Authors: The Fall
Claudia Dain
The Fall
Medieval Knights Series
Book Five
by
Claudia Dain
Published by
ePublishing Works!
ISBN: 978-1-61417-094-5
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2004, 2011 by Claudia Welch. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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Thank You
.
For my children, who have to live with a writer,
and for my husband, who has to sleep with one.
The Tale
And so it was that she was married in good time.
She had completed her fourteenth year and was as soft and warm and golden as the day itself, her hair of burnished and shimmering gold and her eyes as blue as summer. She took her place by her husband's right hand and waited upon his pleasure.
The priest in that darkened chamber of stone murmured his prayers, then turned his eyes from heaven to look upon the bride. He urged her to do rightly by her father and her lord, bringing honor to both their houses by proving the fertility of her loins.
As she was called upon to do, she submitted her will and her life in perfect piety. Her head was bowed and her eyes clear of guile as she promised to do all that a woman should do in this earthly life.
Her father, that strong knight of fame, grunted his own admonition, which she received in all humility and good heart. The priest blessed her and blessed her new-made husband, he whose name for fighting and for wenching had settled upon him like a warm cloak of comfort. For is a man not made for such doings and such a name? And was he not a man to make a father proud and cause a daughter's heart to tremble in delighted fear at a contract so well made?
Aye, it was so and more. 'Twas a match to make all glad.
The ceremony concluded, both father and priest departed, leaving husband and bride and one more within the cold stone walls of an early spring. One more to watch and witness and wait. One more, a woman of her father's house, to see that what was done was as it must be done. To tell the tale of what befell in that conjugal chamber. To tell what she did see befall between a husband and his virgin bride.
'Twas the second night of their bond, and, by the bride's own telling, there was much to see.
Or rather, by her word, there was much not to be seen.
With a look to the lady of her father's house, the bride bared her breasts to the man who had claimed her. White and round they were and gleamed like alabaster in the soft light of fire as it teased shadow and stone. She cupped her breasts in her hands, holding them for her husband's approval and finding it in his eyes.
The lady of her father's house urged her to keep on, to tempt the man who stood before her, to bring him to fullness, to bring him to need. And so the bride walked across the boards to her husband, her breasts soft and warm, and when she reached him, she stretched out her hand and took him within her grasp.
