“Ahhh.”
Like a horse, she rode him unabashed, rolled with his powerful bucks, spread her thighs to the burning point so he’d have room to part his and add muscles to his thrusts. Such an unusual position! Marion bit her bottom lip when a small ripple presaged one fine peak. When it came, she let it out in one long moan that spurred Sir Ayjay into a frenzy. His hands unyielding around her waist, he pumped fast and profoundly. The wet sounds of their coupling made Marion smile.
Sir Ayjay left her waist so he could jerk her chemise open and gorge on her breasts. Near brutal, his mouth and teeth rendered her nipples into tight, feverish pebbles that he rolled and rolled between his fingers. Marion raised herself, arched back. He followed her.
As she sat astride his lap, his member still stretching her to the limit, Marion began to move in ways she’d never done before. Up and down, she ground her cleft against him, swayed back and forth, her breasts bouncing, which seemed to entrance him as he braced himself and stared at her chest. Feeling powerful and feminine, Marion enhanced the arch in her spine so her breasts would be that much closer to him. Growling, he trapped them both and nipped each in turn.
Her cries of pleasure must have been too much for the man for he encircled her waist, brought her down with him and thrust so deep she swore she saw stars.
“Marion, Marion, Marion,” he kept repeating.
Her name had never sounded so decadent, so great and celebrated. So loved.
* * * * *
Marion practically walked into the doorjamb so engrossed she was in the vivid memory. She had to brace herself with a hand against the wall to keep from stumbling back.
Ah, woman, get a hold of yourself.
Yet the memory of the fevered coupling that had followed still made her want to seek him out and repeat the experience. Such intensity, such raw carnal energy.
Once in her bedchambers, their future chambers as a married couple, a still panting Marion arranged the game of dames for later, if she had enough courage—or mead—to actually remove her clothes one piece at a time. She’d always been dismally bad at dames. Yet the prospect of losing raised the fine hairs on her arms.
“What has he made of me?”
She took a hurried bath, had Hannah do her hair in thick braids she pinned around her head before slipping strands of harebell and a thin ribbon of matching color through the “crown” formed by her plaits. Her maid wore a pretty wool dress dyed that newest shade of lilac they had produced the spring before and a brand new white bonnet. Her own gown fitted well, or so Marion hoped. Slipping her feet in her thin leather sandals, she smoothened the front of her pale blue dress, adjusted the belt lower on her hips then looked back up and caught the expression of pure joy on Hannah’s face.
“I hope to do the same for you very soon, Hannah,” Marion remarked with a crooked grin. That she’d already tasted her future husband’s touch several times she left unsaid. Hannah was undoubtedly still a maiden. Although she sometimes wondered…
Her maid blushed and nodded. “If Thorins ever makes the plunge, I shall be happy to catch him, my lady.”
“Tell him to speak with Thomas, he helped Sir Ayjay with the tricky notion of taking a plunge. That is what I have been told.”
“Oh no, my lady, I would not go near Thomas today as I was told he is very busy indeed…with Sir Ayjay.”
“How so?”
Hannah shook her head emphatically. “I was threatened with dire consequences by both should I open my mouth, Lady Marion. But all I can say is that they were spotted at the smith’s several times in the last days.”
Marion tried a faint scowl but her maid wouldn’t budge. “Fine, let the men scheme and plot to their hearts’ content. I have a wedding to attend. My own.”
They shared a quick grin before Marion realized her hands shook and so did her legs. Remnants from her stirring memory added to the agitation of what lay ahead. “Well,” she said, taking a peek through the window. “It is almost nightfall. We should be going.”
As soon as she emerged into the great hall, she spotted her future husband proudly standing near the table onto which Cook had a maid arrange an assortment of multi-colored flowers and other decorative foliage that spilled over from all four sides. His hair slicked back as the first day she’d met him, his “suit” as he’d called it, looking freshly brushed and impeccable on his tall and slim figure, Sir Ayjay’s ardent gaze on her drew that of everyone else in the large room. Soon noise faded to a few whispered comments then even this died.
Sargans’ family notary Sir Emery emerged from the crowd around Sir Ayjay and offered his hand to her. “My dear, what a vision you are.”
She returned his smile.
By Sir Ayjay she spotted a grinning Hugo, flanked by his wife and teenage son, then by Thorins, who kept peeking at Hannah as she walked beside Marion and finally Thomas, looking resplendent in forest green hose and tunic. She returned his wink.
She stood by Sir Ayjay, blushed when she felt the weight of his hungry gaze on her—hadn’t her unruly mind just replayed for her a most voluptuous scene—then crossed her hands over her front. He did the same.
As was customary, Sir Emery listed the chattels that would transfer to Sir Ayjay with the ceremony. The man could not have looked less interested in her dowry and merely nodded when the notary asked if all was in order. Then it was Sir Ayjay’s turn to clear his throat and turn to her. Perhaps the groom addressing the assemblage was a custom from his homeland? She waited with her heart hammering arrhythmically.
“I’m not from this region obviously,” Sir Ayjay began, using his booming voice so particular to him. “And I’ve been told there are certain things done differently from what I’m used to.” He turned to Thomas, who produced a small item he passed to Sir Ayjay. “Thanks, my friend.”
Try as she might, she could not see whatever he held as it was completely hidden in his large fist. But everyone wore knowing grins.
“Where I’m from, when a man loves a woman the way I love Lady Marion, he’s expected to offer her a token of his commitment.”
While Marion watched, Sir Ayjay knelt on one knee—actually knelt in front of her—brought his fist in front of her waist and opened his hand. In the middle of his palm sat a tiny wooden box with detailed engravings set on its top.
“The lady has to open it before the gentleman develops cramps,” Sir Ayjay whispered to her. His wink made her and the closest people to them chuckle.
She reached out and tentatively brushed a shaking hand over the box. The sparkle in his eyes bolstered her. She took the small box and raised the lid. A thin, highly polished ring of the palest metal she’d ever seen gleamed around a peg covered with midnight blue wool.
“What is it?” she murmured, awed at the lustrous, silvery-white band. It looked so pure and smooth, with not a single mark on its surface.
“It’s called titanium. It’s one of the strongest metals known.” Sir Ayjay picked up the ring and stood.
Marion smiled as tears welled her eyes. “It is beautiful.”
“It’s going to look less beautiful when compared to the rest of you, but it should do.” He angled the ring to put it on her hand. She offered her index finger but strangely, he aimed instead at her second to last finger and gently slid the ring past her knuckle. It fit perfectly. The man had a good eye.
He elevated her hand and tenderly kissed the knuckles. She distinctly heard women giggling somewhere behind her. The entire time Sir Emery grinned and nodded when Sir Ayjay turned back to him. “Okay, I’ve done my bit. Now I want to kiss my wife.”
It was the men’s turn to laugh. After Marion repeated the simple vows of fidelity and commitment, Sir Ayjay did the same, his voice sounding near the breaking point at one time. When both had spoken in turn, Sir Emery chuckled as he held both her husband’s and her hand.
“I think it is high time for a kiss?”
Sir Ayjay—Lord Sargans now—didn’t need telling twice. He unceremoniously dropped the old man’s ha
nd and encircled her waist, dipping her slightly back to various gasps and chuckles. His burning lips on hers spread a wild fire right down to her belly, which quivered with need. After her husband had straightened and hugged her fiercely, Sir Emery paraded her to the men in assistance so they too could kiss the bride’s hand as a sign of “farewell”. She wasn’t leaving Sargans per se, but leaving the ranks of available women, even if she’d been a widow and approaching her late twenties, therefore, barely available at all. The symbolic gesture touched her nonetheless.
While Cook rounded the servants and ordered them about like a knight going to war, Marion managed to get back to her husband’s side and clasp his hand. He looked down at her and wiggled his eyebrows.
“However did you find this?” she asked, showing the ring on her hand. A faint memory tingled the back of her head. She’d seen such pale metal before but couldn’t remember where. It was lovely.
“I didn’t find it. I had it made especially for you.” He looked quite proud of his accomplishment.
“I have never seen such metal before. Where is it from?”
He leaned into her and whispered, “The future.”
Marion shooshed him with emphatic motions of her hand. “Truly, where is it from?”
“I was telling the truth. Why won’t anyone believe a lawyer when he’s telling the truth? It’s very insulting. We try not to make a habit of it, you know, so we don’t break our vows, but still, once in a while, we do tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” He raised his right hand and showed her his palm. “So help me God.”
Her eyebrow arched high, she stared at him.
“Okay, it’s from one of my golf clubs. I had its head cut off and the titanium on it stripped. Your guy at the forge thought I was nuts. But when I showed him what I wanted, he stopped running his mouth—Thomas never did tell me what the old man was saying.”
“You destroyed one of your golf sticks to make me a ring? Why? I did not require a gift. It is not customary for us to exchange gifts.” Although she was planning one for him later on that night.
“Look, I’m bringing nothing to this union, except these hands—which I’ve noticed are in urgent need of a manicure. And my brain. That’s all. I have nothing to give you. A guy has his pride, you know.”
“You bring much more than your hands, my lord.” She loved the sound of those words. But obviously, her husband didn’t for he looked quite shocked, even appalled.
“Damn, Marion, don’t call me that. It reminds me of the other Lord, you know the one… I’m your husband, the man who’ll make love to you within the hour too, your friend and so I want you to call me A.J. No sir, no lord.”
Something in the way his name sounded didn’t make sense. “How do you spell your name?”
He showed her his big hand, which he used to write his name on with the index finger of his other hand. But she only saw two letters.
“Your name is Alexandre-Jean, is it not?”
He nodded.
“Then why do you call yourself Ayjay? Why only two letters?”
“Not Ayjay, Ayy-Jayy.” He wrote it again. A large A then a J.
Marion’s sudden laughter seemed to catch him by surprise. He cocked his head. “What?”
“I always thought it was Sir Ayjay. A-y-j-a-y.”
He was still shaking his head when she finally quieted down.
* * * * *
“A-y-j-a-y, come on,” he muttered as he emptied his third mug of mead. Or was it his fourth?
Damn this stuff was good. He swore he wouldn’t have more than two, but everyone kept harassing him about how he needed sustenance for the night to come. He felt like telling them he’d needed it a lot sooner but kept his mouth shut. Let them think what they want. Plus, he knew Marion wouldn’t like him running his mouth about their private affairs.
So even if he was getting increasingly tipsy, A.J. reminded himself if he was too drunk, he wouldn’t be able to make love to the gorgeous woman sitting beside him. The sobering thought had the effect of a cold shower—not that he’d see one anytime soon. Ha.
His situation, despite the seriousness and finality of it, didn’t quite raise his blood pressure. Sure, he hated being stuck in a place where indoor plumbing was still four hundred years away—although he was so going to change that and starting with the master bedroom’s lack of an en suite facility—and that he wouldn’t get to see anyone he knew ever again, A.J. still thought he’d been dealt a good hand. And it all came down to one person. Marion. No matter the time or place, with this woman by his side, there wasn’t a thing in the world that could bother him. And Thomas too, come to think of it. That guy sure made things fun around Sargans. He’d never had the kind of easy familiarity he shared with Thomas. He’d found a friend for sure. A kindred soul even, with the man’s caustic sense of humor! Even Hugo and Thorins were pretty decent for Conan types. Maybe he was suffering from denial and a good case of psychosis but he couldn’t for the life of him feel sorry for himself. Yeah, he’d crash-landed in Middle Ages Switzerland. So what?
How much of a riot is that!
A.J. raised his mug to his good luck and emptied the rest as he surveyed the table. They had—according to Cook, because he sure couldn’t recognize a single thing—roasted quail and goose, venison or whatever it was, roasted peacock and something that sounded a lot like calves’ heads. But he stayed well away from that platter. Man, he’d kill for a simple sandwich and a Greek salad. By his side, Marion talked and laughed in a way he’d never seen her do before. She looked so much younger and relaxed. A.J. caught himself gazing at her like a lovesick teenager would, all watery eyes and gaping mouth. Not pretty on a man in his thirties.
To his right, Thomas was telling a joke, he thought, but because he spoke in German, A.J. couldn’t be sure. When Thomas delivered what sounded like a punch line, his neighbor, a bearded fellow who resembled a large garden gnome, roared laughing.
Well, he knew jokes too.
“Hey,” he said to Thomas as he pulled on his sleeve. “I got a good one for you.”
Thomas leaned his elbow on the table and gazed expectantly—or amorously—at him while he cleared his throat and rummaged in his brain for a quick good one. Oh. Perfect.
“Do you know how to save a drowning lawyer?”
Thomas, good man that he was, shook his head. “I am afraid not, my friend. But is it something one should try to do?”
“Argh, come on, man, you’re messing my joke. So okay, you don’t know how to save a drowning lawyer?” A.J. waited for maximum impact. “You take your foot off his head.”
To his immense gratification, Thomas burst out laughing as though he’d actually gotten it then slapped his hand on the table. A.J. told him another good lawyer joke. He had them by the bag full. Soon, the closest guests were all leaning forward over the table to hear him. With another sip of mead, A.J. told them the one about the well-hung lawyer.
“How can you tell if a lawyer is well-hung?” he asked, waiting as Thomas translated to those who couldn’t understand his particular sort of French. “You can’t get a finger between the rope and his neck!”
General laughter ensued. Damn, he was good at this.
“Okay, okay, another. Here it goes… Where can you find a good lawyer…? In the cemetery!”
A.J. laughed with the rest of them. Marion was leaning on his arm so she could hear too. Even Hugo looked as though he thought the notion of a noose around a lawyer’s neck was funny stuff.
‘Kay…
“Hey, this one’s good. What’s the difference between a porcupine and a Mercedes Benz full of lawyers?”
He should’ve noticed the slightly blank look in Thomas’ usually sharp gaze. For his defense, A.J. blamed the mead. It was all the mead, Your Honor.
“The difference is…the porcupine has pricks on the outside.”
They laughed. God love them they did, but A.J. could tell they did so out of courtesy. He’d totally tanked that one.
>
With a surreptitious wink, Thomas leaned into A.J. and put his mouth very, very close to his ear. The warmth of the man’s cinnamon-scented breath stirred his hair. Whoa.
“You know, Tom,” A.J. remarked in all honesty—what was this place doing to him?! “Where I come from, it’s commonplace for men to live together as couples, some of them marry and adopt children. I wish you could see this much from my home, if nothing else.”
A blond eyebrow arched high. “I shall remember those words tomorrow when you are sober again, and shall derive much pleasure in watching you squirm.” He grinned while he said this and A.J. could tell he was being mocked by someone even more devious than he was.
“You’d make a fine lawyer,” A.J. remarked, himself leaning so Thomas would be the only one to hear his next words. “And if I were, er, so inclined, I’d—”
“I think, my friend, you should retire with what little grace you still possess. A lesser man than I might be tempted to take advantage of the situation.”
A.J. swore he squeaked. Actually squeaked.
With Marion helping, he stood, bowed to the cheering crowd.
“A dance, my lord?” someone shouted down the table.
“The only dance I’m dancing tonight is with my wife and you’re not invited,” A.J. replied to a roar of laughter that lasted well after they’d made their hasty departure.
Marion, his wife, was practically pulling him by the jacket so he’d walk faster.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” he asked, stumbling to keep up. Okay, no more mead for you, mister. It’s boiled water from now on. He still couldn’t get over the look on Cook’s face when he’d asked for pre-boiled-then-allowed-to-cool water to drink. He could’ve grown a dick on his forehead and she wouldn’t have looked more surprised!
“I have something to show you,” Marion replied, all grin and playful eyes.
He liked the sound of that “something”.
But when he recognized the corridor leading to one of the towers, the one he’d climbed with Thomas and her, A.J. pulled back on her hand and pointed with his chin.
“I want to go see the stars.”
Timely Defense Page 20