Bertrice Small - A Memory of Love

Rhonwyn inclined her body forward, her fingers running up and down his stiffening manhood. Her pointed little tongue encircled the fiery head of his weapon several times, and then she took him into her mouth, suckling upon as much of his length as she could, rousing him into such a frenzy that he began to groan. When she determined that he had had as much as he could stand without spilling his seed, she ceased the sweet torment and turned her body back to face him.

His big hands fastened themselves about her narrow waist, and lifting her up, he lowered her again, delving deep into her hot softness. His hands fastened themselves about her round breasts, and he began to fondle them. Their eyes met suddenly, and she smiled at him, her hands bracing themselves as she began to ride him, slowly at first, and then with increasing vigor. His eyes closed, and he almost wept with the pleasure she was giving him.

Seeing him lost in his passion, Rhownyn's green eyes closed, too, and she gave herself to the moment. He was hard and strong. He filled her so completely that she sensed he was touching her womb. She tightened the muscles of her love sheath about him, and he cried out with his delight. Then without warning he released her breasts, took her by the shoulders, and rolled her beneath him. His hard thighs imprisoned her as he pushed himself deeper and deeper within her body. Her legs wrapped themselves about him, and she whimpered with the pleasure they were sharing. There seemed to be no real beginning or end to their heated encounter. She felt herself soaring higher and higher and higher; she knew he was with her and clung hard to him.

"I can't stop," he whispered desperately in her ear.

"I don't want you to," she responded. "Oh, Rafe! I have never known a lover like you, my darling!"

"Nor I," he answered. He wanted to go on and on forever with her, but then his body betrayed them, and his love juices gushed forth. He cried out in his anguish, but then the sound of her own pleasure reached his ears. She had released her own passion with his. His arms enfolded her tightly, half in comfort, half with his deep love for her.

They fell asleep, their bodies still locked together and intertwined. When they woke an hour or more later his manhood was hard once again as it rested within her lush body.

"You are amazing," she said softly, moving with him in the cadence of passionate lust.

"Only for you," he declared. "Only for you, my wife." His hard body pinioned her beneath him as he once again brought them to a sweet fulfillment, demanding to know afterward, "Was your caliph as passionate, wife?"

"Aye, and sometimes more so, but he did not really love me, Rafe. He only desired me. I was told passion is better shared by two people who love one another. Until now I did not know the wonder of it all. Only with you, husband. Only with you!"

From that moment on they were as one. During the snowiest winter in memory they spent a great deal of time making love to one another. There was, after all, little else to do until the spring. Rhonwyn realized she was happier than she had ever been in all of her life. Rafe found a peace unlike any he had ever known since he had found himself responsible for Ardley and his sister Katherine. It was so different with Rhonwyn, his beautiful wife with her exciting erotic erudition and her independent spirit.

She had taken up her weapons again, practicing with her two grizzled Welsh retainers, Oth and Dewi, in the snowy stableyards. He remembered Edward's complaints about such activities, but Rafe found his wife's skills fascinating. He didn't bother to ask where the alborium she used with such proficiency had come from, for he knew the answer would have really been no answer at all. He had absolutely no fear for her as she wielded her sword and a main gauche. She was to his eyes one hell of a fighter and certainly far better than he had ever been with weapons. Fortunately this knowledge did not disturb him at all. Edward, of course, had been less certain of himself, and Rhonwyn's nontraditional skills had been a great source of irritation to him despite his fondness for her. I am the better husband for Rhonwyn, Rafe thought.

The winter slowly disappeared, and there was a great deal of new life at Ardley. The ewe sheep had lambed well, and there were a goodly number of his cows who had calved. The offspring dotted the green hillsides. As the spring progressed the fields were plowed and the seed distributed for planting. Rhonwyn actually found herself busy with housewifely duties such as airing the featherbeds and picking violets to candy. They rode together and hunted rabbits. One day Glynn appeared in the brown robes of a Benedictine to tell them he had indeed joined the order at Shrewsbury Abbey, and while it would be a year or more before he took his final vows, he was happy.

"And your music, little brother? What of your music?" Rhonwyn asked him. "Are you allowed to sing and play?"

"Aye," he replied with a smile. "And the music I make now is to God's glory. It is the very best I have ever done!" Reaching out, he took his sister's hand in his. "You are happy, Rhonwyn. Really happy, and I am glad to see it."

"I love him," she said simply.

"He loves you," Glynn responded, "and that is another cause for my happiness. Now, I expect nephews and nieces in good order, sister."

She laughed. "If you do not get them it shall not be from want of trying on our part." Then she grew more serious. "You have not just come for the reasons you gave, brother. What is the truth?"

"Our kith and kin in Wales are causing difficulties once again, sister. We hear things more often in the abbey than outsiders would. Tad, it is said, attempts to wriggle out of his oaths to King Edward. Tad's enemies seek to unseat him, but this time they may have English aid in their endeavors. There are many who seek the king's favor and will do whatever they must to gain it. You are Llywelyn ap Gruffydd's daughter, and therefore you are vulnerable. Once the king has solidified his position he will turn an eye to Wales and the problems our father is causing. If I am recalled, I will be considered little threat in my abbey, but you, sister, may find yourself a pawn in this matter."

"How so, Glynn?" Rafe de Beaulieu asked his brother-in-law.

"It is not the English you need fear," Glynn answered. "Rhonwyn is your wife, and they will expect you to keep her in order." He smiled at them both, and there was a twinkle in his eye. "Not knowing my sister, of course. It is our Welsh brethren who could prove dangerous. Pray God you have no children right now. Tad's enemies will do whatever they must to harm him. Be vigilant."

Rafe nodded. "What of Oth and Dewi?" he asked Glynn.

"They are loyal to my sister and therefore to you as well."

"Even against their Welsh brothers?" Rafe said.

"We are their family first," Glynn responded. "They would not betray us to Tad's enemies."

"We will be watchful," Rafe assured Glynn, "and I thank you for your warning."

"When will I see you again?" Rhonwyn asked her brother.

"When you come to Shrewsbury, sister," he told her. "The abbot allowed me to come to Ardley only because he knows the truth of my identity and understood the seriousness of the situation."

"Now you see what marrying ap Gruffydd's daughter has gained you," Rhonwyn teased her husband later that night as they lay abed.

He took up a lock of her golden hair and kissed it. "Aye," he drawled softly. "You are a dangerous woman, wife."

"Our connection makes your position potentially hazardous, Rafe," she said seriously. "The Welsh are fierce fighters, and you know what is said of them. That they pray on their knees and their neighbors. I would not want to see Ardley destroyed because of me or my father."