North along the Kingsroad they trundled, stopping at Castles, Holdfasts and Inn's along the way, their party was about one hundred strong in total, she kept to the wheelhouse for most of the journey so far. It was not that she had despised the riding leathers that her husband to be had gifted her, on the contrary when she had tried them on she had liked the way they made her look, the way the accentuated her slim legs and pert bum, the way the tops were cut to clinch at the waist and raise the bust. She especially liked one top that looked like a scandalously short skirt with a wide necked top and hood. Fine boots of soft leather, reaching to almost her knee had accompanied the riding leathers, and these she also liked, the way they sheathed her legs.
The cloak she had also tried on, the wolf fur at its collar was surprisingly soft, and it had the most wonderful scent, heady and musky, it reminded her of something but she just could not quite place it. She breathed deeply of its scent, feeling a juddering pleasure slam though her body, bringing nipples and that secret nubbin of flesh between the folds of her womanhood to instant, yearning erection. She let a moan escape her lips, shuddering in pleasure as a heat pulsed through her body, her belly tingling and an increasing wetness aching between her legs.
"My Lady?" asked one of the servants, shattering the spell that had come over her.
But she had not worn them, no, she would not wear them, at least not just yet, and mayhaps never during this sure to be long and tedious journey north to the gloomy and cold Winterfell. If Lord Stark wanted her to wear them then he would have to be a damm sight more attentive to her than he had been so far, the Lord of Winterfell had spent most of the days so far riding with her father and talking, both on horseback and often long into the night. They were feasted at each castle and holdfast that they passed, Cersei spending the night in a succession of rooms that varied from mediocre to downright spartan, all of them barely even adequate for her station as a Lannister and certain she was sure to be even less so as a future wife of a Lord Paramount.
But that cloak, it did look nice and warm; it would do duty as an extra blanket if she needed it on the journey to the North….
She had heard that Winterfell was as, well stark as its occupant's name, a grim fortress standing guard over the north, a place of bare stone and little comfort, and she once again raged at her father for what he was imposing on her.
Her husband to be had invited her to join him and her father on their long talks but she had quickly grown bored, what did she know, or need to know of crop rotation, of canals and roads, of new ways to smelt iron? These were topics for Smallfolk, Stewards and Masters, not for a high-born lady!
But yet her father seemed to be engrossed in these talks, and she sensed a growing closeness between her father and the Stark Lord, another thing that made her angry. It seemed to her that everything made her angry these days, from the endless bumping and jostling of the wheelhouse, to the awful food and gauche hospitality she had to put up with from minor nobility along the Kingsroad, and that was before she even had to think about the Inn's and Taverns that they had stopped at.
Even the grandest was a hovel, and having to be in such close proximity to smallfolk? Disgusting, just disgusting. Of course, her husband to be seemed to unfazed by the whole thing, even greeting and talking with smallfolk with an astonishing familiarity! Was this the way he dealt with the smallfolk of the North? If it was she would have her work cut out for her, I mean she would have to restore the proper order of things straight away, for she was not living anywhere that smallfolk could think to converse with a Lord Paramount!
Even father had seemed a little shocked at first, but he seemed to have accepted it as part of Lord Stark's peculiarities after a week on the road. But she was finding herself sleeping and dozing a lot while the wheelhouse made its way north, at least in the Crowlands the Kingsroad was kept in good repair, a good stone surface that was maintained by the local Lords as part of their duties to their direct liege, the King. For she was not sleeping at all well during the night, every night when she dressed for bed in whatever inadequate room she would be spending the night in she had the same dreams. Maddening, annoying, disgusting dreams… dreams of her being ravished by Lord Stark, of them rutting together like little better than beasts, of them knowing each other's bodies with an abandon that ever she and Jamie had not shared. And always she would awaken with her womanhood drenched in her musk, clenching and spasming as waves of pleasure coursed through her sweat slick body. No matter how hard she tried she could not banish these dreams, could not conjure up the image of Jamie, her perfect lover to replace the base grunting and thrusting of Lord Stark in her mind's eye.
It had all started the first morning out from Kings Landing, she had been woken by the sound of steel clashing with steel, the training courtyard was directly below the room, that of Lady Hayford, that she was staying in. As had become the case she had not been impressed with the room, furnished to only minimal standards as far as she was concerned.
She had risen from her bed, thrown back wolf cloak and annoyed that she had been woken so early, went to a window and opened a shutter, peering below. In the courtyard her husband to be was sparring with four Hayford men at arms at the same time, wielding a shield and a sword. He moved with a speed and grace that she had not even seen Jamie display, avoiding strikes that needed to be avoided, taking blows onto the shield or with his swords that could not be avoided. He was not just avoiding the four men either, in the space for four heat beats he had hooked away the sword of one and bashed another to the ground with his shield. These two men scrambled away and were replaced by two more, and the fight continued, again and again the Stark disarmed his opponents, landed 'killing' blows or just physically overpowered them.
Cersei felt a tingling heat grow damp, then sodden between her legs, felt her nipples harden and rub against the silk of her nightdress as she watched the display below her, her heartbeat faster and her breath grew shallow and ragged. With a flourish the fight ended, Lord Eddard bowling over two men in a rush and shouldering another to the ground, his blade tip at the remaining mans throat before he even knew what was happening.
A slow handclap came from below, her father she realized "remind me to never bet against you in a fight Lord Stark, fair or not!"
Lord Stark smiled and handed his practice sword and the shield to a squire, before removing his practice gambeson. Her father dropped a purse that looked heavy with coin into the northern Lords hand, he hefted it and then chucked it through the air to the senior Man at Arms of House Hayford.
"Here, divide it up equally between the lads that sparred with me and take one share for yourself!"
Cersei's eyebrows rose up at that, and an involuntary gasp escaped her mouth as Lord Stark pulled off a sweat darkened shirt to expose his naked upper torso. While Jamie's body was sleek and muscled, the Starks torso bulged with great slabs of cut and sculpted muscle, turning away from her his back was sheathed in equally defined musculature, on either side of his back a great V of muscle rose from his narrow waist to his shoulders. She bit her lip as his muscles bulged and bunched under his skin as he poured a bucket of water over his head.
"My Lady?!" she heard behind her, as if miles away.
"Oh, my lady, come away from the window and let's get you ready to break your fast!" said the maid that had bustled into the room.
The spell of the sight below her broken Cersei mumbled "what?"
"Let's get you dressed my lady, what dress do you want for the day now?"