He laughed, a loud roar.
“Hush,” she cried, clapping her hand on his mouth. “You will bring the whole world down upon us!”
“Witch,” he said affectionately, still chuckling. “The whole world is asleep, there is no one to hear us, no one but the mice and the horses, that is.”
“Is that what pressed against my thigh a moment ago? I thought it was you, but it was suspiciously small.”
He grinned again, rolling onto his back and pulling her astride him “If ’twas small, you know it could not have been me.” He placed her hand on his rising member.
“Arrogant,” she breathed. “Your lance is not so huge.”
“Huge enough to make you beg for mercy, weep with pleasure, and cry my name!”
“Did I do those things, my lord?”
“Each and every one,” he said smugly.
“And you think ’twas because of this?” She grabbed him.
The smug tone disappeared. He gasped. “I know—I know ’twas because of this.”
“Conceited too,” she said, sliding her palm down his length.
“You are speaking about,” he managed, “your lord. Have you … no respect?”
Ceidre slid down his body and rubbed his penis between her breasts and against her nipples. Rolfe gasped. “Is this respectful enough for you, my lord?” There was smugness in her own breathy tone.
“You learn overly fast, witch,” he said, flipping her and impaling her in one movement. “Now who is in control?”
“You.” She gasped as he moved with tremendous restraint over her. “You.”
Rolfe was distracted.
He sat his gray in the field, knowing Beltain questioned him, yet his gaze followed Ceidre as she moved down the path and then veered off it, into the orchard. It was the next day, after noon. Where was the wench going?
“My lord, shall we commence?” Beltain repeated.
“Yes, yes,” Rolfe said impatiently. Ceidre had disappeared from his view among the trees and thigh-high grass. “You are in charge,” he told Beltain, then spurred his destrier into a canter, toward the orchard.
Once inside, he reined in, looking around. Ceidre was nowhere to be seen. What is she up to? He wondered, not with suspicion, with curiosity. There was no sign of her, yet he knew she had to be there. He urged his mount forward, his gaze roaming left and right repeatedly. “Ceidre?”
No answer.
He felt a touch of worry then. The woman could not just vanish. A terrible thought occurred. Had she purposefully hidden herself, mayhap to meet with a spy? Or had she tripped and fallen, hitting her head? His tone was sharper. “Ceidre? Ceidre!”
No answer. He urged his mount into a faster walk, almost nearing the end of the orchard. He could see the forest across the road. Unless she had been running, she could not have crossed the orchard and disappeared into the forest so quickly. Maybe she had started to run once she had escaped common view. He felt a dread. If she was up to no good …
A laugh sounded.
It was soft and fairylike and it was hers, he would know that musical, magical sound anywhere. Relief swept him. And with it, something else. He whipped his head around. “Ceidre? God’s blood, wench, are you playing a game? Where are you?”
Another fey laugh, and then something hit his head, smack in the middle. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t quite tickle either; it was an apple. Amazed, he jerked his gaze up to the treetop above him.
Ceidre smiled down at him. “Have you followed me, my lord?” she asked serenely.
She was a breathtaking vision of honey and gold up in that tree, and for a moment he couldn’t answer. He feigned annoyance. “What are you doing up there, Ceidre?”
“Picking apples, of course,” she said sweetly. “Would you care for another?” Before he could answer, she tossed one at him. He ducked, so it missed his shoulder in the nick of time.
