by Sahara Kelly
True to his word, the water was warm, and the sunlight filtering through the light canopy dried the droplets from their skin as they lay together after their impromptu bath.
Magnus reached for his saddlebags and passed her a little cheese and bread, and offered a skin of wine.
Constance accepted, and together they dined, with the song of the birds for accompaniment, and the rustle of small woodland creatures as their guests.
Magnus leaned back and pulled a vial of something from his bundle. “Mistress Leigh asked if I might enjoy using this,” he said casually. “I believe it is used to smooth the skin. Would you like your skin smoothed, my Lady?”
“Why, thank you, my Lord,” answered Constance with a giggle. “How pleasant that sounds.”
“Turn over, love. Onto your stomach.”
Constance did as she was bid, stretching and enjoying the feeling of lying naked to the skies.
A light drop of something at the base of her spine was followed by the sensation of Magnus’ hands sweeping in long movements up and down her body.
She moaned in pleasure. “Oh, Magnus. This is truly…truly…there are no words. It’s soooo good.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “Then go ahead and enjoy it, my sweet. Just let me smooth away your cares.”
His hands continued their massage, kneading and easing her muscles. They moved downwards a little more with each sweep, until he was massaging her buttocks with as much skill as the rest of her.
She couldn’t help it—she squirmed, feeling the dull glow of her arousal beginning deep in her body.
Magnus was now concentrating on her lower body, smoothing down to the backs of her knees and back up again and rendering her limp with pleasure.
He gently spread her legs and moved between them, continuing his rhythmic strokes and adding a little oil now and again. The scent of apple blossoms, sex and herbs was mingling and Constance felt herself getting a little lightheaded and heavy limbed as he stoked her sensual furnace.
“Oh, Magnus,” she moaned, floating on a sea of sensation.
“Yes, love, I know,” he murmured.
He placed his hands on her cheeks and gently spread them, allowing some oil to trickle down between.
He followed it with his fingers, gently massaging and rubbing her tight little muscles.
She gasped, the sensation being like nothing she could have imagined.
“Do you like this, Constance?”
Magnus was praying she’d answer in the affirmative. His fingers were slipping over her flesh, thanks to Mistress Leigh’s oil, and her puckered rose was shiny and beckoning him. But he’d not hurt her and would not do anything she did not approve. He was no ravager of women. At least, not unless he knew they were welcoming him.
She sighed. “Oh yes…it feels so…so strange…”
He continued to add more oil and work it into the tender flesh of her backside.
Daringly he pressed, allowing a finger to break the seal and penetrate her, bringing a moan to her lips.
“All right?” he asked, careful not to move or cause her pain.
“Magnus? Is this…is this right?” Her voice was low and aroused, but hesitant.
“Anything we do together is right, love. Anything. As long as we both enjoy it. If you are not enjoying this, tell me and I’ll stop.”
“Oh no. Please. By Saint Beatrice, don’t stop, it’s…it’s exquisite.”
He felt her muscles relax as she accepted his touches and he knew he was hardening now with the urge to bury his cock into this tight and virgin passage. But he was big. Too big to just ram himself into her. Not yet, at any rate.
For now, it would be just this, an added sensation for her and a little fun for him.
He tugged his bundle over and with one hand crumpled his clothing into a makeshift pillow that he shoved beneath Constance’s hips. All the time his finger stayed inside her, moving slightly every now and again, just to keep her aware of his presence.
With her hips raised now, he had access to all of her womanly secrets, including the hidden folds that were turning that wonderful deep pink and beginning to blend their own lubricants with his oils.
He sighed. This was how he would always think of her. Welcoming and ready for him. As he moved forward and touched her with the tip of his cock, he smiled as she accommodated him with that little gasp of pleasure she always gave as he entered her.
Slipping into her, he deepened the penetration of his finger and began to move, setting up a rhythm that kept her arousal going every second and soon reduced her to a shaking, gasping, tensed mass of sensation, responding to every thrust and press with a little moan of delight.
The sun burned through the leaves, warming Magnus’ buttocks as he slid in and out of Constance. The birds sang, the little sounds of nature rustled softly around them, and Magnus felt this was a moment he’d like to hang on to, with both hands.
For a second, an unaccustomed desire to create something magnificent in honor of this special feeling crept over him.
He wanted to write a song, paint a mural, make a statue, find a new star—anything that would serve to stay the passage of time and keep him right where he was, buried within this woman, loving her, listening to her little grunts of pleasure as he touched her delicate arse and abraded her hot flesh with his cock.
Nature, however, had other ideas.
His body responded as it always did, with vigor and need, and he soon felt that tickling sting of his orgasm beginning and sending his balls into a tightened knot.
Constance was writhing now, wet and anxious, meeting his thrusts with ones of her own, desperately trying to increase the friction between his hands and her body.
The muscles in her arse were tightening and relaxing as the shudders of pleasure began their course through her loins, matching the ones that were bringing beads of sweat to his brow and a feral grimace to his face.
“Magnus…now, dear God, now…”
Her cry echoed around the little clearing, and Magnus did as he was bid. He pushed deep and hard, feeling his cock against her womb as he broke.
He flooded her, with endless spurts of all that he was. It wasn’t just seed that he was burying inside her, it was his heart and his soul. A chill mixed with his ecstasy as he realized he’d done the worst thing he could possibly do.
He’d fallen in love with Constance Atherton.
Chapter Eleven
Both Magnus and Constance were quiet on the return trip to Ravynne’s Keep. Both were exhausted, yet content, knowing that each had loved to their limits and found that sentiment returned tenfold.
It was a silence that held deep emotions, unspoken feelings, and more than a little dash of fear. They were two people who were coming to terms with a shift in their positions and a change in the manner of their coupling.
What had been a sexual pleasure had become a sensual need. What had been a joyful romp between two healthy human beings had become a matter of the deepest and sweetest desires.
Magnus couldn’t begin to guess at Constance’s reactions—she was quiet and distracted during the ride, although she raised no demur when he leaned over and brushed a fly from her shoulder, just smiling her thanks with eyes that were full of some warm emotion.
Gratitude?
Appreciation?
Possibly even love?
Magnus had not earned his reputation as an outstanding knight by being stupid. He knew that their situation was untenable. He was all but promised to another, and had the future of Ravynne’s Keep and the Ravynne line to consider.
Had he not, it was a given that he would have taken Constance as his bride. Right that moment, if at all possible.
She completed him, challenged him, made him a better man and brought joy and sunshine into his life.
He had no idea if she’d accept him, but to judge from the way she tumbled into his embrace at the earliest possible moment, she wouldn’t be averse to the idea.
His mout
h curled into a grin as he envisioned long nights of trying to persuade her that they were meant to be together.
The grin disappeared as they neared the Keep and noticed an unusually high level of noise coming through the opened portcullis.
Constance looked across at Magnus and raised an eyebrow.
He answered her unspoken question with a shake of the head and a slight shrug. He had no idea what was afoot.
Before many moments had passed, they found out.
A large traveling party had just arrived at Ravynne’s Keep, and even now, as Magnus and Constance rode through the barbican, horses were jangling their harnesses, people were running hither and yon, and Edward was standing on the steps welcoming a group of people.
Magnus dismounted, tossing his reins to a stable boy. Constance followed at a distance, eyes wary.
“My Lord, here you are. Good.” There was relief in Edward’s voice, along with something else. A warning, perhaps.
Magnus mounted the steps two at a time, only to reach the party at the top and slow to a complete standstill.
He found himself staring into the limpid blue eyes of Mistress Anne Swann.
*~~*~~*
A maid hurried to Constance’s side. “My Lady,” she whispered, tugging anxiously at Constance’s kirtle. “My Lady, I’m so sorry…”
“What is it, Mary? Calm down.”
The young girl wrung her hands together in distress. “As soon as their outrider arrived, Sir Edward told me to hurry and move your belongings—the Solar was the best room we have for the visiting Lady and her companions…”
Her eyes drifted over to the group of people on the stairs that was now chatting politely.
Constance’s eyes narrowed as she watched a slim blonde woman place her hand delicately on Magnus’ sleeve as she spoke to him.
“We took your things to the tower room, Lady Constance. ‘Tis nice, but not as nice as the Solar…I’m sorry…”
“Mary, you did the correct thing. And Sir Edward was right. These are honored guests and must be treated as such. Now run along. I’m sure there must be a lot of things for you to do. Don’t trouble yourself about me. The tower room will suit me very well.” She looked back at the blonde. “And in truth, I may not be in it for very long.”
“Oh Lady Constance, never say so,” Mary wrinkled her brow in distress. “You cannot leave us?”
Constance simply gave the girl a little smile, and sent her on her way.
Gathering her skirts and her dignity, and blessing providence that she’d not let her hair down beneath Magnus’ hands scarce an hour or so ago, Constance crossed to the steps and began to ascend.
She arrived just as introductions were completed.
“And here is Lady Constance now,” said Sir Edward. “If you will permit me, Sir Augustus, Mistress Swann, this is my niece, Lady Constance Atherton.”
“An invaluable asset to our Keep,” added Magnus warmly.
Constance could have screamed at him.
It was plain as the nose on her face, that Mistress Swann was not one to accept praise of another woman within her hearing.
The elegant pale eyebrows rose slightly, and she cast a critical glance over Constance, sweeping her from head to toe.
“So you act as housekeeper for Lord Ravynne? How strange.” She tittered. “Of course, being widowed and older, I suppose it’s a useful occupation?”
She smiled at Magnus. “Come, my Lord, I’m anxious to see your Keep. I hear that it has much to commend it.”
She turned her back on Constance and tugged Magnus’ arm, leaving Constance in no doubt as to what Mistress Swann found commendable about this particular Keep.
Sir Augustus, a bluff and genial man, smiled politely at Constance. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lady. My daughter…” He waved vaguely after the retreating couple. “Well, I daresay a woman of your years understands these matters better than I. She’s been after me to pay this visit ever since she laid eyes on young Ravynne. Yes indeed.” He rubbed his hands together. “A fine match in the making, I’ll warrant. Wouldn’t you say?”
Edward and Constance exchanged a look that shared many emotions.
Neither spoke.
It was the beginning of days of endless tongue-biting for Constance as she tried to keep her patience intact and her mouth shut.
Courtesy demanded that Magnus be attentive to his guests, so she had little chance to converse with him, other than the customary interchange necessary for residents of the Keep.
At mealtimes, she had been moved to the very end of the head table. Her status as widow of a titled Knight required she be seated there, but it was clear that Mistress Swann was making sure of her own position and not hesitating to squeeze Constance out.
With the uncanny perspicacity that tells a woman where a man’s interests lie, Mistress Swann was moving heaven and earth to eliminate the competition.
On many occasions her somewhat piercing voice was raised in a comment aimed directly at the other woman. “Oh look, how quaint. I remember my mother telling me that hangings like these were popular with older ladies.”
Thus Constance’s decorating efforts were consigned to the “hopelessly out of date” category.
“You don’t mean to say you’ve not tried to find poor Constance a husband, my Lord? Surely one of your older friends needs a comfortable widow to tend to his needs?”
Constance couldn’t even meet Magnus’ eyes across the trenchers as she heard that comment one evening.
“Poor Constance. A woman her age must be so tired at the end of each day, running a Keep as splendid as yours, my Lord. Do grant her permission to retire. For me?”
The batting of eyelashes that accompanied this ingenuous statement turned Constance’s stomach and she was quite willing to depart the great hall and stalk, furious, to her room in the tower, before she demonstrated how old and tired she was by vomiting over one particularly unpleasant guest.
She reached her room and slammed the door behind her with a loud crash. It was quite pointless, and very childish, but it felt satisfying, nevertheless. If only Mistress Anne Swann could have been on the other side, it would have been even better.
She didn’t know how long this state of affairs could go on.
Magnus had spent many hours with Sir Augustus, when not being summoned to squire his daughter on a fruitless expedition to gather flowers or some such silliness. Constance had not seen him alone since they arrived, and each day her memories of their passion changed and became nebulous.
Could they really have spent so much time in each other’s arms? Or was it just a dream?
She turned to her tapestry for comfort, and many a night was spent wasting Ravynne oil on low lamps that permitted her to work her stitches. New designs were flowing fast now, sheep had joined the pastoral landscape, their fluffy wool providing a home for two figures engaged in loving. She’d selected the position she’d learned in the orchard, and shivered as she remembered the dual assault of Magnus’ cock and his fingers.
Carefully she recorded the image in the bodies of the flock of sheep.
It was on one such night, scarcely a fortnight after the Swanns’ arrival, that she was working late, near her window. She’d slipped off her over tunic and was enjoying the balmy early summer air as the sky shaded itself from twilight into full darkness. Clad in her deep blue kirtle, she was almost a shadow herself as she bent to the illuminated surface of her work and tried not to think of Magnus.
A light scratch at her door made her jump, and she hurriedly grasped her robe and held it before her as she crossed the room.
Cracking the door a sliver, she peeked around the solid wood. Magnus stood there, shifting from one foot to the other and glancing around him.
“Constance, have pity on me. Let me in. Quickly.”
*~~*~~*
If she didn’t let him in, if she was ready to throw him to the wolves, or in this case the talons of Mistress Swann, he didn’t know what he
’d do.
But the heavens favored him, and within seconds, Magnus was welcomed into Constance’s tower room.
“Magnus, what is it? Why are you here?”
He stared at her, feeling his heart quicken, and his cock rise. She was a dark blue spirit that haunted his soul. Why was she asking stupid questions instead of kissing him?
“What do you think?” He couldn’t help himself. His arms reached for her, and she dropped her robe and ran into them with a little sound of happiness.
“Oh God, Magnus. I’ve missed you.”
“And I you, sweetling. Not a day has passed when I didn’t want to be here, and I’ve been going out of my mind trying to snatch a moment with you. But those damned Swanns…”
Constance chuckled against his chest. “I shall not speak ill of your guests, Magnus, but I vow if I’m referred to as an ‘older lady’ once more, Mistress Swann will learn that age does not prohibit violence.”
He drew her to the window seat and hugged her into a tight embrace. “Constance, what a nightmare. What am I to do? This situation is completely untenable. And as the days pass, it’s becoming increasingly clear that the girl expects an offer from me.”
Constance played with his fingers. “Magnus, I cannot advise you on this. You must do what you think best for yourself and for the future of this fine Keep and your proud name. You and I both know that.”
Magnus frowned. “Well, I can tell you that the future of my ‘proud name’ as you put it, certainly isn’t going to issue from the loins of that coldhearted bitch. I’d sooner fuck a marble statue than lay a finger on that one.”
Constance sighed in his arms. His cock stirred beneath her hands and she spread her fingers over his length as he groaned with pleasure.
“Aaah, sweetness, when you touch me like that, the world goes away.”
Magnus turned and swung her into his lap, settling her astride him with her knees on either side of his hips. His gaze held hers as his teeth tugged on the lacings of her kirtle and loosened them.
A smile crossed Constance’s lips as she watched him free her from her gown, and a wicked twinkle appeared in her eyes as the fabric fell from her shoulders and bared her breasts to the gentle moonlight and Magnus’ face.