Molly wrapped her hands around her handsome escort's waist as the horse started off at a brisk trot. She knew their pace would slow as night continued to fall, and found herself praying for the sun to set even faster, putting off her fate that much longer.

The silence wore on her, and after the village had disappeared from sight, she risked a question. "Might I ask your name?"

"Sherlock," he replied shortly, not bothering to turn around.

"Sir Sherlock, can you tell me…"

"Just Sherlock," he corrected her, still without turning. "I would prefer you call me by that name in private."

"Sherlock," she murmured, acquiescing to his request - nay, his command. "If you wish, you may call me Molly." She had no desire to hear her married name coming from his lips.

"Molly," he acknowledged.

Hearing her name in that deep baritone brought a blush to her cheeks and a warmth to her nether regions utterly inappropriate to the circumstances. She was pleased that the semi-darkness and her position behind him helped hide her reaction. What was it about this stranger, this nobleman, that affected her so strongly? Her blush burned hotter as she recalled the feel of his lips against hers, and she ducked her head in confusion.

She felt rather than heard the sigh he gave before he spoke again. "Out with it. I can practically feel your need to ask me."

She longed to ask how he felt about bringing her to another man's bed, but lacked the courage to do so. Instead she asked the other question that troubled her. "Can you tell me…how is it the king came to ask for me? Did - did you or your liegeman tell him of my situation, that I was being forced to wed? Is that why he..."

"Like yourself, the king faces a coerced marriage," Sherlock replied in clipped tones. "He will do his duty, as you have done yours, but wishes a single night for himself before facing that duty. It is selfish of him, but then, he is a selfish man - but not," he added, "a cruel man. You will not be ill-used, Molly, I can promise you that much. If the night goes as he hopes it will, then you will both find your pleasure."

Molly's blush only deepened at his assertions, but felt emboldened to ask another question. "Have you done this for him before, then?"

"The king has never done anything like this before," Sherlock replied, his tone even shorter.

Perhaps he was becoming irritated with her, but she needed to know more, to understand why she'd been chosen, and so she pressed on. "Surely it would have been easier to arrange an assignation with someone in Lord Magnussen's household? Why would His Majesty go to so much trouble for a night with someone like me when he could surely have any woman he wanted? I'm nobody, I don't count-"

She let out a startled gasp as he turned, finally, to face her. The angle of the sun as it set behind them gave his eyes a strange glitter, as if molten fire smouldered in their blue-green depths. "The king's reasons are his own, but I can assure you that he did not choose to exercise this ancient right lightly."

A feeling of warmth suffused her body, and Molly found herself smiling in spite of her continued reservations. She rested her head against his back and spent the remainder of the ride to Appledore Keep in silence, reassured by Sherlock's words even though he'd said nothing of what she might expect at the king's hands - and in his bed. Odd though it seemed, she found she trusted her escort and by extension, King William. At the very least, she silently counseled herself, she would not be giving up her most precious commodity to her odious husband. The thought of lying with him after she'd been returned from Appledore twisted her stomach, and she resolved not to allow the matter to trouble her mind until her return to Fitton.

oOo

The same man who'd interrupted their kiss back at the river met them behind the stables, catching hold of the steed's reins after helping her to dismount. He and Sherlock exchanged quiet words while she adjusted her gown, feeling self-conscious now that it was no longer just the two of them.

"Come," Sherlock said abruptly, wrapping the other man's cloak about her shoulders and raising the hood so that her head was covered. "Remain silent until we're behind closed doors."

Molly nodded, her heart knocking at her ribcage and a slight tremble to her form now that they had arrived. There was the sound of merriment from the direction of the Great Hall, but they passed no one, not even servants, as they slipped up a narrow staircase and down deserted corridors.

Sherlock paused before the door to what she presumed was the king's bedchamber, and her trembling increased. Although she thought she'd fully resigned herself to her fate, now that the moment was at hand she found herself half-wishing she could simply flee into the night. Then the door was open and Sherlock was ushering her inside, and all she could do was hold her head high as she stepped into the room.

She looked around apprehensively, jumping a little as she heard the door slam shut behind her. Expecting Sherlock to have left, she was surprised when she turned and saw him locking the door from inside the sumptuous chamber. "Is- is His Majesty...in?" she half-whispered as she lowered the hood to her shoulders.

"Yes, His Majesty is in...front of you," was Sherlock's incomprehensible reply.

Molly stared up at him, then stumbled back a step, nearly tripping on the folds of her borrowed cloak as his words sank in. "I, I don't understand, are you jesting?"

He shook his head, stripped off his gloves and dropped them onto the floor. "Sadly, no, although I often wish it were simply an elaborate prank being played on me. That one day my brother might simply stroll into the throne room and proclaim his absence a test of my suitability to rule in his place, should he never produce an heir."

Molly continued to stare at him as he moved past her. He stopped near the bed, reaching down to pluck something up. He held it for a moment, looking down, then turned to face her. Her eyes widened as he carefully placed a silver crown upon his head, proof that he was, indeed, who he claimed to be - for no nobleman, no matter how highly placed, would dare such a blasphemy.

"You're the king," Molly said, speaking through numb lips. "You're King William."

"I am, much to my sorrow," he confirmed, moving towards her. He stopped directly in front of her, so close she was forced to tilt her head in order to meet his gaze, still too stunned to recall that she should be doing no such thing. "But I am also a man," he added lowly, reaching out to tug at the strings holding his cloak closed at her throat. The heavy garment immediately fell to the floor, and his hands landed gently on her shoulders. "A man who wants you as much, I do hope, as you want me."

God forgive her, but she did want him. Discovering his true identity had been a shock, but now the shock was wearing off, leaving her feeling lightheaded and a little reckless. The man who'd tendered her first kiss was the same man who wanted her for himself, not as a prize to show off or out of duty. A man who could have any woman he wanted, but had chosen her. "Are you truly being forced to wed?" she whispered as his hands moved down her arms.

"The Earl's daughter," he replied bitterly. "But I wish to speak of her as much as you wish to speak of your new husband. This night is about us. Let us abandon all thought of any others, shall we? Tonight we are simply Sherlock and Molly."

She nodded, reaching up hesitantly to lay her hands on his chest. She felt his breath hitch, and then his mouth was covering hers in a hard kiss that tasted of equal parts passion and desperation as he pulled her tight to his lean form.

She might still be virgin, but she was hardly ignorant of the ways of a man with a maid. Even without the whispered advice and warnings of her mother and the other village matrons from earlier, she'd known - or thought she'd known - what to expect. What country girl didn't, having seen the bulls and cows, the rams and ewes, even the cockerels and hens during spring?

Now, tonight, she would finally learn those ways for herself...and unless she was very much mistaken, Sherlock intended that her lessons be as pleasurable for her as for himself.

With a sigh, she gave herself over to him, determined to enjoy every single moment in his arms.