Judiciously chosen, to maintain decorum.
“You must do as I say,” she said. “You lost.” A very small smile turned up one corner of her full lips.
James could think of nothing save crushing both them and her beneath him, and soon. The knife glittered in her hand, its pressure making a tiny dimple in his skin. “Command and let it be done,” he smirked. He liked the game: raping was not to his taste, but being raped by this woman might be another matter all together.
“Undo my top,” she ordered.
He reached around the knife, his fingers thick and tingling from lack of blood in them from their being held over his head. He fumbled as best he could through two layers of her clothes and finally freed the silk blouse from its vests and jackets. Beneath it, a soft corset unlike any he had ever touched kept the softest parts of her from him. Under her, he thrust upward, lifting her as easily as the destrier had done and with much more need, then lowered her and raised her again.
“I have not instructed you to do that yet.” She kissed him then, the knife point still between them and still pressed to the skin just below his ribs. Her lips were soft, but her teeth nipped his lips in only partially-controlled passion. “Put your hands back above your head,” she said breathlessly.
James did so, listening to the roar of his own blood in his ears, and watched as she used her free hand to untie the cord at his waist. He closed his eyes again then, savoring the feel of her cool hand slipping inside his tights to rest on the heat between his thighs. He could feel his heart beating there as well. He thrust against her hand once or twice, almost lazily, all the while aware of the cold blade just inches away. Above him, the midnight sky was silver-black, bright stars almost bleached out by the brightness of the full, white moon. She moved above him, fitting herself over him, taking him inside her as his eyes met hers.
“Could you think of no more orders, my lady?”
Her voice was strange, almost masculine, and far away, when she answered, “Do it…do it, now…”
Some of the roots of the oak were thick and had been washed free of their protective covering of dirt by England’s frequent rain. James slipped his hand beneath one which seemed made for just this use, and used it to push against as he obeyed Carolyn. He had never known such need, had never felt such heated response from any woman, and had certainly never had a weapon held to his side while making love. The combination of the pounding in his loins with the slick, wantonness of the widow and the cold of the metal at his ribs caused a quick, almost painful explosion she obviously shared. The stars above him burst and showered sparkling light over them, bathing her hair in a blue-black shimmer he wanted to see above or below him forever. A warmth that was almost hot started in his stomach and spread over his chest, up and over his shoulders, down and around his waist and hips. Her spine was arched and she stiffened, gripping him tightly where no woman had gripped him before, as she rocked gently forward and back on his crotch, softly keening. It was a sound he had never heard and would never hear again, a low, sad wail and it seemed to fill his head, drowning out the sound of his own blood as it roared past his ears.
It was then he saw the knife. It was no longer in her hand. Its point no longer gently dimpled his skin; it was buried to the hilt in his heart, his blood no longer contained safely within it. His life ran in rivulets down his side. It overflowed his navel, filled the hollow of his rib cage and made a shallow lake over his stomach in the v-shaped area framed by her legs.
James Seaman could think of nothing to say. His eyes were round, wide open, watching the knife quiver with every weakening beat of his heart. Their whites glowed blue in the darkness.
Carolyn studied the look on James’ face. It reminded her of a frightened animal. She just sat there as she did so, his blood lapping at her inner thighs, waiting for him to die. “It shouldn’t hurt,” she said absently. “Tell me if it does.”
James’ voice caught in his throat, crackling and breaking over the dry patch just back of his tongue. “W-why?” he stuttered, “Why did you do this?”
He tried to release the root to which he had held so happily before and found his fingers would no longer obey his command. [FONT=TimesNewRoman,Italic]If I can just get to it…if I can just get it out…God, Help me![/FONT]
Something heavy was holding him prisoner, something heavier than an innocent tree root. He lifted his chin, blurred sight searching the night and found the cause of his difficulty. The new member of the guard – the Highlander, was it?—stood over him, inverted face smiling serenely down on his dying captain, broad leather boot firmly planted across his wrists.
“I’m sorry, James,” Carolyn whispered, “but it was time for you to go.”
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