Lady of Fire by Anita Mills

hers as he had held her last at Fontainebleau. His tongue grew dry with desire and his pulse raced as he allowed his mind free rein to imagine her there as he'd done so many times before. In his half-dreams, she came to him as a wife, a lover eager to please her lord, smiling, caressing, and opening her body to him. Now every fiber of his body cried out for ease from this overwhelming desire.
    He threw back the curtains and flung himself out of bed. He could not sleep like this. Wine—some more wine, he decided, and he could pursue sleep more readily. He drew on his braichs and did not bother to cross-wrap them or to put on his boots. With a rushlight taken from an iron ring in the passageway, he lighted his way back to the hall.
    The place was deserted now except for an occasional servant removing the last vestiges of supper. A few men slept on pallets placed along the walls. Roger walked silently around checking wineskins and jugs until he found one with enough left to bother with.
    Aaaiiiieeee!" Someone emitted a high-pitched shriek behind him. He swung the rushlight around and faced a girl he'd startled. Her hands were laden with empty pitchers that she clasped tightly to her breasts. Her eyes were luminous and large in the flickering light.
    "Milord! You frightened me—I thought everyone asleep."
    "So you came to get some extra wine for yourself?" She shook her head. "I came to finish clearing the tables after all the louts were asleep."
    "Oh." He eyed her with interest. Her eyes were dark and her hair was long and dark also. The small-ness of her stature reminded him of Eleanor. "How old are you?"
    "Fifteen."
    "Are you a virgin?" he asked foolishly, knowing that it was unlikely.
    She looked at the rushes while answering. He could have sworn she reddened at the question, but perhaps it was the firelight. "Nay," she answered finally in a low voice. "I am not."
    "Would you like to share my wine?" He could not bring himself to ask her the obvious, but she understood his meaning.
    She took in his half-dressed appearance before lifting her gaze to his face, where she could see the blue eyes, the tousled blond hair, the well-defined face. He was far handsomer than any she'd lain with before. She placed her pitchers on the nearest trestle table and nodded. "Aye."
    Once back in the chamber he shared with Henry, Roger stopped and kissed the girl. It was a gentle kiss at first that deepened as he closed his eyes and thought of Eleanor. Heat flooded his body as he imagined that he held Lea in his arms as a lover rather than a sister. Slowly, almost languorously, he wooed her with soft kisses and caresses, undressing her as though they had all the time in the world to experience the pleasure of each other. The girl was confused by his gentleness at first, but soon began to respond wholeheartedly to him. Roger cradled and caressed until she thought she would go mad before he took her. And when at last he straddled her and entered her, she cried out with floods of pleasure that came again and again until he drove himself to release. "Lea… Lea… I love you so much," he whispered brokenly as he came within her. And for one brief moment in her life, the girl felt loved instead of used. He rolled off her and lay back with his eyes closed, swallowing to get his breath. She crept closer to rest her head against his shoulder as his breathing evened out. He put an arm around her and held her against him while he drifted off to sleep. She lay awake a long time wishing fervently that she were some unknown lady called Lea.
    "God's teeth! Roger, have you got a wench in there with you?" Prince Henry pulled back the bed curtains and peered within. His voice was thicker than usual with drink. "So the old dog found a bitch to lay after all." He looked even closer as Roger tried to drag himself awake. "Leave it to you to find a comely one, too, whilst all I've had were fat with greasy hair."
    The girl tried to cover herself from Henry's leering