patience few men had, and more than an ounce of humility that would not have gone amiss in many men she'd known. Would he wash up too somewhere along the shore? Sister Heloise, who had shown her kindness that morning, had she too been drowned? Why had they been saved—surely two of the worst sinners on board that ill-fated vessel?
It was too much. She hurried back to the cottage, not wanting to look further in the reeds for fear of what she might find.
Tomorrow, when she had more courage, she would tell Thierry and they would go together and look. Just for tonight she wanted to forget what had happened to put them there. She wanted to live her pleasant fantasy for one blessed night. Was that too much to ask?
She picked a handful of mint from the tangled herb garden and joined the others inside.
At supper they sat close. His hand touched her thigh beneath the table, that warm heaviness reminding her of all they had done together and the things they had yet to do. She wanted to try it all with him.
That night, laying together in the warm hayloft, she imagined they were true newlyweds. When he kissed her it was the with the protective warmth and affection of a besotted husband, and she ran her fingers through his hair with the nurturing care and adoration of a devoted wife.
"I am sorry about your men," she told him. "I hope they are not all dead."
"Yes. Let's not talk of that now."
She nodded, part of her relieved, part of her thinking he should talk of it and not let his pain fester inside. But how did she know what was best for this warrior? He'd seen a great many companions die in battle no doubt and had caused death with his own sword. It would not be the same to him as it was to her, and perhaps he knew best how to manage his grief and regret.
"Vivienne," he whispered, twisting her hair around his fingers and bringing it to his face. "You should wear a scarf from now on."
"Why?"
"I don't like other men seeing this hair. It should be for me only to enjoy."
She laughed lightly. "It is a good thing you will not know me when I am grey, like the fisherman's good wife. Then my one beauty will be gone."
His head rustled in the hay as he looked up at her, but he did not respond. Tonight his eyes were brooding, at times pensive. The desire to soothe his anxiety, rid him of worries, grew stronger by the moment. Vivienne had never thought of herself as the nurturing sort of woman, but suddenly that was what she longed to be. She stroked one finger along the stubble of his cheek.
"And you, Bonnenfant, will lose all your hair and grow a paunch. I daresay we would not recognize one another, twenty years from now. You might see me in a market somewhere and never know..."
He reached for her face and drew it down for a kiss, a lingering, thoughtful caress of firm lips to soft lips first, then shy tongue to cautious tongue.
"...the woman who once saved your life," she added.
A slow, unsteady smile pulled on the corners of his mouth, but still he said nothing.
Vivienne moved down his body and licked his cock from root to tip, before taking it in her mouth. Her hand gently held the sac, fingertips caressing the sensitive skin, feeling how it twitched and tightened. He still tasted of the herbs that had scented the bathwater and a little essence that was uniquely his. As he swelled in her mouth she increased the rhythm of her sucking, sliding her lips up and down, making him slick and lusty.
Again he whispered her name and she heard the plea in his voice. She moved around in the hay and set herself over his waiting mouth, lowering her head again to take him deep in her throat while he held her thighs and lapped at her pussy. Those strong, steady strokes brought her quickly to a groaning peak. His tongue traced a path to her anus and that skip of nervous excitement danced inside. She was heavy with want.
Bending over in the hay, she presented herself on all fours, hoping he would not see her tremble like a newborn foal. He
It was too much. She hurried back to the cottage, not wanting to look further in the reeds for fear of what she might find.
Tomorrow, when she had more courage, she would tell Thierry and they would go together and look. Just for tonight she wanted to forget what had happened to put them there. She wanted to live her pleasant fantasy for one blessed night. Was that too much to ask?
She picked a handful of mint from the tangled herb garden and joined the others inside.
At supper they sat close. His hand touched her thigh beneath the table, that warm heaviness reminding her of all they had done together and the things they had yet to do. She wanted to try it all with him.
That night, laying together in the warm hayloft, she imagined they were true newlyweds. When he kissed her it was the with the protective warmth and affection of a besotted husband, and she ran her fingers through his hair with the nurturing care and adoration of a devoted wife.
"I am sorry about your men," she told him. "I hope they are not all dead."
"Yes. Let's not talk of that now."
She nodded, part of her relieved, part of her thinking he should talk of it and not let his pain fester inside. But how did she know what was best for this warrior? He'd seen a great many companions die in battle no doubt and had caused death with his own sword. It would not be the same to him as it was to her, and perhaps he knew best how to manage his grief and regret.
"Vivienne," he whispered, twisting her hair around his fingers and bringing it to his face. "You should wear a scarf from now on."
"Why?"
"I don't like other men seeing this hair. It should be for me only to enjoy."
She laughed lightly. "It is a good thing you will not know me when I am grey, like the fisherman's good wife. Then my one beauty will be gone."
His head rustled in the hay as he looked up at her, but he did not respond. Tonight his eyes were brooding, at times pensive. The desire to soothe his anxiety, rid him of worries, grew stronger by the moment. Vivienne had never thought of herself as the nurturing sort of woman, but suddenly that was what she longed to be. She stroked one finger along the stubble of his cheek.
"And you, Bonnenfant, will lose all your hair and grow a paunch. I daresay we would not recognize one another, twenty years from now. You might see me in a market somewhere and never know..."
He reached for her face and drew it down for a kiss, a lingering, thoughtful caress of firm lips to soft lips first, then shy tongue to cautious tongue.
"...the woman who once saved your life," she added.
A slow, unsteady smile pulled on the corners of his mouth, but still he said nothing.
Vivienne moved down his body and licked his cock from root to tip, before taking it in her mouth. Her hand gently held the sac, fingertips caressing the sensitive skin, feeling how it twitched and tightened. He still tasted of the herbs that had scented the bathwater and a little essence that was uniquely his. As he swelled in her mouth she increased the rhythm of her sucking, sliding her lips up and down, making him slick and lusty.
Again he whispered her name and she heard the plea in his voice. She moved around in the hay and set herself over his waiting mouth, lowering her head again to take him deep in her throat while he held her thighs and lapped at her pussy. Those strong, steady strokes brought her quickly to a groaning peak. His tongue traced a path to her anus and that skip of nervous excitement danced inside. She was heavy with want.
Bending over in the hay, she presented herself on all fours, hoping he would not see her tremble like a newborn foal. He
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