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links for Ravenwood: Night’s Salvation
The
Pirate Princess Excerpt: Heat level 3-4
Her mind filled with second thoughts. As soon as she defeated one, another would
jump out to worry her. Do I really want to involve Helga? It
would be foolish, and dangerous, to escape alone. She glanced at the table still holding the
bread and cheese from her midday meal. Will there be enough to eat? I'll
take this bread and cheese and steal more from the kitchen as we leave. She stamped her foot, impatient with
herself. I can’t stay here! There are no second thoughts. I have to make good my escape.
She went to the bed and reached beneath it again to bring out a
second small leather bag to fill with food.
As she stood, her bedroom door swung open long enough to reveal Helga
silently motioning to her. One last look
around and Alvilda left the room, locking the door behind her.
“Prince Alf has arrived. He
wanted to slay the snakes and lizards immediately, but your father persuaded
him the hour was too late. He agreed to
stay the night and make his attempt at the prize in the morning.” Helga whispered this information as the two
of them slipped down the circular stairs and into the corridor leading to the
kitchen.
“I want to see him! I want
to see if he is the way I remember him from childhood. He was so handsome then, I think I fell in
love with him at first sight. His
parents brought him for a visit. I
believed we were to be betrothed, but father would hear nothing of the sort.”
“You risk too much if you attempt to see him, Princess. What if we are caught?” Helga spoke in hushed tones. “The others are waiting down by the postern
gate. Milady, we must leave
immediately.”
Alvilda ignored Helga and walked quickly toward the great
hall. She simply had to see the
Prince. “Just one glimpse, Helga, and I
can go.”
Silently she moved down the hall, the shadows obscuring her
presence to all save Helga. Standing on
tip-toe she peeked through the narrow window and sighed at the sight of Prince
Alf. His magnificent body stood outlined
by the flickering glow of the fireplace.
He had his back to her and she was able to admire the muscles outlined
by his tight fitting britches. His hair
fell from his shoulders in a brilliant blonde wavy sheen. Her heart pounded when he swung his head to
gaze in her direction. Had he seen
her? She held her breath, half-fearing
discovery and half-excited by the prospect, until he shrugged and went back to
staring at the fire.
“Milady, that was too close!
He felt you watching him. Please,
we need to make haste! The more time we
have before the king discovers your escape, the better our chances to be away
and not get caught. Do you want to be
dragged back here to marry the prince?”
Alvilda’s eyes narrowed and her brow wrinkled. “You know I don’t want to marry anyone. I only wanted to see him. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” She didn’t wait for Helga’s answer already
moving swiftly down the corridor to the kitchen. She paused long enough to fill her leather
bag with apples, bread, cheese and a full wine skin.
Making her way down the moonlit path to the postern gate, Alvilda
chanced a glance up to the castle towering behind her in the night gloom. She spied her mother watching from her
lighted bedroom window. She couldn’t see
her mother’s tears so much as feel them deep in the core of her being. The princess touched her heart with her right
hand and made to grasp it and throw it to her mother, a sign that her heart
would always be with her. Her mother did
the same.
Turning back toward the gate, Alvilda faced over a dozen women with
their eyes on her, silently waiting for orders.
“Quickly now, no time to dawdle.
Our new life begins very soon.
I’m taking one of father’s ships, and the faster we move the sooner we
can be at sea. If time is on my side, it
will be late tomorrow morning before he discovers me gone.”
The women made their way down the cliff side path to the cove
holding her father’s two ships. They
boarded the smaller of the two because it was closest to the open sea. Besides, with a crew of inexperienced women
as sailors, the smaller ship was the wiser choice. When all the women were aboard, Alvilda
manned the rudder while the others, including Helga, took up the oars and
headed out to sea.
The princess glanced over her shoulder again and imagined her
mother still watching from her window.
Once more she touched her heart, grasped it and threw it in the
direction of the castle. She’d made good
her escape. She would be her own woman.
She would answer to no one, but she would certainly miss her mother.
Will Alf be angry when he
finds me gone? No matter, I’m sure he
will quickly get over the loss of me.
“We are well on our way, so keep watch and wake me only if there is
no other choice.” Alvilda slipped below
decks and found her father’s cabin. Shutting the door, she collapsed on the
berth. Before long the heat of the
enclosed space had her taking everything she wore off. Confident they would not be followed for some
time, Alvilda smiled as she lay on the bed and stretched her naked body over
the roughhewn wool cover upon the bed. He certainly was a handsome man, far more
handsome than I remember. “Just stop it, he isn’t meant for you, no one
is,” she said as she turned over onto her stomach and fell asleep.
His hands caressed her skin, lightly skimming over her back and
across her buttocks then down the backs of her legs. Alvilda arched her back; when she did her
legs slightly spread open, giving him easier access to the treasure covered in
golden curls. One hand slid between her legs and delved into the curls finding
her most private parts, the hard little nub hidden from the world. Stroking
that tiny button elicited a small moan in the back of her throat. Encouraged, he rubbed harder and Alvilda drew
her legs up, bringing herself onto her knees.
Ravenwood:
Night’s Salvation Excerpt: heat level 2-3
Raven Hall, Night’s town residence.
An endless night of sensual dreams, haunted by
a woman he couldn’t identify, left Night questioning his sanity. His surly mood heightened by his restless
night, he entered the dining room where Mrs. Latimer, his cook, had prepared a
wonderful breakfast for him. Scrambled
eggs so light they seemed to float out of the dish, hot scones slathered in
butter, and a variety of meats from which to choose. He scowled when he spied one such dish. Kippers. He shivered, trying to imagine why they were
even on his table.
Why do they insist on having these nasty,
smelly things on my table? Jason loved
the damned things, so does my father. I
hate kippers.
Night opened the dining room window, picked up
the dish of kippers and tossed them out, closing the window after he had done
so. Smiling now, he decided to talk to
Mrs. Latimer about them. The day seemed
to improve slightly since he'd taken control once again, at least of his own
breakfast. At the sideboard, he filled a
plate with thinly sliced ham, a ladle of eggs and two buttery scones. As Night walked to the table, he bit into one
of the scones and closed his eyes while he chewed and swallowed the first
bite. Absolutely delicious.
Opening his eyes, Night forked a piece of ham
and placed it in his mouth, before he noticed Jarvis had joined him and had
placed a sealed letter next to his coffee cup.
He didn’t leave as Night expected, instead he stood next to the chair as
if he had a ramrod stuck up his back.
Night turned to his butler, finished chewing the ham and grinned like a
fool.
“Is there a problem?”
If it was possible, Jarvis stiffened even
more. “No sir. Not a problem per se.”
Night waited for him to say more but gave up
when Jarvis was not forthcoming. “All
right, if it's not a problem, what is it, per
se?”
“The messenger was told to await a reply,
sir.” Jarvis watched as his employer’s
eyes darkened and his brow creased.
“Tell the lad to go and fetch some food in the
kitchen. It will be some time before I
answer.” Night dismissed the butler, and
took up the message.
Night hadn't read any of the letters from his
father. They had been in the enormous
stack of mail that Jarvis had presented him upon his return home. He knew exactly what they contained¾orders to return to his father’s home¾so he’d simply thrown them in the
fireplace. The seal on the new message
was as clear as the others had been, the family’s crest. Night opened this one and read the short
message on the page.
Come HOME.
Night walked to the small writing desk against the
wall, took up a piece of parchment and wrote one word in response.
YES.
He sprinkled the note with sand to dry the
ink, then resealed the letter with his own signet ring. Peering at the sealed message, Night growled
in defeat and took the note to the boy waiting in the kitchen.
When he entered the kitchen the boy scrambled
to stand, still chewing, and faced the master of the house.
“No, lad, finish eating. Your errand can wait. By all means, stay and eat your fill.”
The boy took his seat again, and resumed
eating.
“Please see to it that he is given sufficient
food for the return journey home,” Night told his cook, who was hovering in the
corner of the kitchen.
“Yes, sir.
I'll see to it right away, sir.”
Mrs. Latimer hurried to fill a small flour sack with some food for the
child.
“When you’ve finished lad, take this message
back to my father. God speed.” Night had turned to leave the kitchen when he
remembered he wanted to speak to cook about those ridiculous kippers on his
table this morning. I’ll talk to her
later after the boy has left.
Out in the entry hall, Night took the stairs
two at a time, his foul mood no better after answering his father. He searched out Jarvis to pack his
trunks. A footman was sent to request
the carriage be made ready for departure and to ensure Dumas, Night’s bay
stallion, was fed and watered, ready for a journey.
“Jarvis, there you
are.” Night saw him as he entered his
bedchamber. “I would like you to follow
me in the carriage with my trunks please.
I'll be riding on Dumas. I need
the time alone and Dumas will like the exercise.” Having Dumas at Father’s home will make life
there just a bit more manageable.
As he walked down the steps, his horse, Dumas
was brought around the corner. The sight
of Dumas, a seventeen hand high stallion, black as midnight and completely
devoted to his master, had Night grinning like a school boy. He held his hand out to the horse, which
Dumas bypassed to butt Night’s shoulder playfully.
Night laughed and gave the animal a sugar cube
he had snatched from the kitchen before he patted his neck. “I have missed you too, boy.”
The horse whinnied, shaking his head as if he
understood exactly what Night had said.
Night mounted and urged Dumas forward,
trotting out the front gate, not looking back.
He dreaded facing the inevitable.
He'd chosen to ride Dumas for many reasons, most importantly it would
give him time to think. Bringing his
horse would also make Dumas available to him whenever he chose to ride. The full day’s journey to Ravenwood Manor would
give him plenty of time to examine his predicament without intrusion.
***
When Night looked up into the sky, hours
later, the sun was almost directly overhead.
The ache in his back and the crick in his leg called out for
relief. Life on a ship exercised very
different muscles than life on land, especially when it came to riding horses.
“Time for a rest, old boy.” He patted Dumas’ neck, though he was
reasonably certain his horse didn’t need a rest as much as he did. He moved toward a small stream, pleased to
find fresh water for Dumas. While his
horse drank, Night sat beneath the largest gnarly oak tree he had ever
seen. It reminded him of the oak tree at
Ravenwood Manor, the one in front of the house.
The happy childhood memory brought a small, fleeting smile.
He looked over at Dumas, who was quite happily
munching on the lush grass that grew next to the stream.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a horse?
No worries, no
title and no marriage to a girl he didn’t know.
Dumas nudged Night out of his thoughts, indicating they should resume
the ride.
He stood, took Dumas’ reins and patted his
velvety nose before he slipped the apple out of his pocket and gave it to his
very appreciative mount.
“So be it.
We shall be on our way.”
Dumas nickered in reply and Night tossed the
reins across the huge stallion's back.
He hoisted himself into the saddle and set
Dumas to a trot, his thoughts wandering to his ship and the young boy, Jones. My
ship, I’ll not be sailing on her again, and this boy, a child really, yet still
so eager to please. Have I done the right thing by allowing him
to stay aboard?
He had not yet gotten a posting address from the
little imp but he'd likely see him at the wedding. Knowing Damon’s untrusting nature he would
surely bring the boy with him when he returned for Night's wedding.
Marriage!
I am only four and twenty. Why
should I have to wed now? And just who
is it I’m to marry? “This waiting bride of mine is probably one of
those females who doesn’t like sex, leaving me to find pleasure with
others. I think siring an heir may be
more difficult than anything I have ever had to do.”
Damn Jason’s eyes for dying on me. What right had he to die, leaving me to
fulfill his destiny? I’m a second son,
of no account. “How I long for the
breeze in my face, the sway of the ship and the taste of salt on my lips. I’m a sailor at heart, I’m not really this
heir my father insists I am.”
Dumas must have sensed Night’s agitation
because he began to move erratically, a clear indication he wasn’t
pleased. When he suddenly stopped short,
Night was pitched forward. He tried to
stop his motion by grabbing Dumas’ mane, but the silky hair slipped through his
fingers and he found himself airborne.
The abrupt landing was a cold shock. He found himself waist deep in a muddy
pond. When he looked at his damned horse
Dumas cocked his head to the side and nickered.
Instead of cursing him as he started to do, Night laughed. The bone-deep sadness and apprehension
slipped away as he laughed, a deep hearty laugh that blessedly spread all the
way through him. He sat in the pond for
a long while, laughing and shaking his head.
Night finally stood, leaving the laughter behind and waded through the
pond to the edge, looked Dumas in the eye, and patted the horse’s neck. “I know.
I was brooding, and you didn’t like it.
But you certainly put me in my place, now didn’t you?”
Dumas whinnied as if he understood every word,
and butted Night’s shoulder, sending him scrambling to regain balance again.
Back in the saddle, Night turned Dumas away
from the pond and headed in the direction of his boyhood home. “Let’s just get going. Only a bit further to go and you can have a
nice, big bucket of oats.” Night patted
the horse and set him to a gallop.
He would arrive in a few hours’ time. What would his father say to him?
***
Almost dry, but rumpled, Night arrived at the
entrance gates to Ravenwood Manor.
Reluctance held him back for a moment more, his head lowered in
dejection and defeat. Here I am for the beginning of my hollow
future.
The manor hadn’t changed in the seven years he
had been gone. It was still surrounded
by a multitude of flowering bushes and the drive was lined with stately maple
and oak trees. Crushed seashells paved
the way opening onto a circular drive in front of the house. Ivy climbed the walls giving the appearance
of a living, breathing entity swallowing the house whole. Night gave Dumas his head and waited until they
had reached the front of the house before taking him in hand again.
Dismounting, he looked up at the house. The windows were the only visible parts of
the house not covered by the ivy and they gleamed in the sun. The front steps were made of marble and lead
to the heavy, oversized oak door that had always been so intimidating to Night
as a child. The house was still as
imposing as ever. A stable lad appeared
to take the reins. As he led the horse
away from Night, the boy jumped at the sound of Night’s voice.
“He likes a lump of sugar and an apple while
he's being curried. Make sure to give
him a full bucket of oats. He's had a
long ride today.”
“Aye, sir,” the boy answered and was gone from
sight a moment later.
As he mounted the steps a slight movement
called his attention and he turned to see a woman, really only a slip of a
girl. She was sitting on the stone bench
beneath the large oak tree that had been there for as long as Night could
remember.
The woman’s back was toward him, but she had
the most beautiful hair he'd ever seen.
Light hair, so light it was almost white. The pale cascade flowed to her waist, a
lovely contrast to the pale blue gown she wore.
The plain silver band that circled her head was fashionable in the
Highlands and the style of her dress would definitely be considered dowdy among
the circles of the London Ton.
Night’s hand rose as if to run his fingers
through the woman’s hair, and he felt a tightening in his groin he wouldn't
want displayed in mixed company.
Catching his thoughts before they wandered where they had no business
being, he dropped his hand and pulled his wayward mind back to where it was
supposed to be, the present, and his waiting bride.
She must be the daughter of one of Father’s
Scottish friends. I bet she is beautiful¾I've never seen a Scottish lass who wasn't.
He smiled and walked through the huge double
doors which had swung open on well oiled hinges the moment Night set a foot on
the first marble stair. Archibald, his
father’s butler for more years than Night had been alive, stood waiting to
greet him in the entrance hall. Night’s
smile encompassed his entire face at the sight of the old man.
“Archie.
It’s good to see you, man.” Night
embraced him warmly, not the usual custom for heir and butler but Archibald had
often seemed more of a father to him than Jason had ever been.
“I never could get you to call me Archibald,
could I, sir? ’Tis unseemly for you to
be embracing the help. We have been a
very sad household, sir. That will
change, now you’re home.”
Night handed Archibald his cloak and
gloves. “I know I'm a sight. Dumas dumped me in a pond a few hours
ago.” He laughed as he caught Archibald
inspecting him from head to toe. “I had
been brooding and he let me know he didn’t like it. And as for it being unseemly to embrace the
help, since when have I ever been concerned with such frivolous stupidity?”
“I remember that well, sir. As long as you have been alive and able to
talk, you have cared very little for the frivolity of courtly life among the
aristocracy. Though as a man who has
known you since you drew breath for the first time, I feel at liberty to say
perhaps you should consider changing that small imperfection in your
personage. Would you like to refresh
yourself before going to see your father?
Do you have a change of clothing with you? I am certain I can freshen up some of Master
Jason’s if they are needed.”
Night glanced at his rumpled clothes, still
damp in places and very dusty from the extended ride. He smiled at Archibald. “Yes, Archie, I have a change of clothing in
my satchel. Thank you. That imperfection
as you call it is part of who I am, and I am as likely to change that as I am
to grow a purple nose.” Archie
harrumphed, shaking his head.
“Please don’t tell Father I am here just
yet. Where may I find him after I have
changed?”
“He is in the parlor, sir, with Lord
Reginald,”
“Thank you, Archie. I'll show myself in when I'm ready.” Night mounted the steps two at a time, taking
himself to his old room.
So that creature with the glorious hair must
be Lord Reginald’s daughter. All that
glorious hair makes my body come awake.
Just the thought of having all that hair spread out over the pillows,
over me…No, these aren’t the kinds of thoughts I need to have right
before I greet father or meet this wife of mine.
In his bedroom Night
changed clothes and decided a bath could wait for this evening. He walked down the stairs and found himself
back where he had been a few moment before, though Archie was no longer in
sight.
Night made his way to the parlor. Hands shaking, he reached out for the door
handle only to stop before touching it.
Wishing for the entire world that he didn’t need to be here, he sucked
in a deep, fortifying breath and he burst inside. “Your long lost son has come home.”
“Night, my boy. It has been too long since we last saw one
another.” Lord Reginald stood and walked
toward him with his hand outstretched.
“I was sorry to hear of Jason’s death.
But glad to see you have come home to shoulder the duties that now
befall you as heir.”
Night cast a glance toward Reginald. “Thank you for your sympathies, they are
greatly appreciated.” He shook hands and
then turned away, trying to cover the frustration he believed was visible in
his eyes.
“I should never have been the heir, I am the
second son. This was for Jason, not
me.” Night swiped his hand through his
hair before turning back toward the men.
“That may be Night, but things have changed,
you know that.” Lord Reginald returned
to his seat.
The Earl, Night’s father, had not risen to
greet his son, but sat glaring at him.
When Lord Reginald turned back to Jason the glare quickly left the
Earl's eyes.
“I must be getting back. My Sarah is ready to give birth any day
now."
“Yet another birth. How many does this make for you,
Reggie?” Night used the familiar nickname
with respect.
Lord Reginald laughed, his ample midsection
shaking. “This is number twelve. Sarah has told me it will be the last.” He walked to the parlor door. “She so wanted a girl child to spoil. Eleven boys so far¾big strapping boys. Reggie is going to be nine and ten next
month. I'm grooming him to be the future
Duke.”
Night shook the older man's hand one more
time. “Give Lady Sarah my best
wishes. I will come by sometime next
week to see you both, and hopefully, to congratulate you on yet another fine
child, a girl perhaps?”
“That I will, that I will.” Lord Reginald turned toward his friend. “Goodbye, Jason, I expect to see you next
week to welcome my child with a celebration.”
“Most certainly. Tell Sarah that Elizabeth is packing as we
speak, and will follow you later this very afternoon.” The Earl's brow furrowed as he watched his
friend leave the room.
Night’s eyebrow shot up. “Mother is going to Lord Reginald’s home?”
“Yes, she is.
If you had been home more often, you would know she goes to help in any
way she can when Sarah is this close to, well, Sarah is simply in need of your
mother’s assistance.
“I offer my apologies, Father. I have been at sea and have had little time
to come home.” He favored his father
with a curt bow and followed Lord Reginald who waited for him by the door.
“Try not to be too hard on him, Night.” With that cryptic advice hanging in the air
Lord Reginald left the house and disappeared around the corner in search of his
driver and carriage.
As the door shut, Night’s mother’s voice
floated down the stairs.
“I think just two trunks will do, after all,
Christine¼”
Her voice trailed off as she locked gazes with
Night. A lump formed in his throat, one
he couldn’t rid himself of no matter how much he swallowed. She stopped on the stairs, tears in her
beautiful green eyes¾the very same eyes he saw in the mirror each
morning.
She brought her hand to her throat as if she
were having trouble breathing. “Night,
is it really you?”
Night couldn’t help but smile at her small bit
of drama. “Yes, Mother, I’m home.” The lump in his throat had firmly embedded
itself and he found it difficult to speak clearly.
A moment later his mother was off the stairs
and in his arms, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, God, you are home, you really are home.”
Lady Elizabeth finally released him from her
fierce hug but she refused to let her hands leave his body. She touched his arms, his face and his
shoulders, tears still streaming down her cheeks.
Guilt washed through him. Guilt for not writing, for not coming home
for seven years¾but most of all for causing her worry. Night knew his mother loved, missed and
worried about him. Yet he had shown no
concern for her feelings. He felt
profoundly sorry. I will make it up
to you somehow, some way. I promise you
that, Mother.
His mother drew back, drinking in the sight of
him. Clearly it was difficult for her to
believe he was really home. “You’re too
thin. You need to eat more.” Lady Elizabeth took his arm in hers as he
escorted her back into the parlor where his father still sat.
The Earl turned toward them.
“Look Jason.
Night has come home again. Isn’t
it wonderful?” Lady Elizabeth was all
aflutter.
“Yes darling, he is home, and this time to
stay.” The Earl looked Night in the
eye. Night hung his head in shame, not
wishing to meet his father’s eyes.
“Yes Father, Mother, I am here to stay, for a
while at least. After the wedding my
bride and I will take up residence at Raven Hall.” He regretted his hasty words a moment later
seeing the sadness spring back into his mother's eyes. Perhaps
I have spoken more sternly than I should.
Lady Elizabeth pulled the cord to ring for
tea. “You are here with us now. That is all that matters at the moment. And you've come home in time for tea.”
A few moments later, a servant brought a tray
with tea and small lemon cakes, Night’s favorite.
He remembered something the duke had said
earlier. Boys, all strapping boys so
far.
If the glorious-haired creature was not Lord
Reginald’s daughter, then just who the devil was she?
A few moments later, the glorious haired
creature herself walked into the parlor and the answer to Night’s question
became wonderfully clear. He felt as if
he had been punched in the gut, and all his breath stolen from him.
“Satine, I'm glad you joined us, dear. I want you to meet your future husband.” Lady Elizabeth was practically singing with
happiness.
Night released the breath he didn’t know he'd
been holding, his stomach turned back over and he felt queasy enough to render
him speechless.
Surely this could not be the simpering little
virgin I'm to marry?
He had been right. She
was beautiful¾gloriously,
painfully beautiful. Her hair had only hidden how perfectly made
she was. Everything about her caused a
reaction completely inappropriate in mixed company. His breeches were suddenly much tighter than
they had been a moment ago and he was forced to shift position so that the
tightness would not be plainly visible to everyone in the room.
Satine’s eyes were a crystal-blue that
reminded him of the waters in tropical locations he'd seen on his many travels,
and her pale blue gown set them off perfectly.
Her skin had a lovely sheen to it, making Satine look pale and soft. She was beyond stunning. Slowly, with shaking knees, he walked toward
her, finding the journey across the room difficult in his condition. Satine lowered her eyes and she trembled
where she stood.
When he took her hand he discovered her skin
was soft as velvet. He was almost afraid
he would hurt her. “’Tis a pleasure to
meet you, sir.” Satine didn’t raise her
eyes to meet his.
“The pleasure is mine, Satine. Please, call me Night,” He’d finally found
his voice, though it seemed he had swallowed a frog. No one
told me what she looked like. Of course,
I never stopped to ask, did I?
She smiled up at him. “Night.
It is an unusual name, though I do like it.”
When she smiled, it lit her face from within,
making her even more lovely.
Night realized he still had her hand in his
and he let it go reluctantly.
I wonder what she will look like naked, lying
in the sun on the shore of the lake? He lowered his gaze so she couldn't see his
expression. His cock stiffened to a
point he couldn’t bear much longer. He
excused himself from tea, claiming he was tired and needed a bath after the
long ride. His mother started to protest
but he swiftly left the room leaving everyone to stare after his retreating
form.
Adjusting his breeches, he mounted the stairs
thinking that his cock was usually better behaved than this. His bride-to-be seemed to have an amazing
effect on him. A soft smile spread
across his face.
Night found a hot bath waiting for him in his
chamber. After meeting Satine he would
really have preferred cold water but hot would have to do.
He bathed quickly and then lay on his bed
naked, thinking of her.
She certainly didn’t seem like a simpering
fool. Irrational fear of the unknown
quite possibly could bring down the world if men such as I continue to imagine
things long before we are shown the truth of the matter.
He fell asleep, his dreams filled with
beautiful, flowing white-gold hair and crystal blue eyes.
