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*

Nights like this drove the cold

down to a man’s very bones….

*

W inter sunsets were early in the day, with usually no more than seven hours of sunlight in the dead of winter, so by the time night fell, it was cold and foggy and dreary.

Torches were lit upon the battlements and the open gatehouse was heavily protected as the soldiers repairing the damage from the most recent attack wrapped up their work for the day.

Sentries with big dogs patrolled the perimeter of the castle, moving through the coming darkness and the fog, making sure that all was well while the gatehouse was open.

Men were working quickly to close it and bottle the castle up for the night.

Four Crosses had a postern gate in the kitchen yard, built into the wall.

It was a gate used by those who did business with the kitchens and instead of one gate, it was actually two– a fortified iron gate on the outside of the wall, a narrow passageway, and then a fortified gate on the inside of the wall.

It was always very carefully watched to ensure no one tried to breach it and there was a path from the postern gate that led to a heavily wooded area and the River Einion.

Farmers or servants usually traveled it but as the sun set on this night, someone else was traveling it as well.

She knew the path well, as she was born at the castle.

She knew it and the surrounding landscape as well as she knew the lines of her face.

But this was different; this was no casual stroll in the fog.

There was someone waiting for her at the end of the path and she didn’t want to be seen by the sentries on guard on the walls overhead.

Even though there was a fog cover, someone might have seen her leave and she didn’t want to try to explain that.

As she ran along the path, she kept looking over her shoulder, thinking she heard movement behind her.

But it was water dripping from the leaves, she was certain.

The path carved out a niche next to the river and the waters flowed beside her as she ran along the trail.

It was muddy and cold, but she was heated in her heavy clothing.

In fact, her forehead was sweating, but it had more to do with her own apprehension than it had to do with her exertion.

She was frightened and she was determined, an odd combination, indeed.

The foliage grew heavier, the thicket of trees dark now that night was falling.

She still swore she could hear someone behind her but every time she stopped to look, there was no movement.

It was her imagination, she was certain, but she kept her hand on the hilt of her dirk just in case.

Certainly, if anyone had seen her, she would do her best to silence them.

Now she was in a heavy cluster of bushes as she moved down the path.

The ground was particularly slippery here and she did slip, more than once.

The third time, someone reached out from the thicket to grab her.

In a panic, she unsheathed her dirk until she saw who it was.

Then, relief swept her as a man, darkened by the shadows, kissed her passionately.

“ Fy nghariad ,” the man whispered in Welsh against her lips. Then, he switched to her language. “My darling. I have missed you so.”

The woman fell into his arms, allowing him to do as he pleased with her. His lips kissed her face, his hands on her head to hold her fast. She whimpered softy as he kissed her, so very glad to be in his arms again.

“I have missed you, also,” she breathed as his mouth came close to her lips again and he plunged his tongue into her mouth. He licked her, tasted her, before she pulled away gasping. “Are you well? Were you hurt in the most recent battles?”

The man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, shook his head. “Nay,” he said, breathlessly. “Were you, my sweet Madeline?”

Madeline shook her head, also breathless, thrilled to be in her lover’s arms again. “Not at all,” she whispered. “It is so good to see you. I have missed you desperately.”

“As I have missed you.”

More hugging and kissing, heated lips upon tender flesh. “So much has happened I do not know where to begin,” she said, her voice trembling. “There is much you should know.”

He couldn’t seem to stop touching her face, running his dirty fingers across her lips. “I have been here every night since the end of the battle, waiting for you,” he said. “Why have you not come to me before now?”

Madeline sighed, burying her face in his neck, inhaling deeply of his scent, before pulling back to speak.

“I am sorry this is my first opportunity to come,” she said.

“There are de Lohr troops at the castle now including four knights. The situation is much more complicated now, Evon. You must take great care.”

Evon ap Preece smiled at his love. “I have nothing to fear so long as you protect me,” he said softly. “As long as you have survived the attacks in whole, I am satisfied.”

Madeline smiled tremulously in return, her hands on his shoulders. “As am I,” she murmured. “But I do not have much time so I must tell you all that I know.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean you do not have much time?” he asked, suddenly looking around suspiciously. “Have you been followed?”

Madeline looked around also, just because he was.

“Nay,” she replied. “But the changing of the guard will come soon and I must be present. I was only able to slip away now because men are growing weary at their posts and I was able to slip by. I will come back tomorrow night and I hope we can spend more time together.”

He kissed her again, more deeply this time, before his hands began to roam. “Tell me all you can,” he said, fumbling at the belt on her tunic, loosening it. “Tell me while I touch you.”

Madeline trembled. “You know I cannot think when you do such things to me.”

He laughed, low in his throat. “Try, my darling. Try .”

Madeline did. She was looking forward to his touch as much as he was; it had been a long time since they had last tasted one another and she missed the way he made her feel.

As his cold, dirty hands snaked underneath her heavy tunic and immediately grabbed a small, warm breast, she struggled to think.

“It was de Lohr who helped us fight off the Welsh,” she explained as he pulled her tunic over his head and began nursing hungrily at her naked breasts.

“He… he left five hundred men behind to reinforce our ranks, including four knights. Three of them are de Lohr sons and of the highest order, but the fourth is a Scotsman. I have never met him before. He is in command and I have heard rumors about him. The men are saying that he is called The Red Lion and that he is the best knight in all of Scotland.”

Evon didn’t reply right away, as he was too busy suckling her nipples and unfastening her breeches. But he managed to pull his mouth away from her flesh long enough to speak.

“What about him?” he asked as he dragged his tongue over her belly “Tell me what you know.”

Madeline was having a terrible time holding a coherent thought as he managed to untie her breeches and pull them down around her thighs.

Like a moth to flame, his hand went to her tender woman’s core and his fingers began probing her.

She gasped as he forced her to stand awkwardly, her legs apart, and thrust his fingers into her.

“He… Sweet Mary, Evon, when you do that to me….” she muttered.

He cut her off. “Tell me, my darling. Tell me what you know.”

Madeline was trying to but her eyes were rolling back in her head as he suckled her breasts and thrust his fingers inside of her body.

“The Red Lion,” she breathed again because she forgot she had told him that already.

“He… he is sending out patrols again. He spent all day gathering patrols and speaking to the men about the Scottish tactics that the Welsh are using.”

Evon paused in his onslaught, thinking on her words. Scottish tactics. Then, his head came out of her tunic and he stood up, looking at her. “He said that?”

“What?”

“That we are using Scots tactics?”

“Aye,” Madeline replied, breathless and uncertain. “Are you?”

Evon cocked his head thoughtfully. “Your Red Lion has a sharp eye,” he said as he took Madeline by the shoulders and turned her around for the nearest tree, forcing her to bend over and grip the tree to steady herself.

“There are Scots mercenaries among us who have been training the men. Their tactics, Madeline… they are far more than the Welsh way of fighting. They are calculated and logical. We lost far less men this time around the way the Scots taught us.”

He stood behind her as he spoke, fumbling with his breeches.

Quickly, he pulled them down and flipped up her layers of tunics, exposing her slender white buttocks.

He bent over her, pressing his manhood against her wet and swollen core, thrusting firmly into her quivering body.

Madeline gasped and shifted on her legs, bracing them apart further to allow him better access.

She held on to the tree as he began to thrust, his hands on her hips as he held her firmly against him.

Evon’s thrusts were quick and brutal, hitting Madeline so hard with his pelvis that more than once, she lost her grip on the tree.

She ended up with her head against the tree, repeatedly ramming her head into it as he thrust firmly behind her.

The hands on her hips began to slap at her buttocks, harshly enough to cause a sting, but his handprints on her white flesh excited him terribly.

He slapped her buttocks as she yelped in pain.

“Tell me more,” he breathed, spittle dripping from his lower lip and landing on her buttocks. “What else has your Red Lion said?”