Wednesday 20 December 2023

Cold Nights, Hot Bodies By Lily Harlem

 

Need something spicy to read with your mulled wine? Don't miss this hot and kinky first time romance set in beautiful snowy England.



Sunday 17 December 2023

Christmas Read, Christmas Romance. Sensual Romance Novel, The Snow Bride






THE SNOW BRIDE: πŸ‡ΊπŸ‡Έamzn.to/2MZZan0

πŸ‡¬πŸ‡§ amzn.to/2H1tYzY



 
#HistoricalRomance - a passionate read, and full of suspense. Grab a copy of "The Snow Bride" now. #fiction #warrior #witch #romance #romantic #medieval #FREEReadKU

The Snow Bride

 

She is Beauty, but is he the Beast?

 

Book One of The Knight and the Witch

 

 

England, winter, 1131

 

Elfrida, spirited, caring and beautiful, is also alone. She is the witch of the woods and no man dares to ask for her hand in marriage until a beast comes stalking brides and steals away her sister. Desperate, the lovely Elfrida offers herself as a sacrifice, as bridal bait, and she is seized by a man with fearful scars. Is he the beast?

 

 

In the depths of a frozen midwinter, in the heart of the woodland, Sir Magnus, battle-hardened knight of the Crusades, searches ceaselessly for three missing brides, pitting his wits and weapons against a nameless stalker of the snowy forest. Disfigured and hideously scarred, Magnus has finished with love, he thinks, until he rescues a fourth 'bride', the beautiful, red-haired Elfrida, whose innocent touch ignites in him a fierce passion that satisfies his deepest yearnings and darkest desires.

 


 

Excerpt                                                             

 

 

Elfrida stirred sluggishly, unable to remember where she was. Her back ached, and the rest of her body burned. She opened her eyes and sat up with a jerk, thinking of Christina.

 

 

Her head felt to be bobbing like an acorn cup in a stream, and her vision swam. As she tried to swing her legs, her sense of dizzy falling increased, becoming worse as she closed her eyes. She lashed out in the darkness, her flailing hands and feet connecting with straw, dusty hay, and ancient pelts.

 

“Christina?” she hissed, listening intently and praying now that the monster had brought her to the same place it had taken her sister.

 

She heard nothing but her own breath, and when she held that, nothing at all.

 

“Christina?” Fearing to reach out in this blackness that was more than night and dreading what she might find, Elfrida forced herself to stretch her arms. She trailed her fingers out into the ghastly void, tracing the unseen world with trembling hands.

 

Her body shook more than her hands, but she ignored the shuddering of her limbs, closed her eyes like a blind man, and searched.

 

She lay on a pallet, she realized, full of crackling, dry grass. When she scented and tasted the air, there was no blood. She did not share the space with grisly corpses.

 

I am alone and unfettered. Now her heart had stopped thudding in her ears, she listened again, hearing no one else. Chanting a charm to see in the dark, she tried again to shift her feet.

 

Light spilled into her eyes like scalding milk as a door opened and a massive figure lurched across the threshold. Elfrida launched herself at freedom, hurling a fistful of straw at the looming beast and ducking out for the light.

 

She fell instead, her legs buckling, her last sight that of softly falling snow.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

 

 

Magnus gathered the woman before she pitched facedown into the snow, returning her swiftly to the rough bed within the hut. Her tiny, bird-boned form terrified him. Clutching her was like ripping a fragile wood anemone up from its roots.

 

And she had fought him, wind-flower or not. She had charged at him.

 

“I wish, lass, that you would listen to me. I am not the Forest Grendel, nor have wish to be, nor ever have been.”

 

Just as earlier, in the clearing where he had first come upon her, a brilliant shock of life and color in a white, dead world, the woman gave no sign of hearing. She was cold again, freezing, while in his arms she had steamed with fever. He tugged off his cloak and bundled her into it, then piled his firewood and kindling onto the bare hearth.

 

A few strikes of his flints and he had a fire. He set snow to melt in the helmet he was using as a cauldron. He swept more dusty hay up from the floor and, sneezing, packed it round the still little figure.

 

No beast on two or four legs would hunt tonight, so that was one worry less. Finding this lean-to hut in the forest had been a godsend, but it would be cold.

 

Magnus went back out into the snow and led his horse into the hut, spreading what feed he had brought with him. He kept the door shut with his saddle, rubbed the palfrey down with the bay’s own horse blanket, and looked about for a lantern.

 

There was none, just as there were no buckets, nor wooden bowls hanging from the eaves. But, abandoned as it surely had been, the place was well roofed, and no snow swirled in through the wood and wattle walls. Whistling, Magnus dug through his pack and found a flask of ale, some hard cheese, two wizened apples, and a chunk of dark rye bread. He spoke softly to his horse, then looked again at the woman.

 

She was breathing steadily now, and her lips and cheeks had more color. By the glittering, rising fire he saw her as he had first in the forest clearing, an elf-child of beauty and grace, a willing sacrifice to the monster. Kneeling beside her, he longed to stroke her vivid red hair and kiss the small dimple in her chin. In sleep she had the calm, flawless face of a Madonna of Outremer and the bright locks of a Magdalene.

 

He had guessed who she was—the witch of the three villages, the good witch driven to desperation. Coming upon her in that snowfield, tied between two trees like a crucified child of fairy, his temper had been a black storm against the villagers for sparing their skins by flaying hers. Then he had seen her face, recognized that wild, stark, sunken-cheeked grief, seen the loose bonds and the terrible “feast,” and had understood.

 

Another young woman has been taken by the beast, someone you love.

 

She—Elfrida, that was her name, he remembered it now—Elfrida was either very foolish or very powerful, to offer herself as bait.

 

Published August 15th by Prairie Rose Publications

FREE to read with Kindle Umlinted.

To buy on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VSHHX4N

 


 

Here’s another excerpt from THE SNOW BRIDE, showing Elfrida, a medieval witch and Magnus, a warrior. I deliberately wrote it so Elfrida was powerful in magic but not invulnerable. Hence her catching chicken-pox and being feverish as a result.

 

EXCERPT

 

Magnus was worried. The fire he had made should have brought his people. It was an old signal, well-known between them. His men should have reached the village by now—that had been the arrangement. They were bringing traps and provisions in covered wagons, and hunting dogs and horses. He had been impatient to start his pursuit of the Forest Grendel and so rode ahead, returning with the messenger until that final stretch when the man turned off to his home. He had ridden on alone, finding the wayside shrine.

But from then, all had gone awry. Instead of the monster, he had found an ailing witch, and the snowstorm had lost him more tracks and time.

Magnus shook his head, turning indulgent eyes to the small, still figure on the rough pallet. At least the little witch had slept through the night and day, snug and safe, and he had been able to make her a litter from woven branches. He would give his fire signal a little longer and then return Elfrida to her village. There he might find someone who could translate between them.

Perhaps she did have power, for even as he looked at her, she sat up, the hood of her cloak falling away, and stared at him in return. She said something, then repeated it, and he drew in a great gulp of cold air in sheer astonishment, then laughed.

“I know what you said!” He wanted to kiss her, spots and all.

He burst into a clumsy canter, dragging his peg leg a little and almost tumbling onto her bed. She caught him by the shoulders and tried to steady him but collapsed under his weight.

They finished in an untidy heap on the pallet, with Elfrida hissing by his ear, “Why have you done such a foolish thing as to burn all our fuel?”

He rolled off her, knocked snow off his front and beard, and said in return, “How did you know I would know the old speech, the old English?”

“I dream true, and I dreamed this.” She was blushing, though not, he realized quickly, from shyness.

“Why burn so wildly?” she burst out, clearly furious. “You have wasted it! All that good wood gone to ash!”

“My men know my sign and will come now the storm has gone.” He had not expected thanks or soft words, but he was not about to be scolded by this red-haired nag.

“That is your plan, Sir Magnus? To burn half the forest to alert your troops?”

“A wiser plan than yours, madam, setting yourself as bait. Or had your village left you hanging there, perhaps to nag the beast to death?”

Her face turned as scarlet as the fire. “So says any witless fool! ’Tis too easy a charge men make against women, any woman who thinks and acts for herself. And no man orders me!”

Magnus swallowed the snort of laughter filling up his throat. He doubted she saw any amusement in their finally being able to speak to each other only to quarrel. Had she been a man or a lad, he would have knocked her into the snow, then offered a drink of mead, but such rough fellowship was beyond him here.

“And how would you have fought off any knave, or worse, that found you?” he asked patiently. “You did not succeed with me.”

“There are better ways to vanquish a male than brute force. I knew what I was about!”

“Truly? You were biding your time? And the pox makes you alluring?”

“Says master gargoyle! My spots will pass!”

“Or did you plan to scatter a few herbs, perhaps?”

He thought he heard her clash her teeth together. “I did not plan my sickness, and I do not share my secrets! Had you not snatched me away, had you not interfered, I would know where the monster lives. I would have found my sister! I would be with her!” Her voice hitched, and a look of pain and dread crossed her face. “We would be together. Whatever happens, I would be with her.”

“This was Christina?”

“Is Christina, not was, never was! I know she lives!”

Magnus merely nodded, his temper cooling rapidly as he marked how her color had changed and her body shook. A desperate trap to recover a much-loved sister excused everything, to his way of thinking.

She called you a gargoyle! This piqued his vanity and pride.

But she does not think you the monster, Magnus reminded himself in a dazzled, shocked wonder, embracing that knowledge like a lover.

 

Published August 15th by Prairie Rose Publications

FREE to read with Kindle Umlinted.

To buy on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VSHHX4N

 


A FINAL EXCERPT:

 

“How are the spots? Itching yet?”

Elfrida gave a faint shudder. “Do not remind me.” Since stirring, she had been aware of her whole body tickling and burning. Mark’s idea of rolling in the snow might not be so bad.

“Walter told me that the village of Great Yarr has a bathhouse. Bathing in oatmeal will help you.”

She did not say that the village could afford to spare no foodstuffs and would not be distracted. She had tried to rush off in pursuit of the monster before and gained nothing, so now she would gather her strength and learn before she moved. “What did you call the beast? Forest Grendel? Is it known he lives in the forest?”

Magnus shook his head. “It is not known, but I do not think so now, or at least not outdoors. I have hunted wolf’s heads who have been outlawed and fled into woodland, and they always have camps and dens and food caches within the forest. I have found none of those hereabouts.”

“My dowsing caught no sign of any lair of his,” Elfrida agreed.

Magnus leaned forward, bracing himself with his injured arm. Elfrida forced herself not to stare at his stump, but to listen to him.

“Do you sense anything?” he asked softly.

“The night you came, I felt something approach.” She frowned, trying to put into words feelings and impressions that were as elusive as smoke. “A great purpose,” she said. “A need and urgent desire.”

Now Magnus was frowning. “Have you a charm or magic that will help?”

“Do you think I have not tried magic, charms, and incantations? My craft is not like a sword fight, where the blades are always true. If God does not will it—”

“I have been in enough fights where swords break.”

“Are your men good trackers?”

“They would not be with me, else.” If Magnus was startled by her determination to talk only of the beast, he gave no sign. “Tell me of your sister and her habits. Did she keep to the same paths and same tasks each day?”

“Yes and yes, but what else did Walter say? The old men have told me nothing!”

“No, they do not want the womenfolk to know anything, even you, I fear.” His kind eyes gleamed, as if he enjoyed her discomfiture. He had a small golden cross in his right eye, she noticed, shining amidst the warm brown.

A sparkle for the lasses, eh, Magnus?

To her further discomfiture, she realized he had asked her something. “Say again, please?”

“Would you like some food to go with your mead? There are the remains of mutton, dates and ginger, wine and mead and honey.” His brown eyes gleamed. “My men found it in the clearing where I found you. The mutton has been a bit chewed, but the rest is palatable, I think.”

“It is drugged!” Elfrida burst out. “I put”—she could not think of the old word and used her own language instead—“I put a sleeping draft in the wedding cakes and all.” She seized his arm, not caring that it was the one with the missing hand. “Do not eat it!”

“Sleeping draft?” He used her own words.

She yawned and feigned sleep, startled when he started to laugh.

“A wedding feast to send the groom to sleep! I like it!” He chuckled again and opened his left hand, where, to Elfrida’s horror, there was one of her own small wedding cakes.

 

Published August 15th by Prairie Rose Publications

FREE to read with Kindle Unlimited.

To buy on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VSHHX4N

 

 

Author Bio

 

Lindsay Townsend lives in Yorkshire, where she was born, and started writing stories at an early age. Always a voracious reader, she took a degree in medieval history and worked in a library for a while, then began to write full-time after marriage.

 

She is fascinated by the medieval and ancient world, especially medieval Britain, where she set her full length medieval romance novels A Knight's Vow, A Knight's Captive, A Knight's Enchantment and A Knight’s Prize, (first published by Kensington Zebra, now re-issued) and also  The Snow Bride, A Summer Bewitchment, and several novellas.  Lindsay is also intrigued by ancient Rome, Egypt, and Britain. Flavia’s Secret, a historical romance set in Roman Britain, was followed by two more ancient world historical romances, Blue Gold, set in ancient Egypt, and Bronze Lightning, set in Bronze Age Greece and the Ancient Britain of Stonehenge. All these ancient world historicals are just 99cents or 99p.

 

When not writing or researching her books, she enjoys walking, reading, cooking, music, going out with friends and long languid baths with scented candles (and perhaps chocolate).

 

Author page on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Lindsay-Townsend/e/B000API55C/

Twitter page https://twitter.com/lindsayromantic

 

               


Saturday 2 December 2023

Mistletoe Menage - MMM - by Lily Harlem

 Want a kinky vicar threesome this Christmas? I'm your gal! MISTLETOE MENAGE  is set in a beautiful snowy English village. But oh.... it's hot in the bedroom. 



The winter days might be frosty, but a new guy in town is sure to heat up Father Nicholas and Dr. Zach! Reverend Nicholas Simmons has traveled a bumpy road before landing in the small town of Mindle with his doctor husband. So, when a new, very sexy, very enticing young man shows interest in them both, he’s reluctant to rock the boat. Zach, however, can’t keep the flashes of desire from his eyes. He’d never cheat, of course not, but visions of hot threesomes dance in his mind. Will Nicholas ever agree? If so, what would it be like? How hard would they all come? Brandon isn’t looking forward to his first Christmas in Mindle. He’s alone. Exhausted. Friendless. That is, until he meets the Reverend and Zach. From that first moment he’s equal parts fascinated and turned on by them. Sure, they’re older than he is, but that just heightens his lust and increases his need to get hot, sweaty and naked with them. Will their romance have a backdrop of tinsel and holly? Can three strong, passionate men truly connect with absolute honesty? And on Christmas night, will they each get the ultimate present—one another—under the tree?

Tuesday 14 November 2023

Seriously Sexy British Vampires!

 


BIG NEWS!

BITE MARK and CLAW MARK are now back on Kindle Unlimited so dive into these steamy menage vampire shifter romances and be prepared to stay up late into the night!  



Two vampires are in love with me. Another wants to kill me!

Life in London as a butcher girl was hard enough, but when my best friend Denny went missing it became miserable. Stumbling into the Worshipful Company of the Ancient Order while searching for him was like a breath of fresh air. Especially because handsome, sophisticated Aimery promised to help me.

But Aimery’s friend Ryle wanted in on the action. My head was spinning, my body reacting to theirs whenever they were around. But I had questions: What was their obsession with my rare blood type? How did they always appear when I needed them? And how old were they?

Learning the truth brought new fears and delights. They could take me higher than I’d ever gone before, show me pleasures I’d never imagined and were prepared to kill to protect me. Being mortal had never been so much fun—or so deliciously dangerous.

Friday 29 September 2023

Sweet, Feel-Good Christmas Romance, "Sir Conrad and the Christmas Treasure."

 




Fancy a feel-good, sweet romance for a Christmas Read as the nights draw in? My sweet medieval historical romance, "Sir Conrad and the Christmas Treasure" is out as a Kindle, a Paperback and now as a Large Print. The Large Print version is coming out on December 1st as a perfect Christmas Read and Christmas Gift.

KindleVersion 

                                        UK https://amazon.co.uk/dp/B07KW6K5RL/

Large Print Version:










Large Print Version:

England, 1192. When Maggie’s brother Michael is kidnapped by outlaws, she appeals to the grim Sir Conrad for help. The first time he sees her, Conrad is overwhelmed by Maggie’s beauty and courage. Yet what will it cost him to aid this peasant girl, who seems strangely familiar? Working together to find Michael, Maggie and Conrad discover more about each other – but some knowledge is dangerous. As Christmas approaches, will their love prevail?











Lindsay Townsend 

Tuesday 1 August 2023

Celebrate Summer with the Medieval Romance "A Summer Bewitchment".

Celebrate Summer with Medieval Romance!

 

 


A Summer Bewitchment.

 

#Escape into #Romance and #Magic with the #RomanceNovel A SUMMER BEWITCHMENT (THE Knight & the Witch 2)

USA https://amzn.to/2SxGj5L UK https://amzn.to/352aAfD

“I am the troll king of this land and you owe me a forfeit.”

Elfrida glanced behind the shadowed figure who barred her way. #KU #HistoricalRomance #MedievalHistoricalRomance

#Sequel to THE SNOW BRIDE


USA https://amzn.to/2MZZan0 UK https://amzn.to/2H1tYzY

 

Here is Chapter One of A Summer Bewitchment.

 

A SUMMER BEWITCHMENT

The Knight and the Witch 2

 

LINDSAY TOWNSEND

Copyright © 2013

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

England, summer, 1132

 

“I am the troll king of this land and you owe me a forfeit.”

Elfrida glanced behind the shadowed figure who barred her way. He was alone, but then so was she.

Do I turn and run along the track? Should I flee into the woods or back to the river? He is close, less than the distance of the cast of a spear. Can I make it hard for him to catch me? Yes.

But catch her he would.

Play for time.

“Indeed?” she asked, using one of her husband’s favorite expressions, then sharpened her tone. “Why must I pay anything?”

“You have trespassed in these woods. In my woods.”

The nagging ache in her shoulders and hands vanished in a tingling rush of anticipation. Elfrida dropped her basket of washed, dried clothes onto the dusty pathway, the better to fight. “King Henry is lord of England.”

“I am king here.”

A point to him. “I kept to the path, and then the river.”

“That may be so, but I claim a kiss.”

He had not moved yet, nor shown his face. The summer evening made his shadow huge, bloody. Her heart beating harder as she anticipated their final, delicious encounter, Elfrida asked, “Are you so bold? My husband is a mighty warrior, the greatest in all Christendom.”

“That is a large claim.” He sounded amused. “All Christendom? He must be a splendid fellow. The harpers should sing of him.”

Elfrida raised her chin, determined to have her say. “I am proud of my lord. He is a crusader. He has seen Jerusalem and he has learning. He can whistle any tune. He defends all those weaker than himself.” Should I say what I next want to say? Tease him as he has teased me? Why not? Are we are not playing? “Go back to your woods, troll king.”

She heard the crack of a pine cone as he shifted. In a haze of motion the troll king was out of the tree shade and into the bright sunset, dominating the path in front of her. Taller than a spear, broad as a door, he had a face as stark as granite, of weathered, broken stone. Heavily scarred—many would say grooved—he had the terrible beauty of a victor, a winner wounded but unbowed.

A ribbon of heat, like hot breath, flickered across her breasts. He was so magnificent , so handsome. She both loved and hated defying him, even in jest. Striving for calm, she said, “You will come no closer.”

“Or what, little laundress?”

That tease irked her. “The clothes and bedding do not wash themselves. Not even for you, troll king.”

He smiled, a daunting unfurling of that scarred, sword-cut face. The churning heat in her belly swept up into her cheeks and down to her loins.

“I am a witch, besides,” she added, though not as coolly as she would have liked. She saw the gleam in his large brown eyes pool into molten bronze.

“You would put a spell on me, elfling?” he challenged.

“Perhaps I already have.” Her tone and mouth were as dry as the summer. How much farther can we stretch this sweet foolishness?

He raised thick black eyebrows, while a breeze flicked and flirted with his shoulder-length curls. “Is that Christian?”

She wanted to cross her arms before herself, to shield her body from his bold stare. At the same time she longed to strip herself naked for him, unlace his tunic and caress him. Unsure how he might react, she armed herself with words instead. “I am a good witch, Magnus.”

“Indeed.” Again he looked her up and down, glanced at her buckets, basket, and clothes. “Should you not have an escort, wife?”

Do I tell him I sent Piers off to help? Are we still playing now or is he truly angry?

Looming over her, he was close enough for her to touch him. To caress his strong body will be like stroking sun-warmed stone. Distracted, she shook her head. “There is the sheep shearing…”

“Done.” He tossed a stack of rolled, lanolin-scented fleeces at her feet. “I did my share and more and, as I have said already, I claim a reward.”

He winked at her and she found herself smiling in return. “Forfeit and reward, too, sire? Is that not greedy?”

“Are we in Lent, that I should fast?” He raised his hand, cupping her face with supple fingers. “But you are too dainty to linger alone, witch or no.”

He traced the curve of her lips with his thumb and, as she trembled, he gathered her firmly into his arms. “Any man will try to spirit you away.”

“Hush!” She made a sign against the evil eye and wood elves, but he shook his head at her caution.

“I have faith in your magic craft, Elfrida. But a passing knave or outlaw? He is quite another matter. He would see you as a tempting piece, my wife, my lovely.”

“I am not helpless,” she protested, but her heart soared at his loving words. His mouth, as crooked and scarred as the rest of his face, stole a kiss from hers.

He smelled of lanolin, salt, and summer green-stuff, and tasted of apples and himself. Elfrida closed her eyes under his tender onslaught, her thighs trembling.

“Troll King?” she murmured, when they broke apart slightly. “Is that how you wish me to address you in the future, husband?”

“‘Sire’ will do, or ‘greatest knight in Christendom.’ Those will do very well.” He kissed her again.

“You rob me, sire,” she murmured, a breathless space later.

“Of kisses?” He sounded delighted at the idea, the beast, and grinned when she pinched him.

“Even one-handed I can do that better than you.”

He demonstrated, squeezing and lightly slapping her bottom, chuckling as she thrust her hips back against his fondling fingers. A shred of modesty remained as her wits dissolved into a sweet blaze of need. “Magnus, what if someone comes?”

 

* * * *

 

“Mark knows to keep them back.” Safe in knowing his second in command would let no one disturb them for the rest of the evening, Magnus sat down in the middle of the path and pulled his wife onto his lap. She was pliant in his arms and as eager as himself, kissing his throat and caressing his back while she murmured endearments in her own local dialect. “Steady, lovely.” He stroked to soothe her, uncaring that such a tender act made his desire more urgent. “Steady. We shall not be troubled by anyone, I promise.”

Daily he thanked God for her, his Elfrida. They had found each other two seasons back, striving and facing countless dangers together to free three brides from a deadly necromancer. He had watched her push herself to her limits and beyond for others and, even more strange and terrible, had seen her protect him from spirits and curses.

Snug and close as she was to him now, his fiery witch revealed another side to her nature, passionate and sweetly submissive. She could dispute like a scholar from Bologna, argue any point, but in bed with him, or sitting on his knee now on this dry woodland path, her loving trust in him was absolute.

He kissed her narrow palms, marveling aloud how smooth they were, in spite of her scrubbing clothes in the river all day.

“’Tis only a little charm and some ointment I use.” She smiled at him. “But I regret, Magnus, that not even my strongest magic can persuade a laundress to remain with us.”

He knew that well enough and he knew why. Of all the women in the world, only his Elfrida and a few others could look beyond his mess of ugly sword scars, his missing hand and foot, and not be afraid. Aside from a constant shortage of maids he no longer cared about his looks, but to have his wife pound washing was another matter. “It is not seemly.”

“Maybe so, husband, for a lady born and bred, but I am a witch.”

And a peasant lass, her eyes added, though she was wise enough not to say that. He disliked reminders of their difference in class. To him it no longer mattered, indeed had never mattered. “You are my wife,” he growled.

“I am and proud of it. But see, you helped with the sheep shearing today. Washing sheets and stuff is nothing I have not done before. And now you and Mark and the rest are always clad in clean linen and woolens. Do you remember the stinking heap of filthy clothes I discovered at your manor when we first arrived?”

Magnus knew he was losing this. “Let me pay a laundress in gold.”

She tugged on his chest hairs, a tingling reproof. “And then our woman cook would be offended, and my own spinning maid. They would demand more, and so would the male head cook and the farrier.”

He kissed her before she named every servant in the place. “Can you not give me a philter to make me less ugly?” he teased.

“Hush, you.” She wormed a soft hand through his tunic laces and touched his strongly beating heart, flesh against flesh. “As I have said before, you are most handsome, especially from the back.”

She laughed up at him, her amber eyes bright with mischief.

“Have a care, or I might say the same—and do more.” Cupping her backside again, he savored how her lashes trembled and her face flushed in response to his caress. He spanked her lightly on her nether curves and she wrapped her arms tight about his neck.

“Magnus,” she breathed, snuggling into the crook of his arm, clinging as he drew her scarlet skirt up her legs and tucked it round her slender middle.

He could wait no longer. Aching, hard and more than ready for her, he sank his fingers into her, finding her warm and open and more than ready for him.

“Sir,” she whispered, as he rolled her off his lap and onto her back, taking care her head was pillowed by the sheepskins. Sinking into her was the greatest luxury in Christendom and having her move with him an infinite pleasure. Feeling like a pagan storm god, he rode and gloried in her, savoring her moans, her blushes, her growing heat and that final long, harp-string-tight shudder of delight. Dimly he heard his own wild shout as he plunged after her into a heart-hammering, thunderous release.

 

* * * *

 

“We should move,” Elfrida managed to say, some uncounted time later. Languid, almost sinfully relaxed, she lounged on top of her husband, wishing they could stay as they were.

“Not yet,” grunted Magnus, trapping her legs with one of his and hugging her. Matching her mood, he only opened his eyes when she leaned up on him. “Watch those needle elbows, wife.”

“I need more of those.”

“Elbows?”

“Needles. Christina wants me to make her some clothes.”

“For her and her coming babe, no doubt.” Magnus yawned and kissed her elbow. “Your sister and Walter are still visiting for the midsummer?”

Elfrida nodded. “Just after Saint John’s day. Unless you do not wish it?”

He shook his head, showing his crooked smile. “Christina and her husband are always welcome at our house, elfling.”

Even though she chatters endlessly of babies, as she once used to gossip about her wedding-day. Magnus was too gracious a host to admit that. For an instant he did seem about to say more, but then he tipped her off him and rolled swiftly to his feet.

“Get behind me,” he whispered. “We are no longer alone.”

How did Magnus hear and sense that when I did not? True, he is a warrior and these are his woods, yet I am the witch! Am I so transported and undone by our lovemaking as to be half blind after? Should I be? Is that a fault? Has my marriage diminished my powers of magic?

Faster than quicksilver the questions rushed through her as Magnus stood and straightened, standing before her as a shield. She reached out beyond him with her mind, seeing Mark dashing along the track, the low sun glinting on his ginger hair. She heard his panting breath, caught glimpses of his thoughts and understood his alarm.

She touched Magnus’s shoulder. “Mark comes with news of strangers. Not knights or crusaders, pilgrims or travelers, some others. One is a woman.”

“A laundress?”

“A lady, I think,” Elfrida replied, feeling as nervous as Mark looked. A lady! How do I greet her? Is the hall swept and clean? Is there enough food, enough fine bread? “She and her companion want your help. They will ask you for it soon.”

She tried to smile, but Magnus knew her too well to be fooled by her calm words. Without taking his eyes from the careering Mark, he reached behind himself and took her hand in his.

“Our help, Lady Elfrida. Ask for one of us and they will have the pair of us, yes?”

“If the cause is just, for sure, yes.”

As she spoke, a sweet-sour taste filled her mouth, as if she had bitten on a crab apple. Elfrida swallowed the bitterness and checked her skirts, smoothing her clothes and ensuring her mass of red hair was hidden beneath her veil. Wishing she was wearing something better than her faded scarlet, she prepared to hear more.


 Lindsay Townsend