Richard gave a great groan, almost a howl, and charged into her. The sweet scent of his musky salt, the taste of his lips, the strength of his joining, all melded into another rising spike for Eleanor as she rocked with him, intent to give him release and bliss but finding it came for her, too, a second time.
He flung himself off the pinnacle and she went with him, both of them floating, free yet joined.
* * * *
Never before had it been so complete, Richard thought some uncharted time later. Eleanor was his true mate yet one he might so easily have missed.
The terrifying idea made him hug her so hard that she protested, “Richard, I cannot breathe.”
“Forgive me.” He sprawled her back more comfortably into the crook of his arm and kissed her again. “My love.”
“Mine too.”
“We must be married soon. I do not want to wait.”
She smiled and planted a soft, distracting kiss on his belly. If he gave her leave and if she was not already, she would soon become a most bewitching tease, he thought proudly.
“You still owe me, you know.” Eleanor sat up, skimming her silver-gold hair over one shoulder.
He admired the curves of her breast and shoulder and back. She was peerless and flawless.
“I should pay you in kisses, not coin,” he murmured, enjoying the full sun on his body and luxuriating in how the sun made her glitter and gleam.
“You do not remember?” She tapped his breastbone.
That is quite enough. He snared her wrists in one hand and tugged her back tightly against him. “I always pay my debts, young woman.”
“Good, for you owe me some pennies for the wolf.”
“Then we can barter for it,” he countered and laid a hand across her bottom, smiling as she closed her eyes and sighed. “You owe me first,” he added and grinned as her eyes flew open.
“I will teach you about poisons, Richard, as I promised.”
“I know.” With their main threat gone, it was wildly unnecessary but any lessons with Eleanor would always be a delight. “Yet you still owe me a bride-price, a merchet.”
Her chin came up proudly. “Not now I am a free woman.”
“Yet as a final gift, a goodwill gesture.” He trailed his fingers up and down her flanks. “Would you like to pay me now?”
She nodded and he drew her back into his arms.
“I love you, my lord,” she said, her words measured like a solemn vow.
“And I you, little freewoman.”
They made love for the rest of the day, with the swifts swirling above them and the mosaic fishes swirling below and no other creature intruding on their special, secret place.
About the Author
Lindsay Townsend is fascinated by ancient world and medieval history and writes historical romance covering these periods. She also enjoys thrillers and writes both historical and contemporary romantic suspense. When not writing, Lindsay enjoys spending time with her husband, gardening, reading and taking long, languid baths – possibly with chocolate.
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