Sword Play

by Sahara Kelly

  “Magnus,” she said, sliding her hands up her naked torso and cupping her breasts. “Let me ease your troubles for one night. Let me offer you what I can to help us both forget for a little while…”

  Magnus’ cock reached amazing proportions as Constance lifted her own breasts and proffered them to him.

  And, like any well-brought-up Lord of his own Keep, he accepted the gift.

  Willingly, enthusiastically, and with a frantic need to suckle the very essence of this woman into his body and hide it there where no one else could see it.

  Her nipples were hard and wanting, and he loved the little sounds he could bring to her throat as he tugged and pulled and teased the hard buds with his tongue.

  She fidgeted, and reached past the crumpled folds of her gown to find the ties on his breeches.

  He thought about helping, but had just transferred his attentions to the other breast. He was, for the moment, busy. And she was managing quite well without his assistance.

  His cock sprang free, and another gasp ensued as Constance slid her burning hot flesh over his length.

  “Magnus…can we…here…now…?” She stuttered out her question, lost in his loving.

  “Yes, Constance. Here. Now…”

  He pulled back from her breast, tugged his shirt off his body in a rough swipe, and raised her to exactly the right position.

  Slowly she slid her heat down over his cock, making his ears ring with joy and his heart pound.

  Finally, she was seated on him. He was deep inside her, where he wanted to be. He was content.

  Constance leaned forward and obeyed an urge. She pressed her lips to his and felt their kiss deepen as Magnus opened his mouth and licked into hers.

  This wonderful closeness between them, the hardness of him moving within her loins and the darting heat of his tongue in her mouth, was sending shivers of pleasure throughout her body.

  With one hand he pulled her close and sat upright, letting his chest abrade her nipples with sensation.

  His other hand slid behind her and found her buttocks, stroking, kneading, squeezing, and finally, once again, caressing her cleft and seeking entry.

  “You must ride me, Constance. Move as you want to move. I’ll like anything you do,” he whispered, fondling her arse. “Will you like anything I do?”

  “Oh yesssss…” she sighed, as she raised herself slightly and slipped back down on him.

  They shared a groan of mutual pleasure.

  His fingers sought her moisture and he brushed his cock as he moved beneath her sliding body. It shook him to his core as he felt himself wet from her loving, and touched her hot lips once more.

  His fingers spread her liquids up and around her cleft and he sought entrance, this time pushing two fingers deep into her darkness.

  She gasped and moved more determinedly, pressing her body to his and her mouth against his lips, dueling with his tongue as she became the aggressor, plunging deep between his teeth and learning his taste once more.

  He was helpless to resist, wanting this as much if not more than she.

  Within seconds they were taut and trembling, and she pulled back and seized his face between her hands.

  “Watch me, Magnus. Watch me…” she choked.

  Magnus watched.

  Her eyes gleamed bright and her teeth bit down on her lower lip as the tremors began.

  His own peak was near, brought nearer by the sight of this woman now coming in waves above him.

  He cried out, hips pushing deep into her and fingers following, so deep that he swore he could feel his cock through the thin flesh inside her body.

  He climaxed long and hard, never breaking eye contact with Constance.

  They stared at each other until the last spasms died away, only to sink into each other’s embrace and hold on tightly.

  Neither wanted the moment to end.

  Chapter Twelve

  A chill coursed down Constance’s spine, and she shivered, whether from the night air coming in through the window, or from the aftereffects of Magnus’ loving, she wasn’t sure.

  But he sensed it, and eased them apart, drawing her dress back into place and carefully retying her lace.

  “Oh, love. What on earth am I to do? How do I politely get rid of the Swanns without offending them? It’s looking like ridding the Keep of mice would be easier than ridding it of Mistress Anne and her entourage. Each and every day she gets more at home here.” Magnus sighed.

  Constance resisted the urge to volunteer her services. She did know of a nice swampy part of the moat that would serve as an excellent place to start, but venting her temper wouldn’t be of assistance. Much.

  They relaxed into each other, busy with their own thoughts, when a sound from outside the window attracted their attention.

  They turned, surprised. It was late and the moon had risen, so there was a fair amount of light shining in over the bailey below the tower window where they sat.

  “What the devil…” muttered Magnus.

  “Sshh…” said Constance, leaning out beside him.

  Beneath them was a group of girls, whispering and giggling quietly and heading toward the postern gate which lead away from Ravynne’s Keep and out into the forest.

  The group was recognizable—Mistress Anne Swann and her maids.

  “Where do you think they’re going?” breathed Constance into Magnus’ ear.

  “I’ll bet they’re going to the lake. She asked about it not long ago, and I think Mistress Leigh or someone showed her how to find it. Yes—look…” he nodded at a shrunken figure who had joined the girls and was pointing off in the direction of the woods.

  The girls quietly let themselves out of the Keep.

  “Stupid idiots. Just because things are quiet, doesn’t mean they can go traipsing off into the forest at night with impunity. Not a brain amongst any of ‘em,” snarled Magnus, exasperatedly.

  Mistress Leigh had not returned to her cottage, but crossed the bailey and was now beneath the tower room.

  “If you two want to see something interesting, you might visit yon lake. Quietly, of course. Like you used to when you were a lad, Magnus.”

  She turned on her heel and went back to her cottage, leaving Constance and Magnus with mouths agape.

  “How did she…I mean…by Saint Beatrice, Magnus. That woman is a witch, I swear,” chuckled Constance.

  “My grandfather always believed so,” he answered wryly. “So do we want to ‘see something interesting’?”

  Constance was already slipping into her shoes. “You think I’d miss this? I don’t know what’s going on, but it can’t hurt to find out. And if anything untoward should occur, at least we’ll be there to keep an eye on them.”

  *~~*~~*

  Two stealthy figures slipped through the postern within a short time of the first group, and with sure footsteps, Magnus headed for the lake.

  Before many minutes had passed, the sound of laughter and girlish voices reached them, and they knew they were on the right track.

  Magnus tugged on Constance’s hand a little further down the path. “This way, love.”

  “But…the lake…it’s that way?”

  “Yes, but my special lookout tree is this way,” he murmured, a laugh in his voice. Damn, but he was enjoying this. Not that he missed the challenge of battle, but a nighttime adventure that required stealth and cunning was lighting up his warrior instincts.

  “Special lookout tree?” inquired Constance dryly.

  “Of course. How else could I have seen the incredible sight that met my eyes as I returned home last month? A nymph with soft creamy skin and black silken hair seduced me into her arms,” he teased, clearing a path for her and holding brambles clear of her gown.

  “Hmph,” snorted Lady Constance.

  “Sssshh, we’re almost there,” he said, slowing his pace.

  He stopped at the base of the old tree, and indicated to Constance where they would be sitting.

  He helped
her make her agile way up to the large gnarled branch and settled himself next to her, steadying her with one arm, even though he’d noted that she’d climbed up without a trace of hesitation.

  It seemed that trees had figured in young Constance’s past, too. There was much he had yet to learn about this woman, many things he wanted to know. What was her favorite color? Did she prefer wine to ale? Did she sing? So many parts of her with which he was, as yet, unacquainted.

  Well, by the Saints, he was going to get acquainted. It was his Keep, his future, his world. And he wanted Constance in it.

  Sounds distracted him from his thoughts and he watched silently as the four girls emerged onto the grassy clearing.

  As one, they stripped, dropping their light gowns in careless piles and making their way into the water. They made no attempt at stealth, shrieking out their laughter as the cold water chilled their flesh.

  “Well, goodness.” Constance’s quiet voice was acerbic. “So far, all I can see is four cavorting idiots. Not very interesting, would you say?”

  Magnus shushed her, then dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “I take no pleasure from peeking at this, I agree. Now if you were to decide you wanted to cavort…”

  His hand slipped up her side and cradled her breast lovingly.

  She shivered in his arms. “Magnus, stop it. We’re here for a reason, and you’re going to distract me. Besides, by Saint Beatrice, we’re in a tree!”

  Before Magnus could point out that being in a tree was no impediment to what he had in mind, the bathers began to emerge from the lake.

  First out was Mistress Anne herself.

  “Come on, Elizabeth, Jane—don’t be slowtops…” She stood on the edge of the water, slender and gleaming, all gold and white, with the tuft of hair between her legs sending sparkling shards of moonlight glancing out into the darkness. “Martha, where are you?”

  The other girls stepped from the lake and seized cloths, to begin drying off. But they didn’t dry themselves. They dried each other. And especially Mistress Swann.

  Magnus and Constance stilled as the tableau before them unfolded under the moonlight.

  Like the most sensual nymphs Magnus could ever have envisioned, the girls stroked and caressed Mistress Anne’s body, drying it gently and tending it with soft touches.

  The touches became more overt, and now the girls had tossed aside their cloths and were using their hands and lips on Mistress Anne.

  Tumbling down to the grass, she spread her body wide, languorously inviting their attentions.

  Her maids followed her willingly, into a tangle of limbs and hair and sighs of pleasure.

  Magnus felt his cock stir, and by the Saints, Constance must have heard it. Her hand shifted and covered it, squeezing slightly.

  “Why Magnus,” she breathed. “This sight is exciting you, I do believe.”

  Magnus swallowed. “‘Tis not something I’ve ever thought of watching, Constance, believe me,” he whispered back, helpless to deny his arousal, since she had the evidence firmly grasped in her hand.

  “Oh, I believe you. The knowledge of such women and their preferences is not new to me, but like you, I’ve never thought to observe their practices. I can’t say I’m as stimulated by it as you are, though…”

  She daringly fingered his breeches, pulling them far enough down to free him.

  The foursome on the grass was now separating to various areas of Mistress Anne’s body, a girl suckling each breast and another with her head between Mistress Anne’s legs.

  Magnus watched, feeling Constance’s hand on his cock, squeezing slightly. Damn, they’d just pleasured themselves not an hour ago. What was wrong with him? Or, what was right with him, as the case may be.

  He moved closer to Constance, and slipped his hand up her skirts where the branch had wrinkled them.

  He grinned as he found her wet and hot. “I believe our little adventure might be exciting you too, love,” he whispered, running his tongue around her earlobe.

  He felt, rather than saw, her shiver.

  “Well. That’s as maybe. Now hush…”

  But she did not tell him to remove his hand. In fact, she spread her legs slightly to give him better access.

  The four women were working hard on Mistress Anne who was now writhing and crying out beneath their attentions. Suddenly, she shrieked and drummed her heels into the grass.

  The girl between her legs sat back and let her mistress come.

  As if that was the signal, the three maidservants fell on each other, grasping breasts, stroking and kissing cunnies, and bringing themselves to a sexual frenzy next to the insensate body of their mistress.

  Anne Swann slowly raised herself up on one elbow and watched, a smile on her face.

  And as her girls found their own release, two very strange birds, nesting in a nearby tree, hissed out their own pleasure through their teeth, being careful not to disturb the tranquility of the night.

  *~~*~~*

  Not two days hence, a large banquet was to be held, and Mistress Swann had made it clear to all and sundry that this was the moment she had been waiting for. The time when she expected Lord Magnus to declare his intentions to take her for his wife.

  Lord Magnus, unable to disabuse her of that notion, no matter how many subtle hints he dropped, was exasperated.

  Mistress Anne had been particularly unpleasant to Constance all that morning, and it was with relief that Constance took shelter with Mistress Leigh for a good portion of the afternoon.

  “You worry your pretty head over nothing, girl,” scolded the beldame. “That cack-faced little whelk has naught to offer a man like Magnus.”

  Constance sat quietly on a low stool, watching the old woman as she fussed amongst her herbs and potions and took a pot off the fire to pour boiling water into a small vessel with some herbs, then set it aside, letting it steep.

  “Nothing but the future of the Ravynne line, Mistress. Magnus must beget heirs. You know that.”

  Mistress Leigh stalked over in front of Constance. “Stand up,” she ordered.

  Constance rose, brows wrinkling slightly.

  The old woman spread her gnarled fingers wide and placed her hand low on Constance’s belly, spanning her loins from hip to hip. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, releasing it slowly through her nose.

  For a moment, Constance felt dizzy, the heat from the fire and the scent of herbs making her head swim.

  Then Mistress Leigh drew back with a grin that flashed her single tooth. “Magnus already has.”

  Constance’s mouth gaped and her heart tripled its beat. “You can’t mean…but I’m not…I can’t…you jest with me, damn you.” Her eyes flooded with tears as she refused to believe the implications of this simple statement.

  “When did you last flow with your woman’s monthlies?”

  Constance blinked, her mind whirling, unable to remember her own name, let alone what day or month it was.

  “You’ve been keeping Magnus happy for quite some time now. He’s spilled that fiery seed of his inside you, hasn’t he?”

  In spite of herself, Constance blushed. “Well…I…”

  The tooth appeared again. “‘Twas always the way with those Ravynne men. Pull out and spend themselves on a soft body, and they’d be happy. Oh there were bastards here and there, all right, but when the right woman comes along, nothing could tug that cock away from its roost until the job was done, and an heir sired.”

  Something in her tone caught Constance’s ear. “And were you the right woman for the old Lord, Mistress?”

  “I’d hoped so, girl, I’d hoped so. But it was not to be. Oh, he did stay inside me, and just the thought of that hard cock pumping me full still gives me the collywobbles even today. So many years later.”

  She chuckled at Constance’s expression. “What, you think old people don’t feel the fire? We feel it, all right. It just flares up and then dies too quickly for us to do anything about it.”

  She retur
ned to her brewing herbal potion and poured some into a small vessel. “Yes, I loved Magnus’ grandfather, and I think he genuinely cared for me. But his needs at that time were for land and power, and I had neither. I had my cunny though. He had his cock. It was enough for both of us. Then he found a suitable bride, and we parted as lovers, but always remained friends. “

  She sighed. “Those Ravynnes are hot in the bed covers, that’s for sure. But I was well looked after, didn’t interfere, and life went on for both of us. Mostly, I was content.”

  There was a look on her face that told Constance perhaps this was not the entire truth, but she allowed the old woman her privacy.

  “Here, my Lady. Drink this.”

  Mistress Leigh held out a cup of something steaming, and Constance stared at it, wondering exactly what it contained.

  “‘Tis just an herbal preparation, my dear. I find it relaxing and soothing. And soon you’ll need it when the heaving and vomiting begins.”

  Constance quietly took the vessel and sipped, then sipped again. “Mmm…honey, and chamomile?”

  A pleased grin spread over the old woman’s face. “You’re a smart lass, Lady Constance, and a fertile one too. I have no idea why you bore no children to your first Lord, but many things can happen to a man that can kill or diminish his seed, I’m told. The reason for your barrenness did not lie here.” She nodded at Constance’s stomach.

  Constance looked down, awe sweeping through her. Could it be? Could she be carrying Magnus’ child?

  Her mind scrambled to figure out her schedule. She should have started her flow two days ago. She hadn’t.

  She was never late.

  “You going to tell Magnus?”

  By Saint Beatrice. That was a very good question.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The entire Keep was a-bustle with preparations for the evening’s banquet, the noise of the servants distracting Magnus, and making it impossible for him to formulate a plan for this occasion.