Need something spicy to read with your mulled wine? Don't miss this hot and kinky first time romance set in beautiful snowy England.
Wednesday, 20 December 2023
Sunday, 17 December 2023
Christmas Read, Christmas Romance. Sensual Romance Novel, The Snow Bride
#HistoricalRomance - a passionate read, and full of suspense. Grab a copy of "The Snow Bride" now. #fiction #warrior #witch #romance #romantic #medieval #FREEReadKU
The Snow
Bride
She is Beauty, but is he the Beast?
Book One of
The Knight and the Witch
England,
winter, 1131
Elfrida,
spirited, caring and beautiful, is also alone. She is the witch of the woods
and no man dares to ask for her hand in marriage until a beast comes stalking
brides and steals away her sister. Desperate, the lovely Elfrida offers herself
as a sacrifice, as bridal bait, and she is seized by a man with fearful scars.
Is he the beast?
In the
depths of a frozen midwinter, in the heart of the woodland, Sir Magnus,
battle-hardened knight of the Crusades, searches ceaselessly for three missing
brides, pitting his wits and weapons against a nameless stalker of the snowy
forest. Disfigured and hideously scarred, Magnus has finished with love, he
thinks, until he rescues a fourth 'bride', the beautiful, red-haired Elfrida,
whose innocent touch ignites in him a fierce passion that satisfies his deepest
yearnings and darkest desires.
Excerpt
Elfrida
stirred sluggishly, unable to remember where she was. Her back ached, and the
rest of her body burned. She opened her eyes and sat up with a jerk, thinking
of Christina.
Her head
felt to be bobbing like an acorn cup in a stream, and her vision swam. As she
tried to swing her legs, her sense of dizzy falling increased, becoming worse
as she closed her eyes. She lashed out in the darkness, her flailing hands and
feet connecting with straw, dusty hay, and ancient pelts.
“Christina?”
she hissed, listening intently and praying now that the monster had brought her
to the same place it had taken her sister.
She heard
nothing but her own breath, and when she held that, nothing at all.
“Christina?”
Fearing to reach out in this blackness that was more than night and dreading
what she might find, Elfrida forced herself to stretch her arms. She trailed
her fingers out into the ghastly void, tracing the unseen world with trembling
hands.
Her body
shook more than her hands, but she ignored the shuddering of her limbs, closed
her eyes like a blind man, and searched.
She lay on
a pallet, she realized, full of crackling, dry grass. When she scented and
tasted the air, there was no blood. She did not share the space with grisly
corpses.
I am alone and unfettered. Now her heart had stopped thudding
in her ears, she listened again, hearing no one else. Chanting a charm to see
in the dark, she tried again to shift her feet.
Light
spilled into her eyes like scalding milk as a door opened and a massive figure
lurched across the threshold. Elfrida launched herself at freedom, hurling a
fistful of straw at the looming beast and ducking out for the light.
She fell
instead, her legs buckling, her last sight that of softly falling snow.
* * * *
Magnus
gathered the woman before she pitched facedown into the snow, returning her
swiftly to the rough bed within the hut. Her tiny, bird-boned form terrified
him. Clutching her was like ripping a fragile wood anemone up from its roots.
And she had
fought him, wind-flower or not. She had charged at him.
“I wish,
lass, that you would listen to me. I am not the Forest Grendel, nor have wish
to be, nor ever have been.”
Just as
earlier, in the clearing where he had first come upon her, a brilliant shock of
life and color in a white, dead world, the woman gave no sign of hearing. She
was cold again, freezing, while in his arms she had steamed with fever. He
tugged off his cloak and bundled her into it, then piled his firewood and
kindling onto the bare hearth.
A few
strikes of his flints and he had a fire. He set snow to melt in the helmet he
was using as a cauldron. He swept more dusty hay up from the floor and,
sneezing, packed it round the still little figure.
No beast on
two or four legs would hunt tonight, so that was one worry less. Finding this
lean-to hut in the forest had been a godsend, but it would be cold.
Magnus went
back out into the snow and led his horse into the hut, spreading what feed he
had brought with him. He kept the door shut with his saddle, rubbed the palfrey
down with the bay’s own horse blanket, and looked about for a lantern.
There was
none, just as there were no buckets, nor wooden bowls hanging from the eaves.
But, abandoned as it surely had been, the place was well roofed, and no snow
swirled in through the wood and wattle walls. Whistling, Magnus dug through his
pack and found a flask of ale, some hard cheese, two wizened apples, and a
chunk of dark rye bread. He spoke softly to his horse, then looked again at the
woman.
She was
breathing steadily now, and her lips and cheeks had more color. By the
glittering, rising fire he saw her as he had first in the forest clearing, an
elf-child of beauty and grace, a willing sacrifice to the monster. Kneeling
beside her, he longed to stroke her vivid red hair and kiss the small dimple in
her chin. In sleep she had the calm, flawless face of a Madonna of Outremer and
the bright locks of a Magdalene.
He had
guessed who she was—the witch of the three villages, the good witch driven to
desperation. Coming upon her in that snowfield, tied between two trees like a
crucified child of fairy, his temper had been a black storm against the
villagers for sparing their skins by flaying hers. Then he had seen her face,
recognized that wild, stark, sunken-cheeked grief, seen the loose bonds and the
terrible “feast,” and had understood.
Another young woman has been taken by the
beast, someone you love.
She—Elfrida,
that was her name, he remembered it now—Elfrida was either very foolish or very
powerful, to offer herself as bait.
Published
August 15th by Prairie Rose Publications
FREE to
read with Kindle Umlinted.
To buy on
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VSHHX4N
Here’s
another excerpt from THE SNOW BRIDE, showing Elfrida, a medieval witch and
Magnus, a warrior. I deliberately wrote it so Elfrida was powerful in magic but
not invulnerable. Hence her catching chicken-pox and being feverish as a
result.
EXCERPT
Magnus was worried. The fire he had made should have brought his
people. It was an old signal, well-known between them. His men should have
reached the village by now—that had been the arrangement. They were bringing
traps and provisions in covered wagons, and hunting dogs and horses. He had
been impatient to start his pursuit of the Forest Grendel and so rode ahead,
returning with the messenger until that final stretch when the man turned off
to his home. He had ridden on alone, finding the wayside shrine.
But from then, all had gone awry. Instead of the monster, he had found an
ailing witch, and the snowstorm had lost him more tracks and time.
Magnus shook his head, turning indulgent eyes to the small, still figure on the
rough pallet. At least the little witch had slept through the night and day,
snug and safe, and he had been able to make her a litter from woven branches.
He would give his fire signal a little longer and then return Elfrida to her
village. There he might find someone who could translate between them.
Perhaps she did have power, for even as he looked at her, she sat up, the hood
of her cloak falling away, and stared at him in return. She said something,
then repeated it, and he drew in a great gulp of cold air in sheer
astonishment, then laughed.
“I know what you said!” He wanted to kiss her, spots and all.
He burst into a clumsy canter, dragging his peg leg a little and almost
tumbling onto her bed. She caught him by the shoulders and tried to steady him
but collapsed under his weight.
They finished in an untidy heap on the pallet, with Elfrida hissing by his ear,
“Why have you done such a foolish thing as to burn all our fuel?”
He rolled off her, knocked snow off his front and beard, and said in return,
“How did you know I would know the old speech, the old English?”
“I dream true, and I dreamed this.” She was blushing, though not, he realized
quickly, from shyness.
“Why burn so wildly?” she burst out, clearly furious. “You have wasted it! All
that good wood gone to ash!”
“My men know my sign and will come now the storm has gone.” He had not expected
thanks or soft words, but he was not about to be scolded by this red-haired
nag.
“That is your plan, Sir Magnus? To burn half the forest to alert your troops?”
“A wiser plan than yours, madam, setting yourself as bait. Or had your village
left you hanging there, perhaps to nag the beast to death?”
Her face turned as scarlet as the fire. “So says any witless fool! ’Tis too
easy a charge men make against women, any woman who thinks and acts for herself.
And no man orders me!”
Magnus swallowed the snort of laughter filling up his throat. He doubted she
saw any amusement in their finally being able to speak to each other only to
quarrel. Had she been a man or a lad, he would have knocked her into the snow,
then offered a drink of mead, but such rough fellowship was beyond him here.
“And how would you have fought off any knave, or worse, that found you?” he
asked patiently. “You did not succeed with me.”
“There are better ways to vanquish a male than brute force. I knew what I was
about!”
“Truly? You were biding your time? And the pox makes you alluring?”
“Says master gargoyle! My spots will pass!”
“Or did you plan to scatter a few herbs, perhaps?”
He thought he heard her clash her teeth together. “I did not plan my sickness,
and I do not share my secrets! Had you not snatched me away, had you not
interfered, I would know where the monster lives. I would have found my sister!
I would be with her!” Her voice hitched, and a look of pain and dread crossed
her face. “We would be together. Whatever happens, I would be with her.”
“This was Christina?”
“Is Christina, not was, never was! I know she lives!”
Magnus merely nodded, his temper cooling rapidly as he marked how her color had
changed and her body shook. A desperate trap to recover a much-loved sister
excused everything, to his way of thinking.
She called you a gargoyle! This piqued his vanity and pride.
But she does not think you the monster, Magnus reminded himself in a dazzled,
shocked wonder, embracing that knowledge like a lover.
Published
August 15th by Prairie Rose Publications
FREE to
read with Kindle Umlinted.
To buy on
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VSHHX4N
A FINAL EXCERPT:
“How are the
spots? Itching yet?”
Elfrida gave
a faint shudder. “Do not remind me.” Since stirring, she had been aware of her
whole body tickling and burning. Mark’s idea of rolling in the snow might not
be so bad.
“Walter told
me that the
She did not
say that the village could afford to spare no foodstuffs and would not be
distracted. She had tried to rush off in pursuit of the monster before and
gained nothing, so now she would gather her strength and learn before she
moved. “What did you call the beast?
Magnus shook
his head. “It is not known, but I do not think so now, or at least not
outdoors. I have hunted wolf’s heads who have been outlawed and fled into
woodland, and they always have camps and dens and food caches within the
forest. I have found none of those hereabouts.”
“My dowsing
caught no sign of any lair of his,” Elfrida agreed.
Magnus
leaned forward, bracing himself with his injured arm. Elfrida forced herself
not to stare at his stump, but to listen to him.
“Do you
sense anything?” he asked softly.
“The night
you came, I felt something approach.” She frowned, trying to put into words
feelings and impressions that were as elusive as smoke. “A great purpose,” she
said. “A need and urgent desire.”
Now Magnus
was frowning. “Have you a charm or magic that will help?”
“Do you
think I have not tried magic, charms, and incantations? My craft is not like a
sword fight, where the blades are always true. If God does not will it—”
“I have been
in enough fights where swords break.”
“Are your
men good trackers?”
“They would
not be with me, else.” If Magnus was startled by her determination to talk only
of the beast, he gave no sign. “Tell me of your sister and her habits. Did she
keep to the same paths and same tasks each day?”
“Yes and
yes, but what else did Walter say? The old men have told me nothing!”
“No, they do
not want the womenfolk to know anything, even you, I fear.” His kind eyes
gleamed, as if he enjoyed her discomfiture. He had a small golden cross in his
right eye, she noticed, shining amidst the warm brown.
A sparkle
for the lasses, eh, Magnus?
To her
further discomfiture, she realized he had asked her something. “Say again,
please?”
“Would you
like some food to go with your mead? There are the remains of mutton, dates and
ginger, wine and mead and honey.” His brown eyes gleamed. “My men found it in
the clearing where I found you. The mutton has been a bit chewed, but the rest
is palatable, I think.”
“It is
drugged!” Elfrida burst out. “I put”—she could not think of the old word and
used her own language instead—“I put a sleeping draft in the wedding cakes and
all.” She seized his arm, not caring that it was the one with the missing hand.
“Do not eat it!”
“Sleeping
draft?” He used her own words.
She yawned
and feigned sleep, startled when he started to laugh.
“A wedding
feast to send the groom to sleep! I like it!” He chuckled again and opened his
left hand, where, to Elfrida’s horror, there was one of her own small wedding
cakes.
Published
August 15th by Prairie Rose Publications
FREE to
read with Kindle Unlimited.
To buy on
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VSHHX4N
Author Bio
Lindsay
Townsend lives in Yorkshire, where she was born, and started writing stories at
an early age. Always a voracious reader, she took a degree in medieval history
and worked in a library for a while, then began to write full-time after
marriage.
She is
fascinated by the medieval and ancient world, especially medieval Britain,
where she set her full length medieval romance novels A Knight's Vow, A
Knight's Captive, A Knight's Enchantment and A Knight’s Prize, (first published
by Kensington Zebra, now re-issued) and also
The Snow Bride, A Summer Bewitchment, and several novellas. Lindsay is also intrigued by ancient Rome,
Egypt, and Britain. Flavia’s Secret, a historical romance set in Roman Britain,
was followed by two more ancient world historical romances, Blue Gold, set in
ancient Egypt, and Bronze Lightning, set in Bronze Age Greece and the Ancient Britain
of Stonehenge. All these ancient world historicals are just 99cents or 99p.
When not
writing or researching her books, she enjoys walking, reading, cooking, music,
going out with friends and long languid baths with scented candles (and perhaps
chocolate).
Author page
on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Lindsay-Townsend/e/B000API55C/
Twitter
page https://twitter.com/lindsayromantic
Saturday, 2 December 2023
Mistletoe Menage - MMM - by Lily Harlem
Want a kinky vicar threesome this Christmas? I'm your gal! MISTLETOE MENAGE is set in a beautiful snowy English village. But oh.... it's hot in the bedroom.
The winter days might be frosty, but a new guy in town is sure to heat up Father Nicholas and Dr. Zach!
Reverend Nicholas Simmons has traveled a bumpy road before landing in the small town of Mindle with his doctor husband. So, when a new, very sexy, very enticing young man shows interest in them both, he’s reluctant to rock the boat.
Zach, however, can’t keep the flashes of desire from his eyes. He’d never cheat, of course not, but visions of hot threesomes dance in his mind. Will Nicholas ever agree? If so, what would it be like? How hard would they all come?
Brandon isn’t looking forward to his first Christmas in Mindle. He’s alone. Exhausted. Friendless. That is, until he meets the Reverend and Zach. From that first moment he’s equal parts fascinated and turned on by them. Sure, they’re older than he is, but that just heightens his lust and increases his need to get hot, sweaty and naked with them.
Will their romance have a backdrop of tinsel and holly? Can three strong, passionate men truly connect with absolute honesty? And on Christmas night, will they each get the ultimate present—one another—under the tree?
Tuesday, 14 November 2023
Seriously Sexy British Vampires!
BIG NEWS!
BITE MARK and CLAW MARK are now back on Kindle Unlimited so dive into these steamy menage vampire shifter romances and be prepared to stay up late into the night!
Two vampires are in love with me. Another wants to kill me!
Life in London as a butcher girl was hard enough, but when my best friend Denny went missing it became miserable. Stumbling into the Worshipful Company of the Ancient Order while searching for him was like a breath of fresh air. Especially because handsome, sophisticated Aimery promised to help me.
But Aimery’s friend Ryle wanted in on the action. My head was spinning, my body reacting to theirs whenever they were around. But I had questions: What was their obsession with my rare blood type? How did they always appear when I needed them? And how old were they?
Learning the truth brought new fears and delights. They could take me higher than I’d ever gone before, show me pleasures I’d never imagined and were prepared to kill to protect me. Being mortal had never been so much fun—or so deliciously dangerous.
Friday, 29 September 2023
Sweet, Feel-Good Christmas Romance, "Sir Conrad and the Christmas Treasure."
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Fancy a feel-good, sweet romance for a Christmas Read as the nights draw in? My sweet medieval historical romance, "Sir Conrad and the Christmas Treasure" is out as a Kindle, a Paperback and now as a Large Print. The Large Print version is coming out on December 1st as a perfect Christmas Read and Christmas Gift.
KindleVersion
UK https://amazon.co.uk/dp/B07KW6K5RL/
Large Print Version:
Large Print Version:
England, 1192. When Maggie’s brother Michael is kidnapped by outlaws, she appeals to the grim Sir Conrad for help. The first time he sees her, Conrad is overwhelmed by Maggie’s beauty and courage. Yet what will it cost him to aid this peasant girl, who seems strangely familiar? Working together to find Michael, Maggie and Conrad discover more about each other – but some knowledge is dangerous. As Christmas approaches, will their love prevail?
Lindsay Townsend
Tuesday, 1 August 2023
Celebrate Summer with the Medieval Romance "A Summer Bewitchment".
Celebrate
Summer with Medieval Romance!
A Summer
Bewitchment.
#Escape into #Romance and #Magic with the #RomanceNovel A SUMMER BEWITCHMENT (THE Knight & the Witch 2)
USA https://amzn.to/2SxGj5L UK https://amzn.to/352aAfD
“I am the troll king of this land and you owe
me a forfeit.”
Elfrida glanced behind the shadowed figure who
barred her way. #KU #HistoricalRomance #MedievalHistoricalRomance
#Sequel to THE SNOW BRIDE
USA https://amzn.to/2MZZan0
UK https://amzn.to/2H1tYzY
Here is Chapter One of A Summer Bewitchment.
A SUMMER BEWITCHMENT
The Knight and the Witch 2
LINDSAY TOWNSEND
Copyright © 2013
Chapter 1
England,
summer, 1132
“I am the troll king of this land
and you owe me a forfeit.”
Elfrida glanced behind the shadowed
figure who barred her way. He was alone, but then so was she.
Do
I turn and run along the track? Should I flee into the woods or back to the
river? He is close, less than the distance of the cast of a spear. Can I make
it hard for him to catch me? Yes.
But catch her he would.
Play
for time.
“Indeed?” she asked, using one of
her husband’s favorite expressions, then sharpened her tone. “Why must I pay
anything?”
“You have trespassed in these woods.
In my woods.”
The nagging ache in her shoulders
and hands vanished in a tingling rush of anticipation. Elfrida dropped her
basket of washed, dried clothes onto the dusty pathway, the better to fight.
“King Henry is lord of England.”
“I am king here.”
A point to him. “I kept to the path,
and then the river.”
“That may be so, but I claim a
kiss.”
He had not moved yet, nor shown his
face. The summer evening made his shadow huge, bloody. Her heart beating harder
as she anticipated their final, delicious encounter, Elfrida asked, “Are you so
bold? My husband is a mighty warrior, the greatest in all Christendom.”
“That is a large claim.” He sounded
amused. “All Christendom? He must be a splendid fellow. The harpers should sing
of him.”
Elfrida raised her chin, determined
to have her say. “I am proud of my lord. He is a crusader. He has seen
Jerusalem and he has learning. He can whistle any tune. He defends all those
weaker than himself.” Should I say what I
next want to say? Tease him as he has teased me? Why not? Are we are not
playing? “Go back to your woods, troll king.”
She heard the crack of a pine cone
as he shifted. In a haze of motion the troll king was out of the tree shade and
into the bright sunset, dominating the path in front of her. Taller than a
spear, broad as a door, he had a face as stark as granite, of weathered, broken
stone. Heavily scarred—many would say
grooved—he had the terrible beauty of a victor, a winner wounded but
unbowed.
A ribbon of heat, like hot breath,
flickered across her breasts. He was so magnificent , so handsome. She both
loved and hated defying him, even in jest. Striving for calm, she said, “You
will come no closer.”
“Or what, little laundress?”
That tease irked her. “The clothes
and bedding do not wash themselves. Not even for you, troll king.”
He smiled, a daunting unfurling of
that scarred, sword-cut face. The churning heat in her belly swept up into her
cheeks and down to her loins.
“I am a witch, besides,” she added,
though not as coolly as she would have liked. She saw the gleam in his large
brown eyes pool into molten bronze.
“You would put a spell on me,
elfling?” he challenged.
“Perhaps I already have.” Her tone
and mouth were as dry as the summer. How
much farther can we stretch this sweet foolishness?
He raised thick black eyebrows,
while a breeze flicked and flirted with his shoulder-length curls. “Is that
Christian?”
She wanted to cross her arms before
herself, to shield her body from his bold stare. At the same time she longed to
strip herself naked for him, unlace his tunic and caress him. Unsure how he
might react, she armed herself with words instead. “I am a good witch, Magnus.”
“Indeed.” Again he looked her up and
down, glanced at her buckets, basket, and clothes. “Should you not have an
escort, wife?”
Do
I tell him I sent Piers off to help? Are we still playing now or is he truly
angry?
Looming over her, he was close
enough for her to touch him. To caress
his strong body will be like stroking sun-warmed stone. Distracted, she
shook her head. “There is the sheep shearing…”
“Done.” He tossed a stack of rolled,
lanolin-scented fleeces at her feet. “I did my share and more and, as I have
said already, I claim a reward.”
He winked at her and she found
herself smiling in return. “Forfeit and reward, too, sire? Is that not greedy?”
“Are we in Lent, that I should
fast?” He raised his hand, cupping her face with supple fingers. “But you are
too dainty to linger alone, witch or no.”
He traced the curve of her lips with
his thumb and, as she trembled, he gathered her firmly into his arms. “Any man
will try to spirit you away.”
“Hush!” She made a sign against the
evil eye and wood elves, but he shook his head at her caution.
“I have faith in your magic craft,
Elfrida. But a passing knave or outlaw? He is quite another matter. He would
see you as a tempting piece, my wife, my lovely.”
“I am not helpless,” she protested,
but her heart soared at his loving words. His mouth, as crooked and scarred as
the rest of his face, stole a kiss from hers.
He smelled of lanolin, salt, and
summer green-stuff, and tasted of apples and himself. Elfrida closed her eyes
under his tender onslaught, her thighs trembling.
“Troll King?” she murmured, when
they broke apart slightly. “Is that how you wish me to address you in the
future, husband?”
“‘Sire’ will do, or ‘greatest knight
in Christendom.’ Those will do very well.” He kissed her again.
“You rob me, sire,” she murmured, a
breathless space later.
“Of kisses?” He sounded delighted at
the idea, the beast, and grinned when she pinched him.
“Even one-handed I can do that
better than you.”
He demonstrated, squeezing and
lightly slapping her bottom, chuckling as she thrust her hips back against his
fondling fingers. A shred of modesty remained as her wits dissolved into a
sweet blaze of need. “Magnus, what if someone comes?”
* * * *
“Mark knows to keep them back.” Safe
in knowing his second in command would let no one disturb them for the rest of
the evening, Magnus sat down in the middle of the path and pulled his wife onto
his lap. She was pliant in his arms and as eager as himself, kissing his throat
and caressing his back while she murmured endearments in her own local dialect.
“Steady, lovely.” He stroked to soothe her, uncaring that such a tender act
made his desire more urgent. “Steady. We shall not be troubled by anyone, I promise.”
Daily he thanked God for her, his
Elfrida. They had found each other two seasons back, striving and facing
countless dangers together to free three brides from a deadly necromancer. He
had watched her push herself to her limits and beyond for others and, even more
strange and terrible, had seen her protect
him from spirits and curses.
Snug and close as she was to him
now, his fiery witch revealed another side to her nature, passionate and
sweetly submissive. She could dispute like a scholar from Bologna, argue any
point, but in bed with him, or sitting on his knee now on this dry woodland
path, her loving trust in him was absolute.
He kissed her narrow palms, marveling aloud how smooth they were,
in spite of her scrubbing clothes in the river all day.
“’Tis only a little charm and some
ointment I use.” She smiled at him. “But I regret, Magnus, that not even my
strongest magic can persuade a laundress to remain with us.”
He knew that well enough and he knew
why. Of all the women in the world, only his Elfrida and a few others could
look beyond his mess of ugly sword scars, his missing hand and foot, and not be
afraid. Aside from a constant shortage of maids he no longer cared about his
looks, but to have his wife pound washing was another matter. “It is not
seemly.”
“Maybe so, husband, for a lady born
and bred, but I am a witch.”
And
a peasant lass, her eyes added, though she was
wise enough not to say that. He disliked reminders of their difference in
class. To him it no longer mattered, indeed had never mattered. “You are my
wife,” he growled.
“I am and proud of it. But see, you
helped with the sheep shearing today. Washing sheets and stuff is nothing I
have not done before. And now you and Mark and the rest are always clad in
clean linen and woolens. Do you remember the stinking heap of filthy clothes I
discovered at your manor when we first arrived?”
Magnus knew he was losing this. “Let
me pay a laundress in gold.”
She tugged on his chest hairs, a
tingling reproof. “And then our woman cook would be offended, and my own
spinning maid. They would demand more, and so would the male head cook and the
farrier.”
He kissed her before she named every
servant in the place. “Can you not give me a philter to make me less ugly?” he
teased.
“Hush, you.” She wormed a soft hand
through his tunic laces and touched his strongly beating heart, flesh against
flesh. “As I have said before, you are most handsome, especially from the
back.”
She laughed up at him, her amber
eyes bright with mischief.
“Have a care, or I might say the
same—and do more.” Cupping her backside again, he savored how her lashes
trembled and her face flushed in response to his caress. He spanked her lightly
on her nether curves and she wrapped her arms tight about his neck.
“Magnus,” she breathed, snuggling
into the crook of his arm, clinging as he drew her scarlet skirt up her legs
and tucked it round her slender middle.
He could wait no longer. Aching,
hard and more than ready for her, he sank his fingers into her, finding her
warm and open and more than ready for him.
“Sir,” she whispered, as he rolled
her off his lap and onto her back, taking care her head was pillowed by the
sheepskins. Sinking into her was the greatest luxury in Christendom and having
her move with him an infinite pleasure. Feeling like a pagan storm god, he rode
and gloried in her, savoring her moans, her blushes, her growing heat and that
final long, harp-string-tight shudder of delight. Dimly he heard his own wild
shout as he plunged after her into a heart-hammering, thunderous release.
* * * *
“We should move,” Elfrida managed to
say, some uncounted time later. Languid, almost sinfully relaxed, she lounged
on top of her husband, wishing they could stay as they were.
“Not yet,” grunted Magnus, trapping
her legs with one of his and hugging her. Matching her mood, he only opened his
eyes when she leaned up on him. “Watch those needle elbows, wife.”
“I need more of those.”
“Elbows?”
“Needles. Christina wants me to make
her some clothes.”
“For her and her coming babe, no
doubt.” Magnus yawned and kissed her elbow. “Your sister and Walter are still
visiting for the midsummer?”
Elfrida nodded. “Just after Saint
John’s day. Unless you do not wish it?”
He shook his head, showing his
crooked smile. “Christina and her husband are always welcome at our house,
elfling.”
Even
though she chatters endlessly of babies, as she once used to gossip about her
wedding-day. Magnus was too gracious a host to
admit that. For an instant he did seem about to say more, but then he tipped
her off him and rolled swiftly to his feet.
“Get behind me,” he whispered. “We
are no longer alone.”
How
did Magnus hear and sense that when I did not? True, he is a warrior and these
are his woods, yet I am the witch! Am I so transported and undone by our
lovemaking as to be half blind after? Should I be? Is that a fault? Has my
marriage diminished my powers of magic?
Faster than quicksilver the
questions rushed through her as Magnus stood and straightened, standing before
her as a shield. She reached out beyond him with her mind, seeing Mark dashing
along the track, the low sun glinting on his ginger hair. She heard his panting
breath, caught glimpses of his thoughts and understood his alarm.
She touched Magnus’s shoulder. “Mark
comes with news of strangers. Not knights or crusaders, pilgrims or travelers,
some others. One is a woman.”
“A laundress?”
“A lady, I think,” Elfrida replied,
feeling as nervous as Mark looked. A
lady! How do I greet her? Is the hall swept and clean? Is there enough food,
enough fine bread? “She and her companion want your help. They will ask you
for it soon.”
She tried to smile, but Magnus knew
her too well to be fooled by her calm words. Without taking his eyes from the
careering Mark, he reached behind himself and took her hand in his.
“Our help, Lady Elfrida. Ask for one
of us and they will have the pair of us, yes?”
“If the cause is just, for sure,
yes.”
As she spoke, a sweet-sour taste
filled her mouth, as if she had bitten on a crab apple. Elfrida swallowed the
bitterness and checked her skirts, smoothing her clothes and ensuring her mass
of red hair was hidden beneath her veil. Wishing she was wearing something
better than her faded scarlet, she prepared to hear more.
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