The following morning, nearing midday, the Sheriff was conducting the town council meeting in the Council Quarters with members of his staff. Not much had changed since the last meeting, and he was eager to proceed to the dungeon with Guy and his Scribe for their second and final meeting with Hector. The Scribe would take down Hector's confession as a matter of record, and the sentence would be read. It was a formal process that needed to be acted upon. Already, preparations were in place for the event, which the Sheriff decided would be the following day. It was an unpleasant task, an uncomfortable situation, and the Sheriff was eager for it to be done.
As the interminable meeting droned on, his thoughts were soon interrupted. The same Black Knight in his militia who spoke at the last meeting was present again at this one. When the Scribe asked around the table if there was anything he missed for the minute taking, the man spoke.
"Yes. If I might implore your lordship once again?" He directed his comment to the Sheriff.
"Yes. What is it?" the Sheriff asked.
"If you'll recall, at the last meeting I spoke of the worn armour some of your men had which needed replacing. The smith indeed created new armour for them. But, alas, we have a new problem."
"I can only imagine." The Sheriff sighed. "What is it now?"
"Some of the hauberks are ill fitting. They are too long." The knight said.
"What?" The Sheriff barked. "You fool. The hauberks are supposed to be at least to the thigh! I'm sure they are the right size indeed." He huffed.
"No, sir. Three of your men have ended up with hauberks past their knees. It interferes with movement."
"Is the smith blind?" the Sheriff retorted.
The knight did not speak, for he knew the question required no answer.
"Fine. The Smith gets one more chance to get it right." The Sheriff said. He looked around the table at the men seated there. "Is there any other points anyone would like to bring to my attention?" he asked. Nobody spoke. The Sheriff arose from his seat.
"I declare this meeting adjourned." The Sheriff said. He nodded to Guy and the Scribe to remain in their seats. After the staff had left, the Sheriff turned to the Scribe.
"Have you drawn up the writ of execution as per my dictation this morning?" The Sheriff asked.
"Yes, my Lord." The Scribe replied. He handed the scroll to the Sheriff.
"And you." The Sheriff said to Guy. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, cousin."
"Good." The Sheriff said. "Let's get this unpleasantness over with."
And so the three men made their way to the dungeon for a final meeting with the Sheriff's former jailer, Hector, before judgement day.
Joseph lead them to where Hector stood – this time he was chained to a wall among the prison populace, but the chains were slack compared to the isolation cell, allowing him slightly more freedom of movement.
"My Lord." Hector said to his former master when they approached.
"Yes." The Sheriff said. "Now, as my Lieutenant told you yesterday, you'd have one more meeting with us. I don't want to get your hopes up, but I would like as a matter of record, for you to tell me what you can of the night you freed our leperous friend."
"Indeed." Hector said. "It is not much, but I will tell you what I remember."
The Sheriff nodded to the Scribe who poised his chalk above his writing tablet ready to begin writing the words of the prisoner. Hector swallowed.
"I brought him his hood. He asked to have his hands unchained so he may position the hood properly." Hector said quietly.
The Sheriff eyed Hector curiously. It seemed a very shallow reason to unchain a murderer!
Hector sensed the Sheriff's disbelief. He continued.
"He said if the seams weren't placed correctly about his head, it was very irritating to his skin."
"So you agreed." The Sheriff said.
"Yes." Hector said.
"What happened then?" Guy asked.
"He said it was time for my reward. Then he beat me. I tried to fight back, but he overpowered me. And then, when I awoke, I was chained in his cell dressed in his garments." Hector exclaimed.
"That is it?" The Sheriff asked.
"Yes."
"That is all you have to say?" The Sheriff repeated.
"That is all I remember." Hector said.
"You have shown yourself to be an accomplice as foolish as insolent." The Sheriff said evenly. He pulled the scroll from under his belt.
"Pay attention." He said to Hector. "Your indictment, and your sentence." The Sheriff remarked as he waved the scroll in front of Hector. Then he unfurled the parchment and began to read:
"Whereas Hector, of the village of Nettlestone, former officer in the Black Knights of Nottingham's Militia, and Jailer of the Nottingham Castle dungeon these last two years, being led astray by evil instigations, contrary to the duty of his allegiance to I, the Sheriff of Nottingham, treacherously assisted in the freeing of a prisoner strongly suspect of multiple murder; I hereby decree the defendant is guilty of treason. Death is deserved, and judgement is this: the defendant shall be taken to the Village Square at high noon on Thursday the fourteenth day of August eleven hundred ninety seven Anno Domini. He shall hang until he be dead." The Sheriff stated nonchalantly.
"No, my Lord! Be merciful! It was not my intent…" Hector was cut off.
"You're beyond mercy, boy." The Sheriff said. "The sentence has been proclaimed by heralds and published throughout the realm."
"No!" Hector cried.
"Not even his supreme pontiff, Pope Celestinus III can save you!" The Sheriff hissed.
"But – that is tomorrow!" Hector exclaimed.
"Indeed." The Sheriff said. "It shall be carried out tomorrow."
Hector sighed. "Then I have but one request." He said.
"You must be jesting!" Guy chortled.
Hector spoke anyway. "I would like my own clothes." He said. "The sooner the better."
The Sheriff stared at him, rather stunned. It was not the usual request he so often heard from prisoners when informed of their sentence of death.
"What makes you think you deserve it?" the Sheriff asked, pointedly.
"Because despite my folly and misgivings, I was always loyal to you." Hector said.
"Ha!" the Sheriff snorted. "You contravened your loyalty to me twice! After my warning, you committed an act more treacherous than the first!" he laughed.
"Yes." Hector relented.
The Sheriff paced back and forth in front of Hector, unnerving all who stood around him, as he took a moment to ponder the request. Then he found that lending thought to the matter was quickly boring him. Finally, he arrived at a conclusion, and spoke before he would change his mind, as he knew he would.
"You may have your own clothes, but they are not to be issued from the uniform of the Black Knights." The Sheriff announced.
Hector nodded.
"You shall stand a peasant on the scaffold tomorrow." The Sheriff sneered. "The only thing you shall represent of the Black Knights, is being the example of what not to do!"
"Yes, my Lord." Hector said.
The Sheriff sighed and nodded to Guy. He folded his arms then moved aside. Guy took over for his cousin, he knew the Sheriff was too irate to continue at this point.
"Tonight you will be visited by the Bishop of Hereford." Guy said to Hector.
"Right." Hector said. "Absolution. Well, you already have my confession."
"It is customary for the Bishop, or another assigned prison chaplain to visit the condemned prisoners." Guy informed him.
"I'll confess to my God. For I remember the time well." Hector said, suddenly finding an inner strength and strangely – peace, that he didn't know he possessed. Even the Sheriff was curious for he turned around and stared at Hector, surprised by his fearlessness.
"The Bishop of Hereford." Hector began calmly. "His alb is not so white – it is marred in the stains of bloodshed. His mitre is not his halo."
The Scribe looked up from his writing tablet, his mouth agape. Both the Lieutenant and the Sheriff stared at Hector in disbelief at his words. He was insulting the Bishop!
"Alas, his pastoral staff is his sword." Hector said quietly.
The Sheriff flew towards him and grabbed Hector by his collar. "You keep this up, traitor, and the manner of death shall not be so merciful as a simple hanging. Your words are lying perilously close to heresy!" The Sheriff growled.
"Heresy. Ha! He's a friend to the Druids!" Hector exclaimed.
"Enough!" The Sheriff barked.
Hector bent his head down, his eyes downcast. For as much as a dying man's freedom of speech was somehow liberating, he knew he must stop. He did not relish the idea of burning at the stake.
"So... it is established that there will be no visit this night granted from the Bishop of Hereford." Guy directed the Scribe to write, taking over from his cousin again, momentarily.
"Indeed." Hector spoke.
The Sheriff drew in a heavy sigh and looked at Hector.
"Do you have anything else to confess, or say at this time? As a matter of record of course." The Sheriff asked.
"No." Hector said. "I'm saving everything for my moment on the scaffold, if I am still permitted to speak."
The Sheriff took another look upon him, then nodded to Guy and the Scribe. They took their leave and left the condemned man to his last moments. There was nothing more to be said.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The day was fair. There was a warm light breeze wafting the scent of heather over the moors beyond the gardens. The sky was azure blue. Large fluffy cumulus clouds floated lazily in the sky as ladies Meridwyn and Rhiannon lay on the soft warm grass side by side, staring up at the scenes the clouds created on its' bright blue canvas, dreaming of their lovers.
Lady Rhiannon was holding a daisy and sniffing the bloom when she spoke.
"My man is rather preoccupied of late, Meridwyn. There is something troubling him."
"Normally I would tell you there is nothing unusual about that." Meridwyn began. "But I've noticed the same thing about Guy?"
"They seem to have a lot to manage being back home. George hasn't even mentioned the wedding to me in quite a few days?" Rhiannon remarked.
"Guy hasn't said another word about our nuptials since he proposed." Meridwyn mused.
"Is that surprising to you? Or would you expect that from him?" Rhiannon prodded.
"Yes, I would say it is indeed surprising." Meridwyn replied. She cleared her throat and looked over at Rhiannon. "Just before I met him he was a raging bastard, but let me tell you something, friend. That man has always been very kind and loving to me. When he asked for my hand the glimmer in his eye was unmistakable." She smiled. "It is very unusual he hasn't said another word to me about it. He hasn't even suggested a date!" Meridwyn exclaimed.
"They've been involved in something together, Meridwyn. I'm certain of it." Rhiannon said as she toyed with the daisy.
"I'm sure they just have a lot of concerns they need to take of care of." Meridwyn assured.
"Yes." Rhiannon said. She thought again about the scroll she saw on the desk in the Council Quarters with the names of the men listed there still wanted by her lover. And the name she knew – listed among them. She quickly cast the thought aside.
"I'm going to do something to get my lover out of his bout of melancholia." Rhiannon announced.
"Oh?" Meridwyn said as she sat up and smoothed her hair. "What is that?"
Rhiannon suddenly shot up, then pulled herself into a standing position looking down at Meridwyn. "I know how much my George wishes to marry. He has said several times – though not lately – he wants to do it soon. And damn it – I kind of like the idea of being his wife!" Rhiannon exclaimed giddily.
"Kind of like your claim to the man that every other maiden in this town – except I, of course – would kill you for!" Meridwyn laughed.
"If you say so." Rhiannon said.
"Oh...indeed." Meridwyn replied as she got up. They slowly made their way back towards the gardens that circled the castle.
"The Sheriff thinks I'm uninterested in the wedding." Rhiannon began.
"Yes?"
"So I'm going to surprise him. He mentioned to me once he knows the best seamstress in Nottingham. Do you know who he could possibly be referring to? I cannot ask him." Rhiannon said.
"There are three I know of, but only one who is highly skilled. Madam Oberon does very fine work. I'm sure the Sheriff refers to her." Meridwyn stated.
"Can you take me to her, Meridwyn? In the morning?" Rhiannon asked.
"Of course. We'll have to make it an early start. It's going to get very busy in the village tomorrow. And the merchants will close their shops early so they can witness the execution." Meridwyn advised.
"Yes." Rhiannon said quietly. She didn't want to think about it.
"It is the first one in three years." Meridwyn said. "It is being talked about all over town. We better be careful. The Sheriff still has enemies. Wait until they find out you are his bride!"
"Well I'm not going to hide it, so they had better get used to it." Rhiannon stated calmly, undaunted by the statement. "Early is fine. I want to be back and locked away somewhere quiet in the castle, long before the execution takes place." She said to Meridwyn.
Meridwyn nodded. "Then we shall leave early. Meet me in the main hall after sunrise."
"I will be there." Rhiannon said.
"How will you explain yourself to the Sheriff?"
"I'm hoping to be gone before he wakes." Rhiannon smiled.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
As they walked the corridors following the meeting in the dungeon, the men didn't speak for some time, then Guy broke the silence.
"Is everything in place for tomorrow, cousin?"
"Yes." The Sheriff said.
"The first execution in three years. It seems a shame he should hang." The Scribe remarked absently.
The Sheriff stopped dead in his tracks and turned to the Scribe. "You know – I really wish people would stop questioning my decision!" He hissed.
"It does seem a little…harsh." Guy proposed.
"How can you say that?" the Sheriff exclaimed. "After all we've been through? He freed a man who could have easily killed our ladies. My child! My child is still in danger because of him. And I'm supposed to forgive that traitorous golden boy for that? Never!" The Sheriff spat. "So get ready. You do remember how to conduct yourselves at a public hanging I trust?" He sneered at the both of them, then continued on his way. Guy and the Scribe followed behind.
"Forgive me, cousin." Guy said as he caught up to him. "Sometimes I forget about the child. It still seems rather surreal."
"Well it will be very real soon. And we must make plans." The Sheriff said. "Do you still have your manor in Nettlestone?" He asked Guy.
"Yes."
"I'd like permission to make arrangements for the child's temporary lodging there until I am wed – if the child arrives before then." The Sheriff said.
"Absolutely." Guy agreed. "But who shall care for the child?"
"I'm going to assign Lady Margaret with a lady in waiting. And I'm going to commission Lady Margaret to find me a wet nurse until Rhiannon can resume the duty." He announced.
"Do you know approximately how old the child is now?" Guy asked him.
"Three months." The Sheriff responded without hesitation.
"You're certain?" Guy asked.
"Yes." The Sheriff said. "Lady Margaret told me she guessed Lady Rhiannon delivered the child only hours before we found her. We found her on Mayday. Mayday is the day of my child's birth." He said solemnly.
"And you shall behold your child soon, cousin." Guy reassured.
"I hope so…" The Sheriff said. Suddenly he longed to hold this child. The one he made with his lady. He was learning as he went along that a man's paternal instinct was innate and primal.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It was late. Duke Farnsworth was traveling through a small village in the north with Richard, the young dark haired knight known for his skills in cartography; and another knight who was older than Richard. He was tall like the Duke, but fair haired with green eyes.
They were casually riding alongside one another, a purple sky ahead on the horizon when the older knight spoke.
"I fear the Blacksmith may be long gone, Duke. I wonder if we shall ever find him?"
"Maybe the other group is having better luck?" Richard interrupted him. "They are following a different map."
The Duke didn't say anything for a moment. He was grateful that Richard was talented, his skills had been useful in many a mission. Suddenly, the Duke had an idea.
"Richard." The Duke addressed him. "Can you draw…people?"
"Yes, I can." Richard smiled.
"Bullocks!" the other guard laughed.
"That is a fact, Nigel." Richard said.
"Prove it!" Nigel challenged.
"Yes." The Duke said. "Prove it. I have a challenge for you. If I described a person to you, could you draw it from my description?"
"I've never attempted it that way, but I could try." Richard said.
"Good." The Duke smiled. "We need to stop somewhere. I have a task for you."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Something was amiss. Rhiannon knew it and had sensed it every day ever since she awakened. The Sheriff was distracted, tense, and unusually quiet. She tried to tell herself she was imagining it, or that perhaps he was worried about her because of her recent illness. But Meridwyn confirmed her suspicions hours earlier, that she was sensing the same thing from Guy. Both men were behaving strangely. Why?
She entered into the den outside of the private chambers. Was she getting ahead of herself with her plans in the morning? What if the Sheriff changed his mind? He hadn't mentioned anything to her about their wedding in days. That was the biggest indicator something was awry. Her eyes caught a light glistening on the table near to the fireplace. There was a candle burning there. Beside it – the silver decanter containing the magical potion. The Sheriff's favourite brandy. He even created a special name for it: tincture of rapture. She was beginning to feel anxious about meeting Madam Oberon. And not just about Madam Oberon, but her reason for seeing her. Was she making a mistake?
And…would the Sheriff be angry if he found some of the brandy had 'evaporated' from the flask? Rhiannon walked toward it, then poured herself a generous libation in a goblet that was available on the table beside it. She remembered what Meridwyn said: "Kind of like your claim to the man that every other maiden in this town – except I, of course – would kill you for!" Rhiannon smiled. It pleased her that she would be his wife. She took a generous gulp of the brandy to quiet her worries. And she remembered the day her eyes cast their first look upon him.
Before they even spoke she felt things for him she was unable to identify. She was almost chilled. For it was as if by a trick of the hand, someone had conjured him to life by looking into her dreams. Her thoughts. Her vision she held in her mind most of her life of her dark prince on a regal black steed who would one day appear – when she ever allowed herself to dream at all. She took another generous swig of the brandy. She was beginning to feel warm and relaxed. And suddenly, she was in the garden, near the garden wall, sniffing a perfect white rose in the afternoon mist. And she could almost hear that chocolate baritone voice speaking – "My lady." My lady. And up close to her he was more perfect than her dreams imagined. She smiled. Maybe Eddie and Robert sent him? That was just like them – looking out for her. If they couldn't protect her, they'd send to her a Sheriff who would.
He was tall with a regal air about him. He was confident and powerful. On first glance he appeared as someone you would dare not cross. Yet at the same time, for Rhiannon, he inspired a need to penetrate through his shell. She was drawn to him straightway. His raven black hair gleamed, it was wavy and fell to his collar. Those eyes. Those fierce, glowing, amber hazel eyes, full of mystery and erotica. His lips were full and upturned almost into a smirk, even when he wasn't consciously smiling. And they were framed by a perfect neat beard that complimented his looks and added to his exotic, mysterious appeal. That was her first close up glance of the Sheriff of Nottingham. And now… she would be his wife.
She took another long draught from the goblet. She was feeling warm, light, and giddy. Remembering what attracted her to her lover. What made her fall in love with him. She was living a perfect life. Rhiannon felt incredibly light and carefree as she carelessly walked to the private chambers. She took the flask of brandy with her, along with the goblet. Once inside, she walked over to a chest where she kept some of her clothes. She opened it and found a pale yellow chiffon scarf the colour of butter which she sometimes wore to cover her hair at mass. She poured more of the brandy into her goblet, filling it again then took a sip. She reached into the chest and extracted the scarf, then took it and her goblet and strode over to the mirror on the wall near the window.
The Sheriff was heading down the corridors, his boots clicked confidently on the stone floor. He was angry. He was tired of being questioned at every turn about his decision to hang Hector. On another note he was angry that he was forced into a position where he had to steal into a woman's home and kill her. And he was most of all angry at the Fallen Knight for tricking him. He was using all of his self control to stop himself from chasing after the bastard. But the Sheriff knew he had to be patient to play this game and win. Unfortunately, patience was a character trait that was beyond the Sheriff's grasp.
He was near to the door of his private chambers when he saw his usual sentry there. He nodded to him, then suddenly noticed Luke with him.
"Good evening, Luke." The Sheriff said to him.
The guard who was training Luke was puzzled. He glanced curiously upon the Sheriff and the new lad he was working with.
"My Lord." Luke nodded to the Sheriff.
"Is uh…." The Sheriff nodded to the other guard as he kept his eyes upon Luke's "he teaching you anything? Being fair to you?"
Luke opened his mouth to respond but lost his opportunity.
"Alfred." The guard beside him suddenly spoke.
"Pardon?" the Sheriff said hurriedly to the other guard.
"My name is Alfred." The guard said.
The Sheriff stared at him curiously, his eyebrow raised.
"I've worked for you for two years." Alfred pointed out. He sighed. How was it that the Sheriff knew the new guy by name after only eight days of service?
"Yes." The Sheriff remarked casually. Then he looked at Luke again. "Is everything to your liking?" the Sheriff asked.
"Indeed, my Lord." Luke smiled.
"Good." The Sheriff said. "Well, I will leave you to Albert then as I retire for the night." He said as he patted Alfred's shoulder then opened the door. Alfred rolled his eyes. After the oak door closed behind the Sheriff, he shook his head and muttered "It's Alfred."
Automatically the Sheriff walked in the direction where his flask of brandy was always kept waiting for him. His mind was so filled with scattered thoughts he wasn't paying attention at all to his surroundings. When he reflexively extended his arm to grasp the decanter was when he was jolted to reality. Where was it? He looked at the table. The decanter was missing. Oddly, there was a silver goblet missing too. Curses! He had ordered the servants never to move it! He needed it. He was angry…
Only two things served to calm him when he was this enraged: the tincture of rapture and wild uninhibited lovemaking. There was nothing like rage as an aphrodisiac. He cast the thought aside as he muttered obscenities under his breath and quickly removed his coat. He tossed it carelessly over a chair as he strode toward the door that lead into the private chamber. He opened the door. And then he stood still at the vision that assaulted his eyes.
Lady Rhiannon stood before the mirror, her back to him. She had a diaphanous buttery yellow chiffon scarf covering her hair and draped across her face as she peered into her reflection. She was laughing and holding onto a silver goblet. Just then she swiftly removed the scarf and threw it on the floor. He folded his arms, a smirk spread across his face as he watched her. She picked up the decanter that sat on the table below the mirror, lifted it to her lips and took a draught from the flask. She was drunk. So his tincture of rapture was gone. It was too far to walk to the cellar for another bottle. It had been a long day. He would have to settle for the other cure. The only other thing that would tame the beast within.
"My lady." He spoke in a low growl.
There were those words again. Rhiannon laughed. "Yes. That is how it all began." Rhiannon said. "My lady!" she laughed.
He walked toward her. She still didn't realize he was there. How much had she drunk? She stirred at the sound of his footsteps and turned around.
"Oh!" She said somewhat startled. "There you are. My prince." Rhiannon sighed as she blinked a few times taking in the sight of him. He was erotically even more handsome when he seemed so far away. So distant. She tried to focus but her vision was blurred. For in fact, he was only two feet away from her. She began to sway. He caught her.
"Would you like a little sip?" She playfully asked as she jiggled the silver goblet inches in front of his face.
He took the goblet from her and downed the remaining contents, what little there was left of the soothing dark amber liquid. "Yes." The Sheriff grinned.
"That's okay." She smiled. "I got more over there!" Rhiannon said as she turned to point to the decanter then nearly slumped to the floor.
The Sheriff's response was swift. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Her gown was open and her breasts peaked through, directly in his line of vision. He carefully placed her on the bed. Then he kicked off his boots and fell beside her on the bed. She looked up at him. She finally found his eyes. They were like pools of amber fire burning into hers. She sat up and faced him.
"In case you haven't noticed, my Lord, I am better now." She teased.
"Yes." He grinned. "I see that." The Sheriff laughed. "But I doubt you will say that in the morning."
Rhiannon caught her breath. Did he know about her plans for the morning? "Why do you say that?" she asked him.
"Oh, I don't know if I should spoil the mood you're in." The Sheriff grinned as he stroked her silky sable hair. It flickered gold and crimson waves of light as the candlelight reflected from it. Then he let his hand wander over her velvety soft shoulder.
Rhiannon shook her head. "No. Tell me." She said.
"Well, you seem to have enjoyed a few goblets of my brandy." The Sheriff began. " And sometimes, the result in the morning after is rather unpleasant."
"It is?" Rhiannon asked.
"Yes. You might not feel so good then." He said.
"Oh." Rhiannon replied. She smiled as she looked into his eyes. He was already stirred by her, but felt something more when she looked at him then. "But I feel good now." She said. Her soft green eyes glistened in desire.
"Yes, I'm sure you do." The Sheriff smiled.
He pulled her in close to him and kissed her hungrily. She became breathless. He explored her mouth with his tongue. Rhiannon felt a warmth travel through her body, it made her hungry for more. Suddenly they were caught up in a spell. A lovers spell so primal that neither of them could ever back down. The Sheriff slowly removed her gown as he kissed her. Then he quickly broke free and quickly took off his tunic casting it aside.
"I need my skin to be next to yours." He growled. She pulled him back down beside her and he reclined back to the silky down pillows. She began to kiss him and let her lips softly trail downward. Over his soft beard, his neck, over his smooth chest and muscled abdomen. Her kisses were soft, and feather light. Her caress was setting him afire. He remembered what she did for him that night near the waterfall. What she did to him with her tongue. He wanted more of it. He gently placed his hands on either side of her head and encouraged her toward the part of him he wanted her to taste.
Rhiannon smiled. So he did like what she did for him then? She was never really sure, and too embarrassed to speak of it again. She obliged. She slowly reached over, untied the strings to his codpiece and cast it aside. Then she slowly unlaced his breeches. The soft fabric caressed his skin as it fell away, open to her touch.
She took him in her hand expertly working him to a heightened state of arousal. He gasped when he felt her tongue touch him, and her lips enclose him. The soft touch of her tongue encircling, teasing, and stroking him along with her hand. His heart began to race and he felt a heat course through him. In his dreams he never would have imagined a lady who would be willing to please him like this. When in fact most maidens had appeared to be afraid of his touch. Her movements were slow in the beginning, until she gradually picked up the pace into a heightened frenzied rhythm. His need was overpowering. He forgot himself and grasped her head lifting her from him. She looked up into his eyes. In a glance she felt that sudden familiar hot desire he created in her as he burned his eyes into hers. He sat up and turned her over. She grabbed onto the bed frame when he grabbed her hips from behind her and carefully pulled her toward him then thrust himself into her.
She never knew it could be like this. So raw. So intense. So primal - like animals mating. But for some bizarre reason, she liked it. Every time they were together he took her to new places, new heights. And like a drug, alas, like the tincture of rapture, it always left her wanting more.
The Sheriff reached around and touched her soft firm breasts as he bent forward and leaned in close to her ear.
"My lady. You are so beautiful…" He breathed as he moved inside of her.
She was dizzy with ecstasy. The feel of him moving within her. The erotic sounds of his voice in her ear. His warm breath on her neck. His soft whiskers tickling her skin. His touch. Alas, the effects of the brandy. How much did she drink? Why had she never felt anything like this when they were together before, she wondered. It was all so different. So incredible. The sensations so heightened, so intense.
"I love the way you touch me." Rhiannon sighed as she arched her back. "Give me more, my love." She breathed as she matched her movements to his. And he did. Over and over, until they fell asleep exhausted, hours later. Their bodies glistening in sweat as they clung to one another like the stars did in the sky.
The sky changed from navy blue to purple when dawn loomed. The executioner checked the knot of the noose that hung from the gallows before daybreak. It was secure. He was satisfied.