The knight rode swiftly through the dark Scottish highlands. He didn't care that he was gambling with fate; he would see his 'heartling' and not even the fabled creature that dwelled in the loch could keep him from her.

He slowed the horse to a walk just inside the outer bailey. The castle loomed dark and mysterious before him. Dismounting, he tethered the horse to a nearby bush. From this point on, he would have to travel by foot.

After a few minutes, he found the hidden gate just where she'd said it would be. Mercifully it swung inward with only the barest of creaks. He had no time to stop and admire the profusion of flowers in the garden within; time was of the essence. Feeling along the castle wall, he counted 19 stones up and 40 stones over. Pressing hard, he heard more than felt, a section give way. Saints bless whichever old laird who'd constructed these secret passageways!

Coming to the door at the end, he swung it open, and stood there staring across the room, his breath catching in his throat. She was seated on a stool before the hearth, brushing her hair. Clad only in a linen shift, the light illuminated her from behind, showing the curves hidden beneath. She continued brushing, oblivious to his presence in her chamber.

She was as beautiful as the first time he'd seen her. It was almost a month ago, and he had come with others of his rank, to swear fealty to Lord Magnus. She was sitting at the high table, a vision in white. One of seven girls who had been sent to Magnus' household to be fostered, she was the youngest, and by far the prettiest.

After the oaths of fealty were given and the banquet had started, he'd managed to arrange an introduction to her. From the slight blush on her cheeks to the demure fluttering of her long lashes, he had known he would have to woo her gently. But he was convinced it would be worth it.

Over the next couple of days, he'd pursued her with the same determination that had served him so well on the battlefield. Flowers, poetry, bolts of cloth - he'd showered her with gifts, but careful, always careful, to keep his intentions hidden from the prying eyes of the others at court. She was English, he was Scots; he had no illusions that her father, or even Lord Magnus, would welcome a suit by him.

They'd made love for the first time only three days after their first introduction. She had stolen away from the solar and gone for a swim in a secluded pond. She'd been shy and hesitant at first, as he'd known she would be, but in no time at all, her moans had echoed through the glade, mingling with his huskier grunts of satisfaction.

They had managed to steal time together, only once after that. She was too closely guarded and he was kept busy with training the new squires. An errand to a neighboring lord had kept him away for the past two weeks. His mission complete, he'd hurried back to her, posthaste.

Quitting his musings, he crept forward on silent feet. He slipped up behind her and reaching around, covered her mouth with his palm. Before she could call out or try to bite him, he leaned down and breathed in her ear, "Do nae make a sound, sweetling."

As recognition took hold of her, she relaxed and spun around to face him. A look of disbelief spread over her face. "But what are you doing here? It's too dangerous..."

He shook his head and pressed a finger against her lips to quiet her. "Still do nae listen do ya? Ya should know that there is nothing that would keep me away from ya." His heated gaze raked her body and made her feel as if she were already naked. "Has it really been a sennight since I last saw ya? It seems like forever."

He drew her close, pulling her fully against him, and lowered his lips to her. He loved kissing. Was quite good at it, or so he'd been told. And Lenora was receiving the full benefit of his years of practice. His tongue slipped past her teeth and plunged gently in and out of her willing mouth. One minute teasing and gentle, the next rough and fierce.

She thought that nothing could surpass this ... this liquid heat that was seeping through her, languidly, from head to feet. She had missed this; missed him with all her being. Only he could make her body purr like cook's fat tabby cat, Flourmill.

Tearing his lips from hers, he seated himself on her stool and bunched her shift in one hand. Raising it to her waist, he used his other hand to pull her closer. He looked up at her, his mouth just inches from the juncture of her thighs. At the erotic image, she closed her eyes. He placed tiny kisses on the inside of her thighs; first one, then the other. When his tongue moved to her hidden lips, she gripped his shoulders as her knees went weak.

He licked up one side, then down the other. Oh so slow and methodical. Maddeningly slow. She thought she'd burst into flames. His free hand came around her waist to hold her to him, his breath hot on her slit; his tongue like liquid silk on her skin. His tongue darted out and touched her clit. She flinched at the sudden contact. He stroked it in small, slow circles, increasing the pressure ever so slightly with each time around. He could feel her muscles starting to quiver, and he grinned in satisfaction.

With his face, he nudged her legs farther apart. Holding her swollen nub gently between his lips, he sucked tenderly and pressed his tongue against it. Her soft mewling sounds of pleasure only increased his desire and made him want her more, if that was humanly possible.

Moving his arm from 'round her waist, he took his hand and inserted two fingers into her warm, moist slit. He established a steady rhythm in counterpoint to the motions of his tongue.

She gripped his shoulders so hard, she knew he'd have bruises in the morning. She was past caring; that familiar fire was crawling throughout her body, centering, swirling ... preparing to sweep her away.

When he felt she was on the edge, and about ready to tumble over, he stopped. Withdrawing his fingers he gave one last kiss to her swollen and slick clit and looked lazily up at her. Her eyes were still closed and he could tell she was trying hard not to show her disappointment. He was a tease. She knew it and loved it. Her feign of displeasure was just for show. Oh the power he had over her!

Slowly rising and kissing his way languorously up her body, past her navel and to her rosy-tipped breasts, he suckled and kneaded first one, then the other. They were a bit on the small size, but fit in his hands as if they were made just for him. He focused his attention on the peaks, alternately licking the tip with his tongue and sucking on the nipple with a fast rhythm. It was torture. And it was bliss.

When he felt he'd given her breasts enough attention, he slowly stood up the rest of the way, drawing her shift up and over her head. Tossing it to the floor he traced the outline of her lips with a finger. She bit him playfully and he groaned. Dipping his head he kissed her again, letting her taste herself on him. He knew that was another thing she loved. Truthfully there wasn't much he didn't know about her - without her ever saying a word. It was uncanny and one of the things that drew her to him in the first place. His incredible good looks were another.

He broke the kiss and stood before her while he undressed. He'd left his armor with his horse so as to make as little noise as possible, but brought his sword. A knight, a good one, never went anywhere without it. Giving her just enough time to run her eyes up and down his naked frame, he took her hand and led her to the bed. When she would have climbed in, he stopped her. She looked at him quizzically but he just grinned. Turning her to face the bed, he instructed her in a low voice to place her hands on the bed. Just her hands.

Understanding dawned in her golden eyes and they clouded over with the thought of what he was about to do. She bent over and placed her hands atop the coverlet. Nudging her feet a bit further apart, he positioned himself behind her.

Placing his hands low on her hips, he angled his hips forward and placed his cock at the opening of her lips. He rubbed it up and down and in circles, teasing her again. She growled low in her throat and he chuckled. He rubbed against her clit and the growl turned into a moan. She was so slick and wet for him. Just for him.

Without warning, he plunged into her. She gasped. She always forgot how huge he was; how much he filled her. Her body accustomed itself to the intrusion and stretched to accommodate him.

Tonight there was nothing slow or gentle about his lovemaking. He pounded into her, over and over again, varying the rhythm, but keeping up the intensity. He wanted to possess her; show her who was master. After this night, there would be no more doubt in her mind.

Her breathing increased and her hips started moving backwards to meet his thrusts. He leaned forward and one hand squeezed a breast while the other one slipped around and found her clit. Without breaking stride, he rubbed that swollen nub in fast circles. Counterclockwise for a little, then clockwise. Building up the pleasure inside of her - and himself.

"Ohhhhhhhh..." she moaned again, and rotated her hips.

Nudging her legs even further apart, he drawled, "That's it, love. Yer mine, and I'll never let ya forget it."

Shuddering as his lips blazed a trail of kisses up her spine, she could feel herself edging ever closer to that dark precipice. She closed her eyes and ran her tongue over parched lips.