Rowland waited for a long moment before easing open the door to her bedchamber. “Princess?” He questioned quietly from the door, seeing her curled into her favorite oversized chair that sat perpendicular to the hearth.
There was no answer. He came closer, and saw that she was dozing under the window, where moonlight was streaming in. The moonlight diffused little shafts of light to show that her chin was cozily tucked into the corner of the chair and her hair fell in loose waves and curls skimming her shoulders and arms down to her stomach.
A tug of affection made the right corner of his mouth tip up when he saw her pale fingers grazing the corner of a book that had clearly fallen into her lap as she fell asleep. The sight of her fingers on the book reminded him of a memory that haunted him still, two years after it had happened.
He had been injured, and she had taken to visiting him, reading to him and mopping his brow with cool water when he was in fever. Her constant company and soft voice had been such a balm to his pain that he had grasped her hand as she stood to leave one night. He had been drowsy, but he had needed to tell her just how much he appreciated her. What he had not realized when he had begun the motion was how he was going to grant himself to an internal torment and guilt for months after.
She had turned to face him, shocked he was sure, for he had called to her by her name, not her title. He had spent years protecting her, keeping her from harm. He knew her every expression, every sound, every smile, every movement. But he had not realized how just now small her palm would be in his larger hand. He had not counted on how smooth and pleasant she would feel to him. Base instinct came over him. He wanted to feel more of her softness, so he used his thumb to stroke the top of her hand lightly. She was as soft and smooth as silk, warm like velvet. Fine things that he had only briefly enjoyed the sensation of. Just like in that moment.
He remembered her stutter that she would return to him again. He had thought he even saw her face grow pink, but the light from the fireplace in his quarters and his drowsiness had made him reconsider it. Her assurance eased him then that he had nodded and even squeezed her little hand in thanks.
He recalled also after having been away for eight months soon after. It was on request of her father in aid to her uncle. Her widowed uncle had suffered the loss of his only son and was in sore need of friendship and aid. The king had requested it as a personal favor, to which he was only honored to do so. And had thought to himself that it was probably for the best that he was away from the princess for some time in any regard.
He did not like himself that he had had such inappropriate feelings for her.
He had been sure, on his return, to the king’s keep, that his vulnerable state while injured must have had some play into his feelings. He was much comfitted with this thought upon his return travel back to the king’s lands. He had actually been feeling quite confident that he was cleansed of his feelings until the night he arrived and saw her again.
He had not even recognized her. When she had come forward and her father had taken her arm, he had thought with surprise and some satisfaction that his good king, after years of widowhood, had taken a leman. When she had greeted him though, his heart had slammed into his ribcage. He recognized her voice, soft and sweet, greeting him with a delicate “Hullo, Rowland.”
Her hair was longer than had ever been, braided and curled down to her hips like waves in an ocean. Her skin practically glowed like moonlight and her lips were lightly and beguilingly painted. Her form was all the more womanly than ever, clad in a gown of rose pink, long bell sleeves and dark pink brocade bodice embossed with roses. There had been a silver drop pearl necklace topped with a tiny diamond that was resting on her decolletage.
It was a deceptively alluring look that he had not been able to keep himself gazing at her. Their eyes had even met and held for a moment at the dinner. The moment their eyes parted, she had stopped eating and asked to be excused. He had been so concerned for her, after her abrupt departure from the table, that he had gone to her door after supping and called to her. He had been relieved when she had responded she was well, though disappointed she had not emerged from her chambers. He would have enjoyed much looking at her in her finery, as though she were a painting, if only for another moment.
Now as he looked at her, cozied in her chair, the guilty desire to feel her smooth skin again hit him. He was surprised from his reverie when he saw that she had a little frown on her face and her shoulders twitched. He recognized the little shiver from the cold air in the room, in spite of the glowing embers from the fireplace.
He turned and walked to her little bed, pulling the old brown coverlet from the end. He did not understand why she loved this particular coverlet so, battered and thin as it was, but he would bring it to her, knowing it to be her favorite. He started when he heard her gasp in alarm. He turned back in time to see her expression change from fright to recognition.
“Rowland??” She was clasping her hand flat to her chest. “You gave me a fright.”
“Apologies, My Lady,” he said, bringing the coverlet to her. “You were shivering as you slept,” he carefully arranged the coverlet onto her shoulders like a shawl. He stood back respectfully waiting for her to awaken further and watched as she pulled the old, patched thing closer to her, comfitted in it.
“Thank you,” her delicate fingers covered a sweet yawn. “Is everything alright? …Gods… It is dark out. What is the hour?”
He felt a pleasurable twist in his stomach. She was much like a busy bee when she was awake. If she did not have three things said in a single breath, then he knew when she felt unwell. He was fairly sure that though sometimes he pretended to nettle her for being talkative, he would actually miss how her words took up empty silences when he traveled.
“Apologies, again, My Lady, for the lateness of the hour. I wanted to wish you happy returns before leaving, as I would not be here when you awoke.” He internally braced for her reaction.
She gaped at him. “W-w-what? ‘Leaving’? What do you mean ‘not be here’?”
“Your father has asked me to investigate rumors from the far westerlands. He bade me to set out at my earliest opportunity,” he explained softly.
“What rumors? Why now? Can it not… Can it not wait until after?…” she was looking at him with real worry. “How long will you be gone??”
“I do not know how long I shall be gone, but I assure you I will return as soon as I can. I sincerely regret I will not be able to attend your celebration,” he told her gently. ” But, know that I could not be more proud of you,” he offered with a smile.
To his surprise, she stood, abruptly, the coverlet dropped to the floor. He tried not to stare at her, but it was difficult for just how intimate the setting of her dimly lit bed chambers were. She clearly forgot that she was in her chemise. A pure white chemise that skimmed her young woman’s figure at her bust and hips and was lit flatteringly by the moonlight and embers from the fire.
“Can not Duncan or Will or Rob-?” She started to name his fellow nights, brothers in arms all, as though to replace one of them with himself.
He did not like this line of thinking and he knew well she would begin to craft some plan immediately, were she not stopped. “Your Highness. Your Lord Father did request me in specfic. Duncan must stay to attend training on the squires, he will guard you in my absence if it is needed. Will is not yet ready for such a, well, it could be a dangerous assignment. And Robert is -”
Her expression changed from dread to willful disposition. He cursed himself when he realized he had erred when he admitted that his task may be dangerous. He could not believe himself that he had made such a mistake, but he comfitted himself, any man would, seeing her how she stood before him now. Her sweet white chemise beguiled him like a siren beckoning a sailor.
“Dangerous? Then you really must not go. I’ll go to my father. He won’t deny me.”
Again, he cursed himself. The very last thing he needed was her intercedance, and the probing question from his lord as the reason Rowland felt it necessary to explain such details of his mission to the Princess. Nevermind the question of him even being in her chamber at this late hour … the king did trust him implicitly of course, but he did not deign to think the king would not have some misgivings. He reacted with base instinct, reaching out and clasping a hand to her wrist to pull her closer to him and placing his gloved finger to her lips to silence her.
“I understand that you are upset, but you know well that I have duties that sometimes supersede even your own protection, Princess. Your father trusts me.” He lowered his hand away from her.
“You do not understand-” she began in a soft protest.
His brows furrowed, “Do not understand what?”
“I…I have been waiting for my celebration to-to tell you,” her words came to his ears as low and breathy whispers. “I- I -” She touched his wrist lightly, tentatively. “Care for you…”
Then, to his great shock, she leaned forward, pressing herself against his cold chestplate armor.
She kept her eyes downcast in sweet demure innocence that made Rowland’s heart suddenly thud wildly in his chest. Before he had the good sense to stop himself, words fell from his lips, seeking confirmation. “You… care … for me?”
She now reached up to his face, fingers trembling, and his pulse raced. She brushed her fingers to his jaw and stroked the salt and pepper color of his temples.
His eyes closed instantly. He waited a full moment. He knew he would be cursed with damnation for how he took pleasure in this moment, of the feel of her soft fingertips, but he did anyway. He clasped her fingers to his cheek, then turned his face into her palm, pressing a light kiss there.
His action seemed to light a fire in her, for she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down. He found himself staring into her eyes, and propriety and logic failed him. “You have not yet kissed before now, have you, My Lady?” He knew she had not. He was the very man tasked with ensuring she remained pure.
She moistened her lips just barely with the tip of her pink tongue. “I have not…”
He comfitted himself that he asked because he wanted confirmation that she indeed wanted the change of such status. He was most definitely a man, not a saint however, for in the back of his wicked, sinful mind a voice whispered that perhaps what he really had wanted was to see her eyes look at him wantonly and hopefully.
Exactly as she was doing now.
He leaned down and claimed her maiden’s kiss.
Gods but her lips were sweet and plush. A battle of his will took hold even as his arms encircled her waist. He was betraying his oath and his king’s trust. But her kiss ensnared him, causing him to lose himself in it, pulling her closer. When the kiss finally ended he murmured, “Princess, It is time for me to go.” His voice was stiff, as he attempted to regain his self discipline.
“Don’t!” she protested, eyes opening immediately to plead with him.
He pulled back, looking tenderly at her, “Princess…” He lifted a hand to brush his gloved thumb along her lips.
She looked at him pleadingly. “Stay, Rowland, I want to feel your kiss for days…”
A zing of lust went straight to his loins at her words. He lifted her chin between his gloved thumb and forefinger, to keep her gaze on his eyes. She needed to understand what the consequence of such words could be. His free hand slid down her waist and onto her bottom. She gasped in surprise as his palm cupped her bottom, but he did not do anything else. He waited, expecting her to be shocked at his forwardness, to tell him to stop. He thought doing something so daring would cause her to falter.
He should have prayed that it would.
She closed her eyes, biting her lower lip, and hope blossomed on her face again. She tilted her head acquiescently for him.
The temptation was too much. Bastard that he was, he claimed her lips again, taking her plump lower lip between his teeth to nip. His need to taste more of her led him to sample kisses on her soft cheek and her little chin. His lips brushed against her throat as he made contact with the tenderest part of her neck he could reach.
He heard a giggle bubble up from her and he couldn’t help but smile against her skin.
“My beard tickles?” He guessed. When she giggled again, he held her more tightly. “Mmm…no giggling….” he murmured, between little kisses. He wanted to hear her gasp in pleasure.
She did not disappoint when his tongue brushed the curve where her neck and shoulder met. “Oh!”
“Shall I cease?” He murmured, after a pause. His voice was rich and low with the question, his warm breath on her neck.
“Nay,” she responded instantly, her eyes fluttered rapidly before closing. “Nay, do not sto-”
He groaned lightly. He was a doomed man. He would be fast cast into the lowest circle of Hell on his death. He nibbled, then sucked the tiny little section of flesh on her neck, his heart thundering. When he heard her cry and pull the tail of his hair, “Oh… more, please!”, he cast off what little shame and honor he had left.
He lifted her, carrying her to her little bed. There were soft clinks of sound as he walked in his armor, kisses raining on her lips. As he leaned over and put her into her nest of pillows and covers, his kisses fell on her shoulder which was bare for the skewed movement of her chemise. His breathing was erratic knowing that this beautiful body trembled for him.
“Oh…Rowe…”
As if a bucket of ice water were thrown on him, he paused just as his hip leaned on her bed to join her.
Only one person ever used this sobriquet of his name. He had only ever heard it fall from her lips when he had been injured and she thought him asleep as she bathed his brow. What the hell was he doing? This was not just any woman. This was the Princess.
He looked up at her and grazed his gloved fingers on the strands of her hair that fell near her bare shoulder. The person who most trusted him to never betray or take from her that which was not his to claim, and yet, here he was, ready to do so.
“I..I am… I am sorry…I just felt so wondrous…” she seemed to have noticed his pause for her cheeks flushed.
He felt a twist in his heart. He moved from the bed and knelt on one knee,”Princess.” He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes, to gather himself. Where had his good sense gone?
She blinked down at him, expression a crinkle of confusion, ” … Yes?”
“I have well and truly crossed boundaries I should not have.” Guilt infected his voice. “I truly must leave now, for both our sakes, before …,” he broke off as he started to stand.
“Stop!” she whispered.
He froze in place, knelt again, and his chin dropped. The reflex was automatic. He was a knight. Custom dictated that he would obey the command of the crown.
“I have- I have not dismissed you,” her voice was shaky.
His head jerked up. “I am not… dismissed? Your highness?” The loose strands of his shoulder length hair that did not quite reach his pony tail swung away from his face, revealing a stunned expression. She had never issued him a command. She requested. Cajoled. Sweetly wheedled. Never commanded.
Her cheeks turned bright pink. “You are not dismissed.” She seemed to flounder, struggling to determine what to do next.
His mouth opened then closed. He looked at her expectantly, only a single eyebrow lifted lightly. He waited. His gaze fell to linger on her smooth bare shoulder.
“I feel cold, Rowland.” Her meek voice finally broke the long silence.
“You are cold? Would you care for another coverlet, My Lady?” He dragged his gaze from her shoulder. He forced himself to look to her attentively and not imagine his hand warming her bare skin.
“…No.”
He considered. “Then, another log on the fire?”
“..No.”
He tried again. “Perhaps some hot tea?”
“No.”
He looked up. “My Lady…” he started to straighten. He must end this.
She looked at him, chewing her lower lip. “Rowland…I want you…your kiss again.” She pleaded softly. “That is what warms me…”
He looked at her, expression and heart softening.”As does your kiss, My Lady,” he confessed after a pause so long that felt like it stretched on for centuries.”I assure you- It does.”
She looked at him, hope apparent. ” Again?… Please?”
He looked at her, then closed his eyes. He bargained with himself. He would grant her the request she had. Perhaps if he granted her this with sincerity and kindness instead of lusty instinct, she could pull herself together long enough to be satisfied with her excitement of this new experience and dismiss him from her chamber.
He stood, then came to the bed. He sat on it’s edge, pulling his gauntlets and gloves off. He sat them to one side of her hips.
“Hold me again?” she implored in a whisper.
He felt a tug of nervousness in his gut, but did hold her anyway. Her body seemed to melt into his arms. He exhaled very lightly then leaned forward and kissed her fully and slowly. She uttered the tiniest of moans.
“Princess….truly, you know not how you affect me. It would be wise to cease.” He projected his voice as low and smooth, but with warning.
She tilted her head and he nipped her soft neck gently. She whispered in sweet protest, again wheedling away his good sense.”But it feels so good.”
There was another long pause, the sound of his kisses on her neck the only indicator that there was any movement in the ember lit room. He lifted his right hand and carefully ran his fingers lightly on her wrist.
“I know…” his voice was textured with continued cautions. He wanted to deny the truth of her words but he couldn’t. Her reactions to his every kiss and touch were every bit as pleasurable to him as tasting her was.
She breathed blissfully, ignoring the concern in his tone, “Do not stop, I beg you, Rowe…”
There was a pause. He cupped the back of her head with his left hand and tucked her chin between his right hand thumb and forefinger. He smoothed a kiss on her lips and nudged her lips with his tongue slightly. He held back a groan of satisfaction at her acquiescence to his erotic action. He touched his tongue to hers and her moan shook him to his core. His hand lifted automatically to her chemise. He ached to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. He exhaled as one of her cloth covered breasts flowed gently into his cupped hand. He could not help but to squeeze her lightly.
He heard her breathing accelerate as he next lowered the neck of her chemise. Cool air prickled across her bare breasts and his mouth practically watered at the sight of the puckered and pink, sweetly sized nipples of her smooth milky breasts. He favored breasts of all the intimate parts of the female form, and hers were unparalleled in magnificence. He was so engaged with simply admiring her that he failed to see her nervous disposition.
“I am sorry, am I not…to your liking?” She whispered, sounding quite as though she feared he might find her horrendous.
Not to his…? He felt gobsmacked. He immediately crushed his lips to hers, willing her to understand how very well indeed she did look to him. He finally pulled away and said in low sensual tones, “Forgive me for my silence. You misunderstand. I have never seen such perfection.”
Then, with the care of a priest placing a holy relic onto an altar, he eased her to lay amongst her pillows. He smoothed a gentle kiss on her skin at her heart.
Her gasp came, “Again!”
He did, placing three more kisses down her breast, halting at her nipple. He glanced up at her back arching. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was a tiny silent “o.” He took her nipple into his mouth with a lusty groan of relief. He licked and teased her, enjoying every gasp and arch she produced. When he suckled her, gently pulling her tip between his lips up until it made a little pop sound and fell away from his lips, he heard a stuttering whimper of complete submission. He reclaimed her nipple and began again, this time with a free hand moving to the hem of her chemise.
He slid his hand on her leg and dragged the tips of his fingers across her thigh. He eased his fingers through the curls of her intimate area. Her breathing was so shallow now that he heard a tiny wheezing pitch at the end of each pant. He felt her initial shivers from her as her intimate curls teased her, and he was still not at her core.
“My body is aching, Rowe…” she whispered, voice nearly gone, looking down at him, face scrunched in desirous distress.
He felt a roil in his stomach. Her use of his sobriquet focused him. He ceased suckling her nipple. He made a calming noise while his fingers slid on her body as though he were a pilgrim supplicating.”Close your eyes, Princess,” he said in a low voice to her ear. “I will soothe the ache you feel.”
He watched as she did so, then he gently delved his fingers to find her seam, hidden by an area of damp curls. His middle finger traced the seam until he found it’s apex. He lowered his lips to her nipple again and teased the seam. He felt her thighs instinctively open wider for him for want of more of his touch.
Just as his suckle on her nipple peaked her, he found her treasured little nub. He circled her, teased and tormented gently, and smiled lightly as he heard her breathing change and she gave a tiny whine. “Shhh….It is alright…” he soothed. “Let it happen…I’m here with you…” He lowered his face and suckled her nipple again.
She was writhing beneath him now, stuttering incomprehensible words and trembling from head to foot.
“There’s a good girl…” he murmured, his voice deep in her ear. “Come for me…”
His gentle encouragement broke her. He felt her hands clap onto his to stop his finger as she climaxed. He leaned up and captured her mouth in a kiss just as she cried out his name. He pulled back from the kiss after a long moment and smiled lightly as a huff of exhaustion expelled from her. She was spent.
In the silence that followed he pressed slow, loving kisses to the top of her hair, as he held her. She buried her face into the crook of his arm.
He finally said softly, “Princess?” He was gently stroking her back now.
“Mm?” She mumbled sleepily. She curled into his arms.
“You are tired, you should rest now,” he said gently.
She mumbled,”Yes…”
“Would you care for another cover, My Lady?”
“Mmm.”
The bed shifted, there was a gentle clink of his armor as he eased her into the bed and stood up. After a moment the bed was much cozier with warmth, as another coverlet was draped over her. A gentle stroke of his thumb on her lips made her smile lightly, eyes still closed.
“Many happy returns, My Lady. Sleep well.”
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/m489ls/mf_medievalfantasy_gentle_honorable_protector