Page 4

The New Queen

Morag scrutinized her reflection in the oval mirror of her royal chambers.

Her lustrous black hair—scented with rosewater—was unbound, cascading down her back, the way he liked it.

The corset of her deep crimson gown was tightly laced, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts, all the more enticing with the snugly gathered velvet bodice, so soft to the touch.

A sumptuous bouquet of red roses stood on the bedside table under the sunny window, the ruby color subtly enhancing her scarlet gown.

And the bed was scented with lavender, to arouse passion.

She tugged her neckline a bit lower at the sound of the expected knock upon her door.

A stern nod sent her royal attendants scurrying from the room, leaving her alone with King Donnchadh.

As her husband entered the fragrant chamber, his ardent eyes locked with hers, fixing on the sumptuous swell of her bustline.

Morag smiled coyly at him, content with his obvious lust. She’d learned long ago that, in a world ruled by men, her striking beauty and seductive wiles gave her tremendous power over them.

And she needed to wield every bit of it today.

“My husband, please, come sit with me. Let us share this fine wine.” She poured two goblets of rich burgundy. The same color as her gown. She glanced at him from lowered, intoxicating lashes.

With an impatient grin, the king unstrapped his sword and placed it on the floor.

His eyes lingered on the plush bed before he seated himself at the small table at her side.

She handed him the goblet and watched as he took a large swallow, his eyes never leaving her décolletage .

She leaned forward to give him a better view as she feigned adjusting the tablecloth.

When he placed his goblet down, she lowered herself slowly onto his lap, brushing her breasts against him as she nestled her soft bottom against his loins. She smiled inwardly at the immediate response. She needed to act quickly, while he was entranced.

She brushed a lock of auburn hair from his eager face, placing her full mouth close to his. “My love, I wish to discuss something with you that has been troubling me lately.”

Donnchadh kissed her swanlike neck, his hands clutching at her waist, pulling her more firmly against his lap.

“I would like to develop a closer relationship with Issylte. As her new stepmother, I’d like to supervise her lessons myself. Teach her more proper, courtly behavior. The eloquence and etiquette more becoming to a princess.”

The king wasn’t really listening. Just as Morag had planned.

“It is time for her to be married. I propose that we wed her to King Marke of Tintagel. A royal wedding would create a profitable alliance between Ireland and Cornwall, much like our marriage has strengthened the ties between our two kingdoms. Don’t you agree, my love?”

She kissed the shell of his ear, offering him the full view of her creamy white breasts.

“Mmmm,” he murmured. “A splendid idea.” He leaned her back in his arms, smothering her neck and shoulders with passionate kisses. “And I have another idea,” he growled, easing the neckline of her gown down over her shoulders as he ravished her breasts with greedy lips.

Morag rose from his lap, unlaced her corset seductively before him and dropped her gown to the floor. She sauntered across the room, swaying her slender nude hips, as Donnchadh quickly threw off his royal tunic, breeches and boots and followed the bewitching temptress, a moth drawn to the flame.

****

Several weeks later, King Donnchadh departed with his Marshal and Seneschal to finalize plans for the construction of additional lodging for the hundreds of knights that the Morholt insisted were necessary to bolster Ireland’s military might.

Queen Morag had been patiently waiting for this planned excursion.

And now, with the king gone for at least a fortnight, she planned to take full advantage of his absence.

As she proceeded into her antechamber to await the arrival of the Morholt, whom she’d summoned, the queen did not notice Brangien, who was seated in the adjacent servants’ room, embroidering under the opened window in a quiet corner.

Queen Morag dismissed her attendants as the burly Viking entered her antechamber.

The Black Knight was not clad in his usual intricately detailed armor, having donned instead a more casual tunic and breeches for today’s private, intimate meeting.

But his magnificent sword gleamed at his hip, ever ready to defend his beloved queen.

“My queen,” he said, his voice deep and rich, as he knelt to kiss her extended hand.

She gazed down upon his thick, russet hair. He smelled of leather, horses, and pine. Her body stirred in response.

The Morholt rose to his feet to await her command. Morag turned, wandering over to the open window where the drapes fluttered in the morning sunlight and the fragrant pine scent of the lush forest wafted in upon the summer breeze.

She gazed out across the grassy plains which led to the thick, dense woods surrounding the castle. The very, very, dense woods.

“I have given our plan careful consideration. There is one outcome I had not considered.”

She turned to face him. To her delight, his bold eyes were piqued with interest. And lust.

“If Donnchadh and I marry the Princess Issylte to King Marke of Tintagel, she could very well bear him a son. The heir to the throne of Cornwall.” She locked her eyes upon his.

“As you well know, I have not been able to conceive a child. In the two long years since my marriage, despite the futile amorous attempts of my hapless husband.”

Morag floated across the room, her dreamy dress a soft blue like the endless sky.

She ran her white hands up the front of his massive chest, her slender fingers stroking the thick, dark hair at the base of his throat.

“Or the ardent, frequent lovemaking of my lusty, virile knight.” She kissed his neck, tracing a circle with her dainty tongue.

She smiled contentedly at his guttural moan.

“Although I have no desire whatsoever to bear a bawling brat, it would be disastrous if Issylte were to produce an heir. For if I remain childless, her son would inherit not only the throne of King Marke of Cornwall, but the entire kingdom of Ireland as well.”

She tugged the front of his tunic, pulling his chest against hers.

“Princess Issylte is the greatest threat to my throne.” She shared her breath with him.

He lowered his mouth to devour hers, moving to assault her exposed throat. His face flushed with desire, he raised his head and snarled, “Then she must die.”

Morag wrapped her slender arms around his thickly corded neck and pulled his face down to hers.

She teased his lips with her own, rubbing her hips against his in a provocative dance of seduction.

Taking him by the hand, she led him most willingly into her adjacent chambers, to the inviting, enticing, lavender-scented bed.

A short while later, after he had left, the queen was recovering from the amorous assault of her beloved Black Knight. Her limbs were still quavering with pleasure, her loins smoldering like glowing embers, when there was a sudden, urgent knock at her door.

The queen, who had dismissed her attendants for the intimate tryst, quickly donned her hastily discarded blue gown and smoothed her sex-tousled hair. Inhaling deeply, she rose to her full regal stature and opened the door to find one of her royal guards standing before her, visibly distressed.

He knelt at her feet, his head bowed in homage. Morag’s heart leapt to her throat. Had someone seen? Or heard? She had practically screamed, lost in the throes of pleasure. The Morholt knew all the ways to drive her wild.

“Rise, Sir Knial. What is it? What is wrong?” She tried to calm her racing heart.

The knight was obviously flustered. He rocked from side to side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. By the Goddess, what was wrong?

“I just saw the Lady Brangien leave the servants’ quarters, my queen. The room beside your royal chambers.”

He stammered, beside himself with agitation.

“I did not realize she was there, Your Majesty. You gave explicit orders that no one was to be in the vicinity. I did not see her, my queen. But I did notice her leave, just a few moments ago. She raced down the hall and took the stairs to the kitchen. I did not know of her presence in the servants’ quarters, Your Majesty. I have failed in my duty.”

He dropped to his knees, his head lowered in shame.

Morag’s mind raced. She needed to react quickly. What had Brangien overheard? She couldn’t take a chance. She had to act decisively. And immediately.

Fortunately, she’d already spoken to her husband about having a more direct influence on Issylte’s upbringing. This would work to her advantage now.

“Fetch the Lady Brangien. Bring her to me in the throne room. Go quickly.”

The knight rushed to obey. Queen Morag summoned four of her remaining guards. She gave them quiet, explicit instructions. All four gravely nodded their heads and left to follow orders.

Her heart pounded with adrenaline. It was exhilarating, this new power as queen. With her husband away, the timing was perfect. And with Issylte gone from the castle on her daily equestrian lesson—which would keep her away for the remainder of the morning—it was downright ideal.

Queen Morag sent for her attendants and ordered them to assemble the castle servants in the throne room and to await her there. As they scampered off, eager to please, she returned to her private chambers to gather her wits and polish her regal appearance.