First Frost

by A Lyrical Press Anthology

  Him being a prince, chances were her reputation would be tarnished after a night in the forest, even if she claimed they hadn’t done more than walk and sleep. She didn’t care, for she’d live the rest of her days remembering his closeness, his fragrant male scent and the gentleness in his eyes when he’d said he was too much for her to bear. A quivery little sigh left her.

  “Cora? Do you need to rest?”

  His concerned expression melted her inside and she shuddered with the need for something she could scarce name. “No,” she whispered. “Old Gerald’s hut is near. The place has been deserted since he died but it’s still sound, or it was before the tremor. I sheltered there one time when a rainstorm came. I hope the place survived the earthquake.”

  “You mean for us to spend the night up here on the Ridgeway?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and if her limbs grew any softer, she might not stand. “Yes, for we can’t toil like this after dark. We might lose our way. The wolves might come, or worse. There is food in the saddlebag and drink too. We’ll have enough to survive.”

  “We will?”

  Why did he doubt the pack held food and drink enough? And why had he been bathing naked in the magic pool in the mountain before the tremor happened? And why did she ache to be as close to him as she could? She opened her mouth to ask but thought better of it. “We’ll last the night, my prince.”

  “Stay a moment?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Forgive me. I’ve only ever hunted in the forest. I’ve never hunted on the paths up to the Ridgeway, only ever ridden here to the cavern with the pool. Walking in the forest is as unfamiliar to me as the court would be to you.”

  “That’s alright. I know the common paths and where I can usually find shelter or mushrooms.”

  “Mushrooms?”

  “Yes, they go in the pot and help the meal spread for more days, or for more mouths. My aunt wanted a good many of them, but sadly I found none today. I’m afraid my aunt will be annoyed. I’ll take so long to get back and then arrive bearing no mushrooms at all.”

  “Fear not, fair Cora, I will explain everything.”

  “You can’t. You’ll be in the castle.” She didn’t add, and we’ll never meet again, for to say the words would be a bitter squib in such a wondrous day.

  “Once I am home I’ll have horses to ride to your village, have gold sent by the sack if I choose, and gifts such a wise and fair maiden would welcome.”

  A little shudder of pleasure raced through her, swiftly followed by the response she’d been taught to make to lustful knights or merchants with a heavy purse. “Sir, I might only be from a village but even so, I’m not for sale. I’ve helped you because it was the right thing to do and for no other reason.”

  His brows drew together and his cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t trying to buy you, but reward you.”

  She squeezed his hip. “For now let’s not talk about anything but getting to the hut, sire, please?”

  He nodded and they took a couple paces.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Cora.”

  “Oh, my prince, you didn’t offend me. It’s the rest of the world and all it exacts in payment for living that offends me.”

  “You make the world sound a sad place.”

  Half hidden in the last of the ripe wealth of summer growth, with tall weeds and summer flowers lingering, stood Gerald’s hut. She lurched to a standstill. “Look you, sire. We’ve found it.”

  “We have?”

  “Gerald was a charcoal burner. His hut is simple, but he always encouraged all kinds of plants here. He said just because his job might be dark, it didn’t mean he had no heart for the light. You rest on this log.” She eased him onto the big log old Gerald had placed so he could enjoy the evening sun.

  “Did you know Gerald well?”

  She nodded. “Yes. He was a friend of my grandfather.” An edge of pride and slither of pain sharpened her voice. “Not that it matters. He was a good man and he’d not mind us using the hut for a night. I’ll gather some kindling for a fire. You look to see if there is a tinderbox in the pack?” She handed over the saddlebag and paused for a second, frozen by the Prince’s handsome features and the tilt to his jaw as he smiled. A little sigh escaped her before she eased off the basket straps from her shoulders. No man had ever made her long so much to be something she was not.

  “Don’t go too far,” he called, as she crossed the clearing by the hut. “The dark will come soon.”

  “It will if you don’t find the tinder box,” she called back, and bending, picked up small scraps of lichen and bits of twiggy growth to put in her basket. Being a prince, he might not understand the importance of a fire for safety as well as warmth, and she’d bet he’d never slept in anything but a feather bed. Tonight he was in for a few surprises.

  What will I do if he surprises me? Fiery heat scorched her cheeks at her hope for such wickedness.

  A tingling of delicious goose-bumps pebbled her skin. Her friend Rose had whispered with a massive grin the morning after her marriage night, “Gavin said he’s never been so hot in his life.”

  A little wave of prickles raced down her spine. Perhaps if she got a good fire going the prince would be warm enough without any need for her help. Unable to resist, she looked back to where he sat in the sunlight rummaging through the saddlebag. He glanced up and smiled, waved the tinderbox with an expression of triumph, and his glowing brown eyes stole the decision from her. If he wanted her to warm him tonight, she’d be glad to do it.

  Chapter 5

  The hut didn’t look fit for beasts. Randolph said nothing as he ducked his head to clear the doorway and followed Cora inside. He could scarce believe any of his future subjects lived like this. One timber bed platform stood in a corner, a hearth just a few paces from the door, a log seat by the fireside, some shelves made from split planks and ancient rawhide. He had to crouch for there wasn’t enough space for him to stand upright. The only light came from the open door.

  “Mind your head. You sit here and I’ll soon have a fire going.” Cora put her basket down.

  Such clever little fingers.

  Swiftly she broke small twigs and added them to plant fluff. He offered her the tinderbox, and in moments a little flicker brightened the place. Cora bent, pursed her lips and blew softly on the flames. The fire shimmered and grew stronger. His desire to kiss her rose again, to kiss her because she was beautiful, clever and he knew no one like her. She was the lovely creature of his dreams.

  “Cora, shall I unpack the bag?” The question sounded as stupid as he thought, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He wanted to reach across and wipe the sooty smudge from her cheek with his thumb, to tweak the shawl from her shoulders so he could see her smooth throat and pale bosom. He shifted on the log seat.

  “Yes, sire. There is food, well wrapped, and a flask of wine too.”

  He nodded and removed the parcel and the flask. “Here.” He offered them to her.

  “I’ll just get some small branches for the fire—there are a few on Gerald’s old log pile,” she said, and glanced beyond him. “I don’t think any bedding is left, nor any cups or plates. I’m afraid they all went to Gerald’s daughter in the village when the old man died.” She dodged out the door and came back with an armful of old and seasoned firewood.

  The light from the fire she fed with three cut branches warmed his face and made his eyes ache. He set the flask and the parcel on the log bench beside him. His ankle throbbed with a steady pain, and he winced as he moved his foot. Cora bent and peered at his ankle, shaking her head.

  “This needs bathing and bandaging. I’ll get some water from the well for it. I know the well bucket is still on the chain, or leastways it was last time I sheltered here. The cold water might do your ankle good. We can eat in a little while.” She rose and disappeared through the door.

  He gazed around and tweaked at the horse blanket across his shoulder. Live, like this? Dress not much bette
r? How did the village people survive it?

  “Water, sire. Would you like some to drink? I’m afraid we’ll have to use our hands for cups.” She placed a wooden bucket on the floor

  He nodded and watched as she scooped with her palm and drank. Copying her, he managed to get a couple of good swallows of icy cold water.

  “Now I’ll make a cloth to bathe your ankle.” She lifted the hem of her skirt and yanked at the pale linen beneath.

  He ought to turn away but didn’t; he longed to see more of her. The flash of her lily-pale calf above her boot as she tugged off a strip of linen from her petticoat stirred him. Until today, he’d never met a woman he wanted this way. He’d known lust, for no one in his uncle’s court could not, but this desire to claim one woman as his alone, take her and keep her, burned like a flame in his heart.

  She knelt beside him. Her hair shone in the firelight, and he reached out and caressed her head. The soft brightness made him long to unweave the thick plaits and see all the beauty of her hair. He winced as she pressed the cold wet cloth on his ankle.

  “Does that hurt?” She turned, looked up. Her soft lips beckoned his.

  “No,” he said. He should ask if she’d allow him to kiss her; it was only right to ask. Her fingers dug deep. “Ow!”

  “That’s good. It’s not broken, sire, just badly bruised. You’ll be prancing for the court musicians again soon.”

  He hoped not. The elaborate courtly dances seemed a million miles away. “Cora?”

  “Yes.”

  He bent his head and her gray eyes widened. Smooth, warm and firm, her lips quivered as he brushed his against them.

  “Oh.”

  He backed away. “Forgive me?”

  She moved with a rustle of skirt and bent her head. Gently, she removed the cloth wrapping his ankle and wet the strip again then bound the tender joint with it. “There, that should soothe the heat and swelling, sire.”

  He held her steady gaze for a long time, took her small and clever hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”

  “It’s alright,” she whispered. “I’ll go and get some bracken.”

  “Bracken?”

  The way her eyes drank him down deep, how she blushed until she appeared more beautiful than any rose he’d ever seen made his stomach roll.

  “For the bed. It will be cruel, hard…sleeping…without any bracken.”

  “Let me help you?” He didn’t want her out of his sight, ever.

  “No, my prince.” She took his hand and traced along his palm with a finger. “You can scarcely stand, and even with a knife to cut them, the bracken stems are woody this late in the season. They could hurt you.” Darkened like mysterious night skies, her gray gaze held him. “I don’t want anything to hurt you.”

  He swallowed hard and a kind of fear shook him. He didn’t deserve such devotion. Somehow, if he claimed her, he’d make sure he rewarded Cora well with all he could give her.

  “I’ll be back very soon. Keep the fire burning. There’s more wood within reach.” She rose and went to the door.

  The branch on the hearthstone crackled and snapped as she left.

  The fire within him would burn until he drew his last breath. Suddenly, he understood—she was the one. He’d give Cora his love and hope for hers in return.

  Chapter 6

  Two stars shone in the lavender twilight and she sped her steps for night was close. She cut and gathered armfuls of bracken, some of it rust-shaded for autumn. Along with the bracken, she found wildflowers. The last breath of summer would be bound into her bridal bed. Her heart took up a swift and steady rhythm. His wonderful dark eyes had promised tonight she’d see the end of her maiden days. They had no priest to bless them, nor family to shout joyous congratulations, but somehow it didn’t matter. He’d made her his, and after tonight she would be until she trod the world no more.

  No one had ever said it would be like this, or explained love would sweep her up in a whirlwind and she’d have no idea where she’d land.

  She added some coils of honeysuckle, a few sweet flowers on the length of the vine, and some spindly twigs of lavender to her bundle. When she got back, she’d make the fragrant bracken bed, they’d eat and she’d step outside, strip to her shift and wash as was proper on such a special night. She shivered, not from cold but from the need of another of his soft kisses, his touch and his dark brown eyes glowing bright for her.

  How perfect he was, smiling at her return. She shook her head, to stop him rising on his injured foot, and carried the huge bundle to the bed platform in the corner, where she laid it out. The bracken had enough spring in it still to offer comfort and the bruised flowers’ sweet fragrance would help ease them toward sleep, eventually.

  “Come here, Cora. Sit beside me and rest. You need to eat, surely. I’m famished.”

  “Yes, sire. I’ll join you. Let me look at your ankle again and then we can eat.” She knelt beside him and smoothed his strong, muscled calf. His skin had warmed from the fire, and she unwound the strip of fabric from his ankle. The swelling remained and a dark bruise had formed. A pity she had nothing to soothe his pain.

  She dipped the cloth in the now tepid water, squeezed it out and rewrapped his ankle, all the time loving the opportunity to minister to his body. A body more precious to her than anything she could think of.

  “Does that feel a little better?” She caught her breath. The firelight gilded his face and hair so he shone like a golden statue, apart from his eyes. His gaze held hers and made promises of the kind to melt her into a tiny puddle at his feet. “Sire?” she whispered.

  “May I kiss you, Cora? I want to kiss you.”

  Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded and closed her eyes. His lips touched hers, smooth, warm and gentle enough to make her raise her arms around his neck. He stroked her lips with his tongue until she parted them. Accepting him with a moan, she opened her mouth. A quiver of pleasure raced through her as he held her in his arms and kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth.

  Heat bloomed in her belly, her breasts and nipples tingled into tight hot coals blazing against the restraint of her bodice. She whimpered and sucked on his tongue, loving the wonderful sounds he made. Their kiss lingered. Her heavy breaths matched the power of his as she explored his mouth.

  Randolph gathered her closer, took charge of the kiss so she could only respond with tiny whimpers as he probed her mouth with a steady rhythm. An edge of fear tinged her pleasure but she didn’t want him to stop, couldn’t help the way she pressed against his chest, stroked his arms and torso. He caressed the back of her head and held her steady. A strange liquid feeling invaded her loins. The spread of dampness between her thighs grew to stickiness and need for his caresses surged, unstoppable. She could have cried when he let her mouth go.

  He cupped her chin in his palm, urging her to look up. His dark centered gaze made her tremble.

  “My prince,” she whispered, her lips tingling and bereft without his.

  “I know you are a maid, Cora. I promise you, I’ll not hurt you if I can help it. I’ll not shame you either. I beg you to agree to be mine. If you say yes, you will always be my woman, my only woman.”

  She shook where she knelt between his thighs with her arms still around the warmth of his chest. “You are a prince and will soon be a king. You must marry for the kingdom. A princess should be your wife.”

  “I’m told the people are taught to believe this, but I’ve no desire for some unknown princess as a wife. What use have I for a girl who will probably loathe me and take a string of lovers who can dance better than I do? Since you first appeared in my dreams, I have always known I would find a wife from among my people. I hardly dared to hope I’d discover you.”

  Her heart raced so she couldn’t think. “You can’t mean you want me?”

  His lips moved slowly, curved upward and the expression gleamed in his eyes. “I do mean I want you, Cora, for you are the girl who saved me from a miserable death.
You have let me glimpse the life of some of my subjects. I believe you are my destiny. I have seen you in my dreams and wondered at you there. You were born to be my love. Be my wife, my queen, and the kingdom will blossom full of joy.”

  She couldn’t still the shaking. Hope of something rare and beautiful filled her. “Yes, my prince. I’ll be yours.”

  He let out a huge whoop and hauled her into his arms. “We will celebrate with wine and food, just like the marriage feast. And then—” He planted a kiss on her lips, nothing like their last but a kiss, nonetheless. “After, we will feast on each other.”

  “I will love you with all my heart,” she whispered.

  “That too, my fair Cora, that too.”

  Chapter 7

  He drew her onto his lap and her cheeks flushed rosy. She kissed him slowly, plied her tongue with his in lavish measure and forced him to match her soft moans. When he let her lips go, she whispered, “Food, sire. You are hungry.”

  He nodded. “I’m hungry for you.”

  “Food, as is the custom.”

  He smiled, for his village wench had a firmness of mind he couldn’t fault. Cora would shame his uncle’s chancellor with her strength of purpose. “Unwrap the parcel.”

  Deftly she did and presented him with a chunk of game pie. He broke off a piece and raised it to her mouth. “Eat. The venison will do you good.”

  She took a small bite and chewed, accepted a sip from the wine flask while he ate a hunk of pie. Silent, she offered the wine to him and once he’d taken a draft, he returned it to her. The fire crackled as he tightened his arm around her. The heat seemed to have invaded his bones, for a glow filled him.

  “My prince,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. “Put another branch on the fire.”

  He leaned over and did. “There, the fire will burn the night.”