A Marriage of Convenience (Closed for cgraven and why)

Occ....A Marriage of Convenience by cgraven and myself, hope folks like


The summer sun danced through the leaden windows, dappling the papers on the desk before me. I sighed, rubbed my forehead and picked up the latest statement of the state of the Manor and the valley. My agent in the capitol was worried about my lack of capital. Didn’t he understand there was a war on? Of course he did, that is why he was worried. Oh the estate on paper was wealthy. Rich, wheat growing land; the hedgerows more orchards than barriers, the water meadows along the valley good grazing land. A food basket and a profitable one both for my family and the Kingdom.

My father had called the valley the brightest jewel in the crown of our fair land. He was biased though. Nowhere in his eyes was as good. He had died to save it, that and our small country. He was a true believer in the belief that if one has position and power, you had responsibility to those that looked to you. Our land was a monarchy with responsibility. Each layer of society had its duties laid out in the letter of the law. Laws that protected the citizens, but laws that also expected the citizen to act. From King down to the labourer in the field. My father said it was this that made our people strong, that and the good land we had been blessed with.

The problem was it was the land that had started the war. Small, with a slight population we were a ripe plum, ready for the picking by our neighbour. We had well farmed and fruitful tracts of land. They had overworked dust bowls. We had rich seams of ore in our side of the mountains. They had mined the heart out of theirs, the profits, lining the pockets of the rich who wanted more. The most important was we had a length of good coast line, trade routes and contacts with the rest of the world. They were a land locked Empire, determined to bring other smaller counties under their boot heel.

The war had raged for over three years. We had fought hard, giving the enemy bloody nose after bloody nose. An uneasy lull now hung over our land. One third was under the control of the enemy. A hard held line kept them at bay for now. Calm before the storm, perhaps, for all I knew. All I had to do was ensure this harvest was gathered. It would feed not only a large part of the army but civilians too. It was but one nail, but an important one.

A knock on the study door brought me out of my musing.

“Enter.” I said and listened to my voice echo round the wood panelled room. The door creaked open and my steward, Richard Marshall, stood there.

“Lady Constance, an Officer is here, he is asking for horses for the army, wagon horses.” The last two words were said with venom as Richard showed the Officer in. He was tall, his uniform dusty from his travels, his face lined with what he had seen in the service of his country.

“Lady Constance,” The officer said and gave a small bow as I rose from my seat. I could see his eyes widening. I was dressed in a simple linen gown, the sleeves rolled up like a housemaid’s. My dark blonde hair was pulled back tight in a bun and I knew it did nothing for my looks. My skin was not pale as was the fashion for my class, but marked by the sun. That spring, as the previous one, I had taken my turn walking behind a plough. This harvest had been sown by women, children, old men and crippled soldiers released from duty. It looked like it would be reaped by the same, though I had hope that the lull in the fighting might allow some men to return home, just for the harvest.

“Captain?” I looked as his red sash and made a guess at his rank.

The man smiled and said “Owens, milady. I have come for…”

“Horses” My Steward spat. “Milady, we have barely enough teams in the valley as it is, each year we have… and as for what is left of any riding stock.”

I held up my hand and tried to smile. “I know, I know, Captain would you consider carriage horses of any use rather than take our heavy draft horses.”

“Milady!” Richard’s shocked voice bounced round the study.

“If not suitable for wagons, they could always be handed over to the cavalry.” Captain Owens grinned.

“Good, we have eight fine beasts eating there heads off, two, four in hand teams, plus another pair from my high wheeled gig. I can make do with the pony cart.”

“I will need to take at least three more pairs.” Captain Owens said.

“Very well.” I agreed over Richard’s spluttered protest. The Officer bowed and took his leave, leaving me to face the thundercloud on Richard’s face.

“The army will leave us with nothing; then moan we haven’t gotten the harvest in for them.” The grey haired man snapped and paced before me. He had served my family man and boy, was part of the family in many ways. “Why don’t you ask your husband for help, he has the King’s ear from what I have heard. He could make sure we keep them horses, we need them. And your carriage horses, you are a Lady, Milady, you need such.”

“I do not know if my husband has the King’s ear or not, but even if he did I would not make such a request of him, we must do what we must with what we have. And I can make do with the pony cart and my old riding hack.” Richard smothered his temper and took his leave, certain I was sure to make sure that the “best” of the heavy teams in the valley did not come under the Captain’s eye.

It was true. I did not know my husband at all. He was my husband, but we had never met. A political match by proxy. A Marriage of Convenience. Forced, no not forced, but needed with the death of my father and brother. It kept the valley in hands loyal to the King and country. Made it safe, not turned into a knife to be held at the throat of the King. It allowed my husband to have “the estate’s resources” to use in his service to the King and land what ever they were. It allowed me to do what I must to protect my small corner of the land and bring in this harvest for my lost father and brother.

Jean Michelle Carbaue drew his cloak tightly about himself, poor comfort in the driving rain. Their was nothing about the man huddled in his cloak to catch the casual observers eye, in fact Jean Michelle Carbaue was most unremarkable, just another mercenary soldier that plied his trade on the edge of war, selling his sword to the highest bidder. He now sat huddled in the lee of a small burned out croft, at a cross road idly watching the troops of the invader as they tramped bye.

Three new regiments, fresh troops, yet all where youth some had just seen their sixteenth summer.

“You their!” A young mounted officer called pointed his sword at Jean Michelle Carbaue. He struggled to his feet leaning heavily on a crude crutch


“Penny for a veteran Sir”

“Off with you knave before I have you hung.”

“Aye Sir, I’ll be going Sir”

Jean Michelle Carbaue limped off on his crutch dragging his twisted leg behind him till well clear of the cross road, slowly working deep into the neighboring woods and his waiting horse. Casting away his crutch Jean Michelle swung into the saddle. Three new regiments, fresh troops,. The King must know, the uneasy truce was about to irrupted into war again.


Jean Michelle Carbaue was his sovereign’s Spy Master a duty he detested but one he was well fitted for. Three days later his report made in person the King’s Spy Master was on his way to the valley that would become the key to the country’s fate, the valley of his wife Lady Constance. They had been married by proxy at the King’s bequest and all Jean Michelle knew of his lady wife was a small miniature portrait and she nothing at all of him.

I stood on the edge of a waving field of wheat. The golden carpet eased down the slope before me and was repeated in bright yellow patches to the hazy eastern horizon. I rubbed my nose and pulled on the wide brim of my straw hat, tilting it to block the sun's rays. The ribbons on the hat caught in the faint breeze and whipped across my face. I took hold of the blue lengths and fiddled with them, mentally cursing my nervousness.

I had to make a decision.

My Steward, Richard, along with Squire Thomason, were inspecting the crop. Was it ready? Richard pulled a ripe ear of wheat from its stalk and rubbed the grains in his hands, the soft husks being whipped away by the breeze. He sniffed it and handed the grain to Squire Thomason, who took it clumsily in his left hand. His right was gone, lost in battle. Crippled like so many men, but alive and home, to the joy of his wife Elizabeth, who stood by my side.

“Well?” I ask my heart pounding.

“Two, maybe three days if the weather holds.” Richard said and dusted his hands, walking back through the crop towards me.

“Aye” The Squire concurred. “We start hiring then in Muddleton and at other hiring fairs?”

“As many as we can get, once we start I want the crop harvested, threshed and on barges south as soon as possible. We work round the clock if need be.” I said, the decision made.

Elizabeth squeezed my arm and gave a small nod as she said. “The weather will hold for awhile.”

“That weather eye of yours tell you so, Lizzy?” Her husband teased as he came to her side. The four of us turned as one and began to walk back to the large rambling farm, which was the Squire’s home.

“Nay, the ducks on the pond did.” Lizzy answered smiling up at her husband, her mound of black curls trying to escape out of her matronly lace cap.

“As to the hiring, not going to get many experienced men or women for that matter.” Richard huffed as Elizabeth’s maid brought tankards of weak ale for her mistress’s guests.

I looked at my Steward, then round the large yard, remembering it at happier harvest times, full of song, feet stamping on the hard cobbles. “There will be women and children enough , who would welcome a full belly for a few weeks and coins in their hands for binding, stacking and threshing, we take as many as we can get. As for men, I heard that there was a lot of soldiers on leave or discharged in Muddleton.”

“Such could be more trouble than they’re worth” The Squire remarked.

“But we need as many reaping bands as we get.” My fear that we could lose this crop, begins to choke me.

“True, need to hire a damn good overseer for them, maybe an ex sergeant, keep the men in line. Richard and I can’t be every where.” Squire Thomason said and took a pull on his ale. He then looked back out of the yard to the waving gold crop. “What happens if…” He let the words drop. I began to shake, the ale slopping over my hands. I know he means another threat to the crop, besides that of bad weather and not enough reaping bands.

“We fire what we haven’t harvested.” The words fall flatly between us, so painful to say I feel my mouth has been burnt.

“Dear Gods.” Lizzy exclaimed and looked at her home. If the enemy came, it would not only be fields that burned or men that would die.

My shaking increases. This is not what I was raised to do, take decisions like this. I was raised to be a “lady” To grace my husband’s home and control his household. To be knowledgeable in the arts and be able to entrain his guests. Yet I must do it, somehow. Be the “lord” of the valley, do what has to be done, no matter how much it hurts. Can I find the strength to keep going. Like now I fear that I cannot.

The clatter of horses break into my self doubt. I look round and am dazzled by the sun glancing off polished breastplates and bright uniforms. “Cavalry?” I ask.

“Home guard yeomanry” Squire Thomason snorts in derision.

“Cousin?” A cultured voice sounds out as the Officer swings down from his fine horse.

“Charles, what are you doing here?”

“Been sent to protect your crop cousin,” Charles says, stripping his fine white, calf skin gloves off.

“I see.” The Squire raises an eyebrow as if doubting the yeomanry’s ability to even guard a henhouse “ You will be quartered at the Manor then?”

“No, don’t want to get under your feet at harvest time cousin, will use your father’s hunting lodge on the western edge of the valley if you don’t mind, more central. But I will dine with you now and then Constance. You do still dine don’t you?”

I felt my cousin’s eyes on me, saw the pity and disgust, yes as if I had disgraced my family. For my linen dress was dusty from the field, my nose caught by the sun. A wide brimmed straw hat on my head, more suited to a farmer’s wife than a lady.

Would my husband, if we met view me the same. Not that it mattered. I doubted we would never meet. It was political. Something that had to be done. Like the harvest.

The King’s Spy Master was on his way to the valley that would become the key to the country’s fate, the valley of his wife Lady Constance. Yet the direct approach might call unwanted attention, and that could prove deadly, so another rouse would be in order. Jean Michelle Carbaue had been worrying just that, when suddenly he hit on the rouse that would serve his and the King’s purpose, Muddleton and the hiring fairs.

It was late summer, the grain was golden in the fields, with the war ravaged by war, most of the able body men in the army, reapers would be needed………….so the old sergeant, the battled hardened veteran, the limp that would explain his not being with the army. So Jean Michelle with three days growth of bread, a well worn uniform of the household cavalry, which had seen its better day, an old fashion basket hilted mortuary sword and baldric, astride his roan mount leisurely clopped down the cobbled High Street of Muddleton to the Cross road and the hiring fair.

Jean Michelle hung back at the edge of the crowd as several estate agents vied for the limited labor pool two men caught his attention, their labors for the most part where women and children. Now mind you they where not city folk, but country folk refugees from the east, from the war, and they where not strangers to work. It was at this moment that a rather high hitched whining voice caught the Spy Master’s attention.

” Richard, Squire Thomason can’t you find any men to hire how do you expect Lady Constance to get the harvest in with these.”

Jean Michelle Carbaue drew a deep breath and nudged his mount ahead, angling towards the resplendent “Pop-in-Jay” of Home Guard Yeomanry. [/i] Slackers at best, cowards at worst, and renown for avoiding battle.[/i]

“Ensign these are farm folk and hard works that knows their business.”

Jean Michelle spoke in his broad west country accent.

"Captain ………… Sergeant and how dare you presume to speak to your betters, or pretend knowledge in such matters, you…………………………….."


A subtle nudge of Jean’s heel, a side step of his mount, the Captain’s horsed reared spilling the resplendent offer to the Gutter.

“Sir I comes from farm folk, worked a harvest or two, served our King and can set a horse.”

The “Pop-in-Jay” Captain’s hand reached for his saber yet in a flash Jean Michelle Carbaue basket hilted mortuary sword was gleaming in the sun ready to strike if the need arose.

I sat in the darkened office of the jeweller watching him examine the necklace.

“It is beautiful.” Her remarked and removed his eyeglass.

“I know, but how much?” I asked and rubbed my left palm, the lace gloves I was wearing were catching on my roughened hands. I had to day at least, for my trip into Muddleton, dressed as a lady. My pale pink satin walking dress, with its dove grey bodice jacket had been the height of fashion before the war. But now? I had no idea what the ladies of the King’s court were wearing. The dress was also a little large now. My maid and I had tacked and pinned it, but it still gaped on the neckline. I just needed to remember not to lean forward too much. Elizabeth and I had giggled, when I had tried to tone down my high colour with white face powder. I looked like one of the mummers in the streets entertaining all at the hiring fair. So it had been wiped off. Better a bit sunburnt that looking a total fool. Least I partly looked the part with my hair neatly piled up and a small feathered hat sitting at a jaunty angle.

“How much… 200.” The jeweller sighed. “With the war…”

“Not 300 or perhaps?” I asked. I needed coin. It was custom to pay a weeks wages in advance to all hired. I had not that amount in cash. The Manor could feed those hired, good plain food, shelter them in the large barns down the valley as they reaped the crop, but wages and other things needed solid coin.

“275, milady.”

“Done.” It was my turn to sigh.

I blinked as I walked out of the jeweller's shop. The bright sun reminding me that we had a crop to reap. I made my way towards High street to join Elizabeth and see how things were progressing. We needed so much. Steel for the blacksmiths to mend ploughs and shoe horses. Leather to repair tack. Blankets for the folk we have hired. Salt of all things, one of the few foodstuffs we could not produce in the valley. All needed coin.

Elizabeth was standing with her children, watching a puppet show. The crude soldier puppet was smashing the knitted bear, the national symbol of our enemy. The soldier puppet pulled the bear apart and stuffed it in a jar, to the delight of the audience.

“If only it was so easy.” Squire Thomason remarked as he joined us. Both Elizabeth and I tried to smile but it was hard, so hard. Life went on despite the lost, yet the pain was always there. I envied Elizabeth, she was married to a man she loved. I was married to a man I did not know. I would feel nothing if he was lost to this war. Perhaps I should be grateful for that.

” Richard, Squire Thomason can’t you find any men to hire how do you expect Lady Constance to get the harvest in with these

“Charles,” I almost snapped, what did he think he was doing? Everything was in hand.

Richard shook his head and turned to answer my cousin, but a man on a roan horse beat the Squire to it, bringing a gasp from the lips of all who heard him. I was shocked and felt my colour and temper rising. My cousin could be overbearing at times but he was an officer and a gentleman. The rough looking, and dirty looking rider had no call to speak as he did.


“Ensign these are farm folk and hard works that knows their business.”

“Oh dear, this must stop now, it is uncalled for…” I said to Elizabeth, whose eyes twinkled most evilly at my cousin’s discomfort. I moved forward as Charles bellowed at the former Calvary man.

"Captain ………… Sergeant and how dare you presume to speak to your betters, or pretend knowledge in such matters, you…………………………….."

Then things happened so fast. One moment Charles was astride his fine chestnut gelding, the next the rough looking soldier’s mount had sidestepped into its shoulder. The beast reared spilling Charles into the foul trickle in the gutter. Charles’ hand went to his sabre and a woman screamed. My hands flew to my mouth. So shocked was I stumbled sideways as Elizabeth pulled me out of the way of Charles’ skittering mount.

“Sir I comes from farm folk, worked a harvest or two, served our King and can set a horse.”


A sword glimmered wickedly in the hand of the rough soldier as he spoke. It was an evil looking blade and even I could see that the man knew how to use it. I felt my heart thud in my chest and my throat, tighten. I freed myself of Elizabeth’s hold on my arm and pulled on Squire Thomason’s coat, saying “Do something?”

“Aye, that I will.” The Squire chuckled and walked forward putting himself between a blustering narrow-eyed Charles and the soldier on his roan. “You, Sergeant, is it?” The Squire’s eyes flickered over the man’s tattered uniform. “You seem to be able to handle yourself. Looking for work?”

I was stunned. How could the Squire even think such a man would do? He was dangerous. My mouth dropped open and uttered “Gods no…”

The man’s eyes flickered my way for a second then he seemed to dismiss me and turned his attention to Squire Thomason.

“Do something?” her voice was tinged with fear, yet sweet as summer wine. I idly wondered if the lady was calmly as her docile tones. But to steal a glance while the arrogant young officer fumed might prove to be fatal.

“Aye, that I will. You, Sergeant, is it?” You seem to be able to handle yourself. Looking for work?” Now there was a voice that I recognized Squire Thomason of Household Cavalry, a fine Officer and solider, loyal to the crown and a keen judge of men. We had served in the same regiment, he had commanded the 1st Squadron Household Cavalry at the Battle of the Frontier at Marlow, he had lost a hand, but still managed to slay his opponent and held the field for King and country. I had commanded the 2nd Squadron, the livid scare that slashed my right eye brow and cheek a memento of that engagement that I would carry for life.

“Gods no…” there was shock in that sweet voice now as well.

“Cornel Thomason Sir, I would follow you to Hell and Back. I know you don’t remember me but I served under you at The Battle of the Frontier at Marlow.”


I brought the flat of my old fashion basket hilted mortuary sword to the tip of my nose, then smartly dropped the point in a sharp salute.

“Troop Sergeant Jean Raven, Troop B, 1st Squadron Of His Most Christian Majesty’s Household Cavalry, retired levy, on convalescence leave, with orders to the invalid Battalion for assignment to the estate of Lady Constance Sir, to ensure the harvest is gathered.”

The sun broke from behind a passing cloud to glint off the Croix De Valor hanging from its crimson ribbon, on My tatter tunic. For the first time I turned my eyes to the fair maiden with the voice as sweet as summer wine. Her cheeks glowing with the kiss of the sun, her hair like summer wheat, her form trim, balanced, sensual and those her clothing was dated, there was no doubt that she was indeed a Lady

“Cornel Thomason and this fair maid is your daughter or perchance your Lady wife?” A wicked twinkel in my eye.

Cornel Thomason Sir, I would follow you to Hell and Back. I know you don’t remember me but I served under you at The Battle of the Frontier at Marlow.” The man's words snapped and were matched by the swift movement of his blade into a salute. .

I saw Squire Thomason's mouth twitch in a smile and my cousin snarl and step another pace forward. It was plain to him this made no difference. I felt cold. The man on the roan was a soldier, seen battle.

"Troop Sergeant Jean Raven, Troop B, 1st Squadron Of His Most Christian Majesty’s Household Cavalry, retired levy, on convalescence leave, with orders to the invalid Battalion for assignment to the estate of Lady Constance Sir, to ensure the harvest is gathered.” I was stunned at this and felt my mouth flap like a fish. I made to speak to ask why and how many more, but the Squire's words forstalled me

"So our aims are the same are they not Captain?" Squire Thomason addressed my cousin. I had never heard Cornel speak in that manner so controlled, in command. In fact giving an order and expecting it to be obeyed.

"Yes... but this man..." Charles snapped his own sword slipping back into its metal scabbard with a clatter.

"Was just speaking as he saw fit, a bad habit we old soldier's have." Cornel said laughing and patting the roan's neck.

"Indeed." Charles replied and turned his attention to his horse brought back to him by a young lad. I though knew Charles had marked this Troop Sergeant Jean Raven. Charles was my Uncle's child on my mother's side. A Darcy through and through; hot tempered and certain of his place in society and the respect he believed was his by right.

And this Sergeant it seemed only respected those that earned it, like the Squire. I wondered for a moment as his scarred face turned my way, what he thought of me?

"Cornel Thomason and this fair maid is your daughter or perchance your Lady wife?” The sergeant's voice altered slightly, the accent not so much going, but changing in pitch. Sincere, yes he was actually asking an honest question. Yet the twinkle in his eye, made mine widen, his gaze was that of an equal wanting to know about a fellow equal. It made my heart beat a bit faster. I was so used to others dropping their gaze, being deferential to my rank and position. This seemed a challenge. One that both annoyed and intriqued me at the same time. I found myself looking at the man closely. He was scarred yes, but not unhandsome. Older than me, but his hair not yet marked with grey.

My scrutiny was broken by Charles muttering under his breath and Elizabeth laughed squeezing my arm as her eyes sort out her children still giggling over the puppets. I felt myself blush and cursed myself.


"Which fair maid? Sergeant? The one of the left, with the raven hair is my wife Elizabeth, our daughter is about somewhere, but is no higher than my thigh. The blonde lady is Lady Constance Carbaue, she whose crop you are here to help with."

The Squire had used my married name, something no one in the valley did. I was just Lady Constance. I saw a change in the man's eyes and found myself wondering why. It was silly, but I felt sad about the change.

"Which fair maid? Sergeant? The one of the left, with the raven hair is my wife Elizabeth, our daughter is about somewhere, but is no higher than my thigh. The blonde lady is Lady Constance Carbaue, she whose crop you are here to help with."

Lady Constance Carbaue, my wife, far from the pale woman child of the miniature that I carried, not this golden haired beauty was a woman grown and tested by the ill fortunes of war, strong determined, yet still very much a Lady.

And so I came to my bride’s house for the first time. The King had sent a request that I be billeted at the manor house in a guest room. Over the next week about thirty men reported to the estate, all where members of the Invalid Battalion. Some where missing an arm, other an eye, some hobbled about on a wooden leg. The one thing they had in common was they where there wounds received in the King’s service with a quite pride. Veterans yes, soldiers without a doubt, rough around the edges, plain spoken and hard workers. I played my role well, the old sergeant keeping the lads in line. Each day I would be in the fields, my mount tethered beneath a tree, my tunic tied to the saddle, stripped down to my well worn shirt, back bent, sickle laying the ripened grain low. The women binding the grain up the children gleaning the fields. Richard Lady Constance’s steward saw to the threshing, Squire Thomason the transport of the grain to the barges. Lady Constance’s cousin Charles and his Home guard yeomanry drank their time away at the hunting lodge.

Each morning and each evening I would ride to the rim of the valley looking for the faintest sign of the enemy’s approach.

The clop of my roan’s hooves echoed in the court yard, a groom took my mount; I limped over to the pump to rinse the chaff from my body. Stripped bare to the waist I poured a bucket of water over my head when I heard the soft footfall of a Lady.

“Lady Constance Pardon me mum I didn’t know you where about.”


I quickly threw my tunic over my bare shoulders, and stepped to within a breath of her, the soft smell of her intoxicating. I longed to take her into my arms to press my lips to hers yet I just stood there like a school boy.

"The sooner that lass is married the better." Elizabeth jested as I climbed into the pony cart.

"Aye, "I replied. "Poor lad won't know what hit him." I returned the jest. On the outside we were two older married women commenting on our own sex's skills at capturing an unsuspecting mate. Only I thought, as I gathered the reins in my hands I am married in name only, my behaviour this last week was more in line with the maid, Sally's. The lass had set her cap at young man. barely 20, yet a member of the Invalid Battalion. At 20 he was a one-eyed veteran and Sally had decided he was the man for her.

Elizabeth pushed a basket beside me on the seat and frowned at the late evening sky. She bent and picked up a small pile of spilled grain and let it drop. No breeze, not a scrap. "Storm coming Milady."

"You think," I replied easing the reins in my hands as the pony shifted and pricked its ears forward.

"I know..." Elizabeth replied with a wink.

"I will pass the word as I go back, we need to make sure all that is reaped is covered and pray it does not flatten too much and go on for more than a day or two. Flattened wheat we can at least havest partly, rotting wheat..." My words faded as I slapped the reins and cart jolted forward.

The air got heavier, humid almost electic, humming with what was coming.The sweat gathered on my upper lip and ran down between my breasts. It did no good for my state of mind, for I feared that if the maid Sally's actions were so plain to see, did others notice mine.

For since Troop Sergeant Jean Raven had held my eyes like an equal. I found myself thinking of him, wondering who he was, what he was like. He did nothing to catch my attention, just did his job, quietly and well. Rarely spoke to me. Yet when I saw him I looked to see if he was looking at me. Felt myself blush when I caught his eye. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth when I had to speak to him.

Behaving and feeling like the giddy maid Sally. One day I had helped with the binding where he was reaping. I found myself watching his every movement. The way he shifted his weight off his crippled leg. The patterns of sweat on his worn shirt. The strength in his hands as he swept the sickle.

It was nonsense, folly. I was married to one Jean Michelle Carbaue and my husband's honour even if he was not my husband in truth, was mine.

Yet I could not help but think what it would be like to be held by the strong arms of my Sergeant Raven as I called him in my thoughts.

I clattered into the yard and one of the stable lads came to take the cart. "Have you seen Steward Richard or the Sergeant, "I asked

"Sergeant's over there..." The lad replied as the sky above let out a deep rumble. I looked to where the lad was pointing. There was my Sergeant Raven, stripped to the waist, his skin glistening with water, which trickled down his chest and stained his breeches. He pushed back his damp hair and caught sight of me as I approached. His words and the quick drawing on of his tunic showed he was embarrassed to be caught so.

"Lady Constance Pardon me mum I didn’t know you where about.”

My lips were dry, I licked them as if tasting the air. He was standing so close that I could smell the rich maleness of him, blending with the dry scent of cut straw. I felt my lungs tighten and rush of sensations plunge into my belly, things I did not really understand, save for I wanted to feel more.

I coughed and limply waved a hand. "There is a storm coming." Then I gave a startled laugh. There was a storm in me as well as the sky. One would or both would burst soon.

"Lady Constance Pardon me mum I didn’t know you where about.”

Jean hurriedly reached for his tunic to shield his nakedness from Lady Constance, his wife.

A rye smile danced in his hazel eyes for the briefest of moments. As the irony of his school boy reaction struck him the Lady after all was his wife. Then a moment of sadness for the sham he was conducting in the King’s Name. Since his arrival Jean found himself stealing glances at the sun kissed beauty and her face and form came to him at night in his dreams.

"There is a storm coming."

“Aye Lady Constance that it is and I fear that it will be a bad one………. See”


Jean Michelle finger pointed out the angry boiling black clouds on the horizon.

“Me Lady turn out the women and children, I’ll turn out the lad’s I fear there is not time to waist,…. Richard ride to The Home Guard Yeomanry tell them we need every man in the field.”

Jean had not asked Constance’s permission but simply took manors in his hand. The next four hours was a desperate race against time, and the gathering storm. When the light of the setting sun failed Jean ordered torches brought to the fields to give light to the reapers and binders. Richard and the Squire kept the wagons rolling to the barns and the threshing floor.

When the storm broke it broke with a tradable fury a flash of lightening, thunder cracked like cannon, the wind rose with a hellish fury, and the skies opened. Jean ordered the works to cover. Constance had just placed a crying child on the last of the wagons, sheets of driving rain lashed by gale winds, a clash of thunder and her pony cart bolted away leaving the Lady of the manor a foot in the fields. Jean galloped up swept Constance to his saddle, and kissed her with all the passion that had been building within him.

All was frenzy. Rush and shouted words. The movement of men women and children mimicked the boiling clouds above.

My cousin grumbing at his men having to do lower themselves did not sit well with me. His arrogance jarred with the Sergeant's calm orders. Even Squire Thomason and Richard merely nodded and relayed Jean Raven's orders.

The storm broke. Rain lashing at exposed skin, stinging, blinding a veil of water pouring down, bouncing off the dusty ground. The wind whipped my wet linen dress round my legs, clinging, as I lifted a child onto a wagon and turned to run to my pony cart. A flash of lightening split the heavens and a rumble of thunder followed hard in the blinding light's heels. The pony reared and bolted the cart rocking after. I stood in the middle of the field, watching the hazy shape of the last wagon trundle away, becoming lost in the rain.

A horse appeared out of nowhere, neighing a challenge to the storm, its hooves churning the strubble into the mire the field was fast becoming.

A hand reached down and swept me up. I squealled and found myself across the front of the Jean Raven's saddle. I gasped and made to speak, but his mouth closed on mine. The world span as his horse reared. As the beast lowered to the ground with a snort, my hands clung to Jean's soaked tunic. My mind raced with my heart.

This should not be, could not be. I was a married woman. I should stop this. But Gods forgive me I did not I drew in the warmth of him, delighting at the touch of his tongue on my lips. Then he pulled away. The rain lashing between our faces.

He kicked his horse on, urging the beast into a gallop through the drenched remains of the crop. I clung to him, slipping on the wet leather of the saddle. My hands tightened with each jolt of the horse down the track. If was as if I was trying to claw through his tunic and touch his skin. My head was buried in his shoulder. I was unware of where we were. Lost in the total excitement of being in his arms.

The world darkened and the rain stopped as the horse did. I raised my head and looked round. We were under one of the bridges that straddled the river. The sluggish flow of water had now become a tumbling torrent in full flow, matching the blood pounding in my veins. I looked out from under the bridge. A wall of rain closed us off from the rest of the world.

We sat there looking at one another. It was so wrong. I trembled and yet my left hand slid up Jean's arm and the hand curled round his neck. His right hand moved off the centre of my back and came under my arm, brushing the side of my breast. I groaned and bit my lip. His touch was pain and delight. I felt myself wanting him to touch me more. To show me.

I searched his hazel eyes and mumbled " I am married." Then I kissed him. Pressing my body to his, tasting his lips. The fates had given me this moment. I knew it was wrong, a sin. If any punishment came I prayed it was only for me to bare.

A spirited mount, an openly sensually seductive kiss, wantonly received, Constance’s linen dress clinging to her supple form like a second skin leaving nothing to the imagination. The feverous heat of the young golden haired body fanning Jean’s passions into a ragging inferno. Troop Sergeant Raven broke that kiss, spurred his roan into a mad dash for shelter. Wind and rain tore at the star crossed lovers, the raging passions of the storm matching their own. The shelter of the arched stone bridge, the raging torrent, and their eyes holding each other’s captive.

How long they had sat their in the shelter of the bridge lost in each other’s eyes Jean Michelle Carbaue did not now. Constance’s fingers clinging to his tattered tunic, his hand brush the soft firm warmth of her breast, and Jean knew he was lost forever. A soft moan escaped her sweet full ripe lips.

" I am married."

Her lips found his and Jean Michelle was lost in that kiss. Time stood still, there was no past, no future, just know, only Constance’s sweet lips. A clap of thunder, a flash of lighting, Jean broke that sweet kiss.

“Me Lady I do not give a wit if you are married or not.”


Again Jean spurred his mount into a mad dash, a desperate search for shelter. On they raced through the storm till at last a small crofter’s cottage was reveled by a blinding flash.

Shelter at last Jean reached up to slide his Lady love from the saddle, his hands around her narrow waist, her supple form sliding down his chest. Into the meager shelter, the roan stomped the dirt floor, Constance’s shivering under his horse’s blanket, a small fire on the hearth.

“Me Lady,…. Constance you must get out of those wet clothes.”

Troop Sergeant Jean Raven began to undo the lace of his Lady’s bodice, as his lips brushed hers in a sensually tender kiss.

Lightening split the sky, Jean pulled away from me, breaking the kiss. I saw the dying light of the flash in his eyes and feared I had gone too far. I trembled, but not from the cold and damp clothes.

“Me Lady I do not give a wit if you are married or not.”
I barely had to gasp in surprise and heart stopping delight as the horse began its race with the elements again. Down the half flooded track, leaping from one patch of firm ground to another till, out of the semi-darkness the silhouette of a small crofter’s cottage loomed. No lamp burned in the half-shuttered window the family must be at one of the larger farms taking shelter till the storm passed.

We were soon in, the horse protesting as I slithered off its back. I held and clung too by my Jean, the heat of his hands almost singing the fabric between my flesh and his. I had nothing to compare the feelings that were rushing through me too. All I knew I wanted to feel more, be aware of more.

I stood there not moving as if time stood still. It was only when Jean spoke I became aware of the horse, now unsaddled, its blanket round my shoulder and the weak flames in the hearth.

“Me Lady,…. Constance you must get out of those wet clothes.” As he spoke this man I desired fumbled at the laces of my bodice. The soft rasp of wet fabric filled my ears as his lips teased mine. Softly prizing them open, exploring. His tongue gently lapping at my mouth seeking entrance. I let out a small gasp, my mouth opening and. It was sweet, such tender touches. My own tongue sort to join with his, as I felt the fabric of my bodice open.

Jean’s hands pushed at the shoulders of my garment, lowering it, trapping my arms. Then his hands ran, chasing the droplets of water falling off my hair, across my bare shoulders to the hollow on my neck, then down.

Palm flat, slowly down onto my trembling breasts. My nipples hard from the cold drenching, softened under the warmth of his hands as each palm came to rest on them. I was aware of the calluses on his hands from sword and sickle.

With each ragged breath I drew in. With the ever deepening of our kisses my nipples again began to harden, taut, pressing hard in to Jean’s palms, demanding his attention. His lips moved from mine, trailing kisses down my neck as I fought for breath. His hands now caressed, fingers teasing my nipples, making the rosy tips, larger. A liquid warmth gathered in my lower belly, plunging into my centre. I pushed my body forward, hands grabbing at my lover. "More," I whispered as his lips again sought mine and his fingers obeyed.

“Me Lady,…. Constance you must get out of those wet clothes.”

Like a farm boy Jean Michelle numbed fingers fumbled with the lace of Constance’s bodice her soft ivory shoulders sparkling in the flicker light of the fire, little glistening diamond pin points of light shimered from the droplets of rain that feel from the young sun kissed beauty’s rain soaked hair. Her arms trapped by the half discarded garment, her shift, translucent from the driving rain, clinging to the gentle rounded swell of his Lady wife’s breasts.

Jean’s hands cupped those firm mounds his thumb teasing Constance’s areolas and nipples to life, their tongues dancing to a sensual rhythm only their hearts could hear, their lips reluctantly parting for a moment, only to be replaced by Jean's soft butter fly kisses floated down the sensual column of the golden haired beauty’s neck. Jean’s softly, seductively, tongued the hollow, of the young woman’s neck where her life force pulsed with a building, forbidden passion. Each seductive caress of his hands and mouth drawing forth from Constance a gasp wanton pleasure.

” More”

Constance’s voice a soft breathy whisper. Jean Michelle’s lips silenced his young beauty’s trembling voice with a kiss full of the passion that now filled his soul for her.

“Oui Chere, oui.”

Came his soft reply. Their tongues wantonly took pleasure in the sweet moistness of each other’s mouths. Jean slipped his Lady’s bodice from her shoulder, the golden haired beauty’s rain soaked shift soon followed as Constance was bared to the waist. Jeans mouth lips and tongue, explored the firm contours of this rare beauty’s breasts, then claimed the sweet, succulent prize of her nipples. With a tenderness that was almost reverent Jean Michelle loosed the draw string of the girl’s skirt, He slowly worked the garment over the sensual swell of Constance’s hips, down across her flat abdomen his kisses trailed worshiping each new patch of her alabaster skin in the wake of her retreating skirt.

Forbidden passion. I am married, but those vows at this moment mean nothing, they if I am honest with myself meant nothing from the beginning.

This is real, as real as the pounding of the rain outside, as the shuffling of the horse in the crofter's cottage. I want this time. I want to feel what it is truely like to be a woman and loved.

Jean's lips leaving a warmth on the skin of my neck unlike any I have known. My plea for more he answers.

“Oui Chere, oui.”

Between the passion of our kisses and the glory of his touch on my breasts Jean removes my shift. I am naked to the waist. The damp, chill air makes me shiver for a moment. Or is it Jean's hands and lips His sun-burned face is dark against the pale skin of my breasts. He runs his tongue round areolas then claims the nipples as his prize, one at a time taking them into his mouth.

I squeal in erotic delight as he moves my flesh in his mouth. My hands run through his hair, holding him to my beasts like a hungry child. Then my fingers run down his neck and puck at the collar of his tunic, pushing to touch his flesh. I tug at the buttons. One snaps off, falling to the floor and rolling away.

I want to feel his naked flesh against mine, to touch him in a manner that will bring to him the equal of the total desire and joy he is giving me.

Again the rasp of wet fabric, the tug of a draw string. Jean inches my skirt gently over my hips, and kneels before me, his kisses follwing the garment to the floor. I am trembling, my sex is damp, tingling with expectation.

Small, little, erotic, squeals of delight escaped Constance’s full ripe lips, punctuated by sensual moans of wanton pleasure. Her supple form arched to Jean Michelle loves mouth. The sun kissed beauty’s dainty fingers, entwined in his ginger hair, pulled him down in to the center of her dew nectar.

All pretence of propriety was gone now as Constance pulled at Jean’s worn tunic. Reluctantly Jean Michelle left the sweet moist warmth of the young beauty’s downy, nectar soaked, tawny gold, fleece to strip his tunic and shirt. His fingers entwined with Constance’s he once more bent his head to claim the prize of first on taunt, puckered nipple, then the other, swirling each bud in turn, a teasing nip, then kisses trailing down her flat abdomen, his tongue pausing to ream her naval to return once more to Constance’s chaste pussy.

With each pass of his tongue Jean cleaved deeper into Constance’s innocence, the tip of his tongue flicking across her hooded clitoris, coaxing that bud of love to life. He flutter the tip of his tongue over it, suckled her clit, then taking a deep breath drew a cool stream of air over the fevered flesh of Constance’s clitoris.

Slowly lovingly Jean brought his Lady life to the edge of wanton bliss held the young beauty there till she tittered on the very edge of the abyss, then with a flick of his tongue Jean Michelle plunged Constance over the edge and drew forth from his Lady Wife her first orgasm.

As Jean stripped off his tunic and shirt my fingers traced the scar on his face. I wanted to know him by touch and sight, to remember each inch of his skin and soul. My hands ran to his shoulders.

We were now kneeling on the small pegged rug before the hearth of the cottage. The fire had at last burst into life, the heat banishing the damp. Yet I knew the warmth flooding my body was not that of the fire.

Jean gently encouraged me to lie down. I did so, offering my body to him as a gift if he would take it. My hands followed his as they explored my flesh. Our fingers entwined as he again claimed one taut nipple. The pink bud was stiff, begging for my love to kiss it, to roll the flesh between his lips.

As I felt the moisture, the lick of his tongue on my skin, my body began to vibrate. Sounds came from my mouth. Half formed words, squeals and pleas.

I was wanton, part of my mind called me whore, but I ignored it. I wanted to feel this, to know this.

My fingers curled in Jean's hair as his tongue trailed down my stomach, the skin flinching with each touch. Instinctively I opened my thighs, wondering, hoping. He brushed; then parted the downy hair on my mons. I shivered; the vibration deepening. Moisture seeped from me, Jean lapped at it. His warm breath for a moment drying the sensitive skin, then his tongue dampening it again.

I was pushing his head deeper into me. His teeth closed on my clit and the heat rushed. I rotated my hips, trying to aid him. I called his name. Arched my back, trying to open all of me to him.

Lost as I was in the torrent of desire I heard my lover laugh softly as he encouraged me with a gentle squeeze on my thigh.

His teeth nipped and his tongue lapped. The nub of pink flesh was his to control through it he plunged me off the cliff of desire. My hips bucked, my fingers tightened in his hair. I was unaware of everything save for the roaring flood in my body Jean had released.

As fast as the flood came it ebbed away, yet not completely. I still tingled in very inch of my body. Wanton hussy that I was, unfaithful wife, I wanted more, knew this was the beginning.

Jean's tongue now probed the entrance below my clit, drinking of me. His finger entered and I hissed, my muscles tightening. I knew I wanted part of him in me, plunging into me. Something inside me told me the pleasure I had just experienced was just the beginning.

Jeannnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Came Constance’s breathy whisper punctuated by a soft guttural moan. The sun kissed beauty’s gasp as I drew the cool stream of air across her fevered clit, the way her supple young body arched to my most intimate kiss of her sweet innocence. I feasted on my love sweet nectar, my tongue capturing each drop with reverence, then to drink greedily of her innocence as the drops of nectar became a sweet flood of delight.

My innocent Lady Wife supple young form bucked and withered in wild abandonment, her delicate fingers entwined in my hair, her virginal hips arched to my mouth as her hands drew me deeper into her most intimate treasure. Her low moans and gasps exploded in to a squeal of wanton pleasure as Constance was engulfed in her first flush of carnal pleasure.

My hands cupped her firm derrière, as I let my proud beauty ride the tidal wave of pleasure that now engulfed her. My tongue now deeply cleaved her soft dewy neither lips, flicked across her blood engorged clitoris to now probe pass the hooded guardian of Constance’s Secret Garden. My finger moistened by this young beauty’s sweet nectar slowly joined my probing tongue searching the golden haired beauty’s moist silken perfection for that one elusive rough patch. My tongue fluttered across it, my finger massaged it till once again Constance withered in wild wanton passion her young body wildly bucking and thrashing as forbidden pleasure once more engulfed her.

How many times I brought my love to the edge of that abyss that lead to unimaginable pleasure, held her there in mounting anticipation do not know. Her supple form glistened, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, her golden hair in wild disarray from her passion. I wanted her in that moment more than I had ever wanted any other woman. I hungered for her yet it was then that I discovered my Love was still a Virgin.

I wanted her, to enjoy all her charms to the fullest, and Her young body arched to me leaving no doubt that she to wanted all that I had to offer. My soul was torn, The Lady Constance was my wife, It was my right as her husband to take her Yet she knew me only as Troop Sergeant Raven.

It was in the midst of this dilemma when the sound of thundering hooves split the Night.

“Me Lady Constance I fear your cousin searches for you.”

My body was racked as if by fever. Hot my skin, shivering my limbs. My hair spread about me, damp tendrils across my face. My eyes wide, dilated, yet my vision blurred.

My Jean had explored my most private place; his touch on my moist, swollen flesh had driven me beyond pleasure. I was immersed in total carnal desire and need. The need to give my beloved what should be my husband’s. I cared not for honour and name at this moment; only to give this one thing that was mine to give to the man I loved… Yes… I loved this plain sergeant.

He had fired my mind and heart by his manner and behavior and his body now continued to plunge me further into the blaze.
I clung to him, lips and arms begging for his attention to continue.

To take his own pleasure, which I knew he had set aside to teach me the meaning of a man’s touch. To show me what my body was capable of. With half gasped words I tried to tell him that I wished to learn, to take his soul and body on such a wild ride, that he could enter me, plunge his flesh into me and take the joy.

But he sat back, looking at me as I lay my arms out to him, my body still reeling from the last mad ride of pleasure her had brought to it. His hand went to my forehead and his fingers gently pulled at one of the damp tresses of hair.

The he spoke; bitter words that caught in his throat and plunge me, body, mind and soul into an ice cold stream of reality.

“Me Lady Constance I fear your cousin searches for you.”

“Dear Gods…” I swore snapping up, curling my legs up, wrapping my arms round them as I sobbed. Jean placed a hand on my shoulder as I now became aware of the sound of horses. In my lover’s other hand was my discarded clothes. With shaking hands I took them, struggling into the still damp linen my fingers not able to fasten the laces.

Jean lips brushed mine as he quietly retired the lengths of fabric he had loosened what seemed a lifetime ago.

As if sleepwalking I drew myself closer to the fire as hands thumped on the door and voices demanded entrance.

Jean put logs on the fire and walked to the door, pushing in his shirt at he did so. For one second he stood at the door looking back at me. I mouthed the words “I love you…” Then I forced my mind to deal with the real world, which crossed the threshold, the ragged tail of the night’s storm on their heels.

“You!!!” My cousin snarled at Jean, who just raised an eyebrow.

“Is the storm passed?” I asked and forced my limbs still shaking from love making to move and stand. I then took the poker by the fire and stirred the flames, not looking at my cousin or my lover. “The pony bolted, the good sergeant brought me here, the storm was so bad, we decided to shelter.”

I could hear my cousin snort and I turned, flipping my hair back and bringing myself to my full height. I had to bluff this out, give no hint of what had happened though my heart was fit to break. All I wished was the arms of the man I loved. Not to go back outside, to face my duties, to be Lady Constance. But I must, the harvest must be gathered. Though I would wish my lover had "gathered me" for part of me feared that we would never touch again.

“Dear Gods…”

Came Constance’s woeful cry as the import of Jean’s words hit home, the waning storm titanic clashes now replaced by the thundering hooves of The Home Guard Yeomanry. Troop Sergeant Raven was speech less as Constance struggled into her still damp clothing. In a perverse way Jean Michelle found helping His Lady love dress was as erotic as helping the fair maiden out of her garments. Jean had just finished lacing Constance’s bodice up, and none to soon at that for now there was an angry pounding at the small Croft’s door.

“You!!!”

Jean Michelle just arched his eyebrow not trying to hide the contempt that he held for the little Pop-in-Jay.

“Is the storm passed?..................... “The pony bolted, the good sergeant brought me here, the storm was so bad, we decided to shelter.”

The words tripped across Constance’s full ripe red lips her voice calm cool but her eyes nervously shifted from her cousin to Jean. The Little fop gave a snort as Constance turned, flipping back her sun kissed tawny gold hair back, and bringing herself to her full height it was in that moment that her hapless cousin decided to use his mind. He noticed the disarray of her clothing, made a rapid calculation and then made the biggest mistake of his young life.

” So dear cousin so a few wild oats with the commoner I see”

He regarded Lady Constance as if she where a common harlot.

Well why not give me a ride as well and find out……………………..

The Captain of The Home Guard Yeomanry never finished his statement for Jean Michelle fist crashed into his jaw.

“You………..How dare…………….You”

The tip of Jean’s basket hilted Mortuary sword silenced the man.

Lady Constance, Troop Sergeant Raven enemy patrol at the head of the Valley

Richard came bursting in breathless from his wild search for them.

I saw the curl of my cousin, Charles’ lip as he looked me over as if I was a whore. His words shattered me and I felt my knees grow weak. Had I tossed away everything for a few hours in the arms of the man I had come to love?

” So dear cousin so a few wild oats with the commoner I see Well why not give me a ride as well and find out……………………..2

I drew in a breath and stepped back away from his outstretched hand, my anger rising, for him to think so was one thing, but to think, to think I would gladly give myself to any man. There was only one man I would give myself willingly to and, the Gods forgive me it was not my husband. And that one man now acted. His blade swept out and up, the tip nestling under Charles’ chin. Charles gulped his adams apple bobbing, the skin rasping against the steel, a drop of blood trailing down his pale skin.

“You………..How dare…………….You” Jean thundered, my lover, my defender. For a moment I closed my eyes remembering the same voice whispering words of love to me as his hands caressed my breasts, turning my nipples to taut points. I was acutely aware of the dampness between my thighs; the result of Jean’s loving kisses. I shuddered as my flesh wanted again to feel his tongue part my flesh, to nip, tease and drive my senses in to the torrent of desire. This was a bitter joy, for I knew that my cousin’s arrival had denied me the chance of giving my love the one thing I had truly of mine to give him.

I bit my lip I must say something, do something. If my love killed Charles he would hang.

The slammed open again and Richard burst in, his hair wild wind tossed, clothes soaked.

Lady Constance, Troop Sergeant Raven enemy patrol at the head of the Valley

Jean’s blade dropped from my cousin’s neck and he looked at me.

“You are sure?” The stupid question dropped from my lips.

“Aye Milady,” Richard said looking from Charles to Jean, both held their temper’s on short leash, ready to explode. I saw in Richard’s eyes that he knew something had passed between the two men, something that had to do with me. He noticed yet did not comment. “I have sent riders to the villages in their path order them abandoned and fired."

“No…” I said and half ran out of the crofter’s cottage, the sky was ragged with the first rays of dawn, the air heavy with damp. The rain had stopped, but the storm hung still in the sky, the wind lashing the land. This was my village in my care. I had for one moment set the duty aside for a few hours and the war had decided to desend on it. I felt a rush of guilt. Guilt I did not feel about dishonouring my marriage vows. “The villagers flee, but leave the buildings.”

“Folly,” Charles snapped as he came out behind me. I felt a hand on my shoulder and thought for a moment it was my lover’s but it was Richard.

“Not folly, my father told me it takes a good officer to stop his men from looting, if these troops loot the cottages, then it will gain us time, yes.”

I heard Jean laugh as he led his horse out of the crofter’s cottage and the leather of the animal’s tack creak as he swung himself up into the saddle.

“Yes,” Richard replied giving a half laugh. “You men ready to fight?” He addressed Charles. Then looked at my lover, the same question in his eyes. Jean nodded and I felt my heart lurch.

“Oh, yes, I and they are ready for this” Charles replied, his eyes narrowing.

“Jean, Sergeant?” I asked the man now in his saddle, eyes on the brightening sky, “What will happen, will they attempt to burn, destroy the rest of the crop or do they intend to take it, take my valley?”

Passion running hot, the fop’s life just a flick of the tip of my sword from ending. The Steward Richard’s warning, a quick consul of war. As the debate as what to do about the cottages raged Charles all for the burning of them, Richard leaning in that direction, yet it was Constance with an eye to strategy that hit on the answer.

“Not folly, my father told me it takes a good officer to stop his men from looting, if these troops loot the cottages, then it will gain us time, yes.”

I pulled the synch tight on my mount, led the old war horse from the cottage and sung into the saddle.

“You men ready to fight?”

Richard’s comment cutting as he addressed the Captain of The Home Guard Yeomanry.

“Oh, yes, I and they are ready for this”

Charles curtly replied. Constance’s voice and question brought me back to reality.

“Me Lady it’s the valley they want and if they get it then the crops of it will be theirs as well.”

I paused bent low in my saddle and whispered into her ear my voice low and for her alone

“And you Constance to give them a legitimate claim. Run go to ground let none know where if they do not know they can not tell.”

Turning to Richard my eyes narrowing.

“Sir get the harvesters on the barges, and you get the harvest to the King tell him of the peril here for if this Valley falls the Kingdom parishes.”

----------------------------------------------------------------


Gathering the troops of the Invalid Battalion I took these old soldiers into the hills we would fight the invader from the hills hit his supply lines, harass his patrols.

Count Charles and his Home Guard Yeomanry drew up in find fashion to meet the foe and at the first sign of the first patrol they turned tail and ran. So it was left to the old and crippled veterans to hold the valley for the King. And so it began a long hit and run war one that we had to fight for at least three weeks for the King could not get help here for at least that time, maybe longer.

All through those bitter days Me lady was always gentle on my mind.

It was a dream. A horrible nightmare. Those hours after I watched the man I love ride off. The wet, humid dawn after the storm. The knowledge of the enemy in the valley. The ride back to the Manor, my eyes looking after the vanishing figure of the man I loved.

We clattered into the crowded courtyard of my home. From here Cornel Thomason was trying to make sense of the chaos. Two thirds of the harvest done, the other third now in the hands of the enemy. Village after village over taken, men and women, fleeing, fighting.

I found myself standing in my father’s study, again watching the pale sunlight trickle across the desk.

“The mayor of Muddleton, gave the enemy free entry.” The squire spat.

“He was thinking of the people,” Richard mumbled.

They will make the town their head quarters, the people will find their mayor has made a bad bargain.” Cornel replied. “We help as many as we can, but most will have to fend for themselves either fleeing or under the heel of the enemy.”

I shuffled the papers on the desk and looked at the two men, my friends.

“You must go, Constance, a fast horse, an escort go.” The squire’s good hand touched my arm.

“My valley, my people… word to the King?”

“Messengers sent, but I will follow hard on their heels as will you…”

“Elizabeth?” I asked.

“Safe away…”

I nodded “I need, a few moments… please.”

“Very well, Richard, you make sure she is…” The Squire said and took his leave. I went to gather a few things, personal. A small locket of my mothers with a picture of my father’s in and to change, to put on something more suitable than my damp linen dress to ride in. Richard I knew was burning estate papers, anything that would tell the enemy about the valley, about this land I loved, loved as much as the man, my Jean somewhere out there. Alive, he had to be alive. Even if I never touched him again, ever felt his hands and lips on my skin again. He had to live.

The noise bubbling up from the court yard faded away. Richard called. I answered, then there was no reply. I frowned and pulled on my riding boots, stamping my feet down. My riding habit was old, but sturdy.

I walked out of my room, trying not to look back and there was my cousin.

“You are still here, good. I have come to escort you to safety.” Charles’ lip curled as he spoke, his eyes were brittle and he was flushed. I wondered what had happened I made to speak, when on the turn of the stairs I saw a body. It was Richard’s my hand flew to my mouth and I backed away.

“Get her you fool.” A sharply accented voice commanded from the shadows. An enemy officer stepped out and waved his hand at Charles.

“This is my valley now, you whore, and everything in it.” I recoiled in horror, my knees barely holding me erect. Charles had betrayed us.

“No….No…” I screamed and fled down the passage, Charles but a step after me. I half fell into my father’s bedroom. Slamming and bolting the door.

Slam the sound of a shoulder hitting the door, hammering that matched my heart. Tears burst from my eyes, my hand went to my mouth, trying to stem the scream. Lost all was gone, the valley and my heart. The Jean’s words came back to me. “And you Constance to give them a legitimate claim. Run go to ground let none know where if they do not know they can not tell

I sniffed like a small child and ran to the door that led to, what had been my mother’s room adjoining my father’s I flung the door open, making it looked like I had fled in there, then I clawed my way behind the dusty hangings against the west wall of my father’s room. Here I felt along the paneling, hoping I remembered correctly. My ears were filled with the smashing of wood as the door to the bedroom was driven in. The Charles cry of victory was accompanied by the soft sigh of one of the two foot, by two foot panels sliding open. I slithered inside and sat in the dark of the small room behind the panels.

How long I waited in that dark, cold place I do not know. My mouth was dry, my head hurt, my eyes full of dust and tears. I kept my hand rammed in my mouth to stop any cry. I must have slept, and woke with a start. I fumbled for the lever to release the panel and crept out. It was night again. I peered into the moonlit bedroom, it was wreaked. I tried not to sob and crept from the room making upwards to the servants quarters, for I could hear voices from below. I let myself into the long room in which the three footmen had shared.

By the light of a candle I decided on what I believed was the only course for me. I took a pair of scissors and cut my hair. Then stripping off my clothes I struggled into a pair of breeches and shirt I had found. I bound my breasts flat with a length of shirt. Then rubbing soot from the cold fireplace on my face I looked to all the world like a youth. Then taking my courage in my hands I slipped down the servants stairs and out into the night. Not knowing where I was going, save for trying to find the one person I knew I would be safe with, my sergeant, my Raven.

Muddleton fell with out a struggle, villagers fled to the hills, the mountain caves, the places that they and their forebears had sought in such times of trouble. Slowly Troop Sergeant Raven and the Invalid Battalion collected these stragglers, cared for them as best they could. Then the word came;

Richard was dead.

Count Charles and his Home Guard Yeomanry had gone over to the enemy camp.

Lady Constance was missing and the enemy was searching high and low for her.

But not all the news was bad Cornel Thomas had gotten the harvest away and hopefully word to the King. The better part of the last third was burnt in the fields, and the invader left to eat ashes. The enemy’s supply lines where over extended, food was hard to find for them and Constance was still at large.

Two weeks had passed, the struggle was hard raiding, counter raid and the innocent as well as soldiers paid the price. The enemy now burnt and raped his way through the valley and Count Charles led them. Jean was at the head of the flying squadron and spied an enemy patrol had surrounded a few youths. The invaders where riding down on them their lances leveled when Jean hit their flank hacking his way to the trapped boys.

“Get them men....get them away....save them all!!!”

He called as the Squadron thundered through the ranks of the enemy. He swept a lad across his saddle’s pummel. They rode hell bent, as if the devilwhere on his horse's heels and made it away just in the nick of time.

Back at their meager camp Jean slid from the saddle and to his surprise was looking into the sooty face of Constance

“Constance?”