Cheshire, Britain 463 AD
Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, was a fine figure of a man. Tall, proud, and strong, he was broad-chested and powerfully built, with a square jaw beneath a black beard and eyes that were ever watchful for the sword of an enemy or the hand of a friend. Gorlois was a soldier. Brave in battle, loud of voice, hard muscled, and tough as a leopard about to spring. His men could count on him to lead them well, and in return, they gave him their undying devotion. The only other man in the country who inspired stronger feelings in his followers was the legendary Welsh king, Uther Pendragon.
Tender feelings did not come easily to a man like Gorlois. Women were to be used, enjoyed, and tossed aside. That was his view of the world. Until one day, while visiting the castle of his good friend Ragnor of Christleton, he took a walk in a rose-bower.
As he strolled along a grassy pathway banked with yews and hemmed with a rich tangle of pink and red blooms, a young woman came into view. She was tall and slender, with red-gold hair hanging loose in shining waves to below her waist. Her skin was like cream and her lips, when they parted in surprise at his unexpected approach, rivaled the surrounding roses in their perfection.
Gorlois had a powerful vision of sliding his cock into the waiting warmth of that perfect mouth. Whoever she was, he was going to have this woman. Silently he cursed the fact that her clothes denoted her status as a lady. If not, he’d have been tempted to throw her down on the grass and take her there and then. Anything to relieve the sudden throbbing ache inside his tight hose.
She dipped a slight curtsy and turned away.
“Lady, tarry awhile, if you will.” Although courtly speeches did not come easily to him, Gorlois spoke quickly, before she could leave. “I am recently returned from battle, and your dainty company will gladden my soldier’s heart.”
She appeared to debate the matter. Then, with a shy smile that struck him in both chest and groin with equal intensity, she came to walk beside him. “I know who you are, sir.” Her voice was low and husky. “My kind hosts have told me much of the bravery of the mighty Gorlois of Cornwall.”
Her eyes were a blue so dark they appeared violet. Their dark lashes swept down over her cheeks, tantalizing Gorlois as he imagined this was how she would look beneath him when he thrust into her. “And your name, lady?”
“I am Igraine.”