Chapters

Honey and Cream: Bogud of Mauretania

The Keep was in chaos with servants running hither and yon to prepare for His Lordship's guests. Earlier that morning a rider had arrived, his horse sweaty from a hard run. A Roman General, the rumors said, passing this part of the country, given leave by the King's own hand. He and his army should arrive by dinner. The kitchens were in a state of near-panic preparations for a last-minute feast. The stables and Keep were no less so preparing to house the General and his officers. Helena ran from the storerooms to the guest rooms more times than she cared to remember carrying fresh linens, pots, and other goods for the guests.

It was on one of those journeys that Lansing, His Lordship's steward, stopped her. "Helena" she could still hear his formal tones in her memory, "His Lordship wishes you to attend personally to any of the General's needs." He paused and stared at her, "You understand His Lordship's request?"

She did; officially, she would be the General's chambermaid but additionally, she was to provide her body for the General's pleasure. It was an honor, really. His Lordship would not have chosen an ugly woman or an ill breed one. It certainly could have been worse - she could have to serve His Lordship himself. At three and twenty and widowed, she was young enough to still please a man's eye and old enough not to be too foolish her circumstances. She was not a virgin, so she did not fear the act and as she was raised with the old ways, she did not fear this christen God that took so much pleasure away from life and seemed to give very little back. Earth and sun provide in this life, if there was another life to come, Helena would contend with it then. She finished stocking the guest rooms and went to the Great Hall to help with the preparations there.

It was all for naught. When the gates opened, only one man rode through them. He was large and powerful and dark in the torchlight of the courtyard. Sir Moreland, the Stable Master himself took the General's horse. Helena was running pitchers of wine to the Great Hall when she saw him arrive. She and Adele stopped and watched as His Lordship introduced his Warlord and the Watch Commanders.

Adele frowned, a bit jealous at Helena's task for the next few days, "We best had put these in. You'll be wanted in the main hall tonight I'm sure."

Helena nodded and moved slowly still trying to get a good look at the man whom she was to serve. As soon as she could, she returned to her own room and took off the rough cloth frock she wore for doing chores. She had one fine dress of soft wool dyed dark blue. The bolt of fabric had been a gift from Adele's brother when he had gone with the armies north. The dress was a little tight now and needed to be let out soon but it would serve its purpose for the next few nights. She went to the Great Hall to see the 'Great Man'. There was a murmur in the Hall unlike the usual noise that a guest set off; in the bright lamplight of the Hall, she saw why. The Great Roman General, Bogud of Mauretania was a moor.

If his like was common for a moor, Helena understood why they were much feared by others in the world: Sir Bogud was as large as a bear. At more than a head taller that His Lordship, he towered above everyone in the room save Sir Gant but he was not thin and reedy like most tall men. He was not fat either and yet he was at least as wide as her arm was long. And dark. Like ale or polished wood, a deep brown color shone from his skin wherever it peeked under his armor. He was not hairy; she thanked whatever gods there be for that. Even his head she saw, when he finally removed that roman helm, was shaved, smooth and deep ale brown. His face was lined but whether from age or care she could not say. The first time he spoke, she was too far away to hear the words only the timber of his deep voice vibrating through her spine.

An insistent poking in her shoulder drew her attention away from the moor; she turned and was handed a tray of meats to set on His Lordship's table. She took them, eager and fearful to take a closer look at him. Deliberately, she approached them in a way that she must ask him to step aside; a harmless intrusion and one His Lordship often used to his own advantage.

Tonight was no exception. "Ah, Helena." His Lordship placed a hand on her shoulder, "Is all in readiness for our guest, Sir Bogud?"

She bowed, "Yes, My Lord. The room has been prepared to receive him."

"And you? Are you" he chuckled lecherously, "prepared to receive him?"

Helena looked as His Lordship in shock, "My Lord!" She glanced at the moor and saw a dark scowl cross his face. She bowed and hurried away. His Lordship's laughter followed nearly to the kitchen. She steeled herself knowing that she was expected to serve His Lordship's table personally and such comments would dog her all evening. She filled a pitcher of wine and headed reluctantly back to the Great Hall. As the evening passed though, it was easy to ignore His Lordship's crude comments because she was catching snatches of the moor's conversation: his exploits in battle, the glories of Rome, his four wives and harem, his army camped below the ridge, beyond view of the Keep's walls but not of its watchtowers. He had come to gather support for Anthony in what would surely soon be a civil war in Rome. Helena knew little of such things but His Lordship and Sir Gant seemed greatly troubled. By the time she and the other staff cleared the plates and remains of the meal, Helena's heart was fluttering. She had felt a shiver each time she passed him; the one time their eyes meet, her heart stopped and when he accidentally touched her hand, flames had coursed up her arm. As soon as she could, she fled to her small room partly to bathe and change clothes but more to hide in hopes that someone else would "service" the moor.

There was a tap at her chamber door. She paused, gathering her reserve. A voice called her name softly. It was Colin, one of the stable lads and a lifelong friend. She flung the door open and threw her arms around him, "Oh, Colin. I fear him!"

He held her tight and for a moment, she felt safe. Still, in her heart she knew, that only His Lordship could spare her this and no hope lay there.

She released her grip on the boy but he held her hands fast. "When you are with him Helena, think of his saddle."

She looked at him with confusion. She knew very little about saddles and had not seen the Moor's when he arrived.

Colin grinned and nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes! You've seen them? All polished leather. Smooth to the touch but hard to sit upon?"

She nodded, still unsure of his meaning.

"The Moor's saddle is covered with silken pillows."

"What does his saddle…?"

Colin cut her off, "Rare a man rides on pillows, rarer still a general. He's just a man, Helena. For all his size and demon appearance, he's just a man."

She tried to brighten; Colin was a good soul and a good judge of men. The Moor could not be so bad if Colin sued for him. "I'll try. Just a man." She picked up her cap and fit her hair under it. In a few minutes, his pleasure would be over and she could return to the comfort of her room - small though it be. She squeezed Colin's hand and kissed his cheek, "My thanks."

At the door before the Moor's chamber, she nearly lost her nerve. She rapt softly in hopes that he would not hear. She was grieved when a loud firm voice answered. She entered and shut the door behind her.

"How may I serve thee?" She stared at the patterns in the stonework floor, not willing to see the dark face before her.

"Here, girl." It was a command; his voice rumbled low and deep like distant thunder. She shivered and stepped forward. He sighed, "Child, I don't eat little girls and I am very tired. Come here and undo these laces."

Helena looked up then and saw him - not on the bed as she feared but standing by the window. She curtsied out of habit then proceeded to open the buckles and lacings of his breastplate. The musky scent of him struck her as she set the armor down. So familiar yet so different. He took off the cotton shirt he wore beneath - red in color and stained with sweat. She watched him as he washed his face and neck.

"Here." He handed her the washrag, "My back." His skin was smooth and soft, unblemished by bruise or scar. She found herself pleased to wash the day's sweat and grime away and moved without asking to his chest. A light dusting of curly black hairs covered the center of his chest. She gently washed until his upper body smelled of soap and something manly. Suddenly aware of the intimacy, she laid the cloth on the washstand and awkwardly stepped back.

When she looked up at him, he seemed bemused, "I have more to wash. Will you help with all?"

She blushed; she begun to realize that her earlier fear was of herself not the man before her. She looked away, curtsying again to cover her shortness of breath and flushed face. With a pounding heart and trembling fingers, she touched his belt.

He laughed softly, "Perhaps my shoes first?"

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. He sat on the edge of the bed and she knelt before him to remove his shin guards and the long lacings that held the thin leather soles in place. His feet were enormous, the foundation suited to a man of giant size. She retrieved the washrag and the basin. His heels were calloused and rough, his toes had corns. She caressed them softly as she washed thinking it no wonder that soldiers were so hardhearted if these sore feet followed them all day. She unbuckled the armor protecting his thighs and washed his well-formed legs. She could lose herself in the simple task of cleaning him so long as she did not look up and see under his short armored skirt or smell his manliness so close and so enticing.

Helena had only one lover in her short life, an excellent young man she had wed and who was killed a year later in the harshness of a soldiers' life. She had said yes to him because he was a fine man and respected and one must wed someone but passion had never stirred in her - although she had heard other girls speak of it often enough. She had done her best to be what he had wanted and hoped he would one day provide the same lustful joy to her. 'One day' never came. She grieved him but knew life moved on; even old maids sometimes find love late in life and here in the Keep, there would always be a home for her.

The Moor, however, was nothing like the boy she had known. Gooseflesh covered her skin each time she caught his scent. The thought of touching him made her heart race, a tingling sensation coursing through her blood. It made her anxious and yet she persisted in touching him, inviting the feelings. She was breathless with the thought of him and knew not why. She realized with a start that her nipples were taut and longing for the feel of his fingers, his lips. She swallowed hard and tried to master her breathing. She closed her eyes; the scent of him was so strong -- a musk that drew her in and made her mouth water. If this was passion, it was like too-strong ale and she was drunk with it.

Thunder rolled and she sighed. Then it came again, louder. A hand touched her shoulder and she froze. Her fingers were held fast, unseen, between his immense thighs, the washrag dropped, forgotten.

She blushed scarlet and the Moor laughed again. He parted his thighs so that she could remove her hand. "Tell me," he said, "are you as chaise as your Lord says?"

Helena's cheeks burned even redder, "I know not what he has said, Sire."

"That your maidenhead should be a gift to Rome."

"Then, Sire, I fear I shall disappoint you."

"Hardly" he scoffed.

"I am a widow not a maiden." She added just to be sure he took her meaning.

"Neither Rome nor I have much use for virgins of late. Your Lord has…" he looked troubled and shook his head. He looked her in the eyes and Helena found she was unable to look away. "Women of passion suit my needs. Are you a woman of passion?"

"I wouldn't know, Sire," she whispered, suddenly trembling but unsure of why.

"Would you like to be?"

Her heart stopped; her mind replayed the question as someone else answered with her voice, "Yes."

Sir Bogud stood up and without warning removed the last of his armor and then the soft cotton britches beneath. He stood before her naked and beautiful and massive. His prick was like the rest of him - thick and wide and almost as long as her hand. She stared at it in shock. It was darker than the rest of his skin, as if always in the shadow of the bushy curls at its base. It was rather odd - the only place on him that was hairy, a secret hidden and known only to his lovers.

"It is large, yes?" his voice seemed to come from far away and she could only nod mutely. "It will bring you joy, if you desire it. Touch it."

Hesitantly Helena placed her fingers on it. It was warm and fleshy, the skin soft and wrinkled. He instructed her on how to hold and stroke it and it began to lengthen, thicken and harden. Soon it looked like the sausages the cook made in the fall - as thick as her wrist and almost twice as long as her hand. Beneath it, his two balls hung like eggs in the nest. She caressed them and was delighted to see his cock buck in response. She leaned in close and inhaled the fragrance of his sex. So close that her lips brushed it. She pulled away and apologized - although she had a strong desire to taste him that she could not explain.

He stroked her cheek, "Do not be sorry. Do you want to kiss it?"

She thought she was beyond blushing but looked away regardless when she nodded.

"Then do so. Start here," He touched a spot beneath his sack, "and work your way to here." He indicated just below the head of it.

She did as he bade, finding the feel and taste of him arousing unimagined senses in herself. She heard Sir Bogud moan and stopped her explorations, "Does this pain you, Sire?"

"No, no child." He removed her cap and ran his fingers through her hair, "Tis pleasure you bring." Helena's body felt taut; his finger sent unexpected rivers of excitement through her.

"Your lips bring me great pleasure," he whispered, "but your tongue brings more. If you would swallow my manhood, you could delight me to no end."

Helena hesitated a moment and wondered if she could succeed such a feat; she knew she would try. She ran her tongue along a vein she found running the length of him. At the very head of his prick, a small drop of creamy liquid waited and, curious, Helena tasted it. It was mildly salty and wholly unlike any other brew Helena knew. She wanted more and set about teasing it from him with her lips, tongue and fingers. He moaned again and a wave of warmth rippled though her. Helena's excitement grew and she moaned - surprisingly - in reply.

Abruptly, he groaned, "Wrap your lips around the head."

She did so but it was a stretch. He was so thick that she had trouble keeping her teeth from scratching him. She found, though, that her tongue could more easily taste the cream that dripped from him. She sucked then hopping to pull more cream from him like honey from the comb.

He growled and grabbed her head, "Sweet Child! Slowly! Do not take so much at one time."

His throbbing prick felt wonderful in her mouth, even as far stretched as it was. Instead of releasing him, she moved forward and felt the tip of him strike the back of her throat. She choked then and had to pull him out to cough. He stroked her cheek, "Careful. How do you feel?"

"'Tis nothing, Sire, I am well." She caressed the wet cock and rubbed it against her lips, "Am I pleasing you, Sire?"

"You could hardly please me more." She wrapped her lips against him again and more slowly tried to relax her throat and was somewhat successful, though not for long. With his fingers tangled in her hair and guiding her head, she began stroking the length of him with her mouth. He whispered advice and encouragements. His cock fairly vibrated as she licked a sucked every inch of it. She felt her own body responding to his pleasure and moaned again.

He gasped, "Child, I must stop you." He pushed her lips gently from his prick and pulled her up to sit beside him. "I would not wish to spill my seed so soon. Let me see you. Undress."

Helena stood, longing for the taste of him but eager to do more. She removed the linen shift she wore; under it, she was bare. He gazed at her; taking in her large but firm breasts, soft belly and the dark hair that covered her sex. With both hands, he caressed and squeezed her breasts; the nipples, already swollen, seemed to pulse at the touch. She felt a pooling of wetness at her slit and shivered with anticipation. He pulled her closer and took each nipple in turn between his lips, biting them gently. She groaned and shuttered. A surge of pleasure washed through her and the juices of her sex crept down her thighs. He continued to suck her nipples while one hand slid over her soft belly and into the hair above her sex. She gasped a he toyed with it, systematically working his fingers down to the folds of her slit. With one finger, he stroked her sex; teasing her clit, gathering slick honey from inside her and spreading it over the folds. Helena could only moan and tremble as bliss coursed through her veins.

"You have never known this kind of pleasure before, have you girl?" She could not answer; she was helpless with the sensation. "What of this?"

He slid his finger into her slit like a prick and rubbed the inner wall behind her clit. Helena's breath caught in her throat. A tingling began in her sex and grew to envelope her every nerve. She felt the pressure building within her - as if she soon would fill with this tingling and eventually burst. She moved her hips not sure if she wanted his finger removed or deeper inside her but the feelings simply grew in intensity. She was terrified and ecstatic at once. She had felt this way once before - as a child she had fallen from a ledge near the battlements. Sir Edwin had been near and caught her, but for a moment, she was falling with only the wind and this - this fire that consumed her nerves and made her heart race. Sir Bogud's thumb touched her clit while his finger probed inside her and it was too much to bear. The pressure filled her beyond all measure and she cried out in an effort to release it. She seemed to burst over and over, feeling her body melt like snow in early spring. She fell onto Sir Bogud and he held her firmly. Then, slowly, her heartbeat became more normal and warmth she had never known lingered everywhere the tingling had been. She sighed deeply.

Sir Bogud's voice was rich when at last he spoke, "Did that please you girl?"

"Oh Sire," she felt a bit dazed, "Yes, Sire."

"Good," he sounded pleased as well, "when you have rested, we will continue."

She looked at his face then. It was wider and somehow flatter that those familiar to her. It was very strong. Impulsively, she kissed him, pushing her lips against his and felt first his surprise then his lips parting and his tongue probing her mouth as deeply as had his prick.

Breathlessly, she asked him, "Have I please you, Sire?"

"So far." He chuckled.

"Then I shall continue now, Sire."

She broke off the kiss and leaned down to his cock again. It was glossy with seed; she had an urge to lick it clean and so she did. She heard him inhale sharply and she wrapped both her lips and her hands around his prick. He took hold of her shoulders and pushed gently but she sucked his cock as strongly as she could. She nearly choked again, when his hips bucked against her mouth. He panted frantically and his whole body went stiff. She was unprepared when his seed burst forth like cannon fire. It filled her mouth and when Sir Bogud urgently hissed for her to swallow it, she did. It was mild and pleasant, but heightened as it was by her own arousal, it was blissful. He reached for her and gently pulled her beside himself as he lay back on the bed.

"I had not intended that." He panted as if exerted, "We shall do more in the morning. Sleep now."

With his heavy arms holding her, Helena could do not but lay with this Moorish General, Sir Bogud, and wonder at her own body. This was the passion that her husband failed to bring and she fell asleep being glad she had known this feeling at least once in her life.

When she woke just before dawn, Sir Bogud had rolled over and she was able to rise, don her shift and slip down to the kitchens for hot water for his bath. She left a fresh towel by his washbasin and returned to her own room to fully dress for the day. Her normal chores for the day had her running about with laundry, cleaning and other household duties. She found herself distant - often waking from a reverie to find overflowing buckets or other careless error as if she had forgotten her tasks while in the middle of them. She could not stop reliving his lips upon her nipples, his fingers inside her slit. She had been relieved that no one else had noticed this odd behavior because twice the memories were so strong that she shuddered and moaned aloud and knew her juices made her thighs damp.

Helena was returning with an armload of herbs from the cellars when she heard someone calling her name. She fought the door latch one handed and shouted, "I'm here if a hand you'll lend."

The cook's assistant leapt to her feet and clacked Helena over the head with a spoon, "Ya wee beast! Yew've made a fright o' the house." The old woman took the dried bundles forcefully, nearly knocking Helena over, "Yew'll feel the whip sure and how yew've done that damned moor." Before Helena could begin to understand the woman, someone again shouted her name from the courtyard. The spoon clacked against her shoulder, "Go on! Git!"

Helena hurried from the kitchen unsure of what awaited her outside. Before she was fully out the door, a hand grabbed her.

"There you are! Come on." Colin fairly dragged her across the packed earth, "His Lordship's in a state!"

Helena got her feet under herself again and yanked the stable lad to a stop. "Colin! What has happened?"

He gasped and swallowed, "No one knows. His Lordship and the moor were in the wardroom. Then they called for Moreland and Gant and all three commanders. And then they began turning the Keep out in search of you."

"Me?" Helena felt a numbness creep through her skin. What could His Lordship want of her when in conference with the Keep's commanders? She realized to her own surprise that she was now out pacing Colin back to the ward room, taking the main stairs two at a time. She stopped before the ornate door, suddenly afraid to knock.

When Colin finally caught up with her, he had no such fear. Without knocking he threw open the door, "I found her Sire, in the kitchens, My Lord." He panted a bit, "Your Grace." He pushed Helena into the room far enough to close the door behind her and made his own exit.

As the thud of the heavy door rang in her ears, Helena became aware of her own heavy breathing. She was nervous; these were the most powerful men in the Keep. They had never called her before them.

They all stood around the grand table. Along with His Lordship and Sir Bogud, stood Sir Moreland the Stable Master a barrel of a man who once physically held the gates shut when marauders cut the pulleys. The Warlord, Sir Gant was closest to her, gaunt and dark in both character and appearance; he cast his long thin gaze over her, and then returned his attention to the map they had been studying. Furthest from her stood the three Commanders of the Guard. Sir Edwin, who had been a watchman for Helena's whole life, Sir Reeves who seemed too young for the post but his quick wit in battle had more than earned his rank, and Sir Macren who had come to the Keep as a guest and stayed on when he wed the cook.

"Is it true, wench?" His Lordship bellowed.

Helena looked from one man to the next, "Is what true, My Lord?"

"Did you disrespect Our Guest?"

She stared open mouthed at Sir Bogud who ignored her. "Disrespect?" She stuttered, "H-how …"

Sir Gant closed the space between them with a single step and slapped her sharply, "You waste our time. Did you disobey Sir Bogud?"

Helena clutched her stinging cheek and looked again at Sir Bogud, "I know not how, Sire." Tears began to well in her eyes.

Sir Gant returned to the map, "Whip her and be done with it."

The others murmured in agreement except Sir Bogud who cleared his throat, "My Lord, rather than whip her, may I show you how the Roman Emperor punishes servants who do not know their place?"

His Lordship chortled, piqued by the idea of a new humiliation, "By all means. 'Twas you she wronged, after all."

Helena watched Sir Bogud in confusion. She was sure she had pleased him. Her pleas for mercy and a second chance went unheeded as he ordered her to kneel before an empty chair. Sir Bogud gestured to His Lordship, "Come my Lord, sit here." He betrayed no emotion as he ordered her to remove His Lordship's codpiece. "Now, girl, taste his seed."

Helena stared at him.

She looked at the other men in the room and realized with a shock that she would surely be performing this service for all of them.

Her heart pounded.

She was stunned - not by the act but by the sudden elation she felt at the prospect. She still did not understand why he was doing this. She looked again at Sir Bogud; how could he have known what she did not know herself?

She bowed her head and swallowed hard. Her mouth watered as the musky, sweaty scent of His Lordship's manhood filled her senses. With trembling fingers, she stroked him. His cock was already hard. She licked the fat red head of it and received a few drops of its cream as a reward. She licked them, savoring the taste. Helena's head was swimming as if she had drunk too much wine. She sucked his cock fully into her mouth and started the ministrations Sir Bogud taught her only the night before. His Lordship came quickly, explosively, filling her mouth with salty cream. She could hardly swallow his seed fast enough and some of split from her lips. She gently licked the cream from His Lordship and replaced his codpiece. The she sat back on her heels, head bowed. She struggled a bit to appear shamed not overjoyed and vibrated with desire as the Warlord replaced His Lordship in the chair. Much like the man himself, Sir Gant's cock resembled his sword - long and thin. Helena gagged when she tried to take the whole thing in her mouth at once. She found that with a little patience she could, stroke by stroke, she could push him further and further. When the head was in her throat, she gagged again but this time her throat tightened around him instead of against him. With a grunt, his seed thundered through her. His cock deflated and he pushed her face away before she could attempt to revive its former glory. She controlled herself and waited for the Stable Master; instead, Sir Edwin sat down.

Helena looked at His Lordship and saw Sir Moreland seated beside him. "Gone on, girl." His Lordship gestured, "We're waiting."

"But my Lord…" she stopped, not trusting herself. She looked away and hoping the passion did not show, "I would not have it said that I failed in your Lordship's service twice."

"You haven't," Sir Moreland assured her, "and it won't. I'm…" he paused, "say I'm too old. Carry on."

"Aye, sire." She could not contain herself any longer and pulled Sir Edwin's cock out with her lips. Far more quickly that she expected, his hips bucked and his seed sprayed her lips and cheeks. It was a surprising pleasure. She revealed in it and did not notice who took the chair next only that a new hard cock waited for her. She relished it, licking and sucking every inch. When she felt the pulse of his cream begin to rise, she deliberately let him slip from her mouth and let his seed wash over her face. He seemed to have more that the others and after second burst, she gave in to the joy of swallowing the rest of his still flowing cream. The next seemed smaller the others so she was able to take the prick into her mouth and lick the balls as well. He held his seed longer, however, and Helena's jaw began to ache with the exercise. At last, she released the spent, limp organ and waited for the last cock to be placed before her.

It was Sir Bogud. Now, after having more knowledge, she knew he was larger than most men were, in both length and thickness. She licked the length of him and thrilled to feel him quiver in response. She took the head between her lips - her jaw still stretched to encompass him. Using her newly practiced skills, she inched her lips forward and found that she could take him farther in that she had the night before. On her third attempt to swallow the length of him, he placed his large hands on the sides of her head and began pumping his hips. Unable to move freely, Helena wrapped her hands around the large cock. He used her mouth roughly but she knew she would not care once she tasted his seed. She wanted to swallow his cream more than anything she had ever desired and would have endured almost anything to have it. With a final thrust and a deep-throated growl, he erupted, filling her mouth with what she so desired. She drank as if her thirst knew no bounds. When she had licked him clean, he released his grip on her head and returned his still massive manhood to his codpiece.

Gently he lifted her up, "Have you learned your lesson?" he asked.

Helena's jaw was sore and she could feel rawness in her throat. Even so, she wanted to do them all again. She was confident she knew now what lesson he taught; her slit was wet and throbbing and she was giddy at the thought of bedding Sir Bogud later. "Aye, my Lord." She answered softly.

"Good." He wiped a bit of seed from her lip and suddenly conscience of her appearance, Helena used the hem of her apron to wipe the remaining seed from her face. "We will be in conference until diner." Sir Bogud told her, "See to my rooms. And have a cask of wine sent up from my men. I wish to gift it to your Lordship."

"My thanks, good sir" His Lordship responded as he stood, "Well, go on girl. We're done."

With such an abrupt dismissal, Helena scampered for the door. Before she could close it all the way, she heard Sir Moreland call to her. She peered back into the room. He smiled at her gently, 'Ye've done well."

She smiled shyly back, embarrassed, "Thank you, Sire."

On the way to the storerooms for fresh linens, Helena stopped in the courtyard to send a messenger to the encamped army. Nearly everyone knew that she had been in the wardroom and for a rare few moments, she had untold authority. Quickly, she arraigned for someone else to fetch a broom, hot water and rags to Sir Bogud's chamber. She sent others out to air the blankets and to bring up rugs for the cold stone floors. Once she was alone, she swept and scrubbed the floors and dusted the whole room. She finished cleaning with enough time to bathe herself and dress properly for dinner.

When she arrived in the Great Hall, some stewards were arranging the tables in a U-shape around the room as if a bard had arrived. Four men and a bald woman stood in the newly open space. The men were opening two casts of wine for Sir Bogud and His Lordship. The men were all brown skinned and broad shouldered. One had a scar that ran the length of his face; another had a roman symbol carved into his arm. They waited like bronze statutory as Sir Bogud tasted and approved the wine. Then they bowed to the two nobles and left the room giving Helena her first full look at the woman. She was not bald has Helena had first thought; instead her hair was braided in a tight thin line that spiraled around her head like a skullcap. Where Sir Bogud was the color of polished wood, the woman was as black as night, her face sculpted out of darkness by some divine artist. She was slender - even muscular - except in her plump breasts and round hips. Large gold hoops hung from her ear lobes and masses of gold chains draped from her neck, waist, wrists and ankles. She wore no clothing.

Her dark skin shone under the lamplight of the Grand Hall and her lithe body was so still, she hardly seemed to breathe. Only the slight movement of her full breasts betrayed life. Fascinated by this ebony beauty, Helena could not take her eyes away from her.

Sir Bogud stepped before the woman and spoke sharply to her in a language Helena did not know. The woman did not move; her gaze defiantly never left Sir Bogud's face. He stared back and Helena knew that she would have yielded under the weight of those eyes.

He issued his command again and again she did not respond. Several long moments passed and the Great Hall grew silent as everyone waited with apprehension.

A third time Sir Bogud gave his order, his voice echoing from the stones of the hall. This time she crumbled to the floor like a puppet with strings cut. As Sir Bogud walked away and took a seat beside His Lordship, Helena stepped toward the woman concerned that she was injured - then realized that the woman was moving. Slowly, she rose, undulating seemingly without support and confoundedly on one leg. Helena marveled as she watched this woman - this Dancer - leap and turn in ways that no normal creature could. The slender form flipped, feet over head without touching the floor. Helena was amazed, entranced, and enthralled by this unearthly beauty moving to music unheard by human ears. If the woman had sprouted wings and flew, Helena would have been no more astounded than she was by this strange yet graceful dance before her now.

A single clap sounded and the dancer collapsed again into a heap on the floor. No one moved, no one dared breathe for a dozen heartbeats then a great cry arose from them all and thunderous applause and cheering deafen Helena. She cheered no less loudly, panting and breathless as if she had danced herself. Sir Bogud made his way to the dancer and gently took her hand. She stood gracefully, black skin glistening with sweat. She did not smile and though she curtsied deeply to His Lordship, her looks to Sir Bogud were as cold as winter. He whispered something to the woman then led her across the room to Helena.

He joined their hands, "See that she is fed. See to her comforts. Take her to my room when she is tired." Then he turned and joined His Lordship at the head table.

Helena looked at the dancer and smiled, "I am Helena. Your talent is…" she struggled to find a word that would describe it "…breathtaking." She finished.

The dancer did not respond. Instead, she pulled her hand away from Helena's and moved toward several servants with trays of meat and bread. Without a word, the Dancer took a knife and hacked a large portion of meat off the plate nearest her. Seeing her obvious hunger, Helena quickly gathered a plate and presented it to the dancer. The woman surveyed the platter and nodded once. Helena lead her to an empty seat and watched as the Dancer proceeded to eat as much if not more than any campaigning soldier would. Helena fetched both wine and water not knowing which the Dancer would prefer and made a small plate for herself.

When they both finished, Helena felt the need to relieve herself and took the Dancer to the small chamber near the Great Hall that served this purpose. The woman made a sound in disgust but used it nonetheless. Helena wondered what she was used to, traveling with an army and whatever else a Dancer's life must bring.

She looked up with a start to see the Dancer staring at her. She blushed slightly. The woman reached out and stroked her cheek softly. A wave of heat passed through Helena's body and she shivered. She did not understand why the woman's look or touch should affect her so.

Then without a word, the woman wandered to the great fireplace and stood before it. Dully Helena realized that the Hall was cold and nude the Dancer must surely be colder. She took a shawl from a hook near the door and wrapped it around the Dancer's shoulders. The woman brushed it casually to the floor and stretched her long body bending backward until her hands rested upon the floor. Fascinated, Helena watched her twist her body as if her bones were made of bread dough. She lay back and arched her back, rising and falling to some secret rhythm. Those around them slowly fell silent to watch the entrancing movement. While her first performance was a torrent of movement, this was like an unexpected spring shower - soft, warm. Watching her move, Helena wanted to touch her and feel the heat of her body close. She found herself short of breath and her heart pounding. Suddenly she realized why this dance was so arresting - the movement mimicked two lovers turning and twisting in passion. The dance ended almost without an end; as subtly as it started, so the dancer arched and stretched until she was seated in front of the Great Fire, warming her hands. The Hall roared and thundered with applause again.

The woman stretched and yawned and Helena offered her hand. The woman took it - much to Helena's shock - and stood. She was so close; Helena could feel the heat of the Dancer's skin, smell the musk of her sweat.

On unsteady legs, Helena led her to Sir Bogud's chamber. Once inside, the woman walked to the center of the room and turned to face Helena. Standing there, she began caressing her own breasts; the sight transfixed Helena. The Dancer squeezed her own nipples and sighed. Then she cupped her breasts. A wave of desire washed over Helena as she watched the Dancer begin to lick her own breasts. Helena found herself drawn to the sight, her own nipples hardening quickly. She was only vaguely aware of her actions when she caressed the Dancer's soft breasts and leaned down to take dark buds between her lips. The Dancer's hands slid along Helena's arms and began fondling Helena's waiting breasts as well. When the Dancer's fingertips caressed them, they felt rigid and Helena moaned.

Sir Bogud found them this way - Helena sucking the Dancer's nipples and the Dancer teasing hers in response. He ordered Helena to shed her clothing and she complied. Next to Sir Bogud, she was fair; sitting beside the Dancer, Helena was pallid. Sir Bogud spoke to the Dancer again in her foreign tongue; in response, she crawled to her knees and sat cat-like on the floor before Helena.

"You were well composed this day girl," he said as he undressed, "You shall be rewarded." He gave the Dancer a long deep kiss.

Helena shivered longingly to be part of it. He lifted the woman as one might lift a child and placed her on the bed behind Helena, who turned around to watch them. He ran his hand over the Dancer's body, pinching her nipples and dipping one finger into the folds of her slit. He spread the juices he found there across her lips, on those taut nipples and in long strokes across her belly. Helena could smell that heat of her sex and whimpered softly as his finger dipped again into the Dancer's soft wet folds. This time he touched his honey covered finger to Helena's lips. She grabbed his wrist and held his hand still as she licked and sucked those sweet wet fingers. When the Dancer's taste was gone, Helena released Sir Bogud's hand and fell upon the Dancer's nipples, cleaning them with her tongue. The woman's back arched and her fingers wound into Helena's hair. Helena's tongue lapped downward - following the trail of honey that Sir Bogud laid out. Soon she reached its source. There was rustling beside her and the Dancer moved to sit upright. Quickly Helena positioned herself between the Dancer's legs. She could see that Sir Bogud's cock was between the woman's lips and so she leaned her face down and kissed the soft lips of her sex. Helena had never been with a woman before, having had little enough experience with men. Nevertheless, as she opened the folds of the Dancer's slit, instinct took hold of her and she followed its lead. The wet lips were sweet and fragrant to Helena and she enjoyed the swelling, pulsing response to her lips and tongue. The Dancer's clit stuck out like a small prick and when Helena sucked it, she was rewarded with a sudden cry of pleasure from the Dancer. Her hips bucked wildly and Helena had trouble holding her mouth in place as sweet juices poured from the Dancer's throbbing slit. When the Dancer's legs folded around Helena's head, she saw and heard naught but the hot, wet need rubbing honey vigorously into her face. Helena tried wantonly to devour this nectar as it spilled out and slipped her fingers into the Dancer's slit to assist her tongue. The Dancer bucked and thrashed as if tormented. Helena stuck her tongue deeply into the woman's slit and feel fingers again tear at her hair. She could not have taken her lips from the pulsing fount if she wished to. Too soon, the Dancer's legs released and her body fell back, gasping and weak.

Sir Bogud then kissed Helena, licking the Dancer's juices from her lips, cheeks and chin. Helena held his face and returned his passion. Beneath her, Helena was vaguely aware of the Dancer moving again. She gasped when she felt soft lips kiss the small of her back. Sir Bogud bent and took Helena's nipples into his mouth sucking them insistently and causing her to moan again. Helena was drunk with the pleasure surging throughout her body; she barely noticed Sir Bogud laying her down. The Dancer then took position between her legs and kissed her sex. It was incredible. The Dancer's tongue, lips and fingers conspired to drive Helena to the edge of endurance. She felt fire burning through her blood, making it hard to think of anything but that tongue darting across her most sensitive places. She tried to voice her pleasure but gibberish spilled from her mouth just as her juices spilt from her slit. All other sensations became distant - she seemed to float tethered only to the need driving her ever higher. She felt her nerves snap and for a moment, the sheer pleasure was too much to bear. Wave after wave of it swept over her.

Then there was peace and the memory of her own voice crying out strangely.

Sensation returned slowly to Helena. Her vision was somewhat blurred but she could make out Sir Bogud standing, driving that huge cock of his into the Dancer's slit. She crawled to the far end of the bed to see how wide a woman must stretch to encompass such a man. The Dancer was on her hands and knees with her hips raised to meet Sir Bogud's thrusts. Helena slipped her head under them and watched his large balls bounce against the Dancer's clit. She flicked her tongue against them both in turn, and then concentrated her attention on the Dancer. The woman's body went wild with spasms and she moaned wantonly. When Helena sucked Sir Bogud's sack gently, he growled, throbbed and thrust his cock into the Dancer with renewed energy. For the first time Helena tasted man's cream and woman's honey together. Her senses seemed to explode with the thrill of it. She lapped at the dancer's clit trying to force more of their mixed elixir to flow. She felt Sir Bogud spasm, heard his growl distorted through their legs and knew he had spewed his seed deep within the Dancer. She glued her lips to his shaft and sucked the head when he pulled out of the woman. Mixed elixir dripped on to Helena's chin and she quickly moved to drink deeply. The Dancer's body went taut again then thrashed wildly - Helena wrapped her hands around those thrashing hips and waves of pleasure wrack her own body as she buried her tongue in the Dancer's slit once more. When two tongues meet in her own slit, Helen found herself insensible with rapture. Eventually, they collapsed in a heap on the bed.

Helena woke before both of the others and hurried to the kitchen to fetch hot water. When he returned the Dancer was already awake and stretching. It was a slow process and unlike any simple morning stretch that Helena had seen before. Helena watched quietly. Sir Bogud awoke shortly and dressed without a word to either of them.

Before he left, he gave instructions, "Have this room cleaned and after dinner, return here. See that she is fed, and then escorted back to our encampment. I shall leave on the marrow."

Helena wanted to cry; first, she despaired of seeing the moor, now she feared never seeing Sir Bogud again. The Dancer - ever silent - stopped her exercises and began washing. While waiting for her to finish, Helena removed her shift and frowned at the stains and sweat upon it. She would have to make laundry one of her chores again later today. She felt soft breasts press against her back and the Dancer's arms wrap around her waist. The woman broke the embrace quickly and Helena looked down to see one of the long gold chains fastened about her waist.

"Oh My Lady!" Helena gaped, "'Tis far too fine a thing for me."

The Dancer did not speak, did not even smile but simply kissed Helena tenderly on the lips and walked to the door.

Helena dressed in silence then, contemplating how to thank so fine a woman for such a gift. When Helena was dressed, they walked together to the Great Hall. Helena prepared the Dancer a plate of food. When she returned to serve it, the Dancer was again enthralling the Keep's folk with another exotic dance. This one was full of dizzying spins and the gold chains around her seemed to dance of their own accord. When the cheering subsided, Helena served the simple breakfast she had prepared and hurried to the kitchen for something more substantial. Finally, the meal was over; the Dancer stood up when she was done and walked to the door. Helena followed trying to think of things to say other than goodbye. She could not. In the courtyard, she spotted Sir Gant's second and convinced him to escort the Dancer - Sir Bogud's wife she told him - back to the encamped army. The woman ignored the horse they saddled for her and walked through the Keep gates: silent, lovely. Helena watched them go until the gates closed then ran up to the battlements to watch them until they went out of view beyond the ridge.

Cleaning the chamber took no time after the through scrubbing she had given it the day before and Helena made her way to the kitchens longing for some task to occupy her mind. Try as she might, she could not pull her thoughts away from the wanton acts she had performed with Sir Bogud and the Dancer. Gratefully she agreed to help Adele with the dreaded task of inventorying the dry stores. She quickly trod the stairs to the cellars but in the dark and quiet space, her mind wandered over the sensations of the past two nights. The third time Adele pulled at her sleeve, she pinched Helena as well. Helena jumped and squeaked.

"Well, you deserve it." Adele scoffed, "you've done naught all day."

"'Tis true," Helena sighed and tried to remember what she was doing when her thoughts drifted away.

Adele then took her hands, "Helena, you've been distracted and strange ever since that damn moor arrived." Her voice lowered, "Has he bewitched you?"

Helena looked at her friend. They had shared everything - clothing, secrets, chores - for as long as Helena could remember. If she could not trust Adele with the truth then there was no trust to be had in the world. She led the girl to the workbench and cleared enough space for them to sit. "I am changed, that's true. But, though I can tell you how, I could not say why. This much I know, I would not change back; these last two days have been…" she sighed, "exquisite. Beyond heaven. Honey and cream."

"Helena!" Adele exclaimed, "Tell me! Tell me what they have done to you!"

Helena laughed lightly, "I confess. I am too modest still to say the things I have done." She smiled inwardly, "Would be easier to show you."

"Then show me."

Helena's smile faded. Adele had no idea what she was asking and yet, how wonderful an idea. To share this joy with her and receive it from her? She held Adele's eyes for a moment. "You must trust me, for whatever this seems, you will love me for it after."

"You are my sister, Helena," Adele's worry was thick in her voice, "how could I not?"

"Bide." Helena moved quickly before Adele's curiosity or her own desire could fade. She shut the door and found a grain sack to prop behind her friend. The she kissed Adele softly on the lips, "Ask no questions, just wait." Then she moved her fingers and lips downward slowly undoing the laces at Adele's bodice. By the time she pulled her friend's small breasts free, both women were panting with desire. She sucked Adele's nipples and the woman whimpered. Helena could wait no more; she slid Adele's skirt to her waist and enjoyed the scent of her sex. She kissed the hairy outer lips and found sweet nectar already spilling from them. Helena abandoned herself and devoured the sweet honey. Adele arched and cried out. Her body was stiff and trembling instead of wildly thrashing as the Dancer's had been. Helena kept her mouth clamped on her dear friend until she cried out again and collapsed, sweaty and panting.

"Dear God," Adele gasped, "Oh my sweet God."

They lay together for a time while Adele gathered her strength. Finally, she sat up and began slowly fixing her laces. "This is what the moor has done to you?"

"And his lady, aye."

Adele shivered, "Ye Gods. No wonder you are distracted. I should…" She stopped, blushed and looked away.

Helena understood. She said, "I should always wish to do this. With you, I mean. If you should care to."

Adele's eyes had tears in them as she smiled at Helena, "I should care to. And to learn to - to …. So that you may share too." Helena embraced her then. Distantly, they heard the roar of the cook's assistant looking for them. They hurried to pull themselves in order to see what tasks needed doing now.

In the afternoon, Sir Bogud set a few more tasks for her in preparation for his leaving. One of these was to see that his horse and gear were in good repair. She saw Colin as she approached the stable and she realized just how much she had changed - she wanted him; wanted to taste his seed and let it spew across her body. She realized that she would have to be careful with this new-found desire lest she earned a reputation as a harlot. She waved to him and he waved back.

He jogged over to meet her, "Was all well in the ward room yesterday?"

'Was it only yesterday,' Helena thought, 'it seemed like a lifetime ago.' Aloud she sighed, "Oh Colin, I could not tell you."

"Are you well? We've not seen much of you since the moor arrived."

She touched her fingers to his lips, "Where can we speak in private?"

He frowned and looked about. "Come." He led her to an empty stall. Before he could ask again, she dropped to her knees and loosed the knot belting his leggings. They fell to the floor while poor Colin stood frozen, silent with shock. Helena nearly inhaled his cock. It was small but in short order it gained in size and mass. She cupped his balls with one hand and held his hip steady with the other. Too soon, he was tensing to release his cream deep in her throat. He grabbed her head and groaned. With no further warning, he began thrusting his cock more deeply into her mouth. Then with two long bursts, his cream sprang forth and Helena drank it hungrily. When he was fully spent and limp again, she stood and kissed him deeply, sharing the taste of his cream. Someone cleared a throat behind them and they both jumped.

Sir Moreland.

"Boy!" he barked, "What goes on here?"

Colin stammered and struggled to pull up his leggings without falling down.

Helena smoothed the straw from her skirt and almost kept her voice steady as she responded, "Sire, I am here to see that Sir Bogud's horse is ready. He will be leaving us on the morn."

"I see." Helena could not tell if the Stable Master was outraged or amused, "And what did the boy tell you?"

"Colin," she said, trying to impersonate the Dancer's steel will, "said that all will be ready when Sir Bogud is."

"I see." He said again. After a long pause, Sir Moreland asked, "And did you need more from us?"

She could not hold his gaze any longer and she blushed as she looked away, "No, Sire."

"Then, may I ask you to leave us to our work before the boy…" he smiled gently, "before Colin fails in that promise?"

"Certainly." She wanted to explain to Colin or at least let him know that all was well with her. Instead, Helena left the small stable without a backward glance leaving Colin to face the Stable Master alone.

Fearing that she may indeed have lost all self-control, she gathered as much laundry as she could find and went outside the side gate to a stream they often used for such purpose. She returned with wet linens and clothing which she hung on long ropes strung near the kitchens. At dinner, she found desires renewing and was frustrated by every minute that kept her in the Great Hall. Sir Bogud seemed to have no such desires as he laughed and called for more wine as often as His Lordship. She sought both Adele and Colin but could find neither. She waited, unhappy, in Sir Bogud's chamber. She caressed her nipples, already hard beneath her shift and remembered the Dancer's lips upon them. A thrill ran through her veins and lodged in her sex. Even standing still she could feel the juices flowing there. She resisted touching them and squeezed her nipples more firmly. The more she stroked them the stronger the desire to slip her fingers into her own wetness became. And yet, the more she resisted, the more honey flowed. Eventually, her own desire won - she lifted her shift to let her fingertips play in the slippery pool. She sat on the edge of the bed and lay back. She explored herself in a way new, allowing herself to slowly enjoy each sensation. When she finally slipped two fingers inside her own slit, she was moaning softly. Gentle lips kissed the back of her hands and she knew without looking that Sir Bogud had entered without her notice. He put one strong thumb on her clit and licked her fingers clean. Then he began lapping at her honey directly. Her moans grew uncontrollable as the fire within her burned.

Then, before she was aware of the thought, she stopped him, "Prick me, my Lord."

He smiled gently, "I would split you in twain."

"Then I shall die in ecstasy. I need to feel you inside me."

He stood and she helped him undress. She positioned herself as the Dancer had been - on her hands and knees with her hind toward him. He caressed her rear sending shivers up her spine. He placed the head of his cock against her clit and rubbed it. Helena moaned. He placed two fingers into her slit and she pushed against his hand. When he slipped a third finger into her, fire shot through her body and sparks danced behind her eyelids.

She heard her own voice crying out and struggled to master it, "Your cock, Sire!" she managed to gasp, "Please you cock!"

Finally, he relented and placed the swollen head of it into her well-oiled slit. She bucked her hips against him and felt him slide in so far she seemed to feel the length of him as far as her chest. She heard a low growl and realized that Sir Bogud was crying out in his native tongue.

For a moment, neither of them moved; they were entwined like one being. Then slowly, he eased his cock back and forth. The pleasure was beyond Helena's comprehension. Again and again he eased his colossal prick into her throbbing slit and Helena felt a wondrous pressure building along her nerves.

She gasped and moaned, "Faster, Sire."

He moaned in reply and grabbed her hips. His cock bucked inside her but he slowed down his penetrating. Helena nearly wept and screamed with frustration, "Sire, please, faster. I need to feel you." She babbled, desperate to have the sweet release that seemed so near and so far at once. She tried to push against him but his hands held her fast. She wriggled and to her dismay, twisted too far. He popped out of her with a wet smack. Quickly she turned around and mounted him again, facing him this time and wrapping her arms and legs around him. Sir Bogud groaned something foreign again; she had no idea what he said but his tone - that low husky rumble - made her shiver. He kissed her and wrapped his arms around her. They toppled over on to the bed and Sir Bogud's cock went even deeper into Helena's slit. She almost screamed with sheer joy but his lips locked to her muffled the sound. She felt her clit, she slit, her whole body pounding with her racing heartbeat and she knew the release would come soon.

"So tight," He whispered in her ear, "So hot! You burn. Shall I douse the fire?"

"Yes" Helena moaned helplessly, "Yes! Put it out now. Now!"

He spread her legs as wide as they would go and began moving again - slowly at first but building with speed. When the release came, Helena burst like a damn, her honey flooding everything. She felt as if the juices flowed to her head and back down to her toes. Her cries of ecstasy were continuous and only grew louder when Sir Bogud's voice joined them. With a final shout, he fell upon her, crushed her mouth with his and spewed wave after wave of his seed deep within her. The sensation sent another release crashing through Helena and she wrapped her legs around him trying to pull him further into her.

Helena woke not realizing that she had fallen asleep. She felt wonderful, more alive than ever. She lay in the darkness feeling the warmth of Sir Bogud's arms around her. She pull tightly to him to feel his cock lodge against her hind and pulled his hands so that one cupped her breasts and the other her sex. She dozed again this time waking to Sir Bogud's fingers teasing honey from her swelling clit. She placed her hand over his and held it there as sweet passion shuddered through her body. She could feel her juices spilling over his hardening cock and moaned. He kissed the back of her neck and groaned.

She knew their time together was growing short.

She slid down his body, turning head-to-feet so that she could taste his sweet cock once more. He sucked her sex hungrily as she sucked his. He stopped her ministrations before spewing the cream she sought but would not be moved himself until her honey ran down his cheeks. Helena turned then and kissed him so they could both share her juices. Then she sat upright on his thighs and, watching his face, rubbed her wet slit up and down the shaft of his cock. When he was groaning with need and drops of cream capped the tip, she lowered herself on to his prick. Somehow, it seemed bigger this time and she cried out as it impaled her.

Sir Bogud showed immediate concern, "Does it hurt?"

"No, Sire," She gasped, "'Tis not but joy." She rose and fell again, gasping as each movement sent fresh sparks of wanton pleasure everywhere. She found herself bounding atop him wildly, driving his mammoth cock as deep as possible into her pulsing slit. His fingertips rubbed her clit again and she convulsed with pleasure. Strange sounding cries erupted from her as her body lost all control. For a few moments, she could do naught but shake breathlessly. As the fit began to pass, she heard Sir Bogud roar and felt his seed filing her. Spasms of pleasure again took hold of her and gasped at the strength of them.

They lay together, spent and sweaty, as the dawn broke. When they finally arose and dressed for the day, he admired the chain about her waist. Helena asked, at last, what the Dancer's name was.

"Nandi. You should feel honored; she rarely gives such a gift."

Helena looked down, "I wanted to give her something but I have nothing so fine…" He kissed her then and striped off her shift. "Sire! What…" she was mortified when he stuffed it into his pack, "Sire, no! 'Tis old and worn. Unclean. 'Tis hardly a fit gift for one so fine as she!"

"Give me another then." He smiled.

She picked up her dress, "I only have the one. I shall have to make another."

"That it is your only one makes it rare and more valuable and that it is yours she will know."

Helena waited and when it became clear that he would not give the garment back, put on the wool frock without it. "Will she wear such a thing?"

He laughed, "No!" then he kissed her, "but she will cherish it, no doubt. You gave her much pleasure. Few have done that."

Helena was able to remain collected through the serving of breakfast and even during the formal goodbye in the courtyard. They had said private word before leaving his chamber and a public display would hardly be fitting for the General. So Sir Bogud left as he came, alone, astride his great steed. Helena watched him into the distance from the battlements and continued watching until sunset imagining she could see him and his army moving to the south and to the seas to Rome. Only then did she weep. Never, she thought. I will never know another like that.

A hand gently stroked her back. She turned expecting Adele or Colin but found instead Sir Moreland.

He spoke tenderly as he brush a stray hair from her cheek, "Child, why ye weep so?" He used his own shirtsleeve to dry her eyes, "Are ye hurt?"

She tried to stop the tears and turned away from him, "No, Sire, I am well."

"Surely, you could tell a more clever lie than that." Despite his gruff appearance, his manner and tone were kind, which seemed to spur more emotion. Tears broke through and she wept uncontrollably for a few minutes. Sir Moreland folded her into his arms and held her tightly, soothing her and rocking her gently.

When she calmed down some, she pulled away from him - embarrassed by her display. "Thank you, Sire." She sniffed and dried her eyes. "I am better now. I should be going, sure."

Sir Moreland took her hand, "Nay. Please, bide awhile." He lowered himself to the floor and patted the space beside him.

Helena sat, feeling sad, foolish and lost. "Now," Sir Moreland said taking her hands in a fatherly manner, "Did ye truly lose your heart to Sir Bogud?"

Helena nodded mournfully.

"Love? The Moor?" He arched an eyebrow, "Truly? In no more than three days?"

She nodded again fighting another crying spell.

Sir Moreland lifted her chin, "Now look at me child - remember I saw what ye did in those three days. In the wardroom. And in the stable."

Helena winced and tried to look away but he held her chin firmly.

"Now, truly. 'Tis it love you feel or 'tis it lust that warms your heart?"

Helena's lips trembled. She didn't want to think - did not want to believe that she could be so wanton for anything short of true love. Yet hearing the words, she knew that it was true. It was not Sir Bogud for which she longed; it was his prick and Nandi tongue.

Sir Moreland released her chin with a gentle pat. "The Moor was quite a man, eh?"

Helena wiped a last tear from her eye, "Few are like his, I think."

"True. Few." Sir Moreland placed one hand gently on her thigh, "And few women can take such a man. I know well."

Helena looked at him. She was not sure what he meant to imply. "In the wardroom you said you were too old."

"Aye I did. I didna wish to frighten you" He chuckled, "or embarrass His Lordship. He nearly choked when ye swallowed Sir Bogud whole."

Helena could not help looking at his codpiece, searching for a hint of his size. "I never wed, you know." Sir Moreland stroked her leg as he spoke, "Few of the lasses I've known would have me and none of those would have me twice." Her confusion must have shown because he arched an eyebrow, "It never occurred to you that some men are painfully large?"

Even now she could not help blushing, "Sire I haven't known many men before now." A thought occurred to her and she cocked her head, "Sir Bogud said something about splitting me in two but 'twas not pain I felt." She sighed deeply, "'twas bliss."

"Marry me." The words seemed to surprise Sir Moreland as well. For a moment, Helena sat stunned. Then she looked around to see if someone else had spoken and then again to see if there were another listener. There was no one but themselves. She opened her mouth but no word came forth. Sir Moreland was earnest; she could hear the serious tone in his quiet but firm voice. "I'll be a good husband to you and I'll provide you with this." He removed his codpiece and exposed a prick every bit as large as Sir Bogud's. Almost immediately, its fat head rose and stood waiting for Helena's attention. She felt a familiar charge run through her body as if all of her pleasure spots awoke at once.

She swallowed hard, "You will please me with tongue and hand and cock?"

"Daily, My Lady."

"And I may dally with Adele and Colin at will?" She stroked his length with her fingertips as she spoke.

"With discretion." His voice had taken on a rough tone.

Helena nodded, "With discretion, of course. But they might join us?"

His eyes closed and his head fell back, "Aye, they might."

Helena could feel her wet slit already pulsing and knelt over Sir Moreland's legs. She pulled up her frock to reveal the gold chain around her otherwise bare body, "And I will be your true wife?"

He moaned, "Oh My Lady, I will ask His Lordship now."

"Not now," Helena whispered as she lowered her dripping slit onto his massive cock, "Dinner will be soon enough."

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