Claimed by the King’s Man-Steamy Romance Story by Salty Vixen

The darkness of the night, with its heavy shroud of fog, enclosed her as she stood along on the parapet, gazing outwards. Her father’s castle had always easily defended due to its enclosure on three sides by the protective raging seas surrounding it. The grayed stone fortress had been quite impregnable since her great-grandfather, Godfrey the fearless, had it built by his brave soldiers, all of whom were happy to “retire” after this to a gentler way of life on small farms her great-grandfather gave them for their loyal service to him.

She smiled into the dark, recalling her grandfather telling her the stories of building this place stone by stone, and how he as a boy, and then young man, had worked tirelessly with his own father. Together, he had told her proudly, he and his father had worked to make this the strongest, most impregnable fortress in the land. And they had succeeded. For four generations, the castle had never been breached. Their lands had remained theirs, free of invaders. To the invaders over the years who had tried to capture the proud fortress, who concealed her aging well over the years, the grayed stone monolith had remained unscalable, her walls cold, and impregnable. The incredibly steep, rocky inclines that led from the sea, on her other three sides were impossible to climb. Of course, that assumed that you and your boat survived the crashing waves along the shoreline. When the king had gifted this land with its strange, jutting promontory of land to Sir Godfrey, everyone in the king’s liege had shaken their heads in amazement. Why, all had wondered in confusion, would Godfrey, the king’s obviously most favored knight of the realm, would have requested such a “god-forsaken” stretch of what most considered worthless land.

But Godfrey, was a man who not only had been a brilliant battle tactician for his majesty, he was also wise. He listened carefully to those around, would think long and hard, considering all the angles, before making a decision, or forming an opinion. He could see well beyond the dross, the glitz, and the glamour of something. He could see the value of what lay beneath the surface. Or in this case, the neglected lands had hidden its wealth well below the surface dirt. The value was in the minerals his men had discovered and mined, at the direction of one very wise, elderly citizen of the land. Those minerals were in ever-increasing demand, not just in this country, but through the years, Godfrey’s son and grandson had all worked on finding new outlets for their wares. Their fortunes grew over the many years. And over time, with care, knowledge and work, the land itself had again become tillable and was now a wonderfully rich farmland as well. Sir Godfrey, his family, and his men had all become quite wealthy from his wise decision.

To those who lived here at the castle, or within its protected surrounding lands, life had been very good. And to them, the castle was a beautiful, warm gray color, whose stone edifice represented their past, their present protection, and the future security for their children and grandchildren. After all, this was the fourth generation living here now… there had been no reason to assume an end would come.

But underneath it all was a growing sense of change. For the first time since Godfrey the fearless had died, and his son, the Lady Frances’ grandfather, had inherited the great lands, was there no son to inherit the land. There was no son to become their liege lord and protect the castle and her lands and her people. Now, all of her father’s men, his people, they would have accepted Frances gladly as their liege. They knew that all the people, the soldiers of her fathers also, would follow “milady Fran” as they called her. But everyone, and none more than the lady herself, had known that when the king learned of her father’s passing, all of their lives would change, and probably not for the better, in her mind.

Fran moved to the far side of the parapet, this time gazing not seaward, but towards the land. Because she knew the king’s “man” or envoy, would approach from that direction. She knew he would come as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the morning, shortly before she awoke. Inside her dark green velvet cloak, her hand clenched around what had been left of the kings’ official notice. The king’s messenger had arrived today, but he had been delayed, he admitted, but he had not specified exactly how long, but it had been near to a month, if not longer, by illness. Somehow, Fran suspected that it had been a touch of fear at delivering the message to her that had caused his “illness” to linger for so long. There were many stories she knew, that had circulated over the years about the third Godfrey’s only child.

Being an only child, her father had probably treated her differently than if she had been one of a dozen growing up together. Many times, as she grew up, she had wished for siblings, longed to have a younger brother or sister. But her mother, the Lady Josephine, had died when Fran was quite young. And her father, having married for love, never remarried. Oh, he had plenty of opportunity of the years. Anyone, and everyone, with a daughter, sister, a widowed in-law, presented with an offer. But beyond the occasional dalliance in another town, he gave himself to his only child’s upbringing and the well being of his people. And thus they had all lived, with no outside disturbances or interruptions to their quiet and peaceful existence. Barring the scandal that is of five years earlier involving the Lady Frances the residents had lived in quiet, successful splendor.

Fran shivered as the damp of the night air finally began penetrating her heavy cloak. It was spring, and though the days were warm and wonderful, the nights were still rather chilly so close to the sea, especially on the parapet as she was. She was glad that she had thrown on the heavier cloak, for the air was more breezy than usual, and had a nip to it. And beneath her cloak, she was naked. That was how she always slept, and since no one else was up, or bound to even awaken at this hour of the night, she had seen no reason to cover herself with more than her cloak.

Finally, thoroughly chilled, Fran turned and picked up the glass lantern she had carried with her to light her way. It gave off more light in the dark of night than one might expect. She moved back to the seaward side of the castle. She loved the sea, having lived with its embrace for all of her life. She loved the sound of the waves and the smell of the salty sea on the winds that danced over her skin. She moved over to where there was a gap in the protective waist high wall. She could step up through the gap, and feel the wind dance against her. She set the lantern on the wall, several feet away, so she wouldn’t accidentally knock it over, and stepped into the opening in the wall. There she stood poised high above the earth and ocean. She flung out her arms as if to embrace the sea and the wind, and the winds whipped her cloak back from her naked body. For a few interminable minutes, her pearly white skin gleamed in a ghostly splendor. She was partially lit by lantern. She was truly a magnificent sight, naked, full-breasted, slim waist and long thighs. Luckily, she knew there was no way anyone could possibly see her. Lowering her arms, her cloak settled back around her, concealing her nude body once again.

She laughed and stepped back down from her precarious perch. She was laughing at her timid daringness, to expose herself like that, even though she knew there was no one there to see her. Often in the darkness of night, she would lie on her bed, totally naked, her covers shoved to the foot of the wide bed. She would luxuriate in the feel of her naked limbs moving across the cool sheets, while she listened to the mesmerizing sounds of the sea below. She loved listening to the waves; whether they were quiet and gentle waves, calming and rhythmical. And when the sea was wild, with crashing and booming all around, she loved that even more.

When she had been eighteen, she had begged her father to let her make this her bedroom. It had been her great-grandfather’s room, but everyone else from that time forward, had preferred to look at the land for a view from their window. She had added a few windows carved into the rock, the whole time her father had just shook his head in confusion and bewilderment. At times like that he had seen glimpses of the same characteristics that had been his grandfather’s. Her room had become her inner sanctum. She could come here and lose herself in her sketching and watercolors, or curl up in her great-grandfather’s huge chair and read a book. Here she would come to be alone, to heal her wounds, to seek inner balance and peace when the world around her would get too hectic. She settled into her large bed (which had originally been built for her great-grandfather’s over six-foot tall, broad-shouldered frame) and slowly let herself sink into the recently re-stuffed feather bed. It wasn’t very long before she slipped into a deep sleep.

Her dreams were filled with fog-enshrouded figures crossing the beautiful green, grassy field that fronted the castle. Out of the mist they came, what seemed to be hundreds of them by the sound of it. But no, it was men, on huge horses, like destriers of old. And as they came closer she could see they were soldiers, fully out-fitted for battle they were. Their shields were sporting a design, a crest perhaps, but the only revealed a dark green background, but no details. Their colors of the shields matched their proudly flying banners, which were at the front of the approaching men. But she could not tell who their leader was because the men all seemed to be dressed the same… She could not see that anyone was dressed more flamboyantly than any other was.

In her dream, she and her house guards, along with several of her father’s older living friends- who had also served her father, and now herself, as advisors, walked out to meet the soldiers. Like a death toll, she heard their words. They claimed her castle; her lands were all being seized by the king! She and her people were being cast out of their homes, being robbed of their possessions. People she had known all of her life, elderly to infants were all turning to her, crying because of their enforced homelessness. She cried out in her sleep ‘No!’
And finally through her dream-fogged mind, the cries penetrated. Words that had never before been spoken here. “The castle has been breached!”

Just as Fran struggle a sitting position in her large bed, the covers thoughtlessly bunched at her waist, her long red hair in a wildly disheveled mess about her shoulders, her bedroom door was thrust open in a powerful motion. As she squinted against the light, she saw an incredibly tall man, quite broad-shouldered, silhouetted against the light behind him. His form effectively blocked anyone else from seeing into her room, and certainly no one was entering the room by getting by him. But from behind him, she could hear the frantic high-pitched voice of her old nursemaid from her infancy and childhood, who now served, when her arthritis and nerves permitted, as her lady’s maid.

“You fiend!” the old lady shouted. Fran could hear the old women hands slapping at the man’s broad back. In her mind’s eye, she could the tiny, frail, but very feisty old woman trying to move this mountain out of her way. He could have swatted at her like an insignificant insect, and easily have knocked her frail body to the stone floor. Her words alone were incendiary enough to inflame most men, as several more colorful names, and one very derogatory remark regarding his mother, passed her angry lips.

But he didn’t. He didn’t move a muscle as he stood there gazing at the red-haired woman, half-naked in the unmade bed. He knew that in moving, he might make her aware more quickly, and he knew her reactions were still delayed and dulled by sleep. It seemed a long time that he stared at her in silence, his light brown eyes devouring her naked splendor. But in reality, it was but a few scant moments in time before the lady gathered her senses about her, and the sheets, and shielded herself from his eyes. It was a nervous, jerking movement that had her pulling the covers all the way up to her chin. In the darkened room, she could not see the grin that curled his hard mouth beneath his brownish-red mustache. Which was good, because she would not like knowing that she afforded him any amusement. He straightened to his full, imposing height and spoke brusquely, commanding her to obey his demands.

“Madam, present yourself in ten minutes in the main hall of the castle.” He turned to leave, then glanced back at the startled woman. “And if you are not there, on the eleventh minute I will be back up here and drag you down, no matter how you are dressed, or not.” And with that, Fran found herself alone in her bedroom once again, except for her old lady’s maid, who managed to scoot past him and get in just before the door closed. The poor thing immediately began wringing her hands together.

“Oh, my lady, whatever are we to do?” Fran watched the poor old woman fretting, and pacing, and wringing her hands in despair. “We will all be raped and murdered in our beds!”

Fran hid her smile, doubting that the ‘fate worse than death’ would actually befall her elderly maidservant. “Now, now, Mary, I’m sure everything will be fine.” She tried to put conviction into her voice. “I’ll settle this misunderstanding, and all will be well again.” But to her own ears, her words fell flat and definitely lacked conviction. She knew in her heart that solving this situation was not going to be easy, if it could even be solved at all.

Precisely nine minutes later, the tall soldier seated at the dining table looked up and saw Lady Frances crossing the room towards him. He stood as she neared the table. He let his golden-brown eyes leisurely travel over the small-stuttered woman who stood proudly before him. Her long red hair had been barely tamed by a green ribbon that confined it at the nape of her slender neck. Her shift was of the softest material for it molded closely to her breasts and showed their fullness and peaked nipples. Her gown ended several inches above her ankles, which would have been totally unacceptable at the king’s castle, but in the country, he knew social rules were much more relaxed and casual.

That was certainly one thing he would not miss – the pomp and ceremony that surrounded their majesties, and all the courtly events. The only times that were not filled with protocol and fancy dress and exquisite manners, were the most private times with their majesties. For a man who enjoyed the outdoors, and all the camping required of a soldier, he was glad to be free of the townish ways and fake “mannerisms” one found there. And then he burst out in laughter. The woman, the “lady” of the castle had presented herself to her future liege lord ‘barefoot.’ He could just imagine what the ladies of the court would make of that tidbit should it ever reach the court that his majesty’s personal envoy had been greeted in a “shoeless” state. He had been forewarned, he reminded himself, before he ever left for this “god-forsaken” corner of the king’s realm. As he choked back his laughter, he recalled that quite a few people, not just the king, had had more than a few talkes to tell him of this strange land. But he remembered some manners and managed to incline his head in greeting. “Please be seated, madam. I compliment you on the excellent table you set, even under such, unusual circumstances.” He motioned her to the empty chair opposite his own at the end of the long table.

In the split instant before she turned away from him, he understood fully the words ‘if looks could kill!’ He watched as she walked away from her, enjoying fully the gentle sway of her full, womanly hips as she moved to her seat. He noted as he sat that one of her “father’s men” as they had presented themselves to him, rushed from his chair, 5 seats away from the lady’s seat, to hold his lady’s chair as she seated herself. His gaze narrowed though, as he watched her thank the man, who was at least forty-five years old he guessed. His hand clenched around his cup of wine as he saw her smile at the man and lightly touched his arm in gratitude of his small kindness. Her voice was soft spoken as she urged the men to please continue eating. His officers eagerly complied, enjoying the very well cooked and tasty food. Fran looked up, her green eyes meeting his golden ones.

“I’m afraid you have us at a distinct disadvantage sir. Obviously you know who we are, but we do not know who you are.” She paused a moment, her eyes becoming quite cold and her jaw clenching. “Nor why you have so rudely and coarsely invaded my home.”

To say you could have heard a pin drop onto the stone floor would have been an understatement at that precise moment. His captain, and long-time friend, Sir Ranald, had half-risen and was actually beginning to draw forth his sword.

The man who helped seat Lady Frances, and had then proceeded to move aside her serving lad, and pour her wine himself, rushed forward. “I’m sure my lady means…”

“Stop!” His calm voice stayed Sir Ranald and silenced the gray-haired man he was rapidly coming to think of as “sir toady” for obvious reasons. “I beg your pardon madam,” he continued, inclining his head slightly towards her. “But I know for a fact that the king’s messenger was dispatched with the king’s instructions detailed out. And that messenger left over a month ago.” He paused a moment to take a sip of his wine, while giving her a moment to deny his words. “And my men and I have proven to ourselves that it takes less than 5 days of easy travel to reach your land.”

“Sir,” she finally said from behind a decidedly clenched jaw. “When that messenger finally got here, the king’s missive was in a nearly unreadable state. All we could decipher was that the king was sending someone!”

‘Sir Toady’ was nodding his head eagerly. “Yes, your lordship, it was an awful mess. The messenger had gotten sick- actually right on the king’s papers, several times in fact. It was a truly disgusting mess. I begged my dear lady Fran not to even touch it, but she felt she must.”

Having heard more than he could have ever wanted from this ingratiating sycophant, he held up his hand, saying “Enough!” He turned from the older man. His golden-brown eyes settled on the pale-skinned woman at the opposite end of the table. He inclined his head towards her yet again. “My apologies then, madam. Obviously, we were unexpected. I am Bradwyn, envoy of our king. I am here to assess the stability of this holding.” He paused, knowing that if these words had been spoken to him, of his lands, he would be livid with anger. But then, this was a woman…

He watched her face, which seemed almost emotionless except for her green eyes, which were flashing bolts of lightening straight at him. Her voice was calm though as she nodded.

“I see, Lord Bradwyn.” Frances paused as she considered the wisest course here. To anger this emissary of the king would accomplish nothing, except give her a modicum of satisfaction. “And have you formed an opinion yet, milord?” she finally asked in a controlled voice. She then gestured Sir Elwin, her protector, away from hovering at her elbow. She just didn’t have the patience to deal with his ‘toadying’ at the moment.

Bradwyn watched the interplay between the lady and her ‘persistent suitor.’ The more he watched, he was sure that ‘sir toady’ had plans for the Lady Frances’ future. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps the king had been wrong and there was a suitor for the lady’s hand. But he could also easily see that this man would never be able to hold a land this rich, and desirable, from outsiders. But Bradwyn was a good soldier, besides being a wise tactician, and he knew better than to show all of his plans this early, before he had the full measure of his enemy.

“I will need to check the castle in the light of day to better gain an understanding of the castle’s weaknesses.” He paused to observe the tensing of her facial muscles and the subtle straightening of her backbone. “And my officers will test your defenses and how well your house guard responds.”

It wasn’t often Bradwyn was surprised, but this woman amazed him yet again when she stood abruptly. “Sir, I feel sure that you are laughing at us. By now you have seen the house guard, what is left of it, are all quite old and probably you would have pensioned them all off long ago, but they all do the best they can. And as far as defenses go, well, all of my father’s knights are all happily tending to their own farms and holdings, and caring for their families.” She stepped away from the table, walking towards him. He couldn’t help but notice the enticing jiggling of her full, unbound breasts, nor the rhythmic sway of her rounded hips beneath the soft green material of her gown. Something about this woman was arousing feelings in him that he rarely acknowledged, let alone indulged.

Oh, he certainly enjoyed a good ‘roll in the hay’ with a comely wench or barmaid who was willing. And many titled ladies at the king’s palace had made themselves more than available to him over the years, in between travels, and defending the king’s lands. But these feelings were different, they were deeper and he didn’t want them, now.

The small woman stood near his chair at the table’s edge now. He could see her fists were clenched; though she tried to conceal them in the folds of her skirt. She was angry, and scared, and fighting some strange desire to be close to this man.

“Sir, perhaps we should finish our discussion privately. Then you can acquaint me more with what the king’s wishes are since his message was indecipherable to us. We can go to my father’s den…”

Sir Elwin protested, running, as fast as his thin legs would allow, around the table and grabbed her arm. “No, my lady! You mustn’t… I’m sure we should discuss such matters here…”

Fran turned and patted his hand, speaking softly to him. “It will be fine, Sir Elwin, don’t fret so.” She turned back to Bradwyn. “Milord, if you please…?” and she gestured for him to accompany her from the hall.

He followed her from the hall to a small room off to the side and down another hallway for a short distance. And no matter how he tried to avoid it, prevent it, he kept glancing sideways and down to watch her full breasts, bouncing gently with each step beneath her gown. The room was dimly lit by 2 candelabras placed at opposite ends of her father’s huge desk. She motioned for him to be seated in one of the comfortable chairs that faced the desk. He was sure her plan was to seat herself at the desk to assert her position of power, so he remained standing. She looked a bit surprised but only shrugged her shoulders. She wandered over to the window that looked over the sea below.

“You might as well tell me the whole of it, Lord Bradwyn. If you are planning to try and take this holding from these people though, be fair warned, I’ll find some way to fight you.” Her green eyes blazed with fire when she shot a quick glance at him. “Most of these people have lived here their whole lives, they would have no where else to go. My great-grandfather’s men, his soldiers, all settled here and raised families. They have been here for 3 generations some of them.” When she finished though, she seemed to deflate a bit, as if that had taken more out of her than she had thought. She knew though, in her heart, if the king wanted this land for another knight, then there was little she could truly do, except beg that he allow the people who had been born and raised here, be allowed to keep their homes. She had to find some way…

Silence followed her words. He noticed that she had not said, “take this land away from me” but was obviously more concerned for her people. He pondered the advice he had received in how to deal with the situation he was now facing. The king had advised caution, and use his well-honed battle skills to conquer her and her people, but in a non-combative way. Sir Ranald had said he should just march right in and tell her- this is how it is by order of the king and therefore this is how it was going to be from now on, and that would be the end of the discussion. Whereas the king’s younger brother, who fancied himself quite a lady’s man, had recommended seducing her, and then the whole matter would be sealed, and he would end up a very wealthy man. But it was the queen who had taken him aside the night before he left. She told him to be cautious and not treat the matter or the lady lightly. While Queen Marguerite had never met Lady Frances herself, she advised him that this woman was probably much smarter and cleverer than anyone had ever given her credit for. The queen then smiled and said, after all any woman who had manage to elude matrimony for as long as this lady had, had to much smarter than any of the men she had met so far. And with that cryptic remark, the queen had left to decipher her remarks.

Bradwyn knew that the queen had been right. There were depths here that could drown him, if he were not his usual cautious self. “Lady Frances, the king has no desire to rob you of your home, nor your people of theirs.” He seated himself, then leaned forward, his clasped hands resting between his thighs. “But he also feels sure that it won’t be long before trouble arises.”

Fran walked around the front of the desk. “Because I am a woman, correct?” she asked quietly after several moments of silence. Bradwyn nodded briefly, knowing that she would recognize any denials as falsehoods, and any delay tactics would be useless. He leaned back in the chair as she moved to stand in front of his chair, crossing her arms beneath her full breasts, and propping herself against the desk. She smiled knowingly.

“Yes, I have noticed a marked increase in the number of ‘so-called’ casual visitors of late. All of whom have had unmarried sons, or unmarried themselves, or a widower… I am not stupid, my lord.”

His eyes were automatically drawn to the enticing view of her deep cleavage through the dipping of the front of her dress when she crossed her arms. He wondered if her pale skin were truly as soft as it looked in the dim light. He also wondered if those full breasts would just fill his own large hands, or over flow his palms. At that precise moment, he had a nearly over whelming desire to pull down that neckline until one those full breasts popped free. Would her nipples be small or large, he wondered? And what color might they be, pink?

Her voice interrupted his lustful thoughts. “It is funny how something that no one wanted or considered at all previously, can suddenly become so desirable when you add land and money, isn’t’ my lord?”

Bradwyn shifted in the chair, trying to relieve the suddenly uncomfortably tight fit of his pants. He had been concentrating on her, not her words. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“I mean, that none of the ‘so-called’ gentlemen who never looked my way before my father’s death, seem to be falling over themselves on my front step now. I can only guess they were afraid my father would remarry and have male heir after all, and they would then be stuck with me! A trifle obvious, don’t you agree?” She smiled at him in such an inviting way, that he had to smile back.

“Tell me, Lady Frances, is Sir Elwin one of the men doing the tripping on your front step?” He asked, working to keep his tone even and pretend that he had no concern regarding her answer. He was more than a bit chagrined at himself though for having asked the question in the first place, but the words had just seemed to come out of their own accord. But her quick to come laughter reassured him more than any words could have done, though he also knew that if she laughed like over him and his suit, he would more than a little angry.

“Poor Elwin. He is a dear person, but…” She leaned forward slightly giving him an even more interesting view of her overflowing bosom. “Sometimes he is just so…” She paused as if searching for the right word. “Annoying.” She said finally.

When Bradwyn burst out laughing, she couldn’t help but follow his example. It seemed perfectly natural for her to then boost herself up to sit on her father’s desk, just as she had always done with him. She had no idea how enticing she was to him, with her bare legs dangling off the desk, her skirt hiked up almost to her knees. He decided she was treating him like a brother, or an old friend. And that thought angered him. He was not either, and he did not wish to be treated as such.

“So tell me Sir, have you been sent to protect the land and screen the applicants for my hand? To ensure that the right sort of man takes my father’s place, so to speak.” She asked him laughingly. She unconsciously reached back, and pulled the ribbon confining her hair free. She felt comfortable with him already, but she had no idea why. Bradwyn could see by her whole posture, her tone of voice, her actions, and now her words, that she was missing the point entirely. For some reason, she was not seeing him, as she should be, he felt. He was beginning to feel like an ‘old shoe’ that she was so comfortable with him. That would never do, he decided. And the sight of her bare feet and legs, followed by the incredibly sensual appearance of her long hair cascading over one shoulder was too much for one man to bear. She had somehow come to the wrong conclusion about himself, and his mission, his purpose. And he knew that he had better set things straight right now. And he also didn’t like the fact that she saw him as her ‘guard dog’ while she picked out a future husband.

He rose to his feet in one fluid muscular movement. And in less time than it takes to breathe in air, he was standing between her now widespread thighs, leaning imposingly over her. He saw the instant the warm, cuddly sense of security left her. Her eyes widened in surprise at the feel of his large masculine body holding her thighs wide apart and he was pressing closer and closer to her secret womanly parts every moment. She believed she could feel his heat seeping into her body. She had been wrong! She thought in that moment. He was not ‘safe.’ He was a wild, unknown, dangerous element that had forced it’s way into her castle, her table and was now doing the same with her body.

He seemed to loom over her, his golden eyed gaze boring her green one, holding her like a scared deer caught in a bright light, too startled to move to protect itself. His large hand caught and tangled in the long hair at the nape of her neck, holding her still, as he spoke.

“No, madam. I am not here to be your guard dog, and vet your future husband. I am here to wed you, bed you and become liege lord of this castle, by order of the king!” And then his open mouth captured hers as she gasped in surprise at his words. This was the last thing she had suspected, because she had guessed that this handsome, bold knight, while being the king’s man for sure, was also probably several years younger than she was herself. She struggled for a brief moment, but when his tongue, having forced it’s way past her tender pink lips, stroked her own, she felt a shiver of emotion to her innermost being.

His hand released her hair, stroking along its’ smooth, silky length down over her shoulder until his palm lingered over her right breast, just a hair’s breadth away. She could feel his heat from his palm and took a deep breath, gasping in air, and that completed his possession of her full, tender breast.

His large hand cupped her full, round breast. Slowly he squeezed the firm womanly flesh, her soft moans of desire and gasps of wonder causing his own passion to rush forward, out of control. God! He had never felt like this before, he thought briefly as he slid his hot mouth across her soft face. He nibbled eagerly on her earlobe. When he bit it tenderly, she gasped, and he felt an incredible rush of desire for her. His passion was peaking faster than he had ever had happen before. His tongue licked the soft, white skin, sliding down her neck, over her collarbone. His hand that had been squeezing, and teasing her breast, now grabbed the neckline of her soft gown. One tug and the fabric tore free. He raised his head to savor the lovely vision of her round; pink tipped breasts, jutting out so proudly in front of him.

He glanced up and saw her half-closed eyes gazing back him. Ever so slowly, his large hands captured her proud breasts. Her hard pearled nipples peaked even tighter in his palms. He began rhythmically massaging her fleshy breasts, plumping them impossibly fuller still. And when his head lowered and his hot mouth enslaved her taut nipple, a cry of desire escaped her throat.

Her hand had risen of its own accord and held his head while he suckled eagerly at her breast. One tiny part of her mind wondered at the wildness, the craziness of her actions, her feelings. And then she became aware that his hands were on her naked thighs, sliding upwards and slowly inward. When he touched her smooth, womanly flesh, he stoked along her hairless pussy lips, savoring the feel. But he didn’t seem surprised, was her only coherent thought, to find her without any hair. And then she stopped thinking altogether as his clever fingers caressed her and found her button of desire. When he touched her there, she truly cried out.

His tender touch along her womanly flesh had her clutching at his wide shoulders. His sensitive fingers were making passionate music with her button of desire and longing, and one light touch, in just the right spot, drenched his fingers with her womanly essence and scent. Good God! He thought, what am I doing? But the arousing, sensual sweetness of her womanly body opening up so eagerly for him, he quickly stopped thinking. His emotions took over, which had rarely happened to him, and he found himself hurtling out of control. He pulled her bottom forward on the desk, her thighs spreading even wider to accommodate him. His one hand continued to work its magic on her flesh, while his other hand freed his hot, hard masculine rod of passion and desire. And in one thrust, he claimed this woman for his own.

His mouth captured her cry of surprise. He pressed against her pelvis, then withdrew slightly. He touched her clit, stroking and teasing her back to near-climax state, and then he began his own thrusting forward and back, taking them higher and higher with each thrusting movement. Pelvis to pelvis they came, almost mating like animals, they were so caught up in the wildest emotions of their lives. And when her inner flesh began clutching, squeezing and spasming around him, he climaxed deep within her body.

Silence reigned for the longest time. Fran was frantically trying to catch and calm her breathing, when she felt his mouth find her right nipple and he gently kissed its tender, quivering flesh lightly. She then heard him laugh softly to he said, almost to himself. “So much for well thought out plans and strategies.”

Frowning, Fran pushed at his shoulders until he raised up, pulling free of her warm and tender flesh. She hurriedly shoved her skirt down, while pulling her bodice up over her breasts.

“Exactly what did you mean by that?” She asked him, but it was hard looking haughty and restrained while sitting on a desk edge and feeling his manly juices that had mingles with her own, running over her smooth lips, down onto her thighs. Oh dear Lord, she thought. How could I have allowed him to…? She stopped there, unable to say the words, even in her head. This was going to be a much worse scandal than she had had to live through five years ago. Much worse, because this time…

“Madam, what I meant,” His deep voice interrupting her tumultuous thoughts. “Is that my plans in dealing with your situation have now become a moot point.”

Fran straightened her back, trying to regain some of her lost dignity, and some semblance of control and composure. “And just why do you say that, Sir?” She hopped down from the desk.

But neither the proud knight, nor the haughty lady heard the door to the room being opened. Bradwyn glared down at her, wondering if she were being deliberately obtuse, or if he addled her wits.

“Madam, I just breached a lot more than your castle walls so far tonight!” The gasp they heard behind them, caused Bradwyn to turn hurriedly, reaching for the weapon he always had at his side. What he saw was the slight form of Sir Elwin, who was almost visibly shaking as he tried to choke out the words. “How dare you, you fiend? I challenge you to a duel in Lady Frances’ honor!”

Bradwyn stood perfectly still amazed at the smaller man’s temerity, even while he doubted his sanity. He was at least a foot taller, and several stone heavier. There would be no contest; it would be a slaughter if he accepted this challenge. He started to move forward when he felt Frances’ head fall forward against his back. Very faintly, he could hear her sigh of exasperation as she muttered, “Sweet Lord, what next?” Then her small hand caught at his arm. She pushed until he finally stepped aside and she faced the angry Elwin. She hoped that what had just occurred was not written on her face.

“That is so sweet of you, Elwin, but totally unnecessary. I’m afraid you have misunderstood what Sir Bradwyn was saying.” Fran bit back a smile as she could see Elwin was visibly relaxing his ‘banty rooster’ posture. “We were just discussing how his lordship had breached the castles defenses and therefore was breaching so much more…” Her voice trailed away, and she paused. She wondered if her words sounded as feeble to anyone else as they did to her. “By doing this he breached our emotional defenses also.” She finished, rather pleased with herself for thinking that one up.

She ignored the look Sir Bradwyn shot at her and kept right on smiling reassuringly at Elwin. “He had been pointing out our weaknesses to me right before you came in. So it is fairly easy to see how you misconstrued his meaning.”

By this time, Bradwyn had moved to prop himself leisurely against the desk’s front edge. He just stared in half bemusement at the lady he had just had wild, unbridled sex with on this very desk. He was amazed at how blatantly, yet smoothly, she was lying to the irate older man. She looked as if she could be going to church, so serene was her expression. But what concerned him more was that he had lost control over his own well-honed actions and usually well controlled emotions. He had been swept away on a wave of unbridled lust such as he had never before known in his life. He had fully intended to take control of this castle and its’ lands and it’s lady, as the king wanted. But he had also expected it to end as a neat, tidy, but rather cold arrangement, like most titled marriages were whenever land was involved. Now though, with what had occurred between them, ‘cold’ was the last thing he would expect to find in their relationship from now on.

He watched as she folded her arms beneath her breasts. This made for a truly spectacular display of her full, breasts, mounded together to form a deep cleavage. His hands itched to cup those magnificent breasts himself, squeeze them, and tease the very responsive pink nipples with his tongue. He finally got a tighter hold of his emotions. He said that it was high time everyone retired for the night. And with a firm voice and direction, he soon had everyone sent to the beds, his men included.

When Frances finally descended the broad staircase mid-morning, she found her usually sedate household in complete turmoil and upheaval. She saw her usual servants, many of them quite elderly, trying to scurry about, while a rather large number of younger people were assisting them. And they all seemed to be very busy. She paused in confusion. Many of the younger people – some quite young- were people she recognized, but whom she had never employed before in her household. Many of the younger people she recognized by face, and last name, but first names eluded her, there were so many of them. But where had they all come from, and why were they there, and who had ordered them to be working in her house?

She came to the bottom of the stairs, pausing. She could see bemused looks on a lot of her regular servants. When she spotted her elderly nurse heading through the door for the kitchen quarters, she decided that was probably her best chance to discover what was going on here, in her own household.

She discovered the exact same hustle and bustle in the kitchen quarters as she had in the main hall. She saw her old nurse at one of the preparation tables. “Martha! Whatever in the world is going on around here? You aren’t supposed to be doing any heavy work like this!” She took the old woman’s hands and practically dragged her over to a chair. She had to push her a bit to get her to sit in it. “Now tell me why you are here in the kitchen? You know that this heat isn’t good for you…”

The old woman looked at her very sadly. “I know milady, but his lordship lined us all up at sunrise and then started pointing ‘you do this’ and ‘you do that.’ He was like tyrant barking out orders at us all.” She paused to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye, slanting a quick glance at the younger woman. But Fran was looking off into the distance, her arms crossed and her foot tapping on the stone floor, as she considered what her nurse had said. She finally turned back to the other woman.

“Well, I’m excusing you from the duties you were assigned. You are only responsible for my rooms as before. Now, I think you should probably go have a lie down. I’m sure you are quite exhausted Martha.” Martha rose and smiled gratefully at the other woman. “Thank you, milady, thank you.” Fran patted her shoulder as the woman scuttled past her. She decided it was time to find his lordship and see just what was going on in her own home.

She headed back through the castle, but everywhere she looked and asked the whereabouts of his lordship, she ‘had only just missed him.’ By the time she finally headed outside to continue her search for his lordship in main courtyard, she had discovered that his lordship had been a very busy man indeed today. He and his men had had a hearty breakfast shortly before sunrise, cooked by her very sleepy and thoroughly disgruntled kitchen staff. She had had to listen to a detailed description of all the food his lordship had ordered and how long it had taken to prepare so much food. Even though the cook’s staff had now been tripled by his lordship, she still had to voice her complaints. So Fran had sat drinking cold tea and a slice of plain bread. She certainly was NOT going to ask for a breakfast for herself after listening to the cook go on and on. She then discovered his lordship had had a complete tour of the housing quarters of the castle, every nook and cranny, except for her own rooms. She listened patiently to her head housekeeper tell room by room the complaints his lordship had had about each little detail, or speck of dirt or dust. Something or other, nearly everywhere, wasn’t clean enough, or had fallen in a state of disrepair. And so it had gone, this needed to be repaired today, or get that replaced as soon as possible.

She had barely gone a few yards across the grassy courtyard that fronted her castle, when her father’s ‘advisors’ advanced upon her, all wearing varying degrees of disgruntled expressions. She closed her eyes for a moment or two to prepare herself, then pasted a wide smile upon her face. Her soft “good morning, gentlemen” was lost beneath the onslaught of “milady” or “Lady Frances” and “Lady Fran.” She wasn’t sure how long she stood there listening to the gentlemen complaints about his lordship’s demands and comments. When he had further demanded an accounting of the castle’s estate finances, they had all groaned and muttered. Unfortunately, they had taken after her father, and his “get to it tomorrow” method of accounting for expenses and income. She had tried to make repairs, but the gentlemen were slow to give over their responsibility. They had still complied with his lordship’s demand for the accounting books. Above all the grousing about his lordship’s countless demands, she heard kept hearing Sir Elwyn muttering behind her say “what right does he have” and “who does he think he is?” Finally Frances was able to get away from them, all but Elwyn that is, who in spite of her suggestions, kept right on following her. With half an ear, she listened to his grumbling and moaning while she continued to search for his lordship. It was nearly an hour and a half later before she located his lordship. He and his men were outside the castle walls, practicing their sword skills. Fran stopped dead in her tracks at the impressive sight of these strong, tall soldiers, stripped to the waist, muscles rippling with sweat under the hot sun, as they fought skillfully with each other.

The next thing she knew she was flat on her face, in the soft green grass. Sir Elwyn, caught up in his own words and thoughts, had plowed straight into Fran, literally knocking her flat. For a few stunned moments, silence reined over the people on the field. For even though they had not stopped their training, not a single soldier had missed the approach of the lady of the castle. The silence was just as suddenly gone at the thunder of feet coming to her rescue. She could hear Elwyn behind her, flustered and apologetic. She pushed herself up part way, when an outstretched hand filled her vision. She recognized the large sterling silver crested ring and its large red stone. Blowing her hair out of her face, she took his hand. In one deft, smooth movement, he easily pulled her upright to her feet. His laughing eyes held hers’, then he pulled forth his great shining sword. Bowing lowly to her, he offered quite solemnly by tone of voice, “Shall I behead the dastardly knave who has caused you such grievous harm, milady?”

Even as she heard Elwyn’s fearful gasp and sputter from behind her, Fran had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud at such an outrageous suggestion. While his words had been quite solemn, the gleam in his lordship’s eyes had told another tale entirely. Good Lord, she thought on a silent laugh, this man has a devilish sense of humor, and made a mental reminder and warning to her herself to beware.

“No, thank you, milord. Sir Elwyn meant no harm and I just tripped.” She paused and brushed away a few clinging bits of grass, and dust smudges, and deliberately ignored the grass stain and small rip in her gown. “As you can see, no harm has been done. I should have been paying more attention.” She glared for a moment at Bradwyn, then turned to smile at Elwyn.

“See, Elwyn, everything is just fine. There is nothing for you to worry about.” She patted his arm gently, to reassure him. His lordship had seen enough though. He quickly sheathed his sword, his broad chest muscles straining and gleaming in the bright noonday’s sunlight. He decided that enough was enough, and it was going to stop right here, right now. He was not going to put up with, no… he was not going to allow her ladyship to be “touching” Elwyn like that, whether it was “just friendship” or not. He reached out and took hold of Fran’s arm, pulling her towards him, firmly. “I need to have a word with her ladyship, excuse us.”

And he turned abruptly and started off towards a nearby thicket of trees and bushes. Fran tripped a bit, trying to hurry to match his long stride. As she hurried in his wake, she glanced back to see that his officers had quite effectively blocked Elwyn from following her. She had no doubt that he would have done so, had he known a way to do so. But faced with well over six feet of strongly muscled wall, Elwyn would have no real defense, or offense for that matter.

Bradwyn didn’t stop until they were in the nearby grove of trees. Here they were quite effectively shielded from anyone who might have been passing by. She smiled up at him.

“That was very naughty of you, your lordship. You quite scared Sir Elwyn, I’m sure, and I don’t think his constitution is strong enough to withstand too many scares of the such.”

But Bradwyn didn’t smile in return. Instead he just stood there for a long moment, then he jerked her forward into his strong arms. He covered her just opening mouth with his own and literally kissed the breath right out of her. When he finally lifted his head, hers fell forward against his chest gasping for air. Neither spoke until he finally took her shoulders and firmly and stepped back a foot. She was still a bit dazed by his kiss as he asked her, “Did you have as much trouble sleeping as I did? I kept dreaming of us on the desk and then I’d awake wanting you all the more.”

Fran blushed brightly because very similar dreams had kept her tossing and turning for most of the night, which is why she had ended up sleeping so terribly late this morning. He laughed gently at her flushed cheeks. “That is why my men were all up at the crack of dawn.” Fran stepped further back and his hands fell away. She took a deep breath. “Am I right in assuming you are responsible for all the hubbub in my house then?”

Bradwyn crossed his arms across his naked, broad chest, giving her a level look. “If by hubbub, madam, you mean getting the cobwebs cleaned up and the dirt washed off, then yes, I am responsible. Your servants are much too old to care for such a large household, that is obvious to anyone.”

He watched her bristling at his verbal attack of her household. Granted she knew all that was true, but she had just let things slide. No one ever came to visit and they got along ‘all right’ most of the time.

“You can’t deny that your servants will not be able to cope with all the extra work – cooking, cleaning, that having my men here is going to cause.” He saw her nod her head, very, very slightly in agreement. “And it isn’t fair to demand that your older servants, who have served your family so faithfully through their younger years, now have to struggle when they should be slowing down. It is obvious that most of them will not be able to keep up with the demands of the increased workload. It is hardly fair to them, now is it milady?” He spoke so assuredly… so self-confident, knowledgeably. She would have loved to disagree with him, but her own good sense told her that he was right. And if she were to disagree, then she would be the one who was being unreasonable. And he wasn’t being smug about it. Oh no, he was quite matter of fact, very diplomatic.

Bradwyn watched the emotions chase one another across her face, as one thought after another struck her. When she finally nodded in agreement, he decided now was as good a time as any. His previous well-thought out plans were useless now.

“And madam?”

Fran looked up at him, something in his tone of voice, told her that what he was about to say was very important.

“Yes, milord?” she replied slowly. As she watched, he lowered his arms to his sides, and his hand unconsciously moved to his sword handle.

“I have a sent for the nearest priest.”

Fran stared at Bradwyn as if he had spoken in a tongue she had never heard. The words hung between them in the shaded grove, heavy as the summer air.

“You have sent for a priest,” she repeated slowly.

“Aye.” His golden-brown eyes did not waver. “The king’s order was clear. I am to wed you and take the holding. What happened last night only hastened the matter.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her thighs, the stretch of him inside her, the way her body had betrayed every careful plan she had ever made. “You cannot simply announce a wedding as though you are ordering the kitchens cleaned.”

“I can and I have.” He stepped closer. The scent of sun-warmed skin and steel clung to him. “The priest will arrive by tomorrow evening if the roads are kind. We will be wed the morning after.”

Fran turned away, arms locked across her middle. The grass under her bare feet was soft, the same grass where Elwyn had knocked her flat only moments before. Everything was moving too quickly. One night she had stood naked on the parapet, certain no one could see her. The next she had been claimed on her father’s desk by a man she had known less than a day.

“And if I refuse?”

Bradwyn’s voice dropped. “Then I will still take the castle, and you will be left with nothing but the scandal of having been thoroughly bedded by the king’s man. Your people will suffer the uncertainty. Is that what you want, Fran?”

The use of her shortened name startled her. She looked back at him. There was no cruelty in his face, only a hard certainty that made her stomach twist.

“You are very sure of yourself, milord.”

“I am sure of the king’s will. And I am sure of what passed between us.” He reached out and caught a loose strand of her red hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “You did not fight me for long.”

She jerked her head away. “That was madness. A moment of weakness.”

“Then let us make it permanent.”

They returned to the courtyard in silence. Sir Elwyn hovered near the practice field, face pale. Bradwyn’s officers had resumed their drills, but every eye followed the lady of the castle and the man who now walked at her side as though he already owned the ground.

That afternoon Fran summoned her advisors to the solar. The old men sat stiffly while Bradwyn stood near the window, arms folded, listening.

“You cannot mean to marry him,” Sir Elwyn burst out the moment the door closed. “He is a stranger. A soldier. He will turn this place into a garrison.”

“The king has already decided,” Fran said, voice level. “I will not have the people left in limbo.”

One of the older knights cleared his throat. “My lady, the accounts are… incomplete. If this man demands a full reckoning—”

“He already has,” she cut in. “And he will have it. We have lived too long on the habits of my father. That ends now.”

Bradwyn’s gaze met hers across the room. Something like approval flickered there, and Fran hated how much it pleased her.

When the men left, only Elwyn lingered. “Fran… if you need protection from him—”

“I need nothing from you except loyalty to this house,” she said gently. “Go rest. Tomorrow will be long.”

Night fell soft and damp. Fran retreated to her sea-facing chamber, the same room that had once belonged to Godfrey the Fearless. She stood at the open window, cloak wrapped around her night rail, listening to the waves. The door opened without a knock.

Bradwyn entered, still in his leather brigandine, sword at his hip. He closed the door and leaned against it.

“You should not be here,” she said.

“I am to be your husband in two days. I will go where I please in this castle.”

He crossed the room slowly. When he reached her he did not touch her at first. He simply looked down at the pale line of her throat, the rise of her breasts beneath thin linen.

“I meant what I said in the grove. I have never lost control like that.” His voice was rough. “Not with any woman.”

Fran swallowed. “Nor I with any man.”

The admission hung between them. Then his mouth was on hers, hard and claiming. She opened for him at once. His hands shoved the cloak from her shoulders, then tugged the night rail down until her breasts spilled free. He cupped them, thumbs brushing the already tight nipples, and groaned into her mouth.

They did not make it to the bed. He backed her against the stone wall beside the window. Cool air from the sea kissed her bare skin while his mouth trailed fire down her throat. He lifted her, settled her legs around his waist, and freed himself with one hand. When he thrust into her she cried out against his shoulder. The angle was deep, almost too much, yet her body welcomed him greedily. He moved with controlled power, each stroke driving her higher until she shattered, clenching around him. He followed with a low, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled.

For a long time they stayed locked together, breathing hard. Bradwyn rested his forehead against hers.

“Tomorrow the priest arrives,” he murmured. “The day after, you will be my wife in the eyes of God and the king. And every night after that, Fran, I will have you like this.”

She said nothing. Her arms remained around his neck, and the sea wind carried the scent of salt and sex out into the darkness.

The priest arrived just before dusk the following day, a thin, travel-weary man named Father Aldric who had ridden hard from the nearest abbey. His mule was lathered, his plain brown robes dusted with the grit of the road, and the lines of exhaustion around his eyes spoke of long hours in the saddle. He was shown at once to a guest chamber overlooking the inner courtyard and given hot food, mulled wine, and a basin of warm water while the household scrambled into motion around him. Word spread quickly from kitchen to stable to tower: the priest had come. The marriage would happen.

Fran spent the day in a kind of calm dread. It was not fear of Bradwyn himself—she had already known his body and the force of his will—but a deeper unsettled feeling, as though the last pieces of the life she had known were being quietly packed away. Martha fussed over a gown of deep green velvet that had once belonged to Fran’s mother. The fabric was still rich despite the years, the color of pine woods in shadow. The neckline was modest, the sleeves long and close-fitting, yet Fran knew the way the velvet would mold to her figure, clinging to the curve of breast and hip. She stood still while the old woman brushed her hair until it shone like polished copper in the light from the window, then braided it with thin gold ribbon that caught the sun whenever she moved. Martha’s hands trembled slightly with emotion; Fran covered them once with her own and squeezed gently.

Bradwyn spent the hours drilling his men in the courtyard and inspecting the outer walls with Sir Ranald at his side. When he returned to the great hall that evening he was freshly washed, the scent of soap and clean linen clinging to him. He wore a clean black tunic embroidered with the king’s colors at the collar—deep crimson and gold thread that caught the torchlight. His eyes found Fran at once across the length of the hall. Something possessive and satisfied moved in that golden-brown gaze. She felt it like a physical touch.

They dined together at the high table. Conversation was sparse. Platters of roast fowl, fresh bread, and stewed autumn fruit came and went. Sir Elwyn sat further down the board, face set in lines of misery, pushing food around his trencher without eating much of it. The rest of the household watched their lady and the tall knight with open curiosity tempered by caution. No one raised a voice in protest. No one needed to. The king’s will, and Bradwyn’s presence, made the outcome inevitable.

After the meal Bradwyn rose. The hall quieted at once. “Father Aldric will hear our confessions tonight,” he said, his voice carrying easily. “The marriage will take place at first light in the castle chapel.”

Fran inclined her head. She had no true choice, and they both knew it. The words still settled over her like a cloak she had not yet decided whether to wear or cast off.

The chapel was small, stone-walled, and cool even with the press of bodies. A dozen beeswax candles burned in iron stands, their soft light gilding the rough-hewn altar and the simple wooden cross above it. The air smelled of wax, old stone, and the faint salt that never left the castle. Fran walked the short aisle alone. Her green velvet whispered against the flagstones. Bradwyn waited at the altar, broad shoulders filling the space, the black tunic making him look taller and more severe. When she reached him he took her hand. His palm was warm and calloused, the sword-hand of a man who had earned everything he held.

Father Aldric spoke the ancient words in a clear, tired voice. Fran repeated her vows without tremor, each syllable steady. Bradwyn’s voice was deeper, steady as bedrock. The ring he slid onto her finger was plain gold, heavy and slightly worn, clearly taken from his own hand only moments before. It settled against her skin with a weight that felt both foreign and final. When the priest declared them man and wife, Bradwyn kissed her—not the chaste brush of lips expected in a chapel, but a thorough claiming, mouth firm and sure, that left her flushed and slightly breathless before the watching household. A low murmur ran through the gathered people. No one smiled openly, but neither did anyone look away.

The wedding feast that followed was simple but abundant. Trestle tables filled the great hall. Bradwyn’s men drank freely, their voices rising in rough good cheer. Fran’s people ate with cautious hope, glancing often toward the high table as though still measuring the new order of things. Toasts were raised to the new lord and lady—some formal, some bluntly practical. Fran drank sparingly and answered when spoken to. Somewhere near the end of the meal she realized she had not thought of her father once since morning. The knowledge settled oddly in her chest, equal parts guilt and a strange, light freedom.

When the last of the guests drifted away to their beds or their posts, Bradwyn offered his arm. They climbed the broad stone stairs together in silence. At the door to her chamber—now their chamber—he paused, one hand on the iron latch.

“Are you afraid?”

“No,” she answered truthfully. The word surprised her with its honesty. “Only… uncertain.”

He opened the door. Inside, the great bed that had once belonged to Godfrey the Fearless had been freshly made with clean linen that smelled of lavender and sun. Candles burned low in their stands, casting soft pools of gold. Bradwyn closed the door and bolted it with a decisive scrape of metal.

This time there was no wall at her back, no desperate haste born of anger and shock. He undressed her slowly, unlacing the green velvet with deliberate care, his fingers steady against the fabric. The gown loosened and then pooled at her feet in a dark green spill. Her shift followed. His own clothes came next—tunic, hose, boots—until he stood naked before her. He was even more imposing without the armor of cloth: broad chest dusted with brown hair that tapered down the hard plane of his stomach, powerful thighs, the thick length of him already half-hard in the candlelight. Fran’s breath caught.

He lifted her onto the bed and followed her down. His mouth traveled every inch of her with thorough patience: the sensitive hollow of her throat where her pulse beat, the soft undersides of her breasts, the slight curve of her belly, the smooth, hairless folds between her legs. When he licked her there she arched with a broken sound, fingers threading into his hair. He stayed until she came apart under his tongue, thighs trembling, a soft cry escaping her lips. Only then did he rise over her and enter her in one long, controlled thrust that filled her completely.

They moved together slowly at first, learning the new rhythm of husband and wife—the give and take, the shared breath, the way their bodies fit as though they had been waiting for this exact angle. Then the pace quickened. Fran wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into the flexing muscles of his back. Pleasure built in deep, rolling waves. When release took her she cried his name, the sound raw and unguarded. He followed moments later, face buried in her neck, body rigid, a low groan vibrating against her skin as he spilled inside her.

Afterward he rolled to his side and pulled her against him. His hand rested possessively on the curve of her hip, thumb stroking absently. The candles had burned lower. Outside, the sea kept its endless rhythm against the rocks.

“You are mine now,” he said quietly into the dimness. “In law and in body. I will not share you, Fran. Not with Elwyn’s longing looks, not with any man’s memory.”

She turned her face into the warm skin of his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “There is no memory that matters.”

It was not entirely true—the past still existed, a shadow she had not yet fully outrun—but it was true enough for this night. In the circle of his arms, with his ring heavy on her finger and the scent of him all around her, the future felt larger than whatever had come before. She closed her eyes and let sleep take her, held secure in the new and irrevocable truth of being his wife.

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