Merthin leaves her to reconsider

"That's fine, my dear." Christine looked up in surprise at the notary as he smiled back easily at her. "I am a patient man, Lady Gerard. I can wait - for a while." The implied threat was not lost on Christine, but what could she do? She watched in silence as Merthin straightened his tunic, wiped his hands clean on the towel by the nightstand and with a polite bow left her hunched naked on the bed. Were it not for the 'click' of the lock on the heavy door, she could easily mistake the man for a dutiful servant.

All things considered; the situation could be worse. Compared to the black hole that Merthin rescued her from, this room was as luxurious as King Solomon's palace. Christine lay back on the narrow bed with a sigh.

Did Master Merthin really want her to let him use her ... like a whore ... for a reason that she could not understand, Christine felt her insides warm and a pleasant tingling. Perhaps, if Christine's mother had not been bedridden these past few years, she may have had a chance to share with her daughter more of the ways of men. Maybe if her older ladies-in-waiting had not both left so soon after her mother had been stricken, she might have spoken with them. The truth of the matter was that, for whatever reason, Christine knew next to nothing about what was expected of a woman when it came to these matters.

Over the past few days, her understanding of what men desired had grown like springtime mushrooms, but she was still frightfully innocent. First Prince Henry with his lustful stares, crude comments and hard groping hands, then the stinking outlaws camped by the King's road ... for a moment Christine was distracted by the memory of the Verderer's miraculous arrival and the way his somber eyes had made her blush. She could not forget the feeling of security nor the warmth she felt rubbing against the saddle of his tall gelding. Her hand drifted over her belly and through the tangle of dark curls but when her fingers touched the folds of her sex her eyes opened in shock and alarm. Bishop Anthryl's fat, ring-covered, fingers had touched her there. Just like that - and then his awful guards too with their hard probing digits and rough palms.

What would Merthin be like as a lover ... she tried to push the thought away, but it came back like a pesky mosquito refusing to leave her in peace. Not with the cruelty of the Black Prince, or the rotten feel of Bishop Anthryl's caresses; he wasn't disgusting like the foul-breathed outlaws or strong and confident like the Verderer ... once again her delicate fingers found their way between her legs and this time, she did not pull it away when she felt the shameful tingling. Her eyes closed and her other hand squeezed her round breast with growing urgency.

She had occasionally touched herself experimentally at night, but this is the first time she could remember being this alone since she was old enough to start her moon cycles. Unbidden, as her fingers danced between her folds building the feeling that she craved, the face of her lover began to form in her mind. Even as she moaned softly, her fingers quickened their insistent exploration of her sex.