CHAPTER ONE
It is a quiet night at in the Inn. Since Maidenpool is now under the command of Lord Randyll Tarly, a harsh and just man, little goes on in the evenings. A few Tarly men sit together at a table with cups of ale or wine. Their conversation quiet and to a minimum. Ash Hill sat by herself by the big hearth. Enjoying the heat on this cold night. Winter is coming as the Starks say, or said. Most the members of the family were dead or missing from what little she heard about them these days. A snow has begun to fall. She can see the fat, fluffy flakes swirling by the wide common room windows. It only started moments ago since she walked in the door and already there is a thick dusting laying over everything.
The Inn was new. You could smell the fresh timber and paint. It has been raised by Tarly soldiers over the ruins of the last inn. What the name of it was then, Ash Hill couldn't tell you but now it bore the name, Lord's Inn. An innkeeper comes out to refill the soldiers' cups and notices Ash sitting by the fire.
"Can I get you anything, ser?" He is thin. His hair the color of the snow outside. He has a long, purple scar down the side of his face. Shiny in the light of the fire. The blade that did it barely missed his right eye. Ash pulls her hood down from her short, shaggy, dark blonde hair and meets his face with her own grey eyes. The innkeeper's own brown eyes widen at his mistake, "Sorry, m'lady. I didn't realize."
"No offense given. And I'm no lady." Ash Hill puts two coppers on the table. "Chicken, if you got it. And wine. That will do nice." The innkeeper nods, taking the coppers and rushing to the kitchen behind the bar. Ash turns her eyes to the soldiers, who are looking her way. When her eyes meet theirs, they quickly look back to each other and their cups. She knew she would get no trouble from them. Lord Tarly kept his men in order.
She pulls off her soft leather gloves and unclasped her thick, woolen cloak-shrugging it off on the chair. Underneath she wears linen and wool under chain mail and boiled leather; a jacket of dark blue roughspun; thick, woolen tights and, worn and supple leather boots that go no higher than her calf. A short sword belted around her waist. Along with a dagger. She also keeps a finger knife up her sleeve. All her weapons are well oiled, sharp and deadly. A heavy canvas pack rests between her feet. No sigils or house colors are seen on any of her garb. She belongs to no one. Her allegiance resides with herself. A bastard girl from Casterly Rock. Looking for a shadow of her past.
The innkeeper returns from the kitchens with a steaming plate of honeyed chicken, a loaf of bread, some cheese and the wine she had asked for. Setting the plate before her, he again checks with the soldiers who waves him away. They rise from their seats. Some eye her as they walk out into the snowy night. Ignoring their glances she tore apart her loaf and dips it in the honey and grease that runs off the chicken. After weeks of surviving on game and wild plants, this meal was a feast to her. The wine was good. Full-bodied and not too sweet. But strong. It warms her insides as nicely as the fire is doing for the outsides.
Halfway through the meat and the wine, the innkeeper returns to fill her cup.
"Will you be staying the night?"
"I was hoping too. I've traveled far today on foot." She lost her mount and most her supplies to outlaws a few days ago. Almost her life. She had to use all her skills to evade them. Her old master-at-arms told her she could disappear like a ghost and fight like a banshee. She had always been tall for her age. Slender and strong. Fiercely beautiful, but dangerous. No man laid a hand on her, unless welcomed.
She lays a silver on the table this time. The snowy haired man makes it disappear.
"A room ready up the stairs. Three doors 't the right." He hurries off again. She doubts she'd be seeing him again. He probably won't show himself til after she retires.
She has a knack for making men uncomfortable. They don't like seeing a woman dressed like them. And they like it even less when they saw the blade hanging from her waist. That never bothered her. If anything, it usually worked to her advantage. She trained with the best master-at-arms in the Seven Kingdoms. Not even Jaime Lannister was a match for her grace and speed in the yard. But the difference between her and the Kingslayer? He was a man. When the time came for the boys to go off to war, she was always left. Most the boys she trained with held her in contempt. They were jealous or they thought her too low-born to train with them. Jaime was different. He enjoyed fighting with her in the yard. Most times he would pick her over his peers. He was older than her by six years but in skill they were equals. But even he left her in the end to become a knight of the Kingsguard. But, it wasn't him, she searched for. Even after of the reports of him going missing from his camp.
Finishing the last of her meal and draining the last of her wine, she stood and put her pack on her shoulder. After months of drinking only water, the wine makes her head swim. She reaches back for her cloak and makes her way up the fresh wooden stairs to her room.
CHAPTER TWO
Eight and twenty years ago, Ash Hill was born in the fortress of Casterly Rock. The seat of House Lannister. Her mother, Melaena, was head washerwoman for the Rock. She made sure the lords and ladies kept their silks, linens, and Myrish lace fresh and unsoiled. Her father, was an unknown knight. Probably in the service of the Lannisters' or not, it mattered little to Ash and her mother.
Her mother never talked about him. She probably didn't know who he was anyway. She received her good looks from her mother. But her mother chose to use them looks to make extra coin on the side. Her mother had many "suitors" who would visit her in the small hours of the evening after she would put young Ash to bed.
She too was a fierce woman, who very few took advantage of. She ran her washroom like a well oiled machine. And woe to the girl who forgot to do her duties. Her mother was sharp and heavy-handed. But she could be loving and soft as well. Even when her hands, cracked and dry from the soap, she still knew how to soothe and comfort. The reason she chose to entertain the knights and take the extra coin was so Ash was free to be a child. She didn't want to see her daughter work her hands to the bone in the washroom.
Being the hard worker that her mother was she had earned the love of the Lannisters. Lady Joanna was particularly fond of Melaena. Often visiting her mother with gifts. Skirts, dresses, even small toys for young Ash. Ash and her mother were often invited to feasts in the hall.
After the death of Lady Joanna, Tywin still invited them every so often and made sure they received small favors. He knew his wife's love for Melaena and Ash. Though, he never visited them in the washroom like Lady Joanna had done.
When Ash turned six, Lord Tywin announced a tourney in Lannisport. King Aerys II Targaryen was coming to the West. And word around the wash room was, Tywin planned to betroth his daughter, Cersei, to the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. Her mother was kept more busy than usual with all the rich clothes and fabrics brought that needed cleaned and mended. She would miss the tourney, but she gave Ash her permission to go.
The day of the tourney, she raced through the streets with the others. All children whose parents were in service at the Rock. The tourney was held outside the walls of Lannisport. They arrived at the start.
Lord Tywin Lannister, a familiar face to her since she lived in the castle, came out with his twins, Jaime and Cersei (his other son, Tyrion, a boy of two was nowhere to be seen). The crowd cheered. He made a short speech, most of which Ash couldn't make out from her distance. He then introduced the King. It was her first time seeing his Grace. To her he didn't look very kingly. He was handsome with his silver hair and lavender eyes but his face was too stern. His eyes never stayed on one thing for too long. Even the small folk around her didn't cheer half as hard for him as they did for their lord. But then, Prince Rhaegar rode out. The crowd exploded! He made his way around the tourney grounds. As he rode by her, she could make out the purple of his eyes through his visor. His armor was black. His chain mail gold. From his helm flew ribbons of many colors.. And something stirred in her, he was a true dragon. She knew right then and there.
He made his way back to the dias where his father and Lord Tywin stood. He jumped down from his horse. A squire rushing out to take the horse in hand. He removed his helm and approached the dias. His long silver hair spread across his shoulders as he clasped Lord Tywin's hand. He nodded to Jaime and when he reached Cersei, you could see his lips move and the shy smile spread across the young girl's face. The prince took her hand in his and kissed it. He turned and waved to the commons before donning his helm to take his place with the other competitors.
When the tourney started, to Ash Hill it was a whirl of activity! She would need four sets of eyes just to take it all in. The knights! The colors! The fanfare! The music! Merchants were everywhere. They were selling trinkets, food, drink. She had seen tourneys before but never in this kind of splendor.
That night, before she made her way to bed. She visited her mother in the busy washroom. She recounted everything. Even mimicking the best thrusts during the joust. Her mother laughed and told her to mind herself. But Ash knew in her heart, as unattainable as the dream would be, she would become a knight.
CHAPTER THREE
She woke to the bright white light of a morning that can only mean snow on the ground. The room she was in was surprisingly clean and flea-less. The mattress lumpy with straw poking out but they gave her enough blankets not to notice.
There is a frosty bite to the air. She wraps a blanket around her shoulders and looks out the window. Snow covers everything in a thick blanket. It sparkles in the rising sun. Villagers and merchants are already up and going about their day of work and customs. She dresses quickly and makes her way downstairs. The inn is almost as deserted as it was last night. A few men sit at the bar, drinking ale and eating breakfast. She sits down at the same table by the hearth that she had accompanied the night before. The innkeeper is no where in sight but a woman is waiting on the patrons. She is just as thin as the innkeeper with long salt and pepper hair. At first Ash thinks maybe it is his wife but they are too alike in looks, it could only be his sister.
"Breakfast is free but if you want something to drink you'll have to pay. If you need me for anything else just call for Marly." She says as she bustles over to Ash, wiping tables and straightening chairs along her way.
"I'll pay for ale. And I'll take the breakfast as well."
"That'll be a copper for the ale and I'll be back with the breakfast." She makes her way back to kitchens. "Pate! Ale by the hearth!"
A boy appears after she vanishes through the door. He is carrying a flagon of ale with a cup in the crook of his elbow. His other arm is missing, along with his left eye. Dark hair covers his head and the remaining eye was a vivid blue.
Even with the village being rebuild, the signs of war were everywhere. You can't rebuild over scars and lost limbs. The boy, Pate, places the flagon on the table with the cup. Before he can leave, Ash gives him two coppers. One for the ale and one for him. He smiles at that. His teeth smashed and splintered. Her heart weeps for him as she watches him move behind the bar to pour for the men sitting there.
She knows she needs to find somewhere to stay for the winter. She doesn't have enough coin to stay here. Maidenpool was not an option. The Riverlands had been too ravaged by war. It would be a surprise if any would have some semblance of a harvest saved. The Vale? Maybe. But getting there would be difficult. In her travels she hears stories of the mountain clans. A lone traveller such as herself, going there would be suicide. Her only option this close to Maidenpool would be the Quiet Isle.
The Quiet Isle, run by a guild of sworn brothers to the Faith of the Seven. Women are not allowed to join them but they do offer shelter to them. She had never been there but has heard of the place many times. The only problem was getting there. There are only two ways. Either wait for the tide to go out and walk, that is a perilous journey for those who did not know the way, which Ash did not. Or you could wait for the ferry to come in. When and where she did not know. But it was her only chance. And the island might be the only chance for her to survive this winter.
Marly returns from the kitchen with Ash's breakfast. She sets a plate of three hard-boiled eggs, greasy bacon, fried bread and a corner of cheese. Along with that she adds a small serving of salt.
"What are my chances of getting to the Quiet Isle?" Ash asks before Marly can slip away again.
Marly considers her for a moment. "The ferry. The Elder Brother been running the ferry every day just after high tide. Lots of women and children need a place to stay for the winter. I'm guessing you do too."
Ash smiles. "Too right, my lady."
Marly smiles at the "my lady" part.
"It will take you two days to get to Saltpans. The ferry pulls in at the docks. I wouldn't come empty-handed if I was you. Or at least offer some service. The brothers only take women who wouldn't else survive on their own." With that Marly goes back to her work, yelling at Pate to feed the hogs.
She would need a horse. That would take the last of the money she had. The snow was getting deep. She finishes her breakfast.
Clasping her cloak beneath her chin, she pulls up the hood and steps into the bright, snowy day.
CHAPTER FOUR
Her mother made a deal with the master at arms, Ser Benedict Broom, to help train her daughter in the way of the sword. Even at the age of six, Ash knew what that deal entitled. She didn't care though. Every morning after her mother left for the washroom, she would get up and meet the other boys in the yard. She would only be allowed to train with the pages. Boys training to one day, in hopes, to be squires. Again, that didn't bother her either.
Ser Benedict was more than impressed with her skills. In a few months, she was better than boys who had trained since they were out of their swaddling clothes. Not one could match her speed or grace. She might not have been as strong as them but she never tired. And her strength grew everyday.
By the age of seven, Ser Benedict started training her with the squires. Most of them were high-born. Some the sons of knights sworn to House Lannister. Out of the highborn squires, there were two very much on their way to an early knighthood, Jaime Lannister and Gregor Clegane. Gregor was so large and strong at the mere age of 11 that he didn't train with the boys, so much as utterly destroy them. He often didn't show up for training but when he did, the squires trembled. Rumor had it that he tried to kill his younger brother, a boy no older than Ash herself. And more rumors flew around the early death of his sister as well. Luckily for Ash, Ser Benedict never put her against Gregor, even the few times he decided to show up for training. Jaime Lannister, however, welcomed her graciously. After he saw her fight, he wanted nothing more than to test her himself. When she beat him the first time, she was the only one he wanted to fight with from then on. He said Ash was his only true challenge in the yard, aside from Gregor Clegane. But Gregor was a challenge for all of them.
Jaime was seen in the yard all the time. Sometimes with his five-year old dwarf brother in tow. Sometimes with his twin sister, Cersei, who would watch him almost obsessively. But never did she ever see the three siblings together, unless at table. Jaime would fight any boy who was there and if the yard was empty and Cersei no where in sight, he would help train his brother, Tyrion. He only did it when no one else was around. Not out of embarrassment for himself, but for his brother. Tyrion would be no squire. His stunted growth and twisted legs had seen to that. But the smile he got on his face, when Jaime wrapped him in padding and handed him a tourney sword was enough to know that he didn't care. Ash would watch them sometimes. Not out of cruel curiosity. Just to see that one sweet moment between two brothers.
One day, Ash made her way down to the yard. She wanted to practice on her own but secretly wished that Jaime was there. To her delight, he was. But something was wrong. His face was set and he was hacking at a straw man with all his might. Ignoring all form or composure. At first she thought of leaving him, but he saw her. He stopped. Sweat ran down his face, his golden curls were soaked with it. His green eyes only showed one emotion: anger. He nodded brusquely at her. She crossed the yard to the small armory. Choosing her usually tourney sword, she picked her own straw man and started to practice.
"He took my sister." Jaime spoke from behind her. She stopped and looked at him, puzzled.
"Father. He thinks to try to wed my sister to Rhaegar." He said the prince's name like a curse and threw his sword to the ground. It clanged and clattered to the cobbles. He pushed his right hand through his sweaty hair, while making a tight fist with the other. "Even after the first time Aerys rejected his offer, he is still trying to press this marriage." Ash didn't know what to say. Didn't know if it was her place to say anything.
Jaime didn't seem to notice Ash's muteness. "He's staying in King's Landing. Cersei is staying with him." He punched the strawman so fiercely it wobbled on its balanced legs, but didn't go down. They are made to withstand harder hits than punches thrown by angry brothers.
"I don't feel like practicing today. I'm leaving as well. Father's sending me to Crakehall to squire for Lord Sumner." He stalked to the gate.
Ash's stunned silence finally broke. "Jaime." She said barely above a whisper. He heard her and stopped without turning. That's all she could think to say. Just his name.
With a slight turn of his head, he regarded her with one green eye. "Never let anyone tell you 'no'." And with them last words he was gone.
She didn't see him again. Two years went by, last word she heard of Jaime was he had fought with Lord Sumner Crakehall against the Kingswood Brotherhood. The battle was in the crown's favor and Jaime was knighted on the field by Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.
CHAPTER FIVE
Finding a horse was easy. Finding a good horse was harder. After some asking and some haggling she bought a painted mare from a Tarly knight. He said he had found her wandering after a battle. Three silvers and 4 coppers later and she's riding out the gates of Maidenpool.
She had stopped at the inn one last time and spent the last of her money on supplies. A rasher of bacon, 2 loaves of bread, a small wheel of cheese and a skin of their good wine. The road from Maidenpool to Saltpans is mostly clear of snow but abundant in slick mud from all the wagons and wayns going to and from here and Saltpans. Tarly's new project is the rebuilding of Saltpans. Her mare picks her way nimbly and the journey is easy-going. It is bright and sunny. Yet brisk and cold. She wrapps a wool scarf over her mouth and nose. And pulls her cloak tight about her as she rides. It is the makings of a cold, long winter. And this is just a tip of it. As she walks her mind wanders. Her search would be put on hold by this winter. If she is lucky enough to get offered shelter on the Quiet Isle, she would be stuck there till Spring. And even then, would he survive the winter? Was he even alive now? She admits to herself, and not for the first time, that her search is hopeless. But she has to press on. There is nothing left for her. More worries, and there are many, passed through her mind that day.
It takes her all day to get to the halfway point. She finds a burned out barn. After inspecting it, it is clear that Tarly's builders are using it for shelter. The roof is partly caved in but half of it still stands. The rest has been cleared and chopped into firewood, which is piled neatly in a corner. A fire pit ringed in old, unmortared stones was under what is left of the roof. Ash Hill is grateful no one but her will be using it tonight. Underneath the roof the snow has not landed. She chooses some good bits of wood and makes a fire for the night. After the heat was up, she places some bacon across a stick. Just high enough for the flames to cook the bacon but not burn the stick. After eating a small meal of bacon, cheese and bread. She throws some fresh wood on the fire, and falls asleep under her cloak.
CHAPTER SIX
There wasn't much to say about Robert's Rebellion. No one really knew what had started it. The kidnap of the Stark girl or the madness of the Mad King? All anyone knew was that it happened and the realm bled for it. Ash was three and ten when it ended. A maid newly flowered. Every male eye was drawn to her. She had no interest in boys or men. All she cared about was swords. Her skills had grown farther than just practicing with squires in the yard. Even Lord Tywin started to notice her when he returned from the war. She often saw him watching her from his tower window with his pale green eyes. If she happened to look up and see him, he would nod and turn back to his lord's business. He never spoke to her though. Not directly. But one day her mother presented her with a sword. It was beyond her mother's means to acquire such a well made piece of steel. It was obviously made in the castle by the master armorer. It bore his mark. Ash took it with awe. Her mother beamed proudly.
"How?" She asked in astonishment. Never taking her eyes from the steel. Her mother smiled secretly, kissed her daughter on the head and left the room. Ash went back to her training with renewed vigor. And shortly after that she met him.
He was tall. But not as tall as his brother. Long black hair was parted just the right way to cover the left side of his face. His eyes so darkly brown they were almost black. He came to Casterly Rock after the Rebellion. It was said he had killed his first man at two and ten. She saw him for the first time fighting with three squires. Hacking at them relentlessly. Driving them back. For being so big, he had a grace and speed his brother lacked. The squires yielded one by one. He stripped off his helm and made his way to the armory where Ash was. Ash had always been a bold girl and this new boy intrigued her. She asked him his name. He just stared at her. Looking her up and down in her chain mail and leather pads with her new sword strapped to her hip. Without a word, he hung up his pads and armor and left the yard.
Normally she took her dinner with her mother. But this day she snuck herself into the feast hall. The knights all liked her and most paid her no mind. Except a few who shouted bawdy remarks about her mother or herself. She saw him seated off by himself. She thought that he would be seated with Lord Tywin's other Bannerman. She stole a plate of practically untouched food from a knight who had passed out from drink. And sat directly across from Sandor Clegane. He looked up. Ash introduced herself. She talked and talked and talked. He never said a word. Every day she snuck herself into the feast hall and every day she sat with him. There was something about him and she really didn't know what. By the third week, he started to answer her prattle with grunts. By the end of the month he was talking back. By the end of the year they were practicing together in the yard.
He didn't hold back from her. He was stronger but she was faster. And they always left with equal amount of bruising. After a day of some rather vigorous training she was playfully attacking him in the small armory. Poking him with a blunted wooden sword while he removed his armor. Sandor grabbed her by the arm and twisted her toward him. Her back slammed into his chest. Laughing as he tried to grab the wooden sword she turned around in his embrace. Using her leg she managed to trip him up. He fell on his back but took her with him. Their foreheads slammed together as they landed. Cursing, she rubbed hers. Opening her eyes she found herself laying on top of Sandor, the boy everyone called the Hound. His right arm was around her back, his left resting on her hip. Their legs twisted together. His eyes looking into hers. She stared back, her face reddening. He quickly realized what was happening and pushed her off. He grunted a quick good-bye and stalked off, pulling his hair back over his burns. She was on the ground still. Her forehead still hurt. But every part of her was numb. Except for a warmth for Sandor she had never felt before for any boy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
She wakes the next morning, cold. Her fire is ashes. She stands and rubs her arms. She tries jumping up and down to get her blood flow going. Her breathe frosts the crisp morning air. After a bite of cheese and a couple swigs of her wine skin, she is on her horse. The going was slower than before. She worries that she won't make it to Saltpans before dark and will have to camp on the road again. She isn't sure she will be as lucky as she was finding the barn and the wood. The thought of having to dig through deep snow to find wood for a fire did not cheer her. She sits in her saddle taking sips of wine to keep herself warm and her spirits up.
Her luck wins out again. She arrives in Saltpans shortly after dark has settled. The town is nothing more than a few wooden shacks, recently built and all of them uninhabited, and the castle that belonged to House Cox. Why Tarly has decided to rebuild the town after what happened... It is too close to winter for anyone outside the castle to think of surviving here. Ash decides to weather the night in the new stable. The beginnings of what looks like an inn are beside it. There are piles and heaps of building supplies lying around everywhere. She leads her horse into the stable. She decides a fire isn't a good move around all this fresh wood and hay. She uses the hay to make a sort of bed/nest for herself. Wrapped up in her cloak with her hood pulled over her head, she is able to get warm enough and comfortable enough to fall asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lady Cersei had been betrothed to newly crowned, King Robert Baratheon. Casterly Rock was drunk with excitement. That day in the practice yard, Sandor Clegane told Ash that Lord Tywin was sending him to King's Landing as part of Cersei's personal guard. She was silent. She didn't know what to say. He was leaving her too.
"Ash?" Sandor looked at her quizzically. She left. She couldn't let him see her cry. It wasn't out of pride. But anger. Everyone left her. She was always left. Jaime. Now, him. A boy she was falling in love with. She hated herself and her stupid girl feelings. Not for the first time did she wish she was a man. The small apartments she shared with her mother were empty. Malaena busy with her duties in the washroom. Ash threw herself on her bed and sobbed and screamed and sobbed some more. By dark, her eyes were dry and red. She heard her mother enter sometime after midnight. She pretended to be asleep. Her mother smoothed back her hair and kissed her forehead. Then laid in the big double bed they shared. Her mother's head had barely touched the pillow and she was deeply asleep. Malaena worked hard and slept fast.
Ash slowly raised her head from her pillow. Slowly, she swung her legs down and her feet touched the cold stone floor of their sleeping chamber. With her resolve set, she left their apartments under the washroom and made her way to the upper parts of the castle.
If someone had stopped her that night and asked her what she was doing, she could never have answered. Until she stood in front of Sandor's bedchamber door, she had no clue. Every since his older brother inherited Clegane's Keep, Sandor had taking to staying at Casterly Rock.
Wearing just her nightshirt, she pressed her ear to the door of his room. She could hear nothing but silence. She thought maybe he had stayed up late with the other knights and bannerman celebrating Cersei's betrothal. She checked the latch and the door swung inward. Pushing with her fingertips, she entered his room. Sandor was sleeping on his back. The moonlight poured in his window and on him. His legs were tangled in his blanket, she could tell he was naked. His chest well muscled in the moonlight. One arm was thrown crossed his face. The other rested at his side. His breath was soft but deep.
She whispered. "Sandor?" Nothing. A little louder. "Sandor." He moved his arm from his face. His brow furrowed but his eyes didn't open. His burns were uncovered by his hair. They stood shiny in the moonlight. The agony that wound caused him physically and mentally made her heart hurt. Looking about his room she spied his candle sitting in an alcove. She moved softly across the room and lit it. When she turned around with the lit candle, Sandor's eyes were staring at her.
"What are you doing here, Ash, you should be sleeping." He pushed himself up and rested on his elbow. Ash bit her lip. What in seven hells was she doing? Her face flushed and she thanked the dim light of the candle that he didn't see it. Pushing her doubts aside she crossed the room to him. Reaching over his narrow bed she put the candle on the window sill. Then with hands free she leaned over Sandor and kissed him. He didn't resist. But he was surprised. She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. Grey eyes into black. He went to move his hair over his burn but she grabbed his hand.
"Don't." She said. He frowned at her. The hand she wasn't holding went gently behind her head. This time he kissed her. Her whole body responded. She did nothing to stop what happened next. She kissed him back fiercely. Putting a leg on either side of him. She let go of the hand she held and he put it on her hip. She cupped her hands around his face. The roughness of his left side. The smoothness of his right. His new beard tickled her face. But her lips never left his. He moved his hand down from her hair to her cheek. To her neck. Her shoulder. Brushing lightly against her breast and down her side to rest on her other hip. Her hips rocked against his and she could feel his manhood stiffen under his sheet.
Everything was out of control. Her lips. Her body. Her hands. She felt her hands move from his face and slid down his chest. She reached for the hem of her nightshirt and pulled it over her head. Only then did their kiss break. He stared at her. Her face. Her breasts. The dark hair between her legs. His breath was ragged when he pulled her back to him.
It hurt when he entered her. But she hardly noticed. He was on top of her now. His lips kissing her neck. Her breasts. Coming back to her lips. She pushed herself against him. Taking him deeper inside. His breath caught in his throat and he moaned against her cheek. He pulled out of her and laid his head against her chest. Sandor was a man of hardly any words and taking her maidenhood had not changed that. She fell asleep with him in his bed with her maiden's blood wet between her thighs.