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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.

  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 body 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.

  *~~*~~*

  “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.”

  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?”

&n
bsp; 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 folds 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.

  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 sheath 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.

  Chapter Three

  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.

  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 re-glazed 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 a
re 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?”

  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.”