Hallelujah holiday week! I have extra time, and so you get more chapters to read! Cheers!

Chapter 22

The knock on the chamber door was assertive enough not to be missed, but not so aggressive that it was inappropriate for the first light of day. Typically Ursa Gresham was left to repose a little longer, while Loren would have been up to receive news for the morning and being his normal day.

With no Lord to run the daily dealings, Ursa rose to the task eagerly. Both figuratively and literally; she was up, dressed and fresh for the morning to open the door at the first knock. The House Butler bowed at the other side and she bid him a good morning, and accepted several letters presented to her as the two walked amiably down to breakfast.

The House was still a little more silent than it should have been. The past two days of revelry and imbibing had left everyone careful of foot and tender of head. The Lady smiled to herself as even she had felt fuzzy and overly tired the day prior, having danced for hours, and drank several more goblets more than her normal conservative amount. But all was well; no one in the House was truly worse for wear, and things would return to their normal schedule soon enough anyway.

Ursa basked in the satisfaction in knowing that the House, largely, ran and operated without anyone needing to snap at anyone's heels. The people whom they employed were both well-cared for, housed satisfactorily, were allowed time to spend with their own families, and were paid. It had shaped their House into a place where generations of families had come to live and work for them here, as well as marry and raise families of their own.

Loren, for all his faults, was a bit of a visionary in this regard. Even in the House of her birth, Ursa's parents had not invited the families of vassal Houses, and working staff to revel in the Great Halls with them. There were some members of staff that were certainly closer to her mother and father than others, but there had always been a pointed division in classes. Much like a caste system.

Ursa's mind, for the second time in as many days, though admittedly after as many years as her children had been alive, found herself reminiscing about the days of her youth, and the many memories she'd tucked away to herself when she had been taken from the House to a summers-long procession of Houses to meet eligible Lords.

The Lady counted herself lucky; she had been resistant to the idea of marrying at that time, at least, in the way that her parents had demanded. Undeniably as an ultimatum. She recalled, but she had, admittedly, found herself traitorously interested in Loren when she had met him. His dashing dark eyes, and roguish smile had caused her to blush as her mind raced with all manner of wanton thoughts, as he'd brazenly looked her over, appraising her positively.

Though undeniably still a maid herself, the doors of desire had not been so mysterious that she did not know what they were. She had never so much as breathed a word to Loren about this at the time; no Lord wished to know that his future-wife came to him with anything less than a strictly virginal mind and soul. And while Loren had sent her dashing glances, and touched her hands with lingering tenderness, Ursa had allowed herself to accept that the path she stood on would eventually lead to her ascending as Loren's wife, and Lady, and in this she would be happy. And as her future-husband wooed her with his clandestine seductions, and his charm, Ursa demurred and abashed herself as she knew she ought, despite that he was not the first man to have been captivated by her.

Though Ursa was blessed more than most wives to do as she wished with her days, there were always limitations to what was possible. It was a simply fact that a wife was not a Lord: She had her station, and with it were expectations and limitations. It came with many benedictions, but burdens as well.

Still, she had found happy times in her life. She had not been sold off as many young Ladies were, to a marriage with no affection whatsoever. Though she would never breathe so much as a word to another living soul; her marriage match had not been the one that her heart had wanted, but it had been the one that her station had demanded.

The Lady sighed and wiped her somber musing aside, for she dared not entertain their traitorous roots in the presence of such strong Masters such as Sirius and Rune, she entered the breakfast Hall to join the company.

There had been no waiting for her arrival, and the four young folk had dug summarily into their respective meals, bantering back and forth passionately about a design flaw in jumping saddles. The Lady made no protest that there was no formal acknowledgement of her arrival, and was contented to slip into a chair, and begin her own meal.

The Masters Black and Mora were both in attendance, though it seemed Sirius was a degree or so worse for wear. He smiled, wanly, sipping a piping hot brew and slowly making his way through his plate. When she bade the two a good morning, it came as a moment of hesitation when she realized that Master Mora had not actually responded to her. Instead she found the gruff woman had glanced her way coldly. Ursa decided to pay it no mind; it was likely that the reveling and imbibing had some lasting effects on the two, and she respected that not everyone was as chipper in the morning as she. That, at least, was one of the first lessons she had learned as a new wife.

Between the sedate tone amidst the adults, and the stark contrast of the elation of the younger four attendants seated at the table, the meal was over quickly. Before the little troupe could rise, Sirius bade them permit him a quarter of an hour before the start of their first meal, and that he expected them to be present in the Great Hall for their lesson.

The four agreed readily and scattered from the table, almost too-quickly, Ursa realized. She brushed it off; there was truly little trouble the four of them could get up to in that short of a time span, so she thought it best not to dwell too long upon it.

It was clear Sirius himself was distracted, as he abandoned his dish not long after and excused himself as well, following an apology to Ursa, and a nod of acknowledgement to Rune. The Master only grunted her reply to her fellow, and stuck to minding her own sphere of presence.

The sudden quiet in the Hall was in stark contrast to the moments before, and Ursa found that in clearing her throat slightly, it was a deafening break of the peace. Rune Mora continued to ignore her, and Ursa shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

The grim lack of conversation made the Lady uneasy. Rune Mora was not a friendly woman on any given day, so her lack of enticing conversation was to be expected, but this felt… different.

"Master Mora, might I enquire as to your wellbeing this morn-"

"You lied to me." Rune interjected abruptly, and Ursa paused, stunned.

"I beg your pardon?" The Master finally looked at her with an expression painted with contempt.

"You. Lied. To. Me." Her words were punctuated, and hard. They took Ursa by surprise in their forcefulness.

"I heard you perfectly the first time. I am merely unaware of what you speak." Ursa shot back, and met the woman's cold blue eyes with her own. The brazenness of the accusation was offensive, and Ursa knew with certainty that it was an untruth. But the Lady would not be cowed with Rune's tactics of intimidation, and she refused to break their eye contact.

"I find that hard to believe, Lady." Rune sneered finally. "You seem the type to maintain your control at all times, so forgive me if I find it difficult to comprehend that you do not know of your own mistruths." Ursa set her drink down with a thud following the insult.

"Master Mora, I will not be spoken to thus beneath my own roof. If I have given you offence, then I beg you to spell it to me, that I might make it right. But if you will not entreat with me, then I cannot admit to my fault." She paused. "But you will not speak to me in this way." Rune mulled this over for a moment in her mind, considering briefly just opening up the Lady's mind and taking the answers for herself. She had no patience for this tête-à-tête, but she recalled how the woman swayed on her feet just two nights past when Rune had wrested into her head the first time, and rather than falling into the abyss of her spell she had panicked to escape.

While Rune had no compunctions about taking information when she wanted it, she understood the mechanics of when a mind had an adverse reaction to her extortions. Rune might not particularly like Ursa Gresham, she couldn't leave her a mad and blithering either.

"The name you gave me, night before last, it was false." Ursa cocked her head to the side, not expecting the answer she received.

"You mean the name of my mother's ladies maid?" She asked with incredulity.

"None other." Rune replied curtly and Ursa scoffed.

"Then explain to me under what assumptions you sit that you presume me to lie about this? The woman has been employed to my father's House since before I was born. Gods above; Merry Riddle helped a midwife deliver myself, and my two youngest siblings. What motive should I possess to lie to you about someone such as this?" The Lady's admission contained no presences, and as she spoke her face revealed no tell-tale signs that she spoke falsely.

Nevertheless, Ursa might not have consciously lied. She could very well believe what she spoke as truth, even though it was not.

"You say you know this woman then. Intimately as a part of your father's House staff? From whence did she come to your father-House? From whence are her origins?" Rune pried further, indelicately. Ursa shook her head.

"I- I-"She stammered. "I don't know. She has ever-been my mother's ladies maid, and closest friend, but I know not from where she hailed to us. I only know that she had a husband, Tom, who was my family's coachman." Rune Mora had risen from the table, her eyes keenly watching Ursa as she spoke.

"That's not all, is it Lady?" The Master ground out, annoyed that the woman was causing her to work do ardently for information that she should just be allowed to take. Further disturbed that despite her own personal vision that she'd conjured, the magic had come back to her without bidding into her dreams the night following.

Rune was accustomed to her dreams being her own. When she called and used her magic, she had come to expect a certain process. This process had been interrupted by this series of insistent and urgent scenes that had both piqued her curiosity, but also deeply disturbed her.

Ursa's hesitation to give her the absolution she needed to complete this puzzle was exasperating in the extreme, but what Rune was prying into were the matters of Ursa's darkest secrets. The Lady stammered again and blushed. Run had walked the length of the table and around to where Ursa sat. Impatiently she plopped her hands on the table next to the Lady with a glaring and expectant expression. Ursa found herself shrinking under the anger and annoyance behind those eyes, and though her recent surge in confidence had given her leave to act more confidently, she discovered that she wavered. She looked away from Rune's piercing blue eyes, and commanding expectation.

"I do apologize if you find my answers false, Master Mora." Ursa whispered out as she continued to look away. "I have given you this information freely and honestly, to the best that I am able. I am sorry if you find me unreliable in this matter." With that, she stood to leave. "Please welcome yourself to any such amenities as you desire. I find that I am no longer myself and retire to my rooms."

The Lady made to leave in haste, and Rune grasp her by the wrist before she could get far away. Reactively Ursa gasped and tried to jerk her hand away, her whole upper body flinching away from Mora. The Master did not release her. "I could take what I wish from your mind, Lady." She said lowly, threateningly. Ursa's eyes were fearful at the thought, but she gathered herself finally.

"Then do it." She spat, fed up with this game of cat and mouse that Rune wove. Her body had started shaking, frightened at the sudden handling of her person, the roughness of it. It reminded her too much of what Loren had done to her, and while her countenance was disposed to be friendly and kind, her body remembered the acts that had been done upon it and betrayed her façade of confidence. "Do it and stop wasting both our mornings." She said. "I have given you what you ask, and you insult me with your doubt and accusations. Imperfect, though I am assuredly, I am not a perjurer."

Rune cocked her head, and her thin lips cracked a little smile before she released her. Her blue eyes narrowed as Ursa returned her gaze and brought her arm back into the safety of her bosom before she whirled on her foot to leave the Hall.

When the Lady was out of sight Rune finally breathed evenly again. "But you are, my Lady. The very best fabricator of them all."

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Trying not to rush out of the breakfast Hall was trying, indeed. Her destination was clearly in mind, but she categorically had to make it seem that she was ambling in her particular path haphazardly, not intentionally. Consciously keeping an eye on Tyt'o and Theo as they slipped off the opposite direction, she looked back over her shoulder almost a dozen times to be certain that she was not in proximity to anyone of importance.

In her focus to ensure her covert plan, she had not kept her awareness of where she was walking, and collided into something in front of her person with a clunk to her left temple. She raised her hand to the spot and snapped her attention to where she had been walking, and found that she had thumped directly into Draco Malfoy, who was equally holding his jaw.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, and blushed profusely. What a dunce she was! Mortification flooded her suddenly and she felt her body heat like an oven. Her normal effusive nature would have included a long string of apologies and a few admonishments about his lack of awareness, but she found herself shy and cowed, hoping that he did not find her a lummox for her lack of graces.

The young man smiled at her, melting away her insecurities. "Well, you managed to find me." He joked, and she chuckled, suddenly nervous under the scrutiny of his gray eyes. Eyes that she had discovered in close intimacy were dashed through in places with what looked like olive or blue, depending on the light. She felt herself suddenly abashed and looked downward under the weight of his appreciation for her.

A scoffing of someone walking sounded somewhere behind the two, and they snapped to attention, both gawking behind her as though they were two fawns without their mother, sensing a predator coming for them. Draco acted quickly, and pulled her to the side where there was a window seat, and leaned into her lips. He groaned as soon as he found them, and she gasped in rapture.

The wasted little time with sweet kisses, and found themselves tangled immediately with each other's tongues. Their prior hesitations and slow-moving pace had escalated into full on young passion. Draco's hands found her waist and wrapped her in his embrace. She, for her part, melted into him without reserve and stroked his biceps and shoulders, up towards his neck and cheeks. The reveled in their newfound boldness together, relishing the surges of innocent sensuality that they played with.

Their little moans, and sighs caused their stomachs to flip-flop in ways they had never experienced, but that spurned them forward into frenzies of deep and passionate kisses. Humming happily, Hermione pulled away first, and peppered kisses to his soft lips as she looked into his eyes. The light of the morning made their color pop and glisten. Her lids were hooded and her breath ragged.

"'Tis good I found you." She breathed, and he grinned fiercely.

"I could not wait to taste your lips again." He whispered, and kissed her again. She moaned into his mouth as the two plundered together the depths of their partner, weaving promises and teasing intentions with their tongues. "So sweet." He managed to say softly, and she chuckled as she kissed him back. His hands squeezed her waist and pulled her torso flush into his body suddenly.

She gasped in surprise, and Draco broke the kiss with a bit of mortification. "I-" he tried. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He admitted sheepishly. Hermione battled momentarily, not certain if she should be offended or not. The gesture was a bit crass, but she had to confess to herself that the sudden direct contact with his body was… Well, it was shocking, but thrilling at the same time. She wrapped her arms around his neck a little more, bringing their bodies back together, and she ghosted her lips across his with a smile. The gesture worked most effectively, and the two resumed their joyous exchanges of kisses once more, this time all deep breaths and trying to fight their smiles so their teeth wouldn't clack together.

The sounds of footsteps and voices were what caused an abrupt end to their stolen moment, and Draco planted one last kiss on Hermione before the two of them smiled, and she made to dash away and return to the Great Hall. Only she darted back quickly and planted a quick peck on his cheek, her copper eyes dancing with exuberance. Their hormonal state was electric and Draco fought his desire to pull her back to him and resume their delicious exchanges, but refrained, painfully.

Seeing her leave was almost as exhilarating as holding her in his arms, for she always looked back at him with a smile over his shoulder. Her skin aglow with her excitement, and her side-long glance mischievous as she carried secret knowledge of their rendezvous. How her curls bounces while she walked, and how her hands wrung themselves with a little nervousness as she trotted off. He signed aggressively with a groan, his trousers painfully tightened at their juncture.

The mounting pressure in his groin was undeniably, and insistent. When Draco had pulled her body to his, it had been screaming silently to find friction against her, and without thinking he'd obeyed its command. The gesture was horrifically ungentlemanly of him, however, and he was nearly shocked she hadn't socked him one right in his midsection. Kissing a Lady was one thing, rutting against her body in that manner was an intrusion, and spoke poorly of a young Lord's control.

Though, he had to admit, he was conflicted at the truth of that notion. In the words of his father "When a Lord desires something from a woman, he simply takes it." This included certainly the command of a woman's body. Did that mean then that his bold move should be something she should accept? He felt himself uncertain, and briefly considered his apprehension. It had definitely satisfied whatever baser urge had been tugging at him inside, to connect the most intimate parts of them together and find the same manner of friction he had been employing behind the lock of his door almost every single night.

But as the young Lord held her in his arms, and experienced the reactions to their kissing, and tentative and innocent touches, that same mentality felt unfitting. He didn't want to take what he wanted; he wanted her to want to give it to him. But simultaneously, it wouldn't do for them to be….. Engaging in acts of lechery while secreted away in the halls of her family's House. Not only did that lack decorum, but should they be discovered it would tarnish her pristine reputation, and brand him as a seducer. That, he would not abide.

The young man rolled his open palms over his thighs in frustration, feeling relief though as his furious erection finally lost momentum and began to recede. It was not the relief he honestly ached for, but it was a score better than trying to walk around with casual airs to convince it to return to its dormant state.

Draco sauntered away from the alcove after a quick glance to ensure he would not be seen. As he headed toward the Great Hall, he pondering that he would have to find some place that he could secret away to with Hermione. One not so greatly exposed, but not so clandestine that it would make her feel uneasy with him alone there. Unlike the night of the feast for Lamas when the time came for Hermione to be off to bed, they had found themselves able to access her father's study without being noted. There they were able to continue in their practice of kissing each other for almost a whole half of an hour.

As he entered the doorway he bowed dutifully to his teacher, and fought his inclination not to meet Hermione's eyes immediately with his. Every time they did it caused the pair to grin to excess, and the obviousness couldn't be concealed. Even though they had not yet spoken of their obstacles, it was mutually understood that secrecy was imperative.

The young Lord breathed deep, as innocuously as possible, and drove his lusting thoughts out so he could fill his mind with the focus to the day's lesson. It last long though, as Master Black called them together as the first pair.

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Ursa let herself into the sacred chamber of Loren's study, her skirts swirling around her as she hummed to herself while arranging the chair and laying out the letters she needed to respond to. She laid out ink and parchment and settled herself contentedly.

Her first few letters were normal states of business; requests for audience to discuss review of the volumes of harvest, which she compared with her Lord's personal accounts and dates for audience, and confirmed that their visits could be received.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened in her routine until she found herself holding a letter of heavy stock adorned and sealed with the seal of the House of Malfoy which had been situated in the midst of her days work.

The Lady considered the letter for a few moments before making any hasty decision. The onus of response fell to the Lords to precipitate their correspondence between Houses. Loren was going to be some more days at least until he returned to the House, and perhaps an additional day until he could settle into his typical duties. The letter was heavy in her hand as she weighed her thoughts, its fine velum was silken and smooth beneath her fingertips.

Loren would be burdened with many responsibilities that would require his immediate attention, and it would be remiss of her as his wife to not confirm that a response was not required immediately to this letter. She set the letter down before her, and slowly picked up the slender silver letter opener, and pried the seal from the letter gently. For reasons she could not explain, it felt heavy to her in her hand then.

Loren Gresham, Lord and Head of House, of the Keep within Morvan Rove.

I send this letter with good faith that you will consider its contents as an act of honest intentions between our Houses. As we enter our season of blessing and plenty, the cacophony of joy which we hear every year is weakened without the presence of our Heir.

It is because of this that I beseech that there could be an allowance to permit my Lady Wife to make journey to your House to visit with her son, and my most faithful heir, at the time of yule, that she might ease the ache in her heart at the months they have spent apart.

I implore your hasty reply that I might assuage My Lady's anguishes, and pay her reverie that she might look forward to such a hospitable fortuity.

Fare thee well as I fare.

His Honorable Lordship, Lucius Malfoy

Taking her quill and paper, Ursa considered briefly the content and scanned the letter again. It was a little overdone, she conceded to herself, but the basic request was neither unheard or, nor unreasonable. Though the Gresham's fostered the two heirs, there seemed no reason to object to a humane request such as this.

With a sigh and a flourish, Ursa began her letter accordingly, ascending acquiescence to the Lord that they welcomed the Lady Malfoy as their guest and would see to the comforts of her transport at the arrival to the border town of Brandwell. She closed the letter with a request to advise of the date of her arrival that they would be prepared for her accordingly.

She signed the letter, By the hand of the Lady of the House of Gresham, Ursa Gresham, in preference during his absence, of the Lord Loren Gresham.

Closing the parchment, she took a stick of wax and held it over the end of a candle at the side of the desk, and allowed the melting wax to adhere the folded pieces together until there was a small puddle there. Placing the stick aside, she placed the seal of the House into the melted wax and held it fast until it was ready to remove.

Ursa plucked up her letters, and blew out the candle before she carried them out to the butler who would oversee their transport to their proper destinations.

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Loren Gresham breathed deeply the air in the town of Brandwell as he pushed open the door to the inn; it had been a long day, and longer-still had been their stay at the House of Shacklebolt to try to repair some of the damage done by his breeches of contracts.

The proprietor, a stout man of his middle age, nodded to the Lord accordingly and motioned for him to the bottom of the stairs where a simple girl waited for him, a tray in her hands. The Lord nodded to him his thanks and traveled through the subdued chaos that was his company; given leave by Loren to their own devices for the evening, and thusly they reveled and laughed without care, drinking and carousing.

He silently plodded behind the girl who attended him to one of the rooms that had been prepared for his arrival. She motioned for him to enter before her, demurely acknowledging that she occupied a lesser station than he, and she entered behind him, allowing the door to close.

The room was of little importance to Loren, and he wearily sat in the chair that sat to the side of the bed. The girl gingerly placed his tray at the foot of his bed, and Loren rubbed at his temples. Earnestly she clasp her hands together across her white apron and asked gently. "Is there anything else I can bring you, my Lord?" Her tone was concerned. Loren sighed and stood to remove his coat.

"No, sweet girl. There is nothing else I need here this night." She smiled as she looked down at her feet.

"Nothing else, gentle sir?" She sought modestly, and he glanced at her. The girl had reached behind her head and loosed her primly done tress to allow it to fall below her shoulders. It was a light brown, and her full lips smiled at him then. Loren didn't move or speak, but she slowly walked to him, turning her head to the side with her eyes fixed on him.

She stopped just in front of him and appraised the buckles of his jerkin carefully, reaching to one with her feminine hands. Loren's own hands dropped to his side as he dumbly watched her unbuckle each one of them individually, glancing at him a few times with her blue eyes.

It seemed to him that the sound of his breathing consumed his hearing entirely, and he could sense nothing else. It wasn't until the sound of his belt striking the floor that he felt a rush of sensation within him, and his arms snaked around her waist.