by Rose, Renee
A smile played on Broderick’s lips. “Well played. And you have had no trouble since?”
“A little resistance here and there. Usually cured with a week or two in the dungeon.”
The king nodded and sat at the high table with him for ale. His men took seats at the long tables in the Great Hall to receive their own refreshment. The issue of ownership of Wellridge hung between them, an unspoken tension. He debated bringing it up. On one hand, it was a promised payment, and he was nothing more than a mercenary. He had risked his neck without the king’s banner to back him up. On the other hand, it was too large a payment for the job he had performed, and if Broderick truly conferred the title of duke upon him, should be treated as a gift of honor. He held his tongue, answering the king’s many questions about the management of the domain and his ideas for fortifying the area.
The following day, as they rode outside the castle walls to discuss the agriculture, Broderick asked the question he knew would eventually come.
“Your ties to the Saxon settlements are strong.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“If this land were yours, would you open it to them?”
He gazed out in the distance, choosing his words with care. “I would encourage the peaceful blending of inhabitants here. The Saxons already live on this land, but clandestinely. If they were welcomed, their labor would fortify Wellridge’s assets.”
“How do you think the people of Wellridge will take it?”
“Both parties will require adjustment. I would monitor it closely to head off any conflicts.”
The king nodded, but did not comment.
That evening after supper, Broderick stood and hailed attention of all present. “In recognition of courage and loyalty, I hereby confer the title of Duke of Wellridge upon Gorran, son of a family of old and of a Saxon newcomer. May his blended heritage assist in bringing peace to this domain.”
His men and the king’s lifted their cups with a “Here, here,” but the Wellridge inhabitants looked shocked. He had kept his Saxon heritage a secret and he saw dismay at the news.
“Thank you, my lord.” Addressing the crowd, he said, “Fear not, your land will not be overrun with settlers. I will bring stability to this region by folding those who have camped without leave into our realm to work the land as you do. Be assured your ways and language will be honored without change.”
His pronouncement met silence for a moment, then one of the Wellridge soldiers called, “Here, here!” and others began to join. It appeared his work over the past month to win their trust had succeeded.
To the king, he said, “Thank you, my lord, this is a great honor.”
“Well, you need a castle if you are to marry my sister.”
His eyes shot to the ruler’s in surprise.
“Go and bring her here, Gorran.”
****
Shearing the sheep took several arduous days. They began clipping Avalon’s herd as soon as the weather warmed to prepare for lambing. She directed the work, showing the younger maidens just how to hold the sheep and use the blade close to the animal’s skin.
By the fourth day the job was nearly done. She did not notice the first crow to call from the trees, but when a second flew overhead, the hairs on her arms stood on end.
Ill omen or happy portent? She could not tell. Normally the sighting of a crow signaled warning, but it could signify Gorran’s arrival, as it had at the tournament. She hardly dared hope for the latter, as her disappointment in not finding him would be great. She scanned the cluster of buildings in the distance but saw no sign of a broad-shouldered warrior.
“Can you finish without me?” she asked the maids.
When they said yes, she walked up the hill, looking for more signs. Pushing open the door to her hut, she entered to have her heart leap in her chest. Crow sat upon on a chair, his sword laid across his knees, his bowed head jerking up at her entrance.
Her feet stopped moving, her breath caught in her throat.
Crow stood. “I have come to capture you and carry you away again. This time to be my wife,” he said, his voice sounding rough.
No sound came from her lips as she continued to gape. After so many fortnights waiting, pining over her possible loss of the future she had chosen, her emotions were too large to unwind. Her vision blurred with tears, several spilling down her cheeks.
He stepped forward uncertainly. “Are you even partway willing, Ariana?” he asked in a cracking voice.
“I am willing,” she said, her tears streaming faster.
He stepped forward and swept her into his arms, crushing her against his chest in a possessive embrace.
“I am sorry I sent you away,” she wept, pulling away to look up at him.
“Shh, do not cry,” he said, mopping her tears with his hands, looking disconcerted.
“I did not understand my own desires,” she went on. “I thought the baby should be separated from you.”
Crow stilled. “Baby?” he rasped.
“Aye,” she said, laughing through her tears and covering her womb with her hand. “The future king of the realm.”
Crow blinked back his own tears, his hands roaming over her like a precious treasure, tracing her face, the line of her shoulder, the small of her back. “Ariana,” he murmured. “And my son.”
“Aye,” she said gazing up into his glittering blue eyes.
He bent his head to hers, slanting his lips over her mouth in a kiss that soon turned hungry. Yanking her against his body, he licked into her lips, claiming her with his passion, heating her to the soles of her feet.
“Gorran,” she gasped, when he released her. He scooped her into his arms, walking the few steps to her pallet, where he settled her.
Wasting no time in drawing up her skirts, he parted her legs and positioned his mouth over her sex, sucking at the little nub of pleasure whilst she tore at his hair with her fingers.
“Gorran!”
He brought her to the edge of climax, but drew back, lifting his head to wrestle her dress off her torso and strip off his own clothing. Pouncing over her he grasped her wrists and pinned them over her head with one of his hands. She panted before his lips even reached her hardened nipple, lifting her hips in his direction, begging for release. As he sucked on her sensitive tip, she felt the reaction between her legs.
“Gorran, please!”
He released her nipple and blew cool air across the moistened flesh. “Please, what, love?”
“Take me,” she croaked. “Please take me!”
He smiled, bringing his hips over hers. She bent her knees and wrapped her legs around his back as he guided himself in.
“Oh Goddess, I do not know if I can be gentle,” he groaned, releasing her wrists and thrusting into her with a force that drove her toward the top of the pallet.
She moaned in answer, a pleading, wanton sound to encourage more of what he offered.
Grasping her shoulder with his big hand, he held her in place as he pumped, nearly tearing her in two with each ferocious stroke.
She whimpered and he stilled. “No, no, no,” she moaned. “Go on!”
He groaned and resumed driving into her until she swore the earth itself shook as they climaxed together, their two bodies becoming one, hers wrapped around his as if she would never let him go.
“Ariana,” he crooned, drawing her name out on his tongue as he lowered beside her. He stroked her face with the backs of his fingers.
She nestled into him.
“Will you truly come?”
“Aye, I will go. Where will you take me?”
“To Wellridge. Your brother has made me duke.”
She lifted up on one elbow. “How now?”
“Aye. He said I needed a proper castle if you were to be my wife.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “My brother often knows me better than I know myself. Did he give you my message?”
His brow furrowed. “No, what message?”
“I wen
t looking for you. When I realized you were the only future I wanted. I went to see Elric and Kendra, then left a message at Stonecroft.”
He shook his head. “No, I did not hear. I would have come the moment I knew.”
She smiled. “I know you would have.” She traced the scar she had left under his eye. “I suppose you will bend me to your will.”
He covered the hand at his face and brought it to his lips to kiss. “I am a fair master. You may ask any of my men.”
“Aye.” She brought his hand to her mouth for a kiss. “Will you be like your father and end my punishments with love-making?”
“Always, love,” he said, rolling her to her belly. He ran his hand over her bottom. “What man could look upon this sight and hold himself back?” he teased.
He lifted his hand and brought it down with a resounding slap. In her post-climax bliss, the sting only registered as warmth. “You will submit to my authority. You always wanted to, anyway.”
“I did not!” she protested.
He gave her a flurry of hard slaps on her cheeks. “Will you argue with your master?”
She reached back to cover her defenseless backside. “No, sir,” she said.
“Ah, that is better. Try ‘No, my lord.’”
“No, my lord husband,” she said, twisting to her back and smiling up at him. “Master of my heart.”
About the Author
Renee Rose, a best-selling erotic romance author, did not come out of the closet as a spanko until she published her spanking romance Betrothed. A lifelong writer, she has a B.A. in creative writing from Knox College, where she won the Davenport prize for both fiction and poetry, and the Lorraine Smith prize for literary criticism. She spent thirteen years in technical writing before she found a way to incorporate her deepest, darkest spanking fantasies into fiction and express a part of her that longed to see the light. She is now passionate about supporting others in accepting and exploring their kink, whatever that may be. Please join the conversation at http://www.reneeroseromance.com
