A King's Bride

It had come to this.

I had been sold.

Well, so it seemed to me in my youthful pride.

I should have been ready for it, had always known it would happen, sooner or later. Such was the clear destiny of the only daughter of the Baron of the High Marches. Sons in those days stayed to inherit, but daughters were pawns in that great political game nobility spent their lives playing.

My father and my youngest brother had just made a week's journey to the south to pledge fealty to the King. That had been unsurprising; for time beyond memory, our barony had been aligned with the kingdom of Bann. Sometimes it had been a formal alliance, sometimes just a shared confidence, but the hands of friendship had always been extended.

That Hame had remained behind when my father returned was no surprise, either; it was common custom for boys of noble blood to be raised in other households. It was said to broaden their experience and build friendships.

But my betrothal had come suddenly, without warning.

And without consultation.

My mother was all smiles when she and my father came to my chamber the day after his return. Her first words staggered me like a physical slap.

"You're to be a queen!" she gushed.

My pale-faced protestations that I had no desire to move away from my beloved mountains and heather made no difference and, to be honest, I have no idea now what other alternatives I might have proposed.

Eventually, tiring of my flood of tears, my father's face grew firm.

"Jeanie, 'tis your fate, girl. The matter's decided and that's that."

With those words hanging in the air between us, he glared at my mother, whirled and trod out of the room.

"Dear Jeanie," she said, patting me on the shoulder. "Be practical! This will be good for you, far better than being married off to some local hedge-noble. A queen,  Jeanie – you cannot hope for better than that!"

I had, frankly, been wondering, for although not yet 20 years old, I was beyond the normal affiancing age. I had heard rumours of this nobleman or that great family making discreet inquiries, but nothing had come of them.

My jaw dropped as another thought hit me.

"Mother, tell me truth now. How long have you and Father been planning this?"

Her lips went thin at my impudence.

"Your father and I have worked hard on your behalf, my girl! You'll thank us in time."

Faced with her basilisk stare, my eyes dropped to the floor.

"The King's representative will be here in three weeks. We'll need to look to your trousseau."

The door closed behind her, leaving me alone with my tears. From outside came the sound of her berating the servant girls.

+

I was dismayed to find that unbetrothed Jeanie had had much more freedom than betrothed Jeanette had now. Before, I might have walked down to the Saturday market accompanied only by my maid; now, there were always armed men with us. Worse than their presence was the suspicion that they were there as much to keep an eye on me as to protect me.

As it happened, my Bannish escort arrived a day later than expected – and with wounded. Reivers and bandits had always made travel in the Marches risky, although I hardly think I was the only one surprised by raiders having attacked a well-mounted and well-armed party.

But arrived they had, led by no less than the Constable of Bann, the King's own uncle. While the wounded were taken in hand by my father's chirurgeon and the horses handed to the stable-boys, my father launched the formal greeting ceremonies that had been prepared for some days.

The Constable was a big man in his late fifties, his blond hair and beard well-streaked with grey. Age had however not robbed him of strength and agility; he reminded me of a pacing uplands cat – restless, alert and wary. The hilt of the broadsword on his hip was well-worn and there was a dirk tucked into one of his boots. He spoke our tongue well enough, albeit with a noticeable accent.

The Constable was gracious to me, which was a relief. I had heard of some women whose real status in their new homes was little better than livestock, except that dogs and swine are not expected to share their owners' beds.

Still, there was no doubt whatever in my mind that this was a man, and, very much to the point, one openly appraising me as a woman. While not lecherous or ignoble, his first looks very definitely included a quick survey of my bosom and hips. I was not entirely surprised about that, for I knew the foremost rôle of any queen is to produce future kings; a spindly, narrow-hipped girl would made a dubious choice for the heirless King Robin.

I also knew that Robin had had two previous wives, one becoming Princess of the Realm at their marriage and the second becoming Queen following the death of Robin's father. One was supposed to have been beloved by Robin and the other a political marriage, like mine. In the end, it had mattered little, for both had died in childbirth.

Hips, it would seem, mattered.

That last had me concerned, much like any maiden entering an arranged marriage. That I would be expected to couple with him was a given and there were enough dogs and herd-beasts about my father's keep that I could have no doubt as to the essential nature of the act and its consequences.

The uncertainty concerning that 'essential nature' in humans was of course both fearful and exciting. What girl has not wondered?

And there had been enough ballads sung in court that the concept of love was hardly unknown to me, either, although I'd often wondered if my parents had ever actually felt love for each other. Theirs too had been a political match and it was rare for either of them to demonstrate any affection, especially in public. Yet here I was and there were my brothers, so presumably they had at least met the basic expectations.

Would I be as lucky in love as the songs or would I find myself a regal brood mare, valued only for my womb and my father's alliance?

I could scarcely raise that matter with my mother, of course.

+

There was a blessing service in the Noble Chapel the day before our departure. The always-prolix Prelate's sermon was a droning oxymoronity, on one hand praising the holy grail of chastity while on the other imploring the heavens' blessing on fecundity – my fecundity, of course, even if I was never specifically named.

I noted that the Constable sat through the whole thing with no sign of emotion.

My father gave a banquet that night, with knights and minor nobility from surrounding regions in attendance. I tried to enjoy myself as much as possible, for I thought it unlikely that I would find familiar fare – musical or gustatory – in my new country.

+

It was cold the next morning when the night maid slipped into my chamber with a candle and a pitcher of steaming water. My teeth were chattering by the time I began to pull on my clothes.

The Constable had advised me that my maids and I should dress warmly and be prepared for rough travel. In our case, I found, that meant bouncing around in a springless carriage, which not even the Bannish royal arms painted on the doors could make comfortable. The state of what passed for roads in our area would have made mock at springs in any case.

I'd received my first pony at five years old and within an hour into the journey had been seriously considering asking for one of the spare horses, bareback if needs must. I put that aside, for I could picture the Constable's expression. No, queens-to-be are bound to travel in a state fitting their stations, regardless of convenience or comfort. I could not in any case abandon my maids.

Don't think it was an easy decision however.

The honour guard, less several still-healing casualties, but augmented by a troop of my father's mounted archers, plodded heads-down through a day-long drizzle and I reflected that at least it was dry inside the carriage.

There was a jarring note just as we set out. In a roadside pasture below the castle was my father's horsemaster, supervising the mating of a young filly to Tàirneanach, my father's grey stallion. It was nothing I hadn't seen before, but the sight of the skittish young creature being led forward on a lead seemed a portent. Seeing my jaw fall, Lady Margaret, my senior maid, scowled and hastily jerked the carriage's curtains closed, but not before I saw the big horse's great organ waving about as he reared up to mount. Her attempts to divert my mind with conversation failed entirely and a grim silence fell upon us all.

We continued that morning though the mud and ruts until we reached a spot to which a pair of advance riders had been sent ahead to light a fire. I will admit to being impressed with the Constable's logistic acumen; we women gratefully took an opportunity for a brief hot drink with which to soften the hard road-bread which would be our main sustenance on the journey.

Nightfall found us chilled, hungry and out of sight of the meanest crofter's hut, let alone a proper town or city. Rather, we set up camp in an isolated and dismally windswept stone sheep-pen. The guard erected a rough tent for the four women and, after a spartan meal, those not on watch rolled themselves in their cloaks and fell asleep on the damp ground.

The tent at least spared us the drizzle, but the ground was cold and, even with our own cloaks and one blanket each from the stores cart, we wound up huddling against one another like sheep. I won't say that I slept not at all, but it was hardly a pleasant night.

We were awakened the next morning when a candle, a pot of hot water and a pitcher of warmed wine were pushed into the tent. Our unknown benefactor informed us that we would be leaving in twenty minutes.

I won't go further into the voyage as each day was a boneshaking repetition of the one before it. While the road remained tortuous, the weather gradually improved and we began to take more interest in the scenery. By the third day, my familiar hills, rocks and heather had gradually changed to more even ground, some green fields, trees and, to my personal satisfaction, signs of habitation.

We reached the border stone late in the third morning. A troop of Bann's King's Guard was waiting for us and, with little ceremony, most of my father's troops turned for home. I took the chance to send a note to my parents with the returning soldiers.

On the fourth night came a real treat -- a wayside inn. I was assigned a room by myself, but my three maids looked rather worried as no special arrangements had been made for them. The bed was large, but hardly large enough for four and I decided to see how much authority the position of 'almost-Queen' carried. After rolling his eyes, the Constable harried the innkeeper until he produced several thin pallets and – delight beyond delight – soap and a large tin laundry tub into which a procession of serving wenches poured pail after pail of steaming water. Bathing in a small tub in a drafty room is rarely ideal, but that night it was a great treat.

To our profound happiness, the road itself improved dramatically early on the fifth day, potholed mud giving way to almost-even cobblestones over which the carriage now merely jolted and rocked as opposed to flinging itself about like a new-trapped wild thing.

The Constable had been stiff throughout, but not unkindly. Perhaps it would be better to say that he was unfailingly proper and (given the ambush on his trip north) highly focused on his primary responsibility -- my safety. King's uncle or no, he slept little, for the King had a reputation of not suffering fools or failure. Still, within the bounds of the circumstances, he had been sympathetic and made many allowances for his female charges.

The final day of the journey, to my surprise, we stopped early, in late afternoon. The last milestone had put the capital only three leagues away and I had been sure the Constable would push on. Instead, bless the man, we paused at a large and comfortable inn.

"I daresay you'd appreciate a chance to clean up before your arrival," he said. "Which of your traps would you like?" He was referring to my trousseau and the bags of my companions being carried in the stores cart. I waved at one of my maids, who curtsied briefly and followed him from the room.

In short order, a series of perspiring soldiers with trunks and boxes contested the hallway with inn staff bringing a tub and hot water.

The Constable appeared at the door and allowed himself to smile at the sight of four excited young women selecting their first clean clothes in many days. Catching my eye, he nodded briefly and closed the door behind him. I heard him speaking to the guard stationed outside.

The inn provided multiple changes of water and a pile of decent towels. We took the chance to wash our hair, laboriously brushing it dry before putting it up again for the night.

Gruff though he was, my heart had warmed considerably to the man. He might easily have slept in his own bed that night, but he had instead given me the chance to arrive looking like something other than a road-weary vagabond.

+

"The King will receive you in state in the Great Hall soon after our arrival," the Constable had advised. "I might suggest that you take the opportunity to dress well." Seeing my look, he smiled again – twice in one week!

"The roads are better from here on, My Lady, and it's but two hours. I have had the carriage cleaned."

I had wondered about clothing. I of course was wearing the fashion of my own people, but how would it be received in the worldly Bannish court? In the end, I decided to wear my native finery with pride and let any differences be a statement.

+

I had thought my father's castle a wonder of architecture, but had been awed as the capital came into sight. The city gatehouse by itself seemed as big as my father's entire hold.

We paused briefly outside the city walls and the Constable glanced at the Guard commander. Taking his cue, the latter barked out a series of orders and the casual column reformed into parade order. Riders were sent galloping ahead to warn the court of our arrival. The rest formed up in a column of threes, the front trio being equipped with horns. One bright fanfare and the coach was moving through a maelstrom of strange scents, loud noises, bright colours and endless people staring and pointing at the drawn curtains, through gaps in which we four peered curiously.

The coach passed through another gate before rumbling to a stop. The door was thrown open a moment later and the Constable, motioning to a lackey to hurry with a portable step, bowed to me. His duty done, I could see the tension ooze out of him; his smile certainly seemed sincere.

"Permit me to be the first to welcome you to your new home and life, My Lady."

He introduced me to the King's Chamberlain, who welcomed me in his turn and, summoning up a small crowd of attendants, led my girls and me to my quarters.

I was, once again, home.

+

At the appointed time, one of my maids open the door to the Chamberlain's knock.

"The King awaits, My Lady."

His bow was almost as regal as his sash of office.

A guard in front of us, another behind us, I was led down stone passageways, through a series of high doors, until we arrived at the door to the Great Hall. Inside, there was a cry of horns and my name being announced. Hundreds of eyes turned to see what sort of creature would emerge.

I paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I could do this.

I was pretty enough; I had the rank and the pride I needed to take the first step. And the equinox tomorrow was the perfect day, according to the seers. With even the stars on my side, what had I to fear?

I took a moment to watch the motes of dust dancing in sunlight let in through high windows.

Holding my chin high and my shoulders back, I stepped slowly into the hall. My maids – now my ladies-in-waiting – followed me three abreast, two steps behind me.

At the end of the hall was a raised dais, on which were resting three heavy wooden thrones, with the one in the middle being rather larger. A man, clearly the king, stood in front of the centre chair, watching me move towards him. To his right and slightly behind stood the Constable, a gentle smile on his face.

I was prepared for open curiosity and, moving down the aisle, I was indeed scrutinized. Eyes ran over my dress, my hair, my figure, my face. Curiosity was clear -- who was this northern girl the King had chosen? How well will she serve as our Queen? Would this marriage bring peace and more trade? Would her luck be better than that of her predecessors?

What I had not expected was the degree of formal courtesy. Proceeding down the aisle, like a boat moving across a still pond, I trailed a wake of bows and curtsies. It was all so unexpected that I half-stumbled. I caught myself and had to struggle to put on what I hoped was a modest smile.

I examined the crowd from the corners of my eyes as I moved. They were an attractive people. Both sexes seemed to wear their hair loose; women's hair, somewhat longer than that of the men, was often secured by a small braid from above each temple, running beneath their ears to join at the nape.

Clothing here seemed to be more colourful than it had been back home, more lavish in its style – and more revealing, verging on what my mother would have thought inappropriate, even scandalous.

Men had their legs covered in tight hose, with short embroidered jackets above. It looked less than comfortable, but I shrugged it off as hardly my concern.

But the women! Bann was a warmer place than I was used to, but such fashion must have brought with it the risk of a serious chill if the sun dared to pass behind a cloud. Their high-waisted skirts were long enough, but were of thin fabric tight on the waist and hips; their upper garments were generally sleeveless, with a deep-scooped neckline concealing very little.

I kept my chin high and tried not to blush. This was to be my country now and there would no doubt be many surprises ahead, many accommodations required on my part. I would not permit myself to embarrass my father with maidenish provincialism.

At last, I stood three paces in front of the King. Remembering my mother's lessons, I waited until I heard the three figures behind me curtsy first, then began myself, bending knee and bowing, my hands holding my skirts to each side.

I realized that my mother had not told me how long to hold the pose. I waited, one second, then two.

His voice was a gentle baritone.

"Rise, madam. Be welcome!"

To my astonishment, he stepped forward, took me by one hand and lifted me to my feet.

I kept my eyes lowered, as befitted a modest young woman, until his hand touched me under my chin, lifted my face.

They had said he was older and there was indeed some grey at his temples, but he retained much of his youth. Midnight worries about being wed to a wizened greybeard fell away. Tall, with broad shoulders, there was a clear resemblance to his uncle in the set of his dark eyes and strong chin, in his case scarcely hidden by a short, well-trimmed beard. I found him very handsome.

The King led me to the throne to his left. I of course remained standing until he had seated himself. A queue began to form as the high and mighty came forward to be presented to me. Those waiting their turn filled the immense room with conversation.

The introductions seemed endless – the Duke and Duchess of Someplace, the Earl of Elsewhere, Sir Thomas Somebody... My mind began to whirl and I could see that one of my first tasks would be to learn who was who.

And, no doubt, who hated who and who owned who.

I was surprised however to find that I had no trouble with the language. The Bannish tongue had been one of several I had been taught, beginning as a small girl. It was a further clue to my parents' careful, even adventurously, far-sighted planning.

After maybe half an hour, the King leaned to me, whispered into my ear.

"Please say you are tired."

"Your Grace?"

"I grow weary of this." He nodded slightly at the slow-moving line of people. "And you must no doubt be overwhelmed by so many new faces. Please admit that you are tired, too."

He turned, gave me a small, wry smile.

I lowered my eyes, nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace."

He patted my hand, smiled more broadly and rose. With that movement, anyone else still seated scrambled to their feet; the murmur of conversation died away instantly.

"Lords, ladies, friends and good people. We trust you will forgive us if we overrule our fiancée's desire to meet you all and instead tell her that she needs to rest. It has, we are informed, been a long and arduous journey for her."

He turned to look over his shoulder at the Constable, who nodded gravely. Many present nodded themselves in agreement, for the roads north of Bann were infamous.

"Thank you. Tomorrow will be a long day for us all. We will, we are sure, have a chance to meet everyone in due time."

He extended his arm to me.

Instinctively, I reached out, took it and realized that I had just touched my husband for the first time.

His forearm felt solid as a pine beam under my hand, but my nervousness eased slightly at his kindness.

My ladies fell in behind us, the press of people parting as we moved through the crowded room with another bow-wave of courtesies until the guards shut off all sound by closing the tall doors behind us.

He led us through the passages until we reached my chambers, an upright soldier on either side of the door. Stopping there, his hand rose, paused with his fingers just short of my jaw.

I could sense a sudden rustle behind me, my female guardians torn between protecting my virtue and the fact that this was not only the monarch, but also, as of tomorrow, my husband.

He looked at them over his shoulder. There was, to my relief, humour in his smile.

"Customs differ, I see. Well, one thing I have learned is that part of a man's rôle in this world is to give the ladies something interesting to talk about."

His kiss on my lips was brief and gentle. When it ended, he smiled again. My ladies, I could see, were trying hard to be scandalized, but their smiles kept breaking through. I noticed the guards doing their best to have seen nothing.

"I shall leave you to rest and refresh yourselves," he said. "Tomorrow will be a long day. If there is anything which you require, anything which Bann – or its king – may provide, you have but to ask."

He bowed graciously and was gone.

+

The Queen's Chambers were airy, full of light and comfortably appointed. A large, four-poster bed with embroidered curtains stood against one wall and there were anterooms for my attendants, a wardrobe and chairs. A mirror, easily three times larger than the hand-held looking glass my parents were so proud of, was mounted on the wall.

I poked through the suite, exploring further.

I discovered, to my wonder, a space entirely devoted to bathing. The room, surprising enough for its warmth and elegant wall hangings, contained a large circular tub of heavy copper with a zinc wash inside. Had I been so inclined, it would have been big enough for two, albeit with some crowding. There would be no more cut-down barrels for Jeanie, I could see. There were soft towels big enough to wear as cloaks and two choices of soap.

If nothing else to that point had convinced me of the wealth of the Kingdom of Bann, this had.

I was also surprised to find a chest already full of clothing. Well, that in itself was hardly odd; what surprised me was that it all appeared to be of a size to fit me. To have done this in less than a month must have required the skills and efforts of numerous seamstresses. If this was a wedding gift from the King, it was spectacular.

Margaret moved her hands over the colourful garments.

"The Baroness sent your measurements ahead, m'Lady, so that you might have some Bannish-fashioned finery as well as that which came with us."

That was an unprecedented kindness from my mother. I reflected for a moment, then thought cynically that, no, it wasn't. The gesture had most likely been intended as a courtesy extended not to me but to a powerful neighbour who just happened to be my prospective husband.

Margaret took one dress from the pile, held it by the shoulders and shook it out.

"This one looks like a marriage gown, I think."

Had I not seen the women at the reception, I would have refused to consider it. Oh, it was elegant enough, beautiful if truth be told, but I had summer undergarments with more fabric in them.

My fingers made their own way to it, exploring the sleek texture of the first entirely silk garment I had ever seen.

Back home, my mother treasured her one silk scarf...

Of cool white with a soft peach trim, the long, sleeveless, off-the-shoulder dress would expose more of my shoulders and bosom than any man, my father included, had seen since I was a toddler. It reinforced my first impression that Bannish female fashion seemed more intended to advertise and display than to conceal.

"It's beautiful!" Sarah cried. "Do try it on! Oh, please!"

There was no help for it. Standing in front of the mirror, I marvelled at the skill of the seamstress, for the woman in the glass appeared both deeply innocent and highly enticing.

I shook out my hair, left it fall over my shoulders and saw that the colour of the dress suited me perfectly.

I turned back and forth, examining myself, watching my hair move over it, tried to imagine it outdoors in the summer sun.

I firmed up my mind.

"It will do."

The girl in the mirror smiled at my boldness.

+

Again in a closed carriage, we were escorted to the cathedral the next morning. This time, however, the mood of the people seemed less of curiosity than one of cheery greeting. Through the gaps in the curtains, we could see, despite the grey clouds overhead, smiling faces, waving hands and a general air of celebration.

I reflected on my father's assorted musings on life and governing. That the people here seemed happy suggested that not only was His Grace personally well-liked, but also that the economy was at least satisfactory, with few going hungry. It also, I realized with relief, suggested that the idea of a foreign-born queen was not unpopular. So much the better.

The street in front of the cathedral's massive doors had been cleared and a row of soldiers with polearms served to keep the enthusiastic crowds back. A cheer broke out as I exited the carriage. Uncertain of protocol, I decided to at least please the crowd. As my ladies arranged themselves and my train, I gave a broad smile and waved to my new people.

The cheers grew louder. Clearly, I had made a good first impression.

When we were ready, a watching Guard officer at the top of the stairs solemnly knocked three times on the oaken door with the pommel of his sword. A second later, the door opened to reveal the Constable, his own sword upright in his weathered right hand. He walked solemnly down the stairs and saluted me briefly with his sword before taking a position to my right and extending his left arm to me. I had been briefed on the ceremony, so I gave a short curtsy and took his arm with my right hand.

The Constable had his Official face on, but as my hand touched him, he looked down at me briefly and I thought I saw the smallest wink.

He led me up the broad stairs, cheers echoing on all sides, then into the dim coolness of the cathedral. Again I was the subject of a progression of bows and curtsies as we slowly proceeded to the altar.

I will not speak further of the ceremony itself, for the Bannish Church was rather distant from my own in terms of liturgy. Moreover, it was conducted in Old Bannish, which I did not know beyond the two words I had been taught: "I do."

When the Prelate finally stopped and the Lady Ring had been placed on my finger, I felt a shiver of change run through me – I was a married woman now. How strange.

My ladies-in-waiting were smiling this time as the King put his hands around my waist and pulled us together. His lips were as gentle as before, but this time there was spirited applause from the onlookers. This kiss went on longer, too, and I felt another shiver run through me, a sudden, unexpected tightness in my legs and stomach.

I knelt again, this time facing the King. As I had been instructed, I put my palms together in a posture of prayer as he took the Queen's Crown from a proffered satin pillow and placed it on my head. If anything, the cheers grew louder.

Again I rose. The King presented his arm and, giving my ladies time to arrange my train, led me down the aisle and out into a surprisingly brilliant day, the famed hot sunshine of late Bannish summer.

The change in weather was, I thought, a good omen – an ending and a beginning, a growing summer's youthfulness shifting to harvest's maturity, cool greyness to the warmth of light.

And maybe, just maybe, love?

Both wife and queen now, I was happy, proud and less worried about my position, but still hesitant about the night to come.

+

The return ride was in an open carriage. An escort of King's Guard surrounded us, glittering in shining breastplates and greaves.

The crowd was enthusiastic; I heard many chanting our names. For the first time, I saw him drop his formality in public; his smile and waves seemed quite genuine.

To my amazement and then delight, handfuls of flower petals began to rain down on the procession from higher windows along the streets.

Robin paused in his waves, leaned towards me and remarked over the applause.

"They do seem pleased, I would think."

His smile was happy and for a moment I thought myself the luckiest woman alive. To both our surprises, I took his head in my hands and, careful of our respective crowns, kissed him on the lips.

The crowd's roar redoubled, a public approval I'd never imagined, much less witnessed before.

And then into the castle, the Guard peeling off to bar the cheering masses from following and my husband – the King himself – lifted me down from the carriage, his strong hands around my waist. He kissed me solidly before pulling away and whispering into my ear.

"Even here, dear wife, we are watched."

I looked up and saw every window, every battlement crowded with smiling faces – soldiers, servants, members of the royal household.

"Especially here, it would seem, Your Grace," I replied, smiling.

"The downside of a high position, I fear." He grinned softly, "Marriage seems to be thirsty work, madam. Let's see if anyone has thought to lay out wine."

Taking me by the hand, he led me inside.

+

There awaited yet another reception, but this one much smaller, much more intimate, with perhaps ten or fifteen of the kingdom's elect, including of course the Constable. I was surprised at how much less stressful this was, how much less formal. Indeed, side-tables held a selection of light food and it seemed to be the custom to eat standing, making casual conversation all the while.

The atmosphere seemed friendly, happy and even welcoming. I found I had many questions and, if some of them now seem foolish, the lords and ladies were patient and informative.

An hour had passed when a man in livery entered and, seeing the Constable, approached and whispered in his ear. He scowled, dismissed the man and approached us. Getting the King's attention, he too whispered something. Robin nodded, a moment later making excuses to the others. He extended his hand and I exited with him. He left me at the door to my chambers with a gentle hug.

"You will excuse me," he apologized. "Pesky affairs of state – a king cannot evade them, even on his wedding day. In any case, you may wish to take the opportunity to rest. The wedding feast, I'm afraid, is another time we must linger at things a normal couple would be able to evade."

It was occurring to me that this was, under his royal dignity, a man of humility and duty.

With a sweet kiss, he departed, leaving me to the excited chirruping of my ladies-in-waiting.

+

When the Chamberlain knocked next on my door, I found the King was with him. He extended his left hand. When I took it, he lifted it high and held it there as we entered into the Great Hall, now filled with tables and chairs.

Polite applause broke out at the sight of the new couple and lasted until we were seated.

The food was very good but different than I was used to -- spicier in general and using many unfamiliar sauces. I was pleased to see that the cooks had attempted some token dishes from my native land; they hadn't the same touch as my mother's cook, but it was a nice gesture and I made sure to sample them all.

I was surprised to find I had my own wine goblet. Back home, even my father and mother had shared a common cup. The one at my place was large, crafted of fine, shiny silver and skilfully engraved with images of...

I managed to avoid spilling the wine as I hastily put it back on the table. My blush felt like I had thrust my head into the fire behind me.

The King – my husband – placed his hand gently over mine in comfort.

"You seem upset," he said softly. "Do you not have bridal goblets on the Marches?"

His free hand placed his own goblet beside mine and I blushed deeper as the couples it displayed became easier to see.

"No, Your Grace," I whispered, my eyes on my lap. A moment of boldness hit me and my thoughts escaped, leaving me aghast at my presumption.

"Are these a jest, Your Grace? Is someone...?"

His laugh was sincere, contagious. People across the hall smiled without knowing the joke.

"No. These are commonplace at high weddings here. My great-grandmother commissioned this pair as a wedding gift for her daughter, my grandmother."

A mother would openly present such to her daughter? To be used in public? And her descendant is proud of it?

I nodded silently, tried to regain my composure. I tried to avert my eyes, but could not control myself. Peeks became glances, then stares. The male and female figures were undoubtedly the work of an exceptional artist. They were so real as to seem almost to be breathing and... moving.

Strangely, against my anticipations, the naked women on the goblets seemed to be smiling, radiant, full of happiness.

Could it be?

+

The meal was lengthy, with at least nine courses. I grew more relaxed, despite having a hundred eyes watch every bite I took. Eventually however, the King rose to his feet.

"Good people!"

His voice was loud enough for all to hear, gentle enough to bring smiles to many faces.

"It is late and we must excuse ourselves."

I saw eyes twinkle, knowledgeable smiles, even the odd sympathetic female nod for me.

Again, he left me at the door to my chambers.

"I will see you very shortly," he said softly.

+

Inside, my ladies were waiting, bright-eyed and smiling.

"You were so beautiful!" one exclaimed.

"And the King so handsome!" said another.

Chattering, laughing, they stripped me of my dress and presented another garment. I would call it a nightgown, but that term would be a slight to brilliant seamstresses.

Very simple in one sense, with no jewels or lace, it was elegant beyond anything in my experience. Of a fine, fine white wool, it had simple yet most artistic embroidery – flowers and birds mainly – along the neckline and wrists. After the women had lifted it and dropped it over my head, it clung to my curves like fog. My breath caught when I saw myself in the mirror.

They sat me down, let my hair fall loose and began to brush it, nattering happily. I was lost in my own thoughts, but knew they would forgive me.

There was a soft knock at the door. The Chamberlain was waiting to escort me to the King's Chambers.

My ladies covered me with a long cloak, fitted soft slippers to my feet and opened the door.

Why an escort was necessary to walk twenty paces I wasn't sure, but I was getting the impression that very little could be done here without ceremony of some sort.

Without knocking, the Chamberlain led us through a door flanked by another pair of guards. The apartment within was very simple, yet elegantly fine, with definitely more of a masculine character than mine. It was also rather larger, with another room off to one end containing a long table surrounded by tall-backed chairs. This, I thought, would be the famous Privy Chamber, where the King held informal meetings with his most trusted advisors.

There was a low fire in the hearth and a dozen candles burning. The room was warm and smelled of fresh herbs and beeswax.

I could see no feminine signs, no traces of the women who had worn the crown before me. I found that both strange and comforting.

That comfort evaporated when, turning, I saw the framed painting on the wall opposite the foot of the bed. I'd sat for it a year ago at the insistence of my parents, formally enough, but in a simple costume with very little jewellery. My father had praised the – come to think of it – Bannish artist when he'd finished.

"It captures both her beauty and her character!" he'd remarked. "No need for gee-gaws to enhance a smile like that."

I'd been told that the artist had taken it with him when he left, some some final work or touch-ups being required. And now, here it was, in a place where the King must have seen it every night as he lay in bed.

Another thing to ponder.

A small table stood at the foot of the bed. On it rested some fruit, cheeses, bread and a tall silver pitcher.

And the two bridal goblets, softly gleaming their whispered invitations to unbridled carnality.

Blushing furiously at the sight of them, my ladies turned back the heavy quilt and, standing between me and the Chamberlain, removed my cloak and helped me into bed on the left-hand side before stepping back and forming a line, eyes demurely downcast and hands clasped in front of themselves.

The Chamberlain bowed toward me, then turned and left the room without another word.

I lay there, nervously fingering the one of the embroidered flowers at my neck.

The very last person I could have asked about this night would have been my mother. She, of course, deeming maidenly innocence more important than lifelong happiness, had never raised the subject.

Moreover, as the Baron's sole daughter, I had had no close friends, nobody to gossip with beyond my maids – and they, not unreasonably, were terrified of my mother.

Even on the journey to the south, alone in the carriage with three other women, the subject had lain unmentioned. Two of the girls, Sarah and Mary, were unwed and, to the best of my knowledge, as ignorant as I. Margaret was married, or at least had been, for her husband had taken an arrow in a border skirmish, leaving her a widow. But it had been abundantly clear that my mother had put the Fear into her; not only had she not responded to my timid queries, but she'd glared at the other two as if daring them to speculate.

In the end, I was now married, crowned and in my marriage bed, awaiting the imminent arrival of my king and husband. On one hand, I knew, women had been through this since the dawn of time. On the other hand, my mind was filled with the image of Tàirneanach covering his filly. I was pretty sure that no man, not even a king, could be that size, but the image would not be dismissed.

Ignorance is a sad thing and I silently resolved to do better were I to bear daughters.

A minute passed before the door opened silently. The Chamberlain reappeared, followed first by the King in a long blue robe, then by the Constable and two other men who had been introduced earlier as Robin's cousins.

Silently, the latter two turned down the covers on the right-hand side of the bed. My husband climbed in without their assistance and, without looking at me, lay down, his head on his pillow, his arms by his sides as the linens were pulled back up.

Solemnly, the three stepped back and formed a short line on the King's side of the bed.

I was suddenly uneasy, my eyes turning back and forth. Surely they and my ladies-in-waiting were not going to remain? I had heard rumours of state weddings, ones with official witnesses present to attest to a successful consummation.

No sooner had that horrid thought entered my head than it was chased away by the Chamberlain raising his staff of office an inch before letting it drop onto the stone floor. The impact seemed very loud in the quiet night. At the sound, the men and women simply turned and followed him out the door, leaving us alone at last.

I lay still, waiting, uncertain.

Robin rolled towards me, a gentle smile on his face.

"Finally!" he sighed.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Still smiling, he put a forefinger to my lips.

"No. None of that. Outside, in public, yes, custom demands such courtesy. But in here, by ourselves, we are husband and wife. And my name is Robin."

"Yes, Your.... I mean, yes, Robin."

"Thank you."

His fingers traced their way over my cheek and I felt a sudden thrill run over me, a feeling I could not identify.

He settled back on his pillow, extended an arm in invitation. Obediently, I moved towards him, laid my head on his shoulder.

I was surprised how good it felt when that arm closed, swept gently up and down my back.

"How are you, Jeanette?"

For some reason, I was uncertain as to his meaning.

"Good. I think."

He chuckled softly.

"Good? A new-made queen on her wedding night and just 'good'?"

"I'm sorry... Robin. I..."

"Hush, dear wife. It has been a stressful and strange time for you and I shouldn't tease. There is no need to apologize."

I think it was those gentle words which first made me begin to love him, if only just a little, and my reply was a whisper.

"Thank you."

His arm pulled me against him in a soft hug.

Not doubt he felt my nervousness, for his embrace was very gentle. His other hand began to slowly stroke my hair. It felt good, relaxing and, to my surprise, a little bit exciting. His body was warm and firm against me, his muscles solid. I was grateful for his patience, too and I sensed I could trust him.

"Excuse me for an instant," he said. I watched his form under his bedgown as he rose, poured wine from the pitcher into both wedding goblets. He returned to bed, slipped under the covers and handed one to me. Taking it from him, I smiled softly, kept my eyes downcast.

"To my beautiful queen," he said, raising his glass towards mine.

"To my noble king," I replied.

Silver against silver made a soft ting as they touched. The wine was excellent, with a fine bouquet. My goblet was still at my lips when I noticed a particularly 'inventive' couple on his goblet. To my embarrassment, I choked slightly; several drops of wine running over my lips and down my chin.

I began to stammer an apology, but he merely laughed, then leaned in towards me, the tip of his tongue sweeping lightly across my chin and lips.

"There," he smiled, "All better."

Mutual laughter was a release and I felt myself begin to truly relax. He leaned towards me, his eyes twinkling, and I felt a happy weight grow in my stomach as his lips swept mine.

I felt a sudden pang of disappointment as he pulled away for another sip from his goblet. I drank from mine and then impulsively leaned in, presenting my lips to him.

His kiss was still loving, but a bit more forceful. I found it delightful, wondered why my mother had considered all this too improper to discuss.

He turned, set down his goblet and, to my surprise, relaxed back onto his pillow. His eyes flickered from me to the painting, then back again.

"You are so very beautiful," he whispered. "I thought your image pretty, but the artist didn't do you justice."

His hand stroked my cheek softly before he pulled my head back onto his shoulder.

I wondered if he could hear my heart beating, wondered what he was thinking.

I could suddenly smell him. No, not a scent or perfume; it seemed to be completely natural and utterly masculine. I was surprised to feel myself react to it, a tightening of my tummy, a slight shortness of breath.

I was even more surprised at how good that felt.

His free hand caressed my head, ran along my arm and took me by my waist. I peered up at him, saw his soft grin turn solemn.

"My dear wife," he said, softly clutching me to him. Despite his kindness and courtesy and consideration, it was the first affectionate word he had spoken to me and I felt my heart beat faster in response. "May I ask you something, please?"

I shivered as his fingers shifted from my waist to my hip. It stirred something deep within me.

It felt surprisingly good.

"His Grace may ask anything of His queen," I replied.

"Ah, but this is Robin asking Jeanette."

"As may my husband of his wife, Robin. What is it?"

His hand returned to my waist, rested there.

"Jeanette, pray be truthful."

"Yes, Your Grace."

He chuckled, slapped my bottom once, lightly.

"Stop that, girl. I'm trying to be serious."

"Yes, Robin."

He paused and I suddenly sensed this was important.

"What did your mother tell you?"

"My mother...?"

His meaning struck me and I flushed, crept in against him, my only possible source of comfort or safety now. Keeping my eyes turned from his, I took a deep breath, calmed myself, spoke very softly.

"She told me to be an obedient wife, to submit to you in all things."

"That's it?"

"She told me to be proud that I would bear you many sons."

He was very silent, then, "What of your maids? You ladies? Surely..."

It was my turn to be silent. What was there to say?

He half-rolled so as to be able to see me better. Whatever I had expected for tonight, it had not been the tenderness I saw on his face now.

He leaned over, kissed my forehead.

"Jeanette, I promise you that nothing will happen that you don't wish."

I remained silent, waiting. How many men had said that to their brides over the years?

"I promise, Jeanette. As both king and husband, I promise."

I hugged him, felt an acknowledging tensing of his arm over my back.

"Just... Please, Robin, be patient with me."

"We have as much time as you need, Jeanette."

I lay against him for a time, then, summoning my courage, lifted my head to smile at him.

"I did like those kisses, Robin."

He laughed, pulled his arm out from under me and rolled to lie half across me. It could have been frightening, but his gentleness had led me to trust him and I felt only warmth and support and love. Then his head came down and our lips met.

While still gentle, his kiss was far firmer than before. His head moved; the sensation of his lips changed. I felt the tip of his tongue trace between my lips. Instinctively, I opened my lips and for the first time met his tongue with my own.

Robin's breath tasted of wine and... something else, something stirring and oddly delicious. I suddenly wanted more and lifted my mouth harder against his.

His tongue explored my mouth, along my teeth, then inside. I felt a tautness in my thighs, a weight from nowhere pressing on my chest.

I shivered happily, then shivered again in surprise as his hand slid gently from my waist to my stomach, sweeping lightly over the thin fabric of my nightrobe.

He lifted his head, smiled.

"You are very lovely, my queen," he whispered.

"I am yours, my handsome king."

Again he lowered his lips to mine. I returned his kiss with growing excitement.

My breath caught as I felt his hand slide up from my stomach to the bottom of my breasts. I hesitated an instant and he pulled his mouth away, rolled away entirely, reached for his goblet.

He drank, wiped his lips in the back of his hand, then smiled at me.

"How's Jeanette?" he inquired. Without waiting for a reply, he held out the goblet. Deliberately watching his eyes instead of the engravings, I sat up and took it from him, the bedclothes slipping to my lap as I did so. Taking a sip, I passed the goblet back to him.

"Jeanette is well, sir. May she ask how her husband is feeling?"

He laughed, took a drink, his eyes lingering on the neckline of my robe. He set the goblet down and turned back to me.

"Robin is feeling younger than he has in a long time, lass." His tone was light and happy, yet something in his eyes made me tingle all over.

He raised a hand, ran a finger over my gown's embroidery.

"Beautiful."

"I must thank you for your generosity, Robin. You spoil me with such finery."

"Queen Jeanette is delightful; she deserves to be spoiled."

He leaned against me again, his lips seeking mine. I tried to respond, but gasped slightly when his hand drifted across one of my breasts, came to rest with his palm cupped over it, squeezed gently.

My nipples were strangely hard now. I could feel the one under his hand, felt the other against the soft wool. His fingers rested gently on my breast, their soft movements sending ripples of pleasure through me.

It felt like the colour of flute music, something one can almost see, yet utterly indescribable.

I was pleased, but less certain, about my why my entire body was reacting. His soft touch on my breast seemed to be resonating somehow, all the way down my torso to below my mound. I could sense that my lower lips were as thrilled as my nipples, yet he had not touched me there.

"Does that please you, Jeanette?"

For some reason, my words caught in my throat; I found it hard to respond. Instead, I merely nodded, wide-eyed.

His hand moved slightly, allowing him to catch my nipple between two of his fingers. He squeezed his hand, pulled very gently and smiled at my soft gasp of pleasure.

His lips brushed mine again, moved along my jawline and I giggled as his lips brushed my ear. That sensation too echoed throughout my body and I felt a warm tension growing inside me, a strange, sweet longing I couldn't describe, an itch I didn't know how to scratch.

His lips began to drift over my neck with soft kisses, leaving tingles in their wake.

I inhaled deeply, deeper still as his fingers continued to stroke my breast. This was delightful.

My hands explored his chest under his own gown, finding solid, warm muscles. This was no callow boy; this was in every aspect a man and I welcomed the difference. I found myself wanting to see what his chest looked like without the robe.

He sat up suddenly, took his hands off me. I was surprised when one of his hands instead moved to catch the neckline of my gown. I could feel his thumb moving over the embroidery.

"Very pretty," he said with a soft grin. "I'd like to examine it better."

I started to reply, froze when his meaning became clearer. I think my blush started at my toes. My eyes fell as my mind raced. I had no idea how to reply. Was he expecting me to just pull it off while he watched?

His hand patted the side of my head, caressed my cheek.

"Don't be afraid, Jeanette. Help me, my wife."

Again he stroked my cheek I found my head leaning into it.

"I'll tell you what," he smiled. "Perhaps we might trade gowns?"

"That would be silly, Your Gr.... I mean, Robin. Yours would fit me like a t..."

I stopped, realizing how naïve, how foolish I sounded. I nodded silently.

He turned away from me suddenly, sat up with his feet on the floor. His arms crossed in front of him, his hands seizing the fabric of his robe. Half-rising, he began to pull the robe off.

I averted my eyes instantly, wanting to look, not daring to be caught looking. I felt his weight fall back onto the bed. A moment later, his one arm swept back with the robe in his hand. Without turning his head, he dropped it beside me.

"Here."

I thought there was humour in his voice, but was very sure I had to do something myself.

I rose to my knees, rocked back and forth, pulling my own robe from under me. Robin was sitting, still facing away from me, his back and shoulders bare.

There was a long, wrinkled scar over one of his shoulders. Of course – this was a warrior  king.

Pausing my undressing, I stared at it a moment before, without thinking, tracing its length with a shaking forefinger.

"Does that hurt?" I enquired softly.

He chuckled.

"Not now. It did at the time, mind."

I realized that he was still patiently sitting turned away. On impulse, I grabbed the hem of my robe and jerked it over my head, leaving me naked but for the Lady's Ring he had placed on my fingers hours before.

My eyes darted to my nakedness, my exposed breasts, and, with a small squeek of embarrassment, I dove beneath the covers, pulling them up to my neck. A moment later, I slipped one arm out, found my robe and held it out to his side.

"Ah," he said. "Thank you."

To my further confusion, he accepted it and, still without turning around, lifted the thing and, peering closely at it, started to examine the embroidery.

"Skillfully done," he mused.

Was my new husband more interested in my robe than in me?

Then it struck me; he was deliberately delaying, giving me more time to relax, become comfortable.

Impulsively, I stretched out a finger, poked him softly in the ribs.

"Is that why you married me, Robin?"

He gave a great guffaw of laughter and, tossing the garment into the air, spun around, flopping down on top of the covers with his smiling face inches from mine.

He'd moved so quickly, I'd not had the chance to see more of him, but now I could see that the scar carried on another handbreadth down his chest. It seemed to me that it must have been a terrible wound.

My arm emerged from under the linens, touched it again.

"When?"

"Long ago, Jeanette. I was but sixteen years old when a reiver's javelin took me in the armhole of my armour. It followed the armour around inside before falling out. It left a long surface gash with a lot of blood, but it was more inconvenient than dangerous."

He chuckled softly, as if remembering some private memory.

"But didn't my mother upbraid my father for leaving her son so exposed on the battlefield!"

I giggled in reply, then fell silent, realizing that he'd given me a clue about private royal interactions.

He half-rolled, pulled the covers over his lap and sat up. He smiled, ran a finger over such little of my throat as protruded from the sheets.

I felt less nervous now, took a moment to examine his chest and arms. There was no sagging to his flesh and precious little fat. I felt the sight stirring, what masculinity should be, or at least so it had always seemed in my dreams. On impulse again, I reached up and ran my fingers through the thatch of curly hair on his chest, touched an oddly-flat male nipple. He smiled, caught my hand in one of his and pressed it against him.

His eyes ran up my arm, lingered on my bare shoulders now peeking above the sheet.

Flustered, I tried to pull my hand back, but he held it firmly by the wrist.

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, his lips ran over my hand and along my arm, leaving another trail of kisses.

His beard and moustache tickled; I squirmed and laughed until his lips reached my shoulder. There, while his nibbles were the same, they produced a far different reaction. My tummy was suddenly so tight that I found it hard to breathe. My thighs trembled, just a little, and I realized how much I was hoping for those kisses to move to my breasts.

To my thrilled disappointment, they shifted again to my lips. Again I inhaled his heady taste, shivered as, sliding fully under the covers with me, his head pressed mine down into my pillow with a deep-searching kiss. I met his tongue with my own and heard a low growl from him.

I moaned as his hand swept softly over my bare stomach, rose slowly to caress the bottom of one breast, then the other, while at the same time his lips caressed my throat. I found his touch tantalizing, exciting; he almost had me squirming like a kitten under his hand. My nervousness was fading; I knew I wanted him to continue. I found myself running my hands over his shoulders and back in encouragement. His body under my hands felt good to me; I wondered if he was enjoying that.

His hand cupped a breast, squeezed softly as his body slipped down lower onto the bed, his lips finding mine again and I opened for him, welcomed him with now-eager tongue. His hand swept from breast to breast, soft flesh almost flowing under it and I suddenly felt a strange wetness between my legs. New-discovered desire overcoming maidenly objections, I was happy when his hand caught the sheet in its fingers and drew the fabric down and away, leaving us both bare in the soft candlelight.

His raised his head, examined me for some seconds. Not knowing what else to do, I watched his eyes as they swept over my body. It was clear to me that he was pleased by the sight and I felt a shimmy of feminine pride at that.

He spoke, his voice soft, but carrying something else, something beyond my experience or ken, something definitely masculine, something powerful and compelling, yet clearly something under control. I felt like someone just introduced to a mastiff, strong and potentially fierce, yet now gentle, friendly, maybe even protective.

"I knew you were lovely" he said again, "but I had no idea."

Why did that simple remark make me blush so? And I'd been called pretty many times before - why did this time make my heart beat like that?

I could suddenly see the desire in his eyes and, to my surprise, felt it grow in me. I yearned for something, but still didn't know what.

He kissed me briefly, harder this time. His male tang filled my head before he moved away, kissing my neck, my shoulders, my...

I gasped as he reached a nipple. His lips kissed me there gently, almost reverentially, before moving to the other. Another kiss and I heard his voice.

"They're beautiful, Jeanette. Perfect!"

The physical pleasure rose around and through me, mixed with pride, for no matter how innocent, no matter how demure, every woman wants her bosom to be admired. Another kiss, then his tongue swept around a nipple now swollen with expectant pleasure. His mouth spiralled around and down, then passed to my other breast.

He caught my other nipple gently between his lips, rolled it, his tongue tip sweeping the very tip and my torso lifted up towards him, straining, searching for something I didn't know. I hissed again as a hand swept slowly down over my stomach, found my mound for an instant before moving further into my curls.

I was trembling now, timorousness fighting that instinctive yearning awakened by his patience, skill and, yes, love. The moment had arrived, that moment every girl fears, every girl longs for.

And my most secret parts were no longer a secret to those gentle, deft fingers. Softly, slowly, they slid down the length of my womanhood. I was surprised at how slick I was, how delightful it felt.

I understood the meaning of the word 'desire' now. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, never had I been so happy to learn. His finger returned, slid over my entrance, sensed the obstruction and, a moment later, moved on.

I raised my head at last, wanting desperately to see, but all I could see was the top of his head as his lips continued to tease, please and stimulate my breasts.

My hands ran over his shoulders and neck, clutched his hair, pulled his head down harder onto me. I was almost paralyzed with pleasure as his finger drifted again over my slit before moving up a little, where something I'd never known was there now shouted bliss to every part of me.

It was utterly delicious, overwhelming in its unexpected force. I could sense a sudden engorgement of my sex and my breasts. My legs and tummy were quivering, my lips almost glowing.

His finger began to circle that magical spot, gently, persistently, lovingly. The gale of sensations his hand called up was met by yet more from my breasts as he carefully, softly, expertly used lips and tongue and teeth there to tease, to educate, to promise. It was so odd – his touch anywhere was now felt everywhere,  little flames, fanned by my husband, rising together into a all-devouring conflagration of unsuspected pleasure.

Somewhere in the castle a voice was crying, high wordless shouts of joy and I realized it was my own voice. A firestorm of pleasure hit me, consuming and wrenching and filling me with an ecstasy so overwhelming that I almost fainted.

Then he stopped. Keeping his finger lightly resting on my sex, he moved his head from my breasts to the pillow. I opened my eyes to see his face a handbreadth away from mine, his eyes soft and his smile loving.

I gave a small moan as his hand left my sex, drifted over my body to my head and began softly petting my hair. I became aware of him speaking, but it all seemed muzzy somehow and he stopped, chuckled.

"Rest for a moment, child," he whispered, then stretched out a long arm, returning with a goblet in his hand.

My fumbling hands reached for it, gulped its contents gratefully. Again I spilled some and again he cleaned my lips and chin and neck, licking gently.

I felt protected. I felt loved. I felt pampered beyond any expectations. Why had she hidden this from me?

"Robin," I whispered.

He stretched out his head, kissed my lips.

"That was amazing. Thank you, husband."

My heart warmed yet more as his soft smile turned almost shy. He lowered his head to my ear, spoke at almost a whisper.

"You mentioned sons, Jeanette. Yes, I want sons."

My breath caught as his hand came softly to rest on my breast, tenderly, lovingly.

"But," he continued, "I would be delighted with some daughters, too."

I giggled as he moved, lowered his mouth to my breast, kissed my once-again-hard nipple before looking up to my eyes.

"Especially if they are as lovely as their mother."

With that, his tongue and lips began again, teasing and playing, first with first one nipple, then the other. How wonderful it felt, how strange it was to watch it happen!

My fear was gone now; I was certain I could trust him to be gentle. I wasn't sure why he was so able to please me in such unexpected ways, but knew I was enjoying his touch, his smell and, above all, his consideration.

He pulled away, again lay on his side, resting his held on his arm to look at me. His eyes roamed over my body and, instead of my earlier shyness, I took solid pride in his stare, for I could see the clear pleasure the sight gave him.

"Especially  if they are as lovely as their mother," he repeated. I felt my heart leap at that.

He rolled again to reach for a goblet and, for the first time, I saw his length, emerging like a pole from his own nest of curls.

Trust and new-found paradise stumbled at the sight; I instinctively shrank back. It was no arm-long stallion thing, but it was solid, dark and swollen with his obvious desire. I quaked a little – how could I possibly...?

His hand caught my chin, lifted my eyes to meet his.

"I promised, Jeanette. But, yes, it is and, yes, we will."

He kissed me, lingered over my lips while his hand swept over my body. His palm was hard with years of holding reins and spear, but his touch was infinitely gentle and I felt some of my sudden alarm displaced by his reassurances, by the renewed pleasure his touch was bringing.

My hands pulled his head down, pressing our lips more firmly together and traced his lips with my tongue. It was a good decision, for his lips parted at the touch and our tongues met, danced with each other, playfully.

I felt a wave of warmth, of delight, flow through my body as his hand tightened on my breast, his thumb teasing and arousing my nipple.

I felt a gentle nudge on my hip, then again. Curious, I moved my hands to his shoulders, pushed slightly. His head lifted.

"Wine, please," I whispered.

He smiled, rolled away and stretched out his arm for the goblet.

I took it from him with soft thanks, sipped, keeping the goblet to my lips. With my eyes, I examined his manhood.

Beside me, he laughed lightly, raised his hand and took hold of the goblet by the stem.

"May I?" he asked, taking it from my hands and sipping himself before setting it aside. He turned back to me, caressed my cheek with his fingertips, then glanced down. My eyes instinctively followed.

He chuckled. I suppose I had been fairly obvious.

He shifted and it swayed just a little. My hand came to my mouth as I giggled. It twitched slightly and my giggle turned to a laugh, immediately joined by his.

Flushed with embarrassment, I averted my eyes for a moment, then, daring greatly, stretched out my hand, stopping just short of it.

His laugh was soft, but deeper than normal, a bear's amused rumble.

"Go ahead, lass." His voice was soft. "It won't bite."

On impulse, I rolled, came to my knees beside it. For the first time, I noticed the heavy, soft sac below it, pulled tight up against his body, wrinkled skin now taut over its double contents.

Looking at him again, I saw naught but kindness and patience. He nodded.

I touched it tentatively. The skin seemed soft as the finest doeskin. I was surprised to hear him sigh softly as my finger ran down its length. I scented something subtly new and bent down, sniffing gently. He smelled of soap, old leather and the musk of the rams kept by my father's shepherds. I felt my body react, an undefinable yearning.

It still seemed large, too large for what I realized must inevitably happen. Challenging myself, my fingers closed on it. I was surprised at how hard it was under the unexpected softness of its covering. I ran my hand up and down its shaft and was amazed at the way the skin seemed to flow over its core -- and at the way his thighs seemed to tense when I did so.

His hand caressed my shoulder, waist, coming to rest on my hip. His smile was soft, but... different somehow, in a way I couldn't define.

I was surprised to see a drop of liquid emerge from the tiny slit at its end. It was slippery as my fingertip spread it over the spongy mushroom and Robin growled, very low, very deep in his chest, before he pulled me back to his side. His eyes were fixed on mine as he kissed me, harder this time, his mouth pressing my head deep into the pillow as his hands swept up and down my body, lightning torches of delight in their wake.

Again and again, he fondled my breasts, my nipples clamouring their applause, before sweeping over my arms, shoulders, hips, thighs and bliss, oh bliss, finally returning to my special nub. I gave a soft cry of pure pleasure.

He lifted his lips away, lowered them onto an eager nipple, sucking it between his lips and I moaned as his finger slipped lower, found my entrance, explored the veiled guardian tissue before returning to my nubbin.

His mouth shifted from breast to breast as his hand continued to excite my sex, now suddenly heavy and slippery. I was delighted, wondrously happy, yet puzzled at how suddenly empty my loins felt, how desperately needy my whole being had become.

His finger probed gently and I flinched at a slight pang. His hand and lips froze and we lay there quietly for a moment.

His finger began to move again, gently, stretching my entrance. His tongue swirled around and around my nipples; my hands clutched him against me, delighting in every touch.

Then he was on his knees, a gentle hand pushing my legs apart and I felt his chest on my breasts, the coarse hair of his legs on my inner thighs. There was a moment's pause before he shifted, then I felt a soft, blunt probing at my opening. I tensed in expectation, but again heard his soft voice.

"It's all right, girl," he said, and I wondered at the contrast between the gentleness in his voice and the weighty thing poised at my maidenhead.

Most of his weight resting on his elbows and knees, his eyes met mine.

"Only when you wish it, my queen," he whispered. I knew then how worthy this man was of my love.

My hands clasped his shoulders and pulled him down.

"Now, Robin," I said. "Now! Please!"

His lips came to mine in an endless, compelling, attention-grabbing kiss. I could feel his hips lowering and yelped briefly at a momentary pinch before he was through, slowly sliding down and in, filling me to my depths before stopping.

"And that's the worst of it, lass," he whispered.

He lay on top of me, most of his weight still on his elbows, unmoving. He reached up, brushed my brow with one gentle hand. There was a strange expression on his face, a soft smile tempered with concern.

Despite the fading discomfort, I'd never been happier -- or prouder. I felt myself in every sense a woman now and I could see that my husband was happy with me. I smiled the brightest smile I could pull up and saw that too pleased him.

"How are you?" he whispered.

"Good, Your Gr... I mean Robin. It hurt, but just for a moment. I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?"

"I think so."

He began to ease out of me, saw a quick wince and stopped instantly.

"Not quite 'fine'," he stated gently.

I felt a tear in one eye, brushed it away.

"Maybe not quite," I admitted, "but it's much better. Might we wait another minute, please?"

"Of course."

He managed to find my goblet without moving his body, handed it to me. His hand lifted my head up so that I could sip it easily. Taking a sip himself, he stretched and set it down again.

"Let's try something," he said, his hands taking me by the shoulders. I gave a slight shriek of surprise as he suddenly rolled to one side, carrying me with him, still locked together.

To my astonishment, he stopped with his back on the bed and me kneeling on top of him, my knees on either side of his hips.

"We'll wait like this, Jeanie. For as long as you need."

It felt very different, with dim echoes of slight pain fading rapidly before a growing unfamiliar pleasure. I hugged him, kissed his cheek, then, curious, rose to my knees to inspect myself. I wasn't bleeding, so that was to the good. Having satisfied myself to that extent, my eyes began to examine him, his wide chest, down to his flat stomach and...

I'd been worried about being able to accommodate him inside me, yet all that could be seen was the very base of his shaft between my nether lips. My eyes gave proof to that which my fears had denied.

I looked at Robin. The worst was over, he had said. Presumably, what followed would be better.

I tentatively lifted my hips a little, felt no pain this time. Looking down, I watched his length emerge, then disappear into me when I let myself fall back. Robin's hands clutched harder on my hips. His smile was still there when I looked, but there was something else, too. Perhaps this was that 'lust' the Prelate's sermons had so often disparaged.

I smiled at him, rolled my hips over him as I spoke.

"Does this please my husband?"

"You have no idea, my love, no idea."

'My love?'   It was the first time the word had been uttered.

I felt my eyes fill with tears and let myself fall forward onto his chest, clutching him to me.

His hands left my hips, swept over my head and down back, his fingers gently weaving through the mass of my hair as they went.

"Are you all right, lass?" he whispered.

"Oh, yes!" I sniffled. 'Oh, yes, My Lord!" I hugged him tighter.

"Hush now, none of that. In here, I am but Robin." He paused a moment, then, "What bothers you then?"

I lifted my tear-covered face so that he could see my smile.

"That... that was the first time you have called me 'love', Robin. You have been gentle and generous and patient and more noble than I had any right to hope for. These are happy  tears, sir!   Happy tears from your queen, from a woman who loves you as deeply as she knows how!"

"Ah."

I saw the comprehension on his face, followed by a soft smile.

"Ah, then."

His hands moved to lift my face so that he could kiss me. It was gentle at first, comforting, affirming, loving even, but their temper changed quite soon -- if not to my surprise, then certainly to my delight.

His hips dropped a bit and I felt his length shift within me. His hands rose to my shoulders, pushed very slightly and, taking that as a cue, I sat up, feeling my womanhood press down against his belly, rejoicing at the sensation of him moving inside me.

I saw the delight in his eyes as they leisurely examined my form -- face, neck, shoulders, breasts, tummy, thighs and our joined sexes. His smile was brilliant now, happy, content in every way, yet it grew wider still as his hands around my waist lifted me bodily before pulling me back down over him. I started to lift myself, then, wondering, tried rolling my hips again. His eyes sparkled and his hands moved to my breasts, cupping them, stoking them. I felt treasured, thrilled not only by his touch, but also by seeing how much pleasure I was giving him.

Every change, every movement, every shift of his solid length within me was delicious, fulfilling, delightful; every one threw yet more fuel on my fire. I began to pant, grind harder against him, moaning almost in wonder at the sensation of his hands moving over me. My hands clutched his hands tighter against my breasts in encouragement and, yes, now, in love.

Robin's breathing had become more ragged; his eyes were half-shut, his lips thin. I felt him lift his hips below me and then fall back, motionless, shuddering. One hand dropped to my loins, his thumb searching for, finding and gently pressing down on that secret spot. My world exploded with brilliant darkness, silent thunder and I was sobbing with the purest joy now, still, still, still and I could feel him throbbing and pulsing within me as I fell to his chest, pulling myself against him.

At that moment, the last candle guttered out, leaving us illuminated only by the scrap of light from under the door. I closed my eyes, sighed, then sighed again as one of Robin's hands began to run over me, from my head down to my bottom. Then, after a soft squeeze, he began over again, caressing, his hand sweeping love to my skin, over and over.

I had never felt so treasured, so worthy.

I have never slept so well, so contented, as in his arms that night. Again and again, I half-woke to sense his warmth beside me, to feel a gentle hand softly running over me, as if comforting not only me, but also Robin himself.

Whatever was to follow, I had no fears now, only loving contentment.