In Ireland in the year of 1117, Dauid, Artan, and Muirenn led an army upon castle Mac Raith, saving the country from his tyranny and evil ways. As Muirenn lay in the delivery bed, Artan pressed Dauid to take the crown, unaware that Muirenn had plans for it to be upon her own brow. King Dauid, desiring to honor Artan's family, granted Muirenn and Artan's son Conchobor a blessing declaring that only Dauid's blood-son could usurp him as future king, and declaring any daughters he sired to be joined in matrimony.
Twenty-two years later finds the king ailing with only two daughters, Ita, the adorable younger, and Jesmaine, the beautiful and regal elder. Though the king much sought after their union, when Conchobor arrives presenting a cool exterior and with rumors of an evil equal to Mac Raith himself, Jesmaine is torn between following her heart to find love or fulfilling her father's arrangement.
“And what is the name of the valiant knight I should call on should my lady's maids need a good sword thrust?” I smirked.
He grinned, loving that I was playing with them. “My Lady Princess, 'tis Trian.”
He bowed his head again, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. Again that powerful connection sparked between us. I had never experienced anything such as it – nor had I believed in the “love at first sight” in so many of the stories I had heard at the bard's knee, but now butterflies danced in my belly drifting strangely lower. Secret places within me tightened and ached, and my lips seemed to need continual wetting from my tongue.
“You are even more lovely up close than from afar,” he spoke softly, and I could see his eyes were still taking me in, noting the flick of my tongue. The strange sensation that he too was feeling these odd and awkward sensations rolled through me.
“But not what you expected, my lord knight?” I smiled laughter in my green eyes, forcing myself to keep my tongue in my mouth.
“Most certainly not, I expected you to be, well,” he paused and had the nerve to blush again, which caused the laughter to bubble up and out of me.
“The crown prince, Conchobor and his lady mother, the Lady Muirenn!” The announcement echoed along the stone walls, interrupting my laughter. We turned then, toward the great hall doors as the party split around Trian and I.
I felt my back automatically straighten, and the butterflies that had been dancing stilled as though frozen by a chill wind. My mouth set in a firm smile as he entered.
Conchobor was tall, thick in the shoulders and powerful. He just had more width than the man beside me. His smile was barely there and looked more like a gloat then a genuine smile. I saw it falter as he took in some of the peasants and lesser-born nobles. His dark hair hung loose about his shoulders, mixing in his scraggly beard. His eyes told volumes, quick wit, sober humor, anger.
***Warning: This 14,300 word story is full of romance and erotic sex and may be considered extreme by some audiences. Not for those under 18.***