Derendrea's Erotic Sampler III ~ Now With EVEN Longer Samples!

By Derendrea

Samples of TWELVE erotic stories plus TWO complete bonus stories, COURTSHIP and SKINWALKER.

COURTSHIP (Complete!) - A medieval maid fantasizes about her lord.
SKINWALKER (Complete!) - A native american maiden is rescued by a shapeshifter.

*LONGER* Samples From:
PLAIN SKIN - Abduction / Medieval Erotica
FORGOTTEN - Sci fi Erotica / Cybernetic Suits
MY BEST CUSTOMER - Modern erotica / Sex therapy
FOR THE KING - Medieval / Dubious consent
A FOREST ENCOUNTER - Fantasy Erotica
SENSITIVE - Psychic sex / abduction
VALKYRIE - Gothic / Paranormal Erotica
THE SULTAN'S HAREM - Historical Erotica / Light BDSM
SAVAGED - Medieval / Abduction / Barbarian
SACRIFICE TO TANGAROA - Tribal Fantasy
SEX CAMP - Menage / Light BDSM

• Language: English
• Publisher: Derendrea
• Release date: May 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301674770

Derendrea

Derendrea is a an author of sensual & entertaining erotica. All of her stories are based on dreams.Recent publications:SEX BLITZ - Hayden gives consent to give up all control. Sequel to the Sex Camp Series.SEX CAMP - Helen explores the world of menage and bondage after being invited to a strange camp.SHACKLES OF THE GENIE - M/M story of an enslaved djinn whose only hope of freedom is a husky hunter.CRASHED IN THE OUTLANDS - An alien woman must rely on four sweaty humans in order to survive a jungle planet.SACRIFICE TO TANGAROA - A young island woman is given to the tempest in attempt to appease the god of the sea.SAVAGED - A woman is pursued by bandits into the wood, but then saved by a husky barbarian.SKIN WALKER - A Native American woman is rescued from would-be kidnappers by a shape shifter.FORGOTTEN - A young woman enters a cybernetic suit during an attack on her home. She must join with the being embedded in the suit in order to survive.PLAIN SKIN - The eldest heir of the king is abducted and sold to barbarians, who tattoo her skin with symbols of their tribe.THE SULTAN'S HAREM - The sultan's favorite, and least receptive slave has an unexpected guest.FOR THE KING - Three men enter the queen's bedchamber. She has the chance to refuse, but she doesn't.SENSITIVE - A woman with a 'sensitive personality' meets a man that sets her nerves on fire.VALKYRIE - A young New York man rescues a creature on his way home. He hides her in his apartment, but can he hide her from her past?A FOREST ENCOUNTER - Two traveling merchants make the mistake of staying overnight in a strange wood.COURTSHIP - A maid lives out her fantasy with her lord. (FREE as part of Derendrea's Erotic Sampler)MY BEST CUSTOMER - A drug addict tells the story of a client that treated her differently than the rest.Stories to look out for in 2019:ANGEL APOCALYPSE - An angel falls in love with a soldier during WWIII.THE SWEETEST FRUIT - A non-biblical retelling of the story of Eve and the forbidden fruit.THE DARKNESS OF SPACE - A woman is lured into detective work on a mining colony.

Book preview

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FROM THE AUTHOR

SKINWALKER

Native American, Shape Shifter Fantasy

COURTSHIP

Medieval Erotica, Lord and Virgin Servant

FORGOTTEN

Science Fiction, Cybersuits

PLAIN SKIN

Medieval Erotica, Abduction, Barbarian, Bondage

MY BEST CUSTOMER

Sex Therapy Erotica, Drug Addict, Light BDSM

FOR THE KING

Medieval Erotica, Light Bondage, Semi-consensual

SENSITIVE

Paranormal Erotica, Modern Day, Abduction, Psychic Sex

VALKYRIE

Paranormal Erotica, Modern Day, Gothic, Violence, Shapeshifters

A FOREST ENCOUNTER

Fantasy Erotica, Male and Fantasy Figure

THE SULTAN'S HAREM

Historical Erotica, Turkish Harem, Light BDSM

SAVAGED

Medieval Erotica, Bondage

SACRIFICE TO TANGAROA

Tribal Fantasy, God of the Sea

SEX CAMP

Mordern Erotica, Multiple Partners, Light BDSM

These are works of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. This is copyrighted work. Do not replicate or distribute without written permission from the author. Brief quotes may be used for a review or critique.

SKINWALKER

© 2015 Derendrea Books

FORGOTTEN

© 2014 Derendrea Books

PLAIN SKIN

© 2014 Derendrea Books

MY BEST CUSTOMER

© 2013 Derendrea Books

FOR THE KING

© 2012 Derendrea Books

SENSITIVE

© 2012 Derendrea Books

COURTSHIP

© 2013 Derendrea Books

VALKYRIE

© 2012 Derendrea Books

A FOREST ENCOUNTER

© 2013 Derendrea Books

THE SULTAN'S HAREM

© 2013 Derendrea Books

SAVAGED

© 2016 Derendrea Books

SEX CAMP

© 2016 Derendrea Books

SACRIFICE TO TANGAROA

© 2016 Derendrea Books

FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Reader,

Thank you for your interest in my Erotic Sampler. Within, you will find two complete stories and twelve extra-long samples.

Each story was based on a dream. Under another pen name I have been writing and publishing books for a decade. I created Derendrea in order to publish some of my risqué story ideas.

Writing is a journey, no matter the genre. I have enjoyed exploring and sharing these stories, and my husband has enjoyed being a research subject.

I hope you enjoy the stories. To find out more about these stories and my future works, visit my website.

www.derendrea.com

SKIN WALKER

(complete story)

A native American woman is pursued through the woods by warriors of an enemy tribe. Something comes to save her, part man, part something else.

The earth is cold beneath my feet, while the rest of my body burns. My lungs feel full of birch bark, my muscles ache from the strain. My chestnut brown feet slip on the wet, decayed leaves on the forest floor.

They caught me gathering black cherries behind Smoky Ridge. I shouldn’t have wandered so far from the village by myself. Like my mother always told me, Kimimela, you flutter like a butterfly. I knew as soon as I spotted their painted faces under the shadows of the boxelder trees, I was in trouble.

I sprang into flight, catching a glimpse of the three Crow scouts in pursuit. The thick black and red lines painted on their faces and their stiff, bristled moose hair headdresses made their battle-worn faces that much more threatening. They began to hunt me like an injured doe.

Jumping over rough, moss covered boulders, I scold myself for not wearing my moccasins. The cool dirt felt so soft against my bare feet this morning, I decided to leave them inside our tent. In my haste to avoid the chasing Crow, the soles of my feet suffer each stone and twig across the ground.

I don’t know how much longer I can run. The three men are closer, whooping at me with arrogant confidence, just to scare me. They are herding me farther and farther away from my village, towards the open territory of the grass plains where there’ll be nowhere for me to hide.

Something moves in the forest ahead. Has one of them managed to get past me? If they surround me, my capture will come swift and harsh. I try to veer to the right, to put space between what lurks ahead and what follows.

Ahead is a patch of briars. If I am nimble enough I might make it through, hindering my pursuers enough I can get away.

But a figure leaps into my path. It’s not a Crow wearing animal skins, as I first assume. It is the skins, a large animal with thick gray and brown fur. It turns its large head towards me. Though I’ve never seen one this close, I know what it is.

A wolf.

My bones feel hollow. The wolf crouches down, growling with many sharp white teeth. I sense my impending death in the animal’s very bright yellow eyes.

The hairs on its back stand on end, stiff and bristled. It leaps like a flash of a spear, and I cover my face with my arms, but truly I have no defense.

Collapsing in fear, the wolf’s damp fur brushes over my shoulder and my cheek. I cringe, expecting next to feel the animal’s claws scrape across my flesh, but the wolf jumps over me. I turn around, slow as if I had just woken from a deep sleep.

The wolf is attacking the Crow warriors. I should be able to hear their shouts and cries as they fend off the wolf with war hammers. I should be able to hear the growls and lashing of the wolf, but everything is muffled.

I have never seen a wolf act this way. With agility at odds with its mass, the wolf avoids their blades and blows. It sinks its teeth into one of the Crow’s legs, then jumps away before being hit with the blunt stone of a war hammer.

The wolf snarls, blood and saliva dripping from its fangs. The Crow back away.

Run away. My body is too stunned to act, but a voice in my head wills me to stand. I turn from the scene, walking into the briars. As blood starts pumping in my stiff muscles, I move a little faster.

The sounds of the fight fade behind me. I’ve lost track of my direction. I know I just need to get away from the Crow, from the wolf. I have the distinct feeling that whoever wins the fight will be coming after me next.

The forest leads me downhill. It doesn’t feel like I’m heading towards the plains, but going deeper into the wood. That offers me some solace, perhaps I can escape from them still. When the sun begins to set, I can follow it back home.

But I’m not alone. My hairs should prickle when I sense what follows me, but instead I feel a sense of calm. Like a deer, submitting to its fate within the jaws of its killer.

It’s the wolf. Silent on the pads of its feet, it comes to my side. I continue to walk, with naïve hope that the animal won’t attack me... if I keep going as I was.

The wolf doesn’t want to hurt me. I don’t know how I know, I just do. Panting, it nudges my leg. It slows, keeping pace with me, trotting beside me with limber steps of its long legs. Its back comes just above my hip, covered with thick fur.

Not sure why, I place my hand on the coarse, damp fur above the wolf’s shoulders. I stare at the patterns of white, brown and gray across its back. I feel strangely safe, the smooth cadence of the wolf’s muscles beneath my palm.

The wolf turns slightly to the left, towards a ravine, and I follow. I’m moving slower, the earth slick with dew, and the fear of being chased by the Crow starts to weigh on me. The wolf stays with me, steadying me.

There’s fleeting movement through the trees. Have the Crow followed us? The wolf perks its ears and looks to the sound, but seems to stay calm and continues to walk forward. If he’s not agitated... I don’t think I should be afraid. It’s almost as if he’s protecting me.

Off to the right I see something else. This time, I catch enough of it to see it is another wolf. My companion again turns and looks that way, but otherwise does not react. I nervously look around, sensing, though I can’t tell exactly, three maybe four other wolves surrounding us, following us across the ravine.

We pass through a grove of spruce trees. I spot the other wolves at times, all colored the same as my companion, though none as large. My apprehension gradually fades. Nothing in how they act suggests they will hurt me.

The ground seems to pull at my feet, and I lean heavily against the large wolf. The clean scent of the spruce trees drifts on the breeze. We start up a hill, and it is difficult to walk.

The muscles of the wolf move beneath my hand... they change. I must be going mad... from the strain or exhaustion. My hand lifts as the wolf’s body lifts. He can’t be this tall. I feel dizzy...

Arms wrap around me. No, it’s not a man, it can’t be. It’s a wolf. Have I lost my mind?

Smooth, solid arms lift me off the ground, carry me up the hill. A face looks down on me.

It is a man, with the skin of a wolf over his head. I swear it was a wolf, a living wolf. I saw it...

The man looks down to me. High, proud cheekbones gleam with smooth brown skin. An earring with a symbol for maka, earth, hangs from his ear, beside leather-braided hair, with eagle feathers tied into it.

This must be a dream. I fell asleep beside the black cherry bushes against Smoky Ridge, and this is all a dream.

The man pulls me against his bare, warm chest, and part of me wants to close my eyes and sink into his protective embrace. Blinking, I make myself stay awake, taking in his earthy, pleasant musk. A long, lonely call of a wolf echos in the distance.

Carrying me in his strong arms, I realize what he is. Mani-ha, a skinwalker. A man who can change shape into any animal.

But those are just child’s tales. Something the elders would speak of when the embers of the fire grew dim. There are many great mysteries in this life, but I didn’t believe the Mani-ha to be one of them.

I relax against him. Shape shifter or not, he has captured the attention of my entire body. Each subtle pull and flex of his muscles flutters across my skin.

Where is he taking me? He saved me from the Crow, am I now his prize?

He stoops down to pass beneath a thicket of branches, and we enter an open area within the rock of the hill, disguised behind the trees. It’s almost a cave, surrounded on three sides and above with gray mountain rock. Enough light filters through the thicket that I see it’s more of a den than a cave.

I feel my pulse quicken as the stranger takes me inside. Where does a wolf sleep? Fearfully I look around, but instead of finding other wolves, I see supplies. Haphazardly piled against the rock wall, leather and wood containers and tools seemed to have been placed there and forgotten. We step around a small hearth, a circle of smooth stones with charred wood within, but it doesn’t appear to have been used for days or more. Is this his camp?

He takes me to the edge of the cave and I spot a pile of straw mats and furs. As he lays me down, my dreaminess evaporates like fog scared away by the morning sun. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t know what he wants with me. He’s careful as he lays me down on what feels like bear skins. He doesn’t meet my gaze but I catch his eyes, and they are not the startling yellow of the wolf’s, but very deep brown. His skin is smooth and unblemished.

When I am settled he stands, turned away from me and looking toward the pile of supplies. He is tall, slender, his black hair hanging halfway down his tan-skinned back.

He’s removed the wolf’s head. It rests atop a stone beside his supplies, where he’s looking for something. I recognize the patterns of gray and brown on the fur. But... that can’t be real.

I sit up, feeling dizzy as I watch him pull a leather gorge from the pile. He looks me over with a neutral stare, his gaze lingering on my legs. I feel a flutter of embarrassment, wondering what has caught his attention. Then I look down.

My shins to my feet are cut, scratched, and bleeding. Thorns stick in my skin from the briars. I had fled so quickly... I didn’t realize how hurt I was.

The man opens the gorge and pours cool water down my right shin. The cuts sting and I bite my lip, hissing from the pain.

He makes a low hum, almost close to a growl. I have no other way to describe it. Pinching my skin, he pulls out a thorn. Why did I run through the briars? All of the cuts start to hum, pulsing in pain with my heart beat. My eyes glisten, and I tremble when he lifts the gorge again.

It stings too much. In reflex, I knock the gorge away.

He grabs my wrist so fast I hardly see him do it. He holds me tightly, his eyes locked onto mine. I forget about my wounds, overwhelmed by a flush caused by his hold.

I want to resist him. Not because I’m afraid, but because him holding me feels so good. I try to pull away and he twists my wrist, not so much that it’s painful, but showing me he’s in control. He hums a growl again, giving me a stern look. He places his palm against my chest and gentle but firmly, he pushes me back.

I’ve never felt a thrill like this before. My mouth waters and heat flushes to my cheeks. He makes me lie back, sinking into the soft furs. He stays above me, his pelvis near my pelvis, his leg bent beside my thigh, holding himself up.

He keeps his hand pressed on my chest, making sure I don’t try to sit up again. After several minutes of being locked under his unblinking stare, he relaxes. Nimbly he moves back to my legs and resumes cleaning and caring for them. It still stings, but my attention stays on the heat he created in my body.

A few times my legs jerk from pain, and he grips my thigh firmly, almost painfully, keeping me still. Soon the sting begins to numb. Even as he moves to my feet, which I feel have some of the worst cuts, I barely feel it. It’s almost as if he’s placed stones on me, making my limbs heavy and my breath shallow.

I must have fallen asleep. He’s moved away from me, starting a fire in the hearth. It’s darker beyond the thicket, and I hear movement rustling beyond the trees. Or maybe I just imagine it.

The man sits across the soft glow. The curves of his face are reddened from the flame. He holds something... and as he begins to play, I realize it’s a wooden flute. But I’ve never heard one played this way. So slow, wistful, like a delicate forest stream.

The fire warms us against the coming night. With his music carrying me through the forest, across mountainsides, through canyons and valleys... I fall asleep.

I wake, warm under thick furs, but breathing in chilled air. The fire has all but died out. Weak and trembling, my arms slowly manage to sit me up.

Scanning the cave, I find the man is gone. It is dawn, judging by the smell of the air and the happy chirping of birds outside. There’s a soft gray glow filtering through the thicket.

Was what happened yesterday real? I remember my legs and expose them to the chilly air. The cuts have been cared for, but my skin is bruised and tender. I dare not look at the soles of my feet, but I suspect they are worse than my legs. Walking home is going to be difficult.

Foolish Kimimela, wandering like a butterfly.

My mother’s voice in my head makes my heart sink. They would be worried for me. They may have sent search parties out. Even our best trackers won’t be able to find me here. I wiggle my feet, flinching at their soreness.

My senses go on alert. Something’s outside. An animal. I search for the wolf skin the man left on the rock, and find it still there, staring forward with empty eyes.

He’s not wearing the wolf skin. I focus on the sound of shifting earth and crunching brush beyond the thicket. The animal is large. Is it one of the other wolves? Will they leave me alone, as they did before? Or now that the Mani-ha is gone, will they act by their animal instincts?

No, it’s not a wolf. It’s too big. I glimpse a large, dark hulk through the branches. It makes a deep snorting sound, and I go rigid. I’m frozen like a sapling caught in ice, yet I know the only way I’ll survive is to escape. It must have happened upon this cave, or maybe it smelled my scent. Either way, I’m in no condition to run from a bear.

It’s coming through the brush. Steadying my heart, I resign to my fate. If these are my last moments, I will not live them in terror. The bear, mato, is the greatest of all hunting creatures. My end will be swift, and in accepting my death, there is nothing to fear.

It gives grunt breaths as it presses toward me. I see dark eyes flash through the leaves. Instead of a massive paw and bear claws, a hand reaches forward. A human hand.

Dark fur ducks beneath the branches, but it’s not bear fur, it is the man’s smooth hair. He has returned.

There’s something wild about him. His eyes are dark and deep, like the dark space between two stars, pulling me in. I clench my fists and hold my breath. The beast is here.

The man steps forward, and a stream of morning light catches his face. His eyes aren’t black, but brown as they were before.

The bear was here. I felt it. But now, it’s just the man. He stares at me as he straightens and comes inside. Before when I thought he was a wolf, he wore a wolf’s fur over his head. But there is no bear skin on him now. Then I see round his neck, a necklace of bear claws strung with turquoise and red beads.

He really is a skinwalker, taking a part of the animal he will change into. He approaches the fire, glistening fresh trout in his hand. But in the sides of each fish are deep gashes.

Teeth marks.

Laying the fish on the rocks of the hearth, the skinwalker looks back to me. I don’t know what to do. If I could, I would try to run away. He walks toward me, then leans down to my legs. I cower from his touch.

He pauses, studying me and lifting his hands in peace. His eyes are warm, like soft earth touched by the sun. He breathes deep and slow, and soon my breathing matches his. Like reaching for an injured bird, he lowers his hands to my legs. I relax at his gentle touch. He inspects my cuts with the caress of his fingertips across my skin. Avoiding the injured area, he pulls down one leg then the other, then covers them again with the thick furs.

He meets my eyes and I know what he wants. He wants me to lie down and rest. But I want him to touch me again. I want his warm, strong hands on my skin.

He wraps his hand around the back of my neck. I submit, letting him support me. He leans me back, laying me down against the fur. He props my head with a rolled straw mat then releases me. Seeing I am settled, he turns back to the hearth.

Drowsily I watch him stoke the fire and skewer the fish with sharpened, thin branches. Soon the cave fills with the smell of fatty, dripping roast. Half awake, I dream of a bear, stripping the white flesh off its catch, licking the juice off its claws.

The smell is right below my lips. I open them, and he slips inside a small morsel of fish. Chewing it my eyes water, not having realized how hungry I was. Piece after piece he feeds me, until I feel my strength slowly returning and the empty pit in my stomach fill.

I catch a hint of his smell when he turns away from me. He returns with the gorge, and gives me several drinks of the cool water. When he starts to turn from me again, I grab his hand.

I’m not sure what I’m doing. I’m just acting. I want to smell him again. I pull his hand to my face, and to my pleasure, he complies. I place his hand on my cheek his palm and wrist before my nose. Closing my eyes, I deeply breathe in his musk, and the smell of leather and the forest. I reach and touch his chest, it’s as smooth as it looks.

We meet eyes. He knows about women, I can tell by his expression. I hope he can see I know about men.

Of course, he’s not like men from the village. They have rules to follow, tradition. Before they win my hand, a man must obtain permission from my father. Must pledge himself to me, and I to him.

But not the skinwalker. He lives outside of our rules. I smile as his hand drifts down my face and through my hair. I wrap my hand around his muscled arm and pull him closer, delighted when, again, he follows my request.

He takes over, sensing my need. With wet kisses he moves down my neck, pressing his pelvis between my legs. He massages my breasts through my buckskin dress and slides under the bear skins, so all that’s between us are our clothes.

I shiver with anticipation, sweeping my fingers over his muscular form. I find scars on his abdomen and look up to his eyes, fixed on me. I follow the scars down his stomach, three long, straight lines. Only one thing could have made them.

Claws.

He lifts up the base of my dress and spreads my legs with his knees. He frees himself from his leggings and I can smell his distinct man scent. It makes my mind dizzy with need.

I lick my lips as he reaches down and spreads me with his fingers. I lift my hips in eagerness for him. I will wander... wander like a butterfly.

He enters me and my eyes roll back. I moan from the satisfaction of him rubbing me in the wet, sacred place, and from the flame of hunger awakened inside me.

He pushes fully inside, grinding against me with his pelvis. I arch my chest, wanting to feel my breasts against his bare skin, but I’ve lost all control of my body and can not remove my dress now.

All I can move are my hips, or rather they move on their own, swallowing his joyous thrusts. I can tell he is moving to please me. It’s not long before I’m consumed by the motions. He lifts my pelvis and rocks me, seeming to push deeper and deeper.

His black hair falls around me and I smell sweet herbs. My arms wrap around his back as he rocks into me. I feel more scars on his back, and I come out of the pleasure delirium.

These scars are less specific, and I can’t guess how he earned them. But I know they are from great battles. He moves inside me, taking me to a higher level of ecstasy. So powerful, so strong, like an animal.

He is a man, but I feel the spirit of an animal within him. He thrusts with such desire, such passion. Agility, like the wolf. Strength, like the bear. And wild... free... He takes me with him.

I cry out when elation hits me. He’s panting, but smiles at me as my insides clamp around his penis. I sink back, in complete submission.

I wake to the smell of afternoon. The skinwalker has built a large fire, and the warmth of it, and the furs, brings strength to my limbs.

I look around, expecting to see him nearby, since the fire was stoked recently, but he is gone. Next to me I find dew-soaked raspberries laid upon several maple leaves. Sitting up, I take the berries in hand. The Mani-ha has left, and he has taken the disarray of supplies with him. Nothing is left... except... Below my feet I find two white-leather moccasins. The bead work is intricate, more beautiful than I have ever seen. I almost hate to touch them, but my curiosity is too strong. They are soft, but well-crafted and sturdy. Without thinking, I slide my feet into them.

My feet are sore, but the moccasins cover them softly like his hands did. My eyes moisten with tears, missing him the strange man that brought me here, but I start to eat the ripe, juicy berries and stand. I expect my legs will be weak, but as I pull myself up against the large stone, they are able to support me.

I know I have to leave. The cave feels wild without his presence, forbidden. Carefully I walk to the thicket that will lead me out, unsure of my feet.

There, atop a stone near the entrance, a single eagle feather rests. It is white with black at the tip, a wing feather. I tie the feather into my hair, knowing it is my final goodbye.

The air is fresh and cool as I step outside. I look around the forest, seeing no wolf, nor bear. I know it is time to return to the village, but I am not really sure where I am.

Then I hear the call from above. A voice that sounds like it has echoed against a hundred mountains, an eagle. I find the bird, soaring above the canopy to my left. I turn and follow, knowing it will lead me home.

THE END

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COURTSHIP

(Complete Story)

A medieval maid fantasizes about her lord.

I can’t be certain as I stare out of the second story castle window, but this may be one of the most beautiful days of the summer. Golden pollen and lavender petals drift on the breeze. Children play in the fields of barley, while others sit on the edge of the sheep pen, swinging their legs to some chant I’m too far away to hear.

It seems everyone has found an excuse to bask in the afternoon sun. The other maids beat rugs and cart pails of water from the well. I lean upon the casement and allow the sun to warm my bare skin. It’s rare moments like this that the dull life of a servant fades away, leaving only me.

A figure appears at the edge of the field, glowing from the light of the low sun and the golden awns of the barley. It is Lord Griffith, leading the oxen in from pasture. His broad form is unmistakable. A heavy breath escapes my chest and I settle on the stone casement to watch him.

It is strange seeing a lord do labor. Not once in my years of service did I see Lord Frederick help in any undergoings of the village. He was an elderly man for as long as I knew him. He had been strict, but fair, and the village mourned him when he passed.

We all feared who would be Lord Frederick’s replacement. The king awarded Lord Griffith governance of Littleshire for service during battle. Other than that we knew little of him until he arrived with three horses and two squires near the end of winter.

His youth and strength breathed life into the village. When I first met him, he wasn’t as handsome as I imagined. Battle and toil had tempered his skin. But his appearance and demeanor evoked immediate respect from the village folk. Before that day, my father had been the tallest man I had ever known. Lord Griffith, however, stood half a head higher and at least two hands wider.

I watch him lead the oxen toward the castle. He seems strong enough to carry the burdens of all the village, to be our protector as well as our lord.

Also unlike Frederick, Lord Griffith is not reclusive. He stops at the cobblestone road to speak with yeoman Ronaldson. Two servant boys run up to relieve him of the oxen. The lord turns to the fields, gesturing as he discusses something with the yeoman. Littleshire is a peaceful place, with no need for knights or soldiers, so the lord pays local land owners like Ronaldson to help patrol.

I have to admit that I am quite fond of our new lord. I imagine us strolling the cobblestone road, discussing the minor happenings of the town. His strength fills me with a sense of ease. He reaches down and grasps my hand...

My cheeks warm at the thought. I know that I, daughter of the village cobbler, have no chance of being Griffith’s lady. In fact I haven’t spoken a single word to him since he arrived. Our paths have crossed several times, but I couldn’t work up the nerve to raise my gaze from the floor.

And there’s the rumors. The other servants say that Lord Griffith has already taken ladies into his bed. We whisper this among ourselves, as we do not want to speak ill of him. Last week I saw him with Mistress Anette in the courtyard, and they seemed very comfortable.

I push the thought from my mind. This is my moment, and I won’t let the flirtatious coquette damper it.

I admire Griffith and his calm leadership. He farewells the yeoman and stretches toward the sky. It is such a simple gesture, common enough with the workers in the field, but seeing him stretch his limbs, causing his shirt to rise and expose his tone stomach, sets butterflies across my skin.

I can imagine those strong arms wrapping around me. I can feel his short black hair through my fingers. His muscles are thick as I squeeze them. His blue eyes stare deep into mine, like a cooling breeze against the fire of my skin.

Oh my G0d! He really is looking at me! Not just my imagination, standing there near the street, his gaze is locked on me. And the look on his face... He knows I was staring at him!

Heat flushes to my skin and my stomach churns in knots. I want to look away, to hide in the shadows of the hallway, but he’s taken hold of my will and won’t let go.

He doesn’t seem angry. ‘I caught you’ is written on his tan, robust face. He’s almost smiling. Surely he has to look away now, having toyed with the young servant woman long enough. But he doesn’t. He just keeps staring at me. His eyes... his steel blue eyes....

I close my eyes and something awakens inside me. Or maybe something falls asleep. But when I open them again, I feel different. His eyes see straight into me, and he doesn’t see a servant girl. He sees a woman.

I’m not afraid any more. My trembling calms. It seems like ages that our gazes have been locked together, though it’s only been a few moments. And he hasn’t looked away. He seems interested, curious... demanding.

He is interested in me. And not just as a lord learning his protectorate. This is something stronger. His gaze wanders across my body, appraising me. Before my reason can get in the way, I allow myself to do the same.

My eyes stroke his smooth but firm cheeks, peppered by a close-cut goatee, his dark, thick brows and his tousled, jet black hair. Then down, to his thick, sinuous neck, to his loose shirt, revealing the start of dark, curly chest hair. His brawny chest and arms almost fill his tunic. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing his working-man forearms. I’m about to examine lower, when something steps in my path.

I recognize her immediately. Lady Helenis, daughter of the wealthy, land-owning village bailiff. She has worn one of her formal dresses, out of place in the farming sector. It’s obvious she is trying to make an impression on the lord.

And that she has succeeded. He is completely enraptured by her. He has turned away from the window, away from me, as if I don’t exist.

Bitterness splinters my core as I have never felt before. I wish to tear the silk and lace off her slender body. She looks beautiful in it, showing just enough skin to peak his interest but not to suggest she’s promiscuous. But most people in the village know better. Helenis throws herself on any powerful, wealthy man who passes through town.

And now she has her sights on Lord Griffith. Her servant has fixed her hair in perfect, wavy curls. Her dress is satin with a long silk sash, and a feather thin shall drapes over her shoulders.

They speak, and of what I can only guess. Perhaps making plans to meet in the Lord’s chambers. Or perhaps...

My muscles begin to relax. Perhaps they are discussing some legitimate concern of the village. I’m being foolish. Lord Griffith isn’t mine. I’ve never even spoken to him, so how can I be jealous that one of the wealthiest women in Littleshire seeks him out?

I should turn away from the window. I should continue my afternoon task of preparing the rooms and lighting fires before nightfall. But I remain. What I can’t have myself, I can live through the fair lady Helenis, at least for a moment. Indeed she is beautiful, richly dressed, perfect. My full figure, with only a plain white servant’s dress, and my straight brown hair hastily combed from this morning, shows I am dreaming far beyond my stature.

Griffith bows to her. Unsatisfied with so cordial a parting, Helenis stands on her toes and presses her lips against his unshaven cheek.

Just one little kiss, and she steals all joy from my heart. The warmth I felt from the sun fades, all joy and beauty of the day dulls into the mundane, daily routine. The lord and the lady pull away from each other, nodding and turning their separate ways.

Before returning to his work, Lord Griffith stops in the middle of the courtyard, servant boys with livestock and farmers with carts passing by him.

And he looks back up at me.

Curse myself! I should have walked away. Now he has seen me neglecting my duties a second time. And not just that... he knows I was spying on him. I feel like I will faint with the blood that rushes to my head.

His dark eyebrows lower, but otherwise I can’t read his face. Is he angry with me? Then he nods to me. This is an entirely different nod than he gave to Helenis. This is slow and deliberate, and tells me "The next time I see you, we will deal with this."

Thankfully, he turns away after this brief message is delivered. I fall in the shadows of the hall and lean on the stone wall, gasping. My parents will hear how their grown daughter, just recently having left the house, already had to be reprimanded by the Lord for neglecting her job. Oh no, what if he tells others I was snooping on him?

I start quickly down the hall, trying to hide from these disturbing thoughts. I just have to stay busy, and stay out of his way, and soon he will forget he ever saw me watching him.

Hopefully.

I busy myself straightening the beds in the second story rooms, though they were already fixed this morning. I don’t want to start the fires. It takes too much time to make sure the flame catches on the kindling. I have to keep moving... though it’s foolish of me to imagine I’m running from something.

I go into the next room, but freeze as soon as I step inside. It is Lord Griffith’s chamber.

I have been here many times when this room belonged to Lord Frederick, but only twice since Lord Griffith occupied it. It hadn’t felt so strange to enter his room as it does now. It is decorated the same, with shields,