"Wife, you should unman a satyr," he groaned happily.
"What is a satyr?" she demanded to know.
He laughed. "A creature that is half man, half goat, and incredibly lustful."
She smiled as she lay contented upon his smooth, damp chest. "Next time I shall make you feel like the randiest of satyrs," she promised.
"Will you?" he half taunted her.
"I will!" Rhonwyn raised her head and began to lick his nipples suggestively.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, very much enjoying her attentions, then he gently bid her cease. "While I should like you to believe I can be aroused almost immediately, wife, it is not possible, as we both realize."
"I bow to your husbandly wisdom," she said sweetly, arising from their bed and walking across the floor to the fireplace. There she took a pitcher of water from the coals and poured some into the small earthenware ewer that was set on the hearth along with a soft cloth. Returning to the bed, she set the ewer on the side table and began to bathe his masculine parts. He was very surprised, but she explained. "They do this in Cinnebar so that no pleasure has to be foregone the second, or third, or fourth time."
"Third or fourth time?" he queried her, swallowing hard.
"Aye," she replied, bathing her own female parts carefully before his eager eyes. "When this night is over, my lord husband, you will have even more reason to feel sorry for your cousin, Edward." And so saying she went to the window, opened the shutter, and threw out the water in the basin, laughing as the wind and snow blew into their chamber, and the fire blazed higher for a minute. Closing the shutter, she replaced the ewer and its cloth on the hearth and returned to the comfort of his arms.
"I know something Edward never knew about you," he told her. "You are a sorceress, my Welsh wife, and I am under your spell." Then he kissed her, softly at first, his lips tracing a path over her eyelids, cheeks, and nose. Then more fiercely their mouths fused together, their tongues playful and teasing. He was caught by surprise when she pushed him upon his back and bestrode him, her thighs holding him firmly.
Reaching up, she undid her hair, which was already half undone by their earlier love play. Tossing the pins carelessly aside, she let her tresses fall like a rich golden mantle about her. Then her hands reached out for him, and she began to smooth her palms in circles over his chest. "We must have scented oils in a basket by our bed," she told him. "I will rub them into your skin, husband, and it will give you great pleasure." Her center fingers began rubbing themselves over his sensitive nipples. Leaning forward briefly, she kissed him even as she pinched his nipples hard, catching his cry of surprise within her mouth. Then leaning back again, she nibbled thoughtfully upon a finger for a moment. Suddenly a wicked smile suffused her features, and Rhonwyn turned her body about upon his torso. Her fingers reached out for his manhood, which was showing definite signs of awakening.
"1 learned this in the harem," she told him as she reached beneath him to press a finger against a sensitive spot that he had never even known existed.
"Jesu! Mary!" he groaned as fire began to pour through his veins and her hand tortured his twin jewels with teasing caresses.
Rhonwyn inclined her body forward, her fingers running up and down his stiffening manhood. Her pointed little tongue encircled the fiery head of his weapon several times, and then she took him into her mouth, suckling upon as much of his length as she could, rousing him into such a frenzy that he began to groan. When she determined that he had had as much as he could stand without spilling his seed, she ceased the sweet torment and turned her body back to face him.
His big hands fastened themselves about her narrow waist, and lifting her up, he lowered her again, delving deep into her hot softness. His hands fastened themselves about her round breasts, and he began to fondle them. Their eyes met suddenly, and she smiled at him, her hands bracing themselves as she began to ride him, slowly at first, and then with increasing vigor. His eyes closed, and he almost wept with the pleasure she was giving him.
Seeing him lost in his passion, Rhownyn's green eyes closed, too, and she gave herself to the moment. He was hard and strong. He filled her so completely that she sensed he was touching her womb. She tightened the muscles of her love sheath about him, and he cried out with his delight. Then without warning he released her breasts, took her by the shoulders, and rolled her beneath him. His hard thighs imprisoned her as he pushed himself deeper and deeper within her body. Her legs wrapped themselves about him, and she whimpered with the pleasure they were sharing. There seemed to be no real beginning or end to their heated encounter. She felt herself soaring higher and higher and higher; she knew he was with her and clung hard to him.
"I can't stop," he whispered desperately in her ear.
"I don't want you to," she responded. "Oh, Rafe! I have never known a lover like you, my darling!"
"Nor I," he answered. He wanted to go on and on forever with her, but then his body betrayed them, and his love juices gushed forth. He cried out in his anguish, but then the sound of her own pleasure reached his ears. She had released her own passion with his. His arms enfolded her tightly, half in comfort, half with his deep love for her.
They fell asleep, their bodies still locked together and intertwined. When they woke an hour or more later his manhood was hard once again as it rested within her lush body.
"You are amazing," she said softly, moving with him in the cadence of passionate lust.
"Only for you," he declared. "Only for you, my wife." His hard body pinioned her beneath him as he once again brought them to a sweet fulfillment, demanding to know afterward, "Was your caliph as passionate, wife?"
"Aye, and sometimes more so, but he did not really love me, Rafe. He only desired me. I was told passion is better shared by two people who love one another. Until now I did not know the wonder of it all. Only with you, husband. Only with you!"
From that moment on they were as one. During the snowiest winter in memory they spent a great deal of time making love to one another. There was, after all, little else to do until the spring. Rhonwyn realized she was happier than she had ever been in all of her life. Rafe found a peace unlike any he had ever known since he had found himself responsible for Ardley and his sister Katherine. It was so different with Rhonwyn, his beautiful wife with her exciting erotic erudition and her independent spirit.
She had taken up her weapons again, practicing with her two grizzled Welsh retainers, Oth and Dewi, in the snowy stableyards. He remembered Edward's complaints about such activities, but Rafe found his wife's skills fascinating. He didn't bother to ask where the alborium she used with such proficiency had come from, for he knew the answer would have really been no answer at all. He had absolutely no fear for her as she wielded her sword and a main gauche. She was to his eyes one hell of a fighter and certainly far better than he had ever been with weapons. Fortunately this knowledge did not disturb him at all. Edward, of course, had been less certain of himself, and Rhonwyn's nontraditional skills had been a great source of irritation to him despite his fondness for her. I am the better husband for Rhonwyn, Rafe thought.
The winter slowly disappeared, and there was a great deal of new life at Ardley. The ewe sheep had lambed well, and there were a goodly number of his cows who had calved. The offspring dotted the green hillsides. As the spring progressed the fields were plowed and the seed distributed for planting. Rhonwyn actually found herself busy with housewifely duties such as airing the featherbeds and picking violets to candy. They rode together and hunted rabbits. One day Glynn appeared in the brown robes of a Benedictine to tell them he had indeed joined the order at Shrewsbury Abbey, and while it would be a year or more before he took his final vows, he was happy.