quite willing to depart the great hall and stalk, furious, to her room in the tower, before she demonstrated how old and tired she was by vomiting over one particularly unpleasant guest. She reached her room and slammed the door behind her with a loud crash. It was quite pointless, and very childish, but it felt satisfying, nevertheless. If only Mistress Anne Swann could have been on the other side, it would have been even better. She didn’t know how long this state of affairs could go on. Magnus had spent many hours with Sir Augustus, when not being summoned to squire his daughter on a fruitless expedition to gather flowers or some such silliness. Constance had not seen him alone since they arrived, and each day her memories of their passion changed and became nebulous. Could they really have spent so much time in each other’s arms? Or was it just a dream? She turned to her tapestry for comfort, and many a night was spent wasting Ravynne oil on low lamps that permitted her to work her stitches. New designs were flowing fast now, sheep had joined the pastoral landscape, their fluffy wool providing a home for two figures engaged in loving. She’d selected the position she’d learned in the orchard, and shivered as she remembered the dual assault of Magnus’ cock and his fingers. Carefully she recorded the image in the bodies of the flock of sheep. It was on one such night, scarcely a fortnight after the Swanns’ arrival, that she was working late, near her window. She’d slipped off her over tunic and was enjoying the balmy early summer air as the sky shaded itself from twilight into full darkness. Clad in her deep blue kirtle, she was almost a shadow herself as she bent to the illuminated surface of her work and tried not to think of Magnus. A light scratch at her door made her jump, and she hurriedly grasped her robe and held it before her as she crossed the room. Cracking the door a sliver, she peeked around the solid wood. Magnus stood there, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing around him. “Constance, have pity on me. Let me in. Quickly.”

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***** If she didn’t let him in, if she was ready to throw him to the wolves, or in this case the talons of Mistress Swann, he didn’t know what he’d do. But the heavens favored him, and within seconds, Magnus was welcomed into Constance’s tower room. “Magnus, what is it? Why are you here?” He stared at her, feeling his heart quicken, and his cock rise. She was a dark blue spirit that haunted his soul. Why was she asking stupid questions instead of kissing him? “What do you think?” He couldn’t help himself. His arms reached for her, and she dropped her robe and ran into them with a little sound of happiness. “Oh God, Magnus. I’ve missed you.” “And I you, sweetling. Not a day has passed when I didn’t want to be here, and I’ve been going out of my mind trying to snatch a moment with you. But those damned Swanns…” Constance chuckled against his chest. “I shall not speak ill of your guests, Magnus, but I vow if I’m referred to as an ‘older lady’ once more, Mistress Swann will learn that age does not prohibit violence.” He drew her to the window seat and hugged her into a tight embrace. “Constance, what a nightmare. What am I to do? This situation is completely untenable. And as the days pass, it’s becoming increasingly clear that the girl expects an offer from me.” Constance played with his fingers. “Magnus, I cannot advise you on this. You must do what you think best for yourself and for the future of this fine Keep and your proud name. You and I both know that.” Magnus frowned. “Well, I can tell you that the future of my ‘proud name’ as you put it, certainly isn’t going to issue from the loins of that coldhearted bitch. I’d sooner fuck a marble statue than lay a finger on that one.” Constance sighed in his arms. His cock stirred beneath her hands and she spread her fingers over his length as he groaned with pleasure. “Aaah, sweetness, when you touch me like that, the world goes away.” Magnus turned and swung her into his lap, settling her astride him with her knees on either side of his hips. His gaze held hers as his teeth tugged on the lacings of her kirtle and loosened them. A smile crossed Constance’s lips as she watched him free her from her gown, and a wicked twinkle appeared in her eyes as the fabric fell from her shoulders and bared her breasts to the gentle moonlight and Magnus’ face. “Magnus,” she said, sliding her hands up her naked torso and cupping her breasts. “Let me ease your troubles for one night. Let me offer you what I can to help us both forget for a little while…”

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Magnus’ cock reached amazing proportions as Constance lifted her own breasts and proffered them to him. And, like any well-brought-up Lord of his own Keep, he accepted the gift. Willingly, enthusiastically, and with a frantic need to suckle the very essence of this woman into his body and hide it there where no one else could see it. Her nipples were hard and wanting, and he loved the little sounds he could bring to her throat as he tugged and pulled and teased the hard buds with his tongue. She fidgeted, and reached past the crumpled folds of her gown to find the ties on his breeches. He thought about helping, but had just transferred his attentions to the other breast. He was, for the moment, busy. And she was managing quite well without his assistance. His cock sprang free, and another gasp ensued as Constance slid her burning hot cunnikin over his length. “Magnus…can we…here…now…?” She stuttered out her question, lost in his loving. “Yes, Constance. Here. Now…” He pulled back from her breast, tugged his shirt off his body in a rough swipe, and raised her to exactly the right position. Slowly she slid her heat down over his cock, making his ears ring with joy and his heart pound. Finally, she was seated on him. He was deep inside her, where he wanted to be. He was content. Constance leaned forward and obeyed an urge. She pressed her lips to his and felt their kiss deepen as Magnus opened his mouth and licked into hers. This wonderful closeness between them, the hardness of him moving within her loins and the darting heat of his tongue in her mouth, was sending shivers of pleasure throughout her body. With one hand he pulled her close and sat upright, letting his chest abrade her nipples with sensation. His other hand slid behind her and found her buttocks, stroking, kneading, squeezing, and finally, once again, caressing her cleft and seeking entry. “You must ride me, Constance. Move as you want to move. I’ll like anything you do,” he whispered, fondling her arse. “Will you like anything I do?” “Oh yesssss…” she sighed, as she raised herself slightly and slipped back down on him. They shared a groan of mutual pleasure.

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His fingers sought her moisture and he brushed his cock as he moved beneath her sliding body. It shook him to his core as he felt himself wet from her loving, and touched her hot cunny lips once more. His fingers spread her liquids up and around her cleft and he sought entrance, this time pushing two fingers deep into her darkness. She gasped and moved more determinedly, pressing her body to his and her mouth against his lips, dueling with his tongue as she became the aggressor, plunging deep between his teeth and learning his taste once more. He was helpless to resist, wanting this as much if not more than she. Within seconds they were taut and trembling, and she pulled back and seized his face between her hands. “Watch me, Magnus. Watch me…” she choked. Magnus watched. Her eyes gleamed bright and her teeth bit down on her lower lip as the tremors began. His own peak was near, brought nearer by the sight of this woman now coming in waves above him. He cried out, hips pushing deep into her and fingers following, so deep that he swore he could feel his cock through the thin flesh inside her body. He climaxed long and hard, never breaking eye contact with Constance. They stared at each other until the last spasms died away, only to sink into each other’s embrace and hold on tightly. Neither wanted the moment to end.

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Chapter 12 A chill coursed down Constance’s spine, and she shivered, whether from the night air coming in through the window, or from the aftereffects of Magnus’ loving, she wasn’t sure. But he sensed it, and eased them apart, drawing her dress back into place and carefully retying her lace. “Oh, love. What on earth am I to do? How do I politely get rid of the Swanns without offending them? It’s looking like ridding the Keep of mice would be easier than ridding it of Mistress Anne and her entourage. Each and every day she gets more at home here.” Magnus sighed. Constance resisted the urge to volunteer her services. She did know of a nice swampy part of the moat that would serve as an excellent place to start, but venting her temper wouldn’t be of assistance. Much. They relaxed into each other, busy with their own thoughts, when a sound from outside the window attracted their attention. They turned, surprised. It was late and the moon had risen, so there was a fair amount of light shining in over the bailey below the tower window where they sat. “What the devil…” muttered Magnus. “Sshh…” said Constance, leaning out beside him. Beneath them was a group of girls, whispering and giggling quietly and heading toward the postern gate which lead away from Ravynne’s Keep and out into the forest. The group was recognizable—Mistress Anne Swann and her maids. “Where do you think they’re going?” breathed Constance into Magnus’ ear. “I’ll bet they’re going to the lake. She asked about it not long ago, and I think Mistress Leigh or someone showed her how to find it. Yes—look…” he nodded at a shrunken figure who had joined the girls and was pointing off in the direction of the woods. The girls quietly let themselves out of the Keep. “Stupid idiots. Just because things are quiet, doesn’t mean they can go traipsing off into the forest at night with impunity. Not a brain amongst any of ‘em,” snarled Magnus, exasperatedly. Mistress Leigh had not returned to her cottage, but crossed the bailey and was now beneath the tower room. “If you two want to see something interesting, you might visit yon lake. Quietly, of course. Like you used to when you were a lad, Magnus.”

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She turned on her heel and went back to her cottage, leaving Constance and Magnus with mouths agape. “How did she…I mean…by Saint Beatrice, Magnus. That woman is a witch, I swear,” chuckled Constance. “My grandfather always believed so,” he answered wryly. “So do we want to ‘see something interesting’?” Constance was already slipping into her shoes. “You think I’d miss this? I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t hurt to find out. And if anything untoward should occur, at least we’ll be there to keep an eye on them.”

***** Two stealthy figures slipped through the postern within a short time of the first group, and with sure footsteps, Magnus headed for the lake. Before many minutes had passed, the sound of laughter and girlish voices reached them, and they knew they were on the right track. Magnus tugged on Constance’s hand a little further down the path. “This way, love.” “But…the lake…it’s that way?” “Yes, but my special lookout tree is this way,” he murmured, a laugh in his voice. Damn, but he was enjoying this. Not that he missed the challenge of battle, but a nighttime adventure that required stealth and cunning was lighting up his warrior instincts. “Special lookout tree?” inquired Constance dryly. “Of course. How else could I have seen the incredible sight that met my eyes as I returned home last month? A nymph with soft creamy skin and black silken hair seduced me into her arms,” he teased, clearing a path for her and holding brambles clear of her gown. “Hmph,” snorted Lady Constance. “Sssshh, we’re almost there,” he said, slowing his pace. He stopped at the base of the old tree, and indicated to Constance where they would be sitting. He helped her make her agile way up to the large gnarled branch and settled himself next to her, steadying her with one arm, even though he’d noted that she’d climbed up without a trace of hesitation. It seemed that trees had figured in young Constance’s past, too. There was much he had yet to learn about this woman, many things he wanted to know. What was her favorite color? Did she prefer wine to ale? Did she sing? So many parts of her with which he was, as yet, unacquainted. 76

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Well, by the Saints, he was going to get acquainted. It was his Keep, his future, his world. And he wanted Constance in it. Sounds distracted him from his thoughts and he watched silently as the four girls emerged onto the grassy clearing. As one, they stripped, dropping their light gowns in careless piles and making their way into the water. They made no attempt at stealth, shrieking out their laughter as the cold water chilled their flesh. “Well, goodness.” Constance’s quiet voice was acerbic. “So far, all I can see is four cavorting idiots. Not very interesting, would you say?” Magnus shushed her, then dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “I take no pleasure from peeking at this, I agree. Now if you were to decide you wanted to cavort…” His hand slipped up her side and cradled her breast lovingly. She shivered in his arms. “Magnus, stop it. We’re here for a reason, and you’re going to distract me. Besides, by Saint Beatrice, we’re in a tree!” Before Magnus could point out that being in a tree was no impediment to what he had in mind, the bathers began to emerge from the lake. First out was Mistress Anne herself. “Come on, Elizabeth, Jane—don’t be slowtops…” She stood on the edge of the water, slender and gleaming, all gold and white, with the tuft of hair between her legs sending sparkling shards of moonlight glancing out into the darkness. “Martha, where are you?” The other girls stepped from the lake and seized cloths, to begin drying off. But they didn’t dry themselves. They dried each other. And especially Mistress Swann. Magnus and Constance stilled as the tableau before them unfolded under the moonlight. Like the most sensual nymphs Magnus could ever have envisioned, the girls stroked and caressed Mistress Anne’s body, drying it gently and tending it with soft touches. The touches became more overt, and now the girls had tossed aside their cloths and were using their hands and lips on Mistress Anne. Tumbling down to the grass, she spread her body wide, languorously inviting their attentions. Her maids followed her willingly, into a tangle of limbs and hair and sighs of pleasure. Magnus felt his cock stir, and by the Saints, Constance must have heard it. Her hand shifted and covered it, squeezing slightly. “Why Magnus,” she breathed. “This sight is exciting you, I do believe.”

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Magnus swallowed. “‘Tis not something I’ve ever thought of watching, Constance, believe me,” he whispered back, helpless to deny his arousal, since she had the evidence firmly grasped in her hand. “Oh, I believe you. The knowledge of such women and their preferences is not new to me, but like you, I’ve never thought to observe their practices. I can’t say I’m as stimulated by it as you are, though…” She daringly fingered his breeches, pulling them far enough down to free him. The foursome on the grass was now separating to various areas of Mistress Anne’s body, a girl suckling each breast and another with her head between Mistress Anne’s legs. Magnus watched, feeling Constance’s hand on his cock, squeezing slightly. Damn, they’d just pleasured themselves not an hour ago. What was wrong with him? Or, what was right with him, as the case may be. He moved closer to Constance, and slipped his hand up her skirts where the branch had wrinkled them. He grinned as he found her wet and hot. “I believe our little adventure might be exciting you too, love,” he whispered, running his tongue around her earlobe. He felt, rather than saw, her shiver. “Well. That’s as maybe. Now hush…” But she did not tell him to remove his hand. In fact she spread her legs slightly to give him better access. The four women were working hard on Mistress Anne who was now writhing and crying out beneath their attentions. Suddenly, she shrieked and drummed her heels into the grass. The girl between her legs sat back and let her mistress come. As if that was the signal, the three maidservants fell on each other, grasping breasts, stroking and kissing cunnies, and bringing themselves to a sexual frenzy next to the insensate body of their mistress. Anne Swann slowly raised herself up on one elbow and watched, a smile on her face. And as her girls found their own release, two very strange birds, nesting in a nearby tree, hissed out their own pleasure through their teeth, being careful not to disturb the tranquility of the night.

***** Not two days hence, a large banquet was to be held, and Mistress Swann had made it clear to all and sundry that this was the moment she had been waiting for. The time when she expected Lord Magnus to declare his intentions to take her for his wife. 78

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Lord Magnus, unable to disabuse her of that notion, no matter how many subtle hints he dropped, was exasperated. Mistress Anne had been particularly unpleasant to Constance all that morning, and it was with relief that Constance took shelter with Mistress Leigh for a good portion of the afternoon. “You worry your pretty head over nothing, girl,” scolded the beldame. “That cackfaced little whelk has naught to offer a man like Magnus.” Constance sat quietly on a low stool, watching the old woman as she fussed amongst her herbs and potions and took a pot off the fire to pour boiling water into a small vessel with some herbs, then set it aside, letting it steep. “Nothing but the future of the Ravynne line, Mistress. Magnus must beget heirs. You know that.” Mistress Leigh stalked over in front of Constance. “Stand up,” she ordered. Constance rose, brows wrinkling slightly. The old woman spread her gnarled fingers wide and placed her hand low on Constance’s belly, spanning her loins from hip to hip. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, releasing it slowly through her nose. For a moment, Constance felt dizzy, the heat from the fire and the scent of herbs making her head swim. Then Mistress Leigh drew back with a grin that flashed her single tooth. “Magnus already has.” Constance’s mouth gaped and her heart tripled its beat. “You can’t mean…but I’m not…I can’t…you jest with me, damn you.” Her eyes flooded with tears as she refused to believe the implications of this simple statement. “When did you last flow with your woman’s monthlies?” Constance blinked, her mind whirling, unable to remember her own name, let alone what day or month it was. “You’ve been keeping Magnus happy for quite some time now. He’s spilled that fiery seed of his inside you, hasn’t he?” In spite of herself, Constance blushed. “Well…I…” The tooth appeared again. “‘Twas always the way with those Ravynne men. Pull out and spend themselves on a soft body, and they’d be happy. Oh there were bastards here and there, all right, but when the right woman comes along, nothing could tug that cock away from its roost until the job was done, and an heir sired.” Something in her tone caught Constance’s ear. “And were you the right woman for the old Lord, Mistress?” “I’d hoped so, girl, I’d hoped so. But it was not to be. Oh, he did stay inside me, and just the thought of that hard cock pumping me full still gives me the collywobbles even today. So many years later.”

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She chuckled at Constance’s expression. “What, you think old people don’t feel the fire? We feel it, all right. It just flares up and then dies too quickly for us to do anything about it.” She returned to her brewing herbal potion and poured some into a small vessel. “Yes, I loved Magnus’ grandfather, and I think he genuinely cared for me. But his needs at that time were for land and power, and I had neither. I had my cunny though. He had his cock. It was enough for both of us. Then he found a suitable bride, and we parted as lovers, but always remained friends. “ She sighed. “Those Ravynnes are hot in the bed covers, that’s for sure. But I was well looked after, didn’t interfere, and life went on for both of us. Mostly, I was content.” There was a look on her face that told Constance perhaps this was not the entire truth, but she allowed the old woman her privacy. “Here, my Lady. Drink this.” Mistress Leigh held out a cup of something steaming, and Constance stared at it, wondering exactly what it contained. “‘Tis just an herbal preparation, my dear. I find it relaxing and soothing. And soon you’ll need it when the heaving and vomiting begins.” Constance quietly took the vessel and sipped, then sipped again. “Mmm…honey, and chamomile?” A pleased grin spread over the old woman’s face. “You’re a smart lass, Lady Constance, and a fertile one too. I have no idea why you bore no children to your first Lord, but many things can happen to a man that can kill or diminish his seed, I’m told. The reason for your barrenness did not lie here.” She nodded at Constance’s stomach. Constance looked down, awe sweeping through her. Could it be? Could she be carrying Magnus’ child? Her mind scrambled to figure out her schedule. She should have started her flow two days ago. She hadn’t. She was never late. “You going to tell Magnus?” By Saint Beatrice. That was a very good question.

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Chapter 13 The entire Keep was a-bustle with preparations for the evening’s banquet, the noise of the servants distracting Magnus, and making it impossible for him to formulate a plan for this evening. He was reduced to praying that the Swanns would say nothing to force his hand, but the greedy smile on Mistress Anne’s face as she spoke with him and teased him about something or other, told him otherwise. She wanted him and his Keep, and what that girl wanted, she pursued. With a vengeance. The thought crossed Magnus’ mind that she’d make a hell of a battle commander. Single-minded in pursuit of her goals, she allowed nothing and no one to come between her and her target. He managed to dodge her for most of the day, and was congratulating himself on his stealthy success as he took the stairs to his chambers in preparation for his bath and the night ahead. A sudden commotion brought his head around with a snap. A young maid was crying, and running down the steps from the tower room. “Little one, what’s amiss?” asked Magnus, staying her flight and bending low. “Lady Constance…that other one…she’s…she’s…oh so cruel, my Lord. I can’t believe it…” The young girl raised weepy eyes to Magnus, whose heart constricted. “Is Lady Constance all right?” “She don’t know yet. She won’t be all right when she does.” With this cryptic comment, the girl ran off down the stairs sobbing. Magnus took the steps to the tower room two at a time. The sounds of chatter and giggling and raised voices met his ears as he closed the distance between himself and the half open door. “But Mistress Swann…” “Get out, you idiot. This is not a matter for servants. Get back to where you belong.” The strident order was quite out of keeping with the golden image Mistress Swann preserved so industriously when in his presence. And what was she doing in Constance’s rooms? A maid slipped from the room, jumped at seeing Magnus in the passageway and opened her mouth, but closed it again as Magnus held his finger to his lips. He motioned the girl off and his senses heightened as he raised his arm to the door.

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He pushed it open quietly, and his breathing all but stopped as he saw the scene within. Mistress Swann was standing alone, her maids huddled in a corner. She was brandishing a small pair of sewing shears, and around her lay the wreckage that had been Constance’s tapestry! Threads were ripped and slashed, and there were only tatters left hanging on the frame. Magnus burned. Mistress Anne turned, saw him and immediately replaced her sour expression with one of gentle concern. “Lord Magnus, I am so glad you are here. You’ll not believe what my maids discovered in this very room…I’m so distraught.” She raised a hand to her cheek in delicate distress. “I am aware that she is your guest, but permit me to tell you that Lady Constance has thoroughly abused your hospitality. She was producing a—I hesitate to use the word ‘tapestry’ to describe something so foul. It contained—terrible things.” The color rose into Mistress Anne’s cheeks and she lowered her eyes. “Things no gently bred lady should be aware of, let alone preserve within the stitching of her work. It was appalling, my Lord. I am pleased you were spared the sight.” Magnus felt the bile rise up in his throat. He swallowed, his brain whirling amongst a thousand emotions, prime amongst which was the urge to take this—this—Swann and drown her. Then pluck her, stuff her, and serve her at this evening’s banquet with an apple stuffed in her mouth. No, wait, that was for pigs. Perhaps, given this vicious act, it would be appropriate. She glided across the room and rested her hand on Magnus’ sleeve, forcing him to physically restrain himself from pulling away, and also to curb the temptation to perfect his crushing blow to the skull which had rendered many an enemy unconscious. His hand fisted anyway. “What are you doing here, Madam?” he asked, his voice harsh, his manner cold. “Why, merely safeguarding the interests of our—your Keep, Lord Magnus. As a properly-raised lady should. Such material is evil in the extreme. It has no business at Ravynne, of a certainty. I know you agree…” She raised her cold blue eyes to his, and Magnus saw the little gleam of triumph within. It disgusted him, and he plucked her hand from his arm, wanting to wipe the feel of her skin from his fingers. “Return to your Solar. These are Lady Constance’s rooms. As you pointed out, she is a guest in this Keep. Whatever propriety you think you have maintained, it certainly did not include the invasion of her privacy.” With a slight shrug, Anne beckoned her maidservants, who gathered behind her like a trail of ducklings following their mother.

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“I shall be looking forward to this evening’s entertainment…Magnus,” she said with a soft smile as she left the room. Magnus’ teeth slowly unclenched as he surveyed the damage. He knelt and retrieved a portion of a damaged sheep. He could just see the figures entwined within the wool, and recognized the moment Constance had preserved. His fists tightened around the fabric and his fury rose once again. A sound at the door caught his attention, and suddenly she was there. Her cheeks were flushed, there was a half-smile on her lips and she had eyes only for him. At that moment, Magnus knew, with complete certainty, that this was his woman. For life, and hopefully for the rest of whatever eternity might follow. Damn the consequences to Ravynne and its future. He would have her beside him to face what lay ahead, or else suffer a lifetime of misery. He looked into her eyes and read the love there, plain for all to see. No wonder Mistress Swann had been so assiduous in her attempts to dislodge Constance. In the few moments they shared a gaze, Magnus’ life had shifted, become settled, fixed and on its course once again. He knew what needed to be done; all he needed to figure out was how to do it. But first, he had to ease his beloved’s pain. Her eyes drifted away finally, narrowing then widening in distress as she gazed at the wreckage littering her chamber. “By Saint Beatrice…” she whispered as she absorbed what had been done to her tapestry. “Who…why?” She stared blindly at Magnus, then her face hardened. “Let me hazard a guess. Mistress Swann.” Magnus swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “I found her in here with the shears in her hand. I was too late to stop it, Constance. I’m so sorry.” He reached out in a gesture of comfort, and Constance laid her hand absently in his. He squeezed it, and held on as she sank onto the edge of her bed. “Well, at least she left the frame intact.” Hearing the pain in her voice, Magnus sat beside her and cuddled her to him, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, love. It was a needless act by a vicious woman. All your hard work…” “And yours,” she half-smiled at him. His heart turned over once again and he took her face between his hands. “I love you, Constance Atherton.” She trembled at his touch. “You do?” “I do. By the Saints, I do.” “Then perhaps this was not such a great loss after all. For I love you too, Magnus. Since the first moment you touched me at the lake although I had no idea who you were. God help us, I love you too.” She turned her head and placed a kiss on his palm as if to seal the vow.

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Once again, Magnus was lost for words. He simply held her next to his heart and wondered why it had taken him so long to realize that she belonged there. Permanently.

***** The great hall was glowing. Torches flickered high upon the sparkling walls and brought the colors in the hangings to life. Musicians were playing quietly, tuning up for the dancing which would come later. Guests from nearby properties were arriving, and Magnus was everywhere at once, welcoming, smiling, chatting, and making sure that no one’s needs went unattended. Stable boys ran frantically around the bailey, stabling mounts, and tidying up after the riders had dismounted. Maidservants carried large bowls of steaming food amongst the tables, and ale flew freely into the goblets of the male guests, while their ladies sipped wine. The chatter was loud, cheerful, and excited—Ravynne’s Keep was noted for its hospitality and the quality of its table, and everyone agreed that it was looking better than ever. At the head table, seats had been arranged for the Swanns, with Sir Augustus in his customary chair to Magnus’ left. But this evening, his daughter had been placed next to her father, rather than on Magnus’ right. There was an empty space in that place, and it brought a frown to Mistress Anne’s brow. “My Lord, I had hoped we might share a trencher this evening.” The soft whisper reached Magnus’ ears as he passed her chair. “I must keep that place free, Mistress Anne. There’s a chance one of our neighbors, Baron Lymington, may join us this eve. As you are well aware, his presence would take precedence over most of us here.” With a brief nod, he moved away, leaving her with a pout marring her perfect lips. The meal progressed, and Magnus took pains to appear jovial and at ease, yet never once meeting Mistress Swann’s curious gaze. Sir Augustus did what he usually did, ate and drank with gusto and ignored everything except what was set before him. Constance was not present. Magnus smiled inwardly. All was progressing as he had planned. It had taken some doing, but he’d persuaded Constance to go along with his scheme. His lips softened as he remembered kissing away her objections and overruling her arguments with his hands and his tongue.

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His cock stirred. By the Saints he wanted her even now. At his side, supporting him with her love, and bolstering his whole being with her presence. The noise grew as the trenchers were emptied and with a cheer, tables were cleared and the musicians ordered to strike up a lively dance. Mistress Anne straightened in anticipation of being asked to join the revelers. She glanced across her father’s corpulent belly, but again, Magnus avoided meeting her eyes. The measure progressed, with much encouragement from the guests, as the dancers outdid themselves to the sprightly tune. As it wound to a close, Magnus joined the applause, and then stood, tapping his goblet on the table and raising his hand for everyone’s attention. He could almost feel Mistress Anne preening, and he forced his lips away from the snarl that was so close, and into a polite smile. Beside him he sensed a chair being slipped into the empty space. The smile became genuine. “Go to it, lad,” whispered Edward. The old sod, thought Magnus. He knew all along. He suppressed a chuckle, and glimpsed Mistress Leigh as she slipped into the brightly lit hall, staying well back from the crowd. She quietly raised her hands and clasped them above her head in the well-known gesture of victory. The smile became a grin of sheer joy. “Friends and fellow drunkards,” he began, voice echoing to the rafters. Laughter and shouts greeted his words. “I welcome you all to Ravynne’s Keep and trust that you do not empty my alehouse completely, as you enjoy my hospitality.” “‘Tis too good an ale to waste, lad,” called one merry guest, who had obviously been enjoying the brew in question. “Good point, my friend, “ laughed Magnus. “I think little will go to waste this night, however. Most will end in the privy.” A gust of laughter followed his earthy comment. He raised his hand again and silence fell. “However, as it is occasionally a part of such evenings to include a minstrel or a troubadour, I have taken upon it myself to entertain you this evening.” He moved to the front of the dais, and leaned back against the edge of the table, casually crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his arms. He could almost feel the intensity of Mistress Anne’s eyes, which were doubtless boring holes in his back right about now. “Shall you sing, Magnus?” asked a woman’s voice. “Saints, no, Lady. I want to entertain you not scare the mice from the walls.”

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The crowd was now completely in his thrall, and loving his jests and the way he spoke to them all as equals. “I shall tell you a story.” There were some muttered moans from the younger lads who had hoped to dance once more with their favored ladies. “‘Twill be short…” Cheers erupted, and Magnus laughed. “But it has a very charming ending.” He paused and glanced deliberately behind him, just flicking his eyes over Mistress Anne, then turning back to face the hall. ‘‘It is a love story.” This time the groans were louder. “Come lads,” encouraged Magnus. “A day will come when you might wish to use it on the lady of your choice. So pay attention.” With mutterings, the guests settled themselves in preparation. “There was once a lusty knight, who had traveled far, fought many battles and returned home to his—his castle.” The hesitation in his words seemed to catch the attention of the crowd, many of whom would now be wondering if he was talking about himself. Which, of course, he was. “This knight knew it was time to wed, and in his journeys, he had met someone he considered to be an ideal lady for his castle. She was beautiful, and many described her to be as golden as the sun.” Eyes shifted to Mistress Anne. Magnus didn’t move at all, but focused on the faces before him. “The knight returned home and realized he needed to change some things in order to welcome this golden bride into his home. He felt he needed to be worthy of her. But then…” He paused, and there was no sound, just the crackle of the torches high on the walls. “Then he met a woman living within his castle as an honored guest. He found himself falling in love with this woman.” A slight sound from Mistress Anne’s direction caught his ear, but again, he did not turn around. He hoped she was squirming, the bitch. “They discovered in each other something that is very blessed, very special. A shared passion and joy that surpassed any this knight had experienced in his life before. Yet they knew their love was doomed.” A sniff came from one of the ladies in the front. “Oh Magnus, no…” “Peace, Lady…let me finish my tale.” She sniffed again. “Hurry, please. ‘Tis too sad.”

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He chuckled. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. They were in love but unable to wed because—because she had no property to offer him, and knew he’d already found someone who could offer him just what his estates required. The likelihood of an heir.” Even Sir Augustus had stopped eating by this point Magnus could tell, as he heard a slight belch from behind him. “However, when the golden bride arrived at the knight’s castle, the knight had to take a long look at his own situation. Was it better, he asked himself, to change his castle, dress in fine clothes and marry the woman he had chosen, even though he didn’t love her? Or was it better to toss those reasons out over the moat and take his true love to wife?” The shouts began. “True love!” Magnus noted many women enthusiastically supporting the “true love” side of the argument. He snickered again. “His decision was a hard one, but made easier by the behavior of his golden wouldbe bride. For he discovered that beneath the gold, there was only dross. There was no substance to the shine, it was simply a polish, and when rubbed would turn into a dull and unpleasant veneer. The gold had turned to lead, a lead which poisoned and destroyed anything in its path.” A smothered gasp from behind him pleased him enormously. Take that, you little sow. “Thankful that he’d not made a terrible mistake, the knight packed her belongings and ordered her from his Castle, realizing that although he could change his Castle, he could never change his heart.” Now Magnus turned, and in a quieter voice, addressed Sir Augustus and Mistress Swann. “Sir Augustus, I thank you for your visit. I trust the future will treat you and your family well. However, I suggest you keep a close eye on this daughter of yours, who is little better than a shrew in her manners and her behavior. Your belongings have been packed and your horses are ready. I hesitate to turn you into the night unaccompanied, so you’ll find ten of my best outriders ready to accompany you. Farewell.” He turned his back on the Swanns and looked at the faces of his guests and now most of his tenants and servants as well. The hall was packed to overflowing. “Friends, you may have guessed the ending of my story. I am that sad knight who learned a costly lesson. But the ending will be a happy one, because it is my great happiness to share with you the name of my future wife and your future mistress. Lady Constance Atherton.” He looked towards the end of the hall, and smiled, and all heads turned in that direction. There she was. Constance glowed like a beacon, eyes fixed on Magnus and a smile of joy on her face.

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And pandemonium broke out.

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Chapter 14 Constance felt her stomach rising up into her throat and threaten to choke her. Everyone was looking at her with a mixture of surprise and delight on their face. “Constance?” The question was a politely voiced command. To go to him. To place her hand in his and take her place where she knew she belonged—at his side. “Well, get on with it, lass, afore my bladder bursts.” The hiss from behind her brought a smile to her face, and she turned to flash a quick grin at Mistress Leigh who was grinning broadly at her and flapping her hands, shooing Constance towards the head table. She stepped into the hall, and to her surprise, the guests began to stand as she slowly walked the length of the chamber. Someone started clapping and before she knew it, the entire room was cheering and applauding, and showering her with approval. She colored and dropped her eyes, unable at that moment to meet Magnus’, which were fixed on her as she made her stately progress through the crowd. She did glimpse Mistress Swann’s pale blue gown, at the edge of the shadows, and suppressed a giggle as a servant “accidentally” slurped a bowl of something over that lady’s skirts. She raised her head and shot the unfortunate girl a look. There was confusion and anger in those blue depths, and also perhaps astonishment. This one would never believe that another had been preferred to her. As Mistress Swann made her way out of the hall, several hisses followed her, and her color rose as her public humiliation was completed by Mistress Leigh, who commented in a loud voice, “And good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. I hope she don’t fall into the midden as she leaves. It stinks bad enough now. “ A laugh rippled across the applauding guests, and the cheers rose in volume as Constance reached the dais and placed her hand in Magnus’. Now she could meet his eyes. “Are you sure, Magnus?” she asked quietly, in a soft tone intended for his ears only. “As sure as I could be, love.” His answer was unequivocal and determined. She sighed with pleasure, and let him help her up to stand next to him. Magnus hugged her to his side and turned back to the guests. “Let’s have more dancing, shall we? Then perhaps our good friend might bless us this night…” He nodded at Father Nicodemus, who had accompanied a party of guests to the Keep, and was smiling and clapping as loudly as anybody.

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“Just a moment young Magnus.” A rough voice interrupted the babble, and Mistress Leigh pushed her way through the people to the front of the chamber. The crowd made way for her, recognizing this eccentric old woman, many of whom believed might be a witch or an adherent of the black arts. None were about to cross her, but most had found her to be of great help with one ailment or another. She was an indispensable part of life at Ravynne’s Keep, and few doubted her knowledge or her abilities when it came to the tricky business of healing. A hush fell over the great hall once again, as Mistress Leigh faced the couple on the dais. “You say the good Father is going to bless us? Well, let me tell you this, young Magnus. I hear things…” She clambered up onto the dais, and put her hands on her hips. “In fact you’d be surprised what I hear.” She turned and stared into the crowd. “Things like young Terrence over there, having a bit of a dally with no less than three maids at once.” There were guffaws and nudges, and a young man blushed, looking as if this should be the moment for the earth to swallow him whole. “And that yon blacksmith’s hammer isn’t the only big tool in the forge.” Loud cheers greeted that statement, and the Blacksmith straightened his shoulders. “You heard right about that, old woman,” he answered proudly. Several ladies turned speculative eyes towards the huge man, who smirked back at them. “So listen to me now as I tell you what I’m hearing.” She bent low, and pressed her ear to Constance’s belly. Constance sucked in a breath. She had not told Magnus about Mistress Leigh’s supposition. It was too early, too new an idea for her to comprehend. And she had selfishly acknowledged that her desire was for Magnus to love her and want her for herself alone, not for the possibility that she might, just might, be carrying his child. “I hear a woman who needs her food,” cackled Mistress Leigh, bringing a chuckle to the room. “But I also hear stirrings. Movements. I hear the beginning of a new life here.” She raised her head and shot a very wicked grin at Magnus, whose jaw was hanging practically to his knees. “‘Twould seem that our Lord’s mighty weapon has been used for good. Instead of ridding the world of its enemies, he’s created new life. An heir to Ravynne’s Keep is nestled snug in this woman.” The very air seemed sucked from the room as everyone took a deep breath at once. “So instead of a blessing, mayhap yon Priest should wed you both this very night. Ravynnes can be bastards by nature, but shouldn’t be by birth.” Once again, the room erupted.

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Over the noise, Magnus jerked his jaw back into place and fixed Constance with stunned eyes. “Our babe?” Constance blushed. “She told me this afternoon. By Saint Beatrice, Magnus, I have no idea how this happened, or even if she’s right. It’s so soon…” A naughty smile curved his lips. “Oh, I have a pretty good notion of how it happened, love.” She colored even more at the deliberately teasing note in his voice and the sexy shine in his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, you devil,” she hissed, completely at a loss now, and about to dive under the table as the crowd cheered and offered ribald comments on Lord Magnus’ prowess and cocksmanship. “So what do you say, lad?” Mistress Leigh was snickering at both of them. “Going to make an honest wench out of her, are you?” “Yes.” The word covered Constance with a warmth and a joy that surpassed any she could have imagined, and she forgot the crowd, the Keep, the old woman standing next to them, and everything that had gone before. “It seems as if we shall need a new tapestry, my love. One for our children.” His eyes flared and he lowered his lips and kissed her, making her body burn and her heart overflow. Once again, pandemonium reigned in the great hall of Ravynne’s Keep and the musicians struck up a solemn tune as the priest moved forward. The tales of the night Magnus Ravynne wed his own true love were told throughout the land, embellished a bit, of course, depending on the teller. But one irrefutable fact remained, despite the many versions of the love story. No matter how much a man thinks he should change himself to fit another’s image, he can never change his heart. And in truth, this was a lesson that Magnus and Constance would teach their children. All six of them.

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About the author: Sahara Kelly was transplanted from old England to New England where she now lives with her husband and teenage son. Making the transition from her historical regency novels to Romantica™ has been surprisingly easy, and now Sahara can’t imagine writing anything else. She is dedicated to the premise that everybody should have fantasies. Sahara Kelly welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.

Also available Sahara Kelly A Kink In Her Tails Guardian’s Of Time 1: Alana’s Magic Lamp Guardians of Time 2: Finding The Zero-G Spot Hansell and Gretty Madam Charlie Mesmerized Mystic Visions Partners In Passion 1: Justin and Eleanor Persephone’s Wings Peta And The Wolfe Sizzle Tales Of The Beau Monde 1: Lying With Louisa Tales Of Beau Monde 2: Miss Beatrice’s Bottom Tales Of Beau Monde 3: Lying With Louisa Tales Of Beau Monde 4: Pleasuring Miss Poppy The Glass Stripper The Sun God’s Woman

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