“Beat me, starve me! You have tried both and it has gotten you nothing.”
“Do you have any idea of what day it is?”
“A lovely sunny day, one I was quite enjoying before you kidnapped me.”
“It is the first day of the sixth month. Do you know who should be here today?”
The princess cocked her head to the side and then let out a loud peal of laughter.
“My betrothed! It is the day Phillip should be here!”
“This is no matter to laugh about. Prince Phillip and his father have been more than understanding these past seven years.”
“Of course they have been understanding. They still want your gold, do they not? And you are still willing to sell me for an army.”
“You have been betrothed since you were one year old. You are eighteen this year, two years past the time you should have wed.”
“I’m so sorry that my behavior and longing for freedom has inconvenienced you.”
“This has gone on long enough, Aurora. In six months the prince will arrive, and at that time you will be married.”
“I will not.”
Turning smoothly on her heel, Aurora headed for the doors.
“Make sure she does not leave the palace grounds.”
Smirking at the order Aurora veered left, heading for an alcove, which led to stairs. The poor guards had probably had enough of chasing her around; it seemed only fair that she give them some peace and go to her room.
Up several levels, down tapestry-hung corridors and through winding towers, Aurora strolled, guards trailing her. Her chambers were in one of the towers. After they’d discovered the secret corridors a smitten mason had dug into her old room, she’d been moved to the tower.
Aurora opened the door and stepped in, turning to face the guards.
“I will be staying in for the rest of the day, gentlemen. There is no need to remain.”
“Yes, Princess,” they murmured obediently. Aurora closed the door and sighed, knowing that despite her words they would remain on guard until others came to relieve them.
With a humph of frustration she plopped down on the bed, her hair puddling around her. It truly was a lovely day outside, and she wanted nothing to do with the interior of the castle.
Though she would never admit it to her father, Aurora loved the castle, with its elegant turrets and buttresses, tall arches and time-worn steps. If she were ever to say so to her father, it would be taken as a sign of weakening, of acceptance of the shackles they so desperately wanted her to wear, but within her own mind she could admit she loved it.
Thoughts of shackles led to thoughts of her marriage, and of her father’s latest pronouncement. Since she was eleven her father had been putting off Phillip and his father, telling them she was in poor health as a way to keep them from arriving on the first day of the sixth month, their annual meeting date.
Just before her sixteenth birthday, she and her father had gone to war. The original date of the wedding had been the day after her birthday, but no matter what her father did to her or had others do to her, Aurora had refused to be the meek princess he wanted her to be.
Turning her head, she looked at the bracelet, which sat in a glass case atop its own table.
Her father and mother still didn’t know what had changed in her, what had happened in her eleventh year, but Aurora did, for she had met the witch.
Thinking of Millie, Aurora rose and went to the vanity. Slipping down onto the stool, she worried her lower lip with her teeth.
Should she do it? Was now a good time?
Letting impulse dictate, she grabbed the decorative dagger off the dresser and used it to slice thin bloody lines in each palm and then pressed her blooded hands to the mirror.
“Millie, I need you. Please.”
Pulling her hands away, leaving smeared bloody trails in her wake, Aurora went to pack.
It was late that night, when the white moon hung low in the sky, its pale light illuminating Aurora’s sleeping figure, that the mirror started to glow, a dark fog slipping from the corners to creep over the vanity top, tumbling to the floor and then slithering for the bed.
The blooded handprints slowly sank into the mirror, the magic soaking up the power rich royal blood.
Ribbons of smoke slid along the folds of the blanket, moving slowly over the sleeping figure, circling around her neck, whispering over cheeks and eyelids.
Aurora blinked herself awake and the fog retreated. Heavy-eyed with sleep, she slid from the bed, dressed in an embroidered nightgown. The fog curled around her ankles, like pleasant shackles, coaxing her on. As she approached the mirror it lengthened, the vanity it had rested on melting away, until a floor length mirror, its surface rippling like black currents, reflected her darkly.
At the last moment Aurora remembered to grab the bag from the floor, clutching it as she stepped up to the mirror, and then stepped through it.
* * * *
“I left them a note.”
“You know that will not stop them.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, you should. Your actions and how they influence other people should be of concern to you.”
Aurora hung her head at the rebuke, true regret, the kind her father’s scoldings never brought on, welling in her heart.
A pale hand cupped her face, tilting it up. “Never hang your head.”
“Yes, Millie.”
The dark-haired witch leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Aurora’s lips. A little trill of arousal slid through her belly and Aurora eagerly slipped her arms around the older woman’s waist.
“Enough, you little tramp.” Aurora grinned at the insult, which sounded like praise from Millie’s lips. “I haven’t even had my breakfast yet.”
“I know, but I am needy.”
“Ahh to be young again. Have you met any new boys?”
“Nay, just the Blacksmith of Nioneen’s son. Ohhh, last time I visited him he fucked me while I sat on his father’s anvil. It was delicious.”
“You were careful?”
“Yes, I didn’t let him spill inside me.”
“Good. And he does not know you are the princess?”
“No.”
At her dejected tone, Millie leaned in for another kiss, stroking the smooth fall of Aurora’s hair. “I know it is hard for you to conceal who you are, but you must.”
“Why, Millie? Why can’t I tell them? Tell every boy I touch the truth? My father would die from horror.”
“You know why.”
Aurora pushed away from the table, moving to stand by the divided door of the cottage, leaning on the closed lower half. Her body, quite beyond her control, made a graceful line, her hair spilling around her in golden glory.
“What if you are wrong, Millie? What if I would make a terrible queen?”
“You see the people, understand them in a way your own parents never could.”
“But what if Phillip is like Father, and I become like Mother?”
“He is not, and you will not.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
“What you need is breakfast. Come and sit.”
Millie, dressed in a finely cut, if simple, black dress, slid onto a stool at the small table in the cabin’s kitchen. Over a meal of bacon and fresh bread drenched in honey, Aurora once again explained the letter she’d left for her parents.
“I told them that I would not return until control of my marriage, both who and where, was given to me.”
“You know they will never agree to it.”
“I am aware, but I also said that if they did not agree I would never return.”
“Rose! You should know better.”
“It is the only threat I have.”
“You forget that they truly care for you.”
“No, they care for Princess Aurora, not Rose.”
“Your nickname is apt, my pet, for you are both beautiful as a rose and prickly as its thorns.” Millie
rose, her dark hair spilling over them as she leaned to kiss the crown of Aurora’s head. “Why do you not take advantage of the sunshine, go and pick us some flowers?”
“If I pick berries, will you make tarts?”
“I will teach you to make tarts.”
“Why should I have to make tarts? I’m the princess, aren’t I?” Aurora rose to her full height, a full head taller than the shorter, curvier Millie. Grabbing a spoon, the witch gave her a good, hard smack on the bottom.
“Off with you, Princess.”
Wiggling her spanked bottom Aurora grabbed a basket and headed out the door. She wore a blue gown, the laced bodice embroidered with brown and pink roses. Millie had made her the dress the first time she’d come here. When the fighting with her father had reached its worst, and Aurora had lain, weeping, her back bruised by the whip and ankles and wrists marked by shackles, Millie had come to her.
First it was a voice in the night, coaxing the troubled young girl to speak of her plight. Lacking any confidant, she’d whispered of her need for freedom, her fear of her father, and love and hatred of her mother, the longing of her body which had led her into the arms of a rough-handed farmer boy, who taught her body of sweet things, but whom she’d never been able to see again for fear of him discovering her identity.
After weeks of these midnight chats, Millie had appeared in the mirror.
Aurora sat, her young face a study in shock, as Millie quietly told her the true story of her christening. The next night Millie had opened the mirror, inviting Aurora to her sanctuary in the woods. Even now the princess did not know exactly where it was, for Millie would not tell her, but on that first visit she’d allowed Aurora to stay a week, giving her the simple dress with its pretty flowers, and healing wounds—both physical and emotional.
Before sending her back, Millie had told Aurora that once a year, for a single week, she could find sanctuary in the cottage.
Aurora wandered farther than she thought, distracted by her reminiscences, and had already reached the river.
A huge oak lay across the river, stretched over a place where water had carved deep banks. The oak was not so thick as to make crossing easy, but Aurora stepped out without fear. Though the blood spilled by the briar rose had broken the spell, it was only to obedience that Millie had tied the counter spell, leaving Aurora with her grace and beauty.
Humming an off-key tune, she danced across the log, following the smell of ripe summer berries traveling on the wind. Farther and deeper into the forest she wandered, until a thicket of black berries, growing in a sunny patch near the edge of a meandering stream, made her stop.
Once both belly and basket were full, Aurora knelt to wash her hands in the stream. Hooking her basket over a tree branch and knotting a scarf around it to keep any woodland thieves out, she wandered along the bank of the stream, content to simply be.
Into her peace the sound of hooves intruded.
Aurora darted behind a large tree, the sound making her think of soldiers. Millie’d told her the cottage was far from the castle; indeed, Millie’d said it wasn’t even in her father’s kingdom, but the fear remained.
The hooves stopped and Aurora pressed herself back against the tree, hand over her heart in the hope that its too loud beating would not give her away.
Hooves stomped in a restless pattern and then there were the sounds of a man’s low murmurs.
“…warm today, we’ve come far. Time for a rest, get that saddle off you, take a quick dip…”
Hmm…not a soldier.
There was the sound of slapping leather and a horse’s low whinnies. A few more moments past and then there was the unmistakable sound of rustling cloth, followed by splashing.
Aurora snuck around the tree. Waist deep, in a little pool made by a bend in the stream, was a naked man.
A young, golden-skinned, muscled, naked man.
Yum.
Aurora was suddenly hungry for something besides berry tarts. Gathering up her skirts she slipped out from behind her tree, quickly gathering up his discarded clothes, which were hung over a low vertical branch along with the horse’s saddle and bridle. The horse, tethered to a tree by a rope attached to his halter, was much more interested in munching grass than warning his master of the girl’s approach.
Aurora hid his clothes in the roots of the tree her basket hung in, and then made her way back to the man. Quietly as she could, though the man continued to splash obliviously, Aurora climbed the tree, seating herself where the man’s clothes had been.
Leaning on one arm she ogled him, her body slowly heating in anticipation.
* * * *
Climbing out of the small pool, which had been pleasantly warm, Hawk shook himself, bending forward and scrubbing his hands through his hair to help remove the water. It had been a hot, miserable ride today. It hadn’t helped that this was the tenth day of his journey and that his body had been sticky with many days’ sweat. He was clean now, and this forest seemed worth some exploration.
It was a very pleasant surprise to see a peasant maid seated on the branch in place of his clothes. They stared at one another for a moment, her eyes leisurely taking in his naked body, lingering in the interesting places, biting her lip in a way that told him she knew exactly what to do with everything she saw.
“Hello, fair maid. Tell me, have you seen my garments?”
“Well, sir, I’m afraid they have been carried off.”
“Really? By whom?”
“Some woodland creatures, I fear, fierce beasties.”
“Would this woodland creature have hair of gold and truly delectable breasts?”
The girl glanced down at her own breasts, lifted by the tight lacing of her dress. “Why yes, sir, how did you know?”
Hawk moved forward, his cock swelling with each step. “Perhaps if I reward this ‘fierce beast’, she might return my clothing.”
“It would have to be a very pleasant reward.”
Hawk reached the girl, sliding his hands around her waist. “Hopefully she can see that a reward of mine is a very large reward indeed.”
She laughed, and it was so merry that the air around her seemed to sparkle. Hawk was enchanted.
“It is, indeed, a very fine reward, but it is the implementation of the reward that counts.”
Hawk grasped the girl’s ankle and slowly ran his hand up to her knee, dragging her skirts with it. The other hand grasped her other knee, forcing it wide so he could step between her legs.
The hand beneath her skirts continued its journey, rising ever higher, slipping to the inside of her thigh. The girl’s hands slid along the swelled muscles of his shoulders, fingertips pressing in, testing his strength. One hand traveled down the planes of his chest to flick a flat male nipple.
Hawk jerked at the touch, so she did it again, turning the flick into a pinch.
“A pinch will earn you the same, wench.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Long-fingered, delicate hands slid around his neck, and the girl pulled him in for a kiss. Her mouth opened against his, her tongue the first to explore outside its home confines. She tasted of blackberries and sunlight and woman. As the kiss grew and deepened he draped her skirt back over her thighs, and then went to work on the lacing of her dress.
When the laces gave way he pulled his mouth from hers, jerked the bodice down, and feasted on her breasts, taking first one and then the other nipple into his mouth. Her hands fisted in his hair and Hawk returned the pinch, gently clasping her nipple with his teeth.
One hand supporting the small of her back, he slid the other between her legs, nearly weeping with joy to find her so wet and ready. He slid in one finger, and she was tight, gloriously so. Her hips rocked as he fucked her with first one and then two fingers.
The branch she sat on was too high for him to fuck her while she sat upon it, so he freed her breasts, whispering, “Hold on” as he slid the hand at her back beneath her skirt to grasp her hip.
W
hen her arms were securely laced around his neck and her legs hooked together at his back, he lifted her, arms flexing as he slid her down onto his cock. He let her own body weight force her down, and she wiggled her hips, situating herself more firmly.
Once she was settled, he pressed her back against the tree, the branch matching the curvature of her lower back. She unlaced her hands and braced them on the branch behind her.
Hawk slid his hands to her thighs, lifting and separating them, allowing his cock a half inch farther inside her warm body.
He wanted to say something, but he could not think, so instead he pulled back, then thrust forward. She cried out in pleasure, her head falling back, her hair spilling over her breasts and onto the branch beneath her. Her breasts, delicious, bared, and plumped by the half-on bodice, jiggled with each thrust.
With her body braced as it was she could not thrust back against him, but her moans and cries told him what she wanted and needed.
It was going to be quick, the very suddenness of the encounter serving to drain his stamina. Hawk lifted her left leg, laying it along his chest, ankle near his ear. The change freed up his hand to slip between her legs and stroke her clit.
He timed the stroking of her clit to the thrusts, rubbing hard on the bud as he pulled out and pressing firmly as he stroked in.
Her cries of pleasure rose in volume and frequency, her cheeks and lips flushing a dark rose.
He felt her orgasm in the tightening of her belly, a moment before she screamed her pleasure to the sky. Hawk gathered himself, his thrusts increasing in tempo, his own climax only a stroke away. Just before he came, she moved, dropping her hips as he pulled out, so that his cock slid along her belly beneath her skirts, his seed spilling there.
Gasping, Hawk leaned into her, pinning them both upright to the tree.
Her arms came forward, sliding around his neck, her breath panting in his ear.
Hawk considered himself a skilled lover, and had done his share of truly interesting sexual things, but this lightning-fast woodland encounter had shaken him in a way nothing else had.
Kissing her shoulder, he whispered, “What’s your name?”
*
“What’s your name?”
Bad Case of Loving You Page 17