Branwyn's Love

By Daryl Devore

Daryl Devoré pens another hot read – the medieval romance -Branwyn's Love.

The tale of a young woman sold as a courtesan in training. Branwyn arrives in a new land to begin daily lessons in the bewildering art of bedding a man.

The noblewoman chosen to be Prince Malacke's bride rejects him by bedding his hated rival. Malacke turns his anger towards increasing the power and wealth of Black Dorn castle. And he succeeds until his attention is captured by the face of the woman who will be his queen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daryl Devore
• Release date: Apr 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393805397

Daryl Devore

Autrice di narrativa erotica, Daryl Devore ama creare personaggi forti, indipendenti e affascinanti. I suoi cattivi ragazzi ispirano ogni volta un mondo di storie avvincenti.

Book preview

Word Key

As this is a medieval story in a fictitious kingdom, I added words of their language to add to the feel of the story. I believe these are in the order that they appear.

Dune – trainee/submissive—Dune Branwyn = trainee Branwyn

Black Dorn – the name of the castle and the lands it controls

Duna – instructor—Duna Trea = instructor Trea

Guidance or Instruction – punishment

Gon – king – Gon Lacke = King Lacke

Gon-dra –heir to the throne—Gon-dra Malacke = Prince Malacke

Malacke – son of Lacke

Tragor – Accept or I accept

Subjugated – forced to work as a servant

Manhood – penis

Pleasured – sexually stimulated

Release – orgasm

Lune - dildo

Gonness – queen—Gonness Eva= Queen Eva

The uplands – lands to the north of Black Dorn castle

Gonness-dra - Princess

Please note – I am Canadian and the spellings in this book reflect that – colour – not color – travelled – not travel etc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Please don’t purchase this or any book from a pirate site. If you wish authors to write books for you to enjoy - you must support authors by purchasing their books at legitimate sites.

If you choose to only support pirates - remember karma can bite you in the backside.

All characters in this work of fiction were created by the author’s imagination - warped as it may be. Any resemblance in name or characterization to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Which means I created these characters. I didn’t base it on anybody.

All sexually active characters in this work are eighteen or older.

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Daryl Devoré.

Blurb

Daryl Devoré pens another hot read – the medieval romance - Branwyn’s Love.

The tale of a young woman sold as a courtesan in training. Branwyn arrives in a new land to begin daily lessons in the bewildering art of bedding a man.

The noblewoman chosen to be Prince Malacke’s bride rejects him by bedding his hated rival. Malacke turns his anger towards increasing the power and wealth of Black Dorn castle. And he succeeds until his attention is captured by the face of the woman who will be his queen.

5 STARS Dark but Surprising

This story turned out to be a real surprise for me. I was expecting a much darker tale from the description. The beginning did seem to live up to something very dark but then it seemed that all of a sudden light came and brought the whole story into a new light. It was a wonderful story of love, redemption, and sometimes having to do something terrible to create lasting peace. I love that all the female characters could be submissive and yet strong and that the male characters despite their strength could show their strong feelings.

I recommend this to anyone that love a great love story but sometimes like to have a bit of bite to it.

5 stars Awesome steamy story - new favorite author

Branwyn is a complex character, who begins the book timid and modest. However, in this story, timid and modesty are two sinful attitudes. Quickly, she is thrown into a world of passion and sex. But she only has eyes for one man, Malacke, the Gon-Dra. He is fierce and does not hide his body or his lust. However, Branwyn catches his eye and soon his heart.

This was a quick read and I found myself up late at night to finish it. The kind of drama and love story that leaves you breathless and then sighing in contentment at the end. I will definitely read more books by Daryl Devoré.

Brawnyn’s Love

Chapter One

S t op that crying or by all that is powerful, I will beat you.

Do not yell so. You will frighten the poor child.

Through tears, Branwyn stared at her uncle and aunt. I... I do not understand. Why must I go?

Her aunt sat next to her. It is your time, child. A husband has been chosen. You must leave us to join with him.

About time it is! Her uncle’s face grew redder with each word. One year shy of a score she is, and still unwed. She must fall to her knees to thank God someone wishes to marry such an old spinster.

Branwyn slapped the arm of her chair. I decline. It is my right. I shall not marry this man!

How many men do you think you can refuse? Her uncle paced about the small room. This is the fourth suitor to ask for your hand. You cannot. It is done. Your things are being loaded as we speak. He jerked back a curtain in the window and pointed.

The door opened and in stepped a tall broad-shouldered soldier. The carriage awaits.

Branwyn. Aunt Selda patted her hand. You have no dowry. This is a good match. He is a rich man. He will give you babies.

Suspicion gnawed at Branwyn’s stomach. And what did he give you?

Gold. Uncle Egbert picked up his purse and dropped it, with a rattle, back onto the table.

Branwyn dried her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, stood, kissed her aunt on the cheek and strode out the door to face her destiny.

A carriage with two strong, brown horses stood at the entrance. Two guardsmen on horseback waited. The driver offered his hand to help her mount.

Branwyn paused and turned. No one waited to say goodbye. The door of her uncle’s manor closed with a determined firmness. Warm tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She blinked them back, then settled herself, pulled a blanket over her legs and snapped the curtains closed. If the family she’d grown up with refused to cry and wish her well, she would not shed a tear or turn for a final glance at her adopted home. With a shout and a shudder, the carriage pulled away.

For three days and nights, the horses pounded across the land. Her body ached from the incessant shaking. The driver allowed her allowed brief intervals to exit the carriage. A guard, always on hand, escorted her to an inn. As much as she tried to converse with her escort, no one spoke to her.

While she ate a quick meal, fresh horses, a new driver and soldiers relieved the tired ones. A rough blanket was Branwyn’s refuge into sleep—no bed, no soft down pillow, no gentle breeze billowing through her curtains, just the constant movement of the carriage. Exhaustion and frustration filled her as every time her eyes fluttered shut a sharp jostle would snap her awake.

When the coach stopped, Branwyn’s trial was over. Her patience had worn thin and weariness weighed heavily on her. The door opened, and she stepped down the stairs and onto the land of her new home.

Two torches, held by guards, broke the darkness. A woman stood just outside the doorway. Dune Branwyn. Welcome to Black Dorn. I am Duna Trea.

Branwyn smiled. Years of training surfaced through her exhaustion and she curtsied. It is a delight to meet you, Duna Trea.

A girl near Branwyn’s age stepped out from behind Duna Trea. This is Leah, your serving girl. She will help you to your quarters, bathe, feed and prepare you for bed. You must be exhausted by your long journey.

Branwyn nodded and sighed. From the bottom of my heart, I cannot thank you enough. My bones are truly weary.

Through the fog of near sleep, Branwyn felt herself being helped to walk, undress, cleanse and eat, but she needed no help to fall asleep.

Good morning, Dune Branwyn. Leah pulled open the heavy bed curtains and let in the light of a new day.

Branwyn yawned and stretched. Leah helped her sit up and settle back on her pillows. Lea then placed a tray over Branwyn’s lap, whose stomach rumbled at the sight of the bowl of fresh, ripe strawberries and a cup of hot sweet tea.

Nibbling some berries, she glanced at her surroundings. Comforted that the colourful tapestries hinted at the wealth of future her husband, Branwyn smiled as she ran her hand along the linen sheets. On a table, to her right, sat a silver bowl filled with fresh apricots and plums. Near the window, a white washbasin and pitcher rested on a small bench. A fur rug covered part of the grey stone floor.

A large screen blocked the fireplace. She tilted her head, puzzling over the sound of water pouring into an exceptionally large basin. A soft scent floated across the air and mingled with the scent of her breakfast. Leah folded clothes and prepared the room for the day. A tall girl, with light brown hair, wrapped in a white scarf, Leah’s dull brown dress hung loosely on her thin body.

Is the dune ready for her morning bath? Leah lowered her eyes as she waited nearby.

What is a dune? What does this word mean? I do not know it.

Leah bit her lip. You are a dune.

It is my rank?

It is your position.

Do you have a position?

I am Leah, your serving girl.

Are you a dune, Leah?

I serve a dune. Leah indicated with her hand. Your bath is ready.

You may bring me a bowl and basin.

Respectfully no, my dune. You must go to the bath.

I am sorry. Branwyn smiled. I forgot that customs might be different from here than at home. Home. She had not thought about her aunt, uncle or six female cousins since she’d left. I will banish them from my thoughts as they banished me. She threw back her covers, stood and walked to the basin. It is empty.

The bath is here. Leah pointed behind the screen.

As Branwyn neared, a warm, sweet smelling mist engulfed her. Near the fireplace hearth, a large bronze object sat, filled with water. Leah tugged on the hem of Branwyn’s gown. I must help you undress so I may cleanse you.

Pointing