When Day Turns Night Read online

  When Day Turns Night

  By Lesa Fuchs-Carter

  This short story is fiction. All names, characters, companies, incidents, and places are from the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarities to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The content of this eBook contains sexually explicit and graphic situations and is intended for persons over the age of 18. All characters portrayed in sexual acts are 18 years of age or older.

  Copyright © 2012 by Lesa Fuchs-Carter

  All rights reserved. Please do not reproduce, print, or otherwise distribute without prior written permission of the author.

  Edited By Ember Rose.

  Cover designed by Lesa Fuchs-Carter. Photo used with permission.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  For new releases, comments, or to connect with the author, visit: www.LesaFuchsCarter.com.

  Ireland, 1117

  My father, King Dauid, was a brilliant man, kind, fair, and humble. A natural leader, people followed him because he was good, not because he was overbearing or strong. It was not for power that he rallied an army together and took the throne, but to supplant the evil man who sat upon it, starving his people. With his best friend, Artan, by his side and flanked by Artan's wife, Muirenn, a powerful witch, they lead an army nearly a thousand strong upon the castle Mac Raith. When they won, Artan stood beside my father, pushing him to take the crown when they had won.

  Muirenn, whom was delivering their first born son during that final epic battle, was not privy to the impromptu crowning of my father, blessed by Artan and the other leaders of the army. It is rumored that Muirenn had plans for the throne and when she discovered the crown lay not on her husband's brow, but my father's, she shrieked and cursed my family and Artan, calling him a traitor to her power and love. But shortly thereafter the witch declared herself loyal to the crown, and begged the forgiveness of both the king and her husband for her outburst.

  My father's kindness and fairness was his fatal flaw.

  Now that a true king once again sat the throne people journeyed from throughout the land, flocking to him for blessings for their harvest, their children, their animals. My father declared he would grant no blessing until he had granted one on Conchobor, Muirenn and Artan's son.

  The kingdom rejoiced when the babe was brought forth, and my father offered his first blessing as king.

  “My people!” it is written that he said, “This day a child has been brought forth whom shall no doubt be great with power and friendship as his parents, without whom our kingdom would still be under the reign of Mac Raith. Tonight I make a declaration, none shall usurp him as heir and future king save the son of my blood. Rejoice and welcome the heir to the throne!”

  Unfortunately, the blessing was granted by the gods, and Muirenn twisted it to her own design.

  Early Fall, Ireland, 1139

  “You look lovely, Jesmaine,” My mother said, crossing the stone floor to me. I had to agree the deep purple of my gown looked beautiful against my pale complexion. She took up the comb beside me, gently running it through my deep brown hair.

  “Not half as lovely as you mother,” I smiled. She was a mature woman, her hips widened by the girth of delivering my sister and I, her brown hair, always kissed with the golden suns rays, even in the deepest of winters, had gray at her temples. The complicated braid that wove up and around her head was weaved with the golden crown of her royal station. She carried herself with the grace and beauty of a true queen, though she, like my father was born and raised in humble means.

  I knew it saddened her that she had never been gifted a boy, but her friendly love of Artan lessened the blow, for surely he was raising his son well to be king, and to be my husband. I had known since birth that I would marry Conchobor, whether a brother was born or not, to ensure that Artan's lineage was brought honor as well for his families help with the war. I had only met him a few times as Artan had taken a castle near the borders of my father's kingdom to hold them strong and firm.

  Today I would meet him again, my father's declining health ensured that the marriage would happen soon, within the year no doubt, if not sooner. Though from my knowledge of Conchobor he didn't particularly want to marry me, who he considered a willful child. The goal of today was to show him how not childlike I was.

  Though of course I was innocent in the art of lovemaking I knew of it, and had been told much on the ways of pleasing a man. My gown was snug, showing my feminine curves, slim waist, and breasts. My mother tied small flowers in my hair, taking her time to wind the stems in so they would not fall, then braided my thick hair to hang down my back in braids.

  My little sister, Ita, came bustling in, her hair bound in a quick knot at the back of her head, and a soft blue gown hanging from her fragile shoulders. She was a slight thing of only 12 years, much younger than me, but she had been a much sought for child, and when we'd nearly lost her and my mother, my father had declared that the last child they'd attempt for. I love her like the dove loves the spring, and the bee loves the flower.

  She plopped down on her belly on the foot of my bed, her bare feet raising and showing her legs up to her knees. “Ita, really,” our mother tutted, and I chuckled. My father had given her a lot of leniency because of the risks of her life, but my mother was continually trying to rein her in.

  “Wanna go riding?” Ita asked, rolling to her back and looking at me upside down.

  I smiled and winked at her, “I can't, Gooseberry. I am meeting my future husband, and you know it.”

  “But it would be so much more enjoyable to go hunting.” She rolled back over again, a wisp of her golden brown hair, much like my mother's, fell down into her face and she pushed it out of the way. “Faelan says the rabbits are coming out in troves, and we should get the hunt on before the first snow hits.”

  I rolled my eyes playfully. I was a good hunter. I could catch a rabbit faster then any man I had hunted with and while it was much more enjoyable, I was too much a lady to go against my father's wishes and not meet my future husband.

  My mother permitted our cheerful banter as she finished my hair, finally placing a slim golden circlet on my brow.

  “I will ask Conchobor if he would like to hunt with us in the morning,” I asked, grinning at her.

  My mother smiled, she knew that I was willing to meet and marry Conchobor, and to make this work. I was a lady, and it was what was expected of me, but as all I hoped for love. My father and mother had an arranged marriage, one securing wealth to the new king – her father made a lot of money as a merchant – but they had also very quickly fallen in love. My father had adored her quick wit, her gentle and kind nature, her love of the kingdom and the people.

  I could only pray that Conchobor would come to love me and I him.

  We exited my room and moved down the long hallway to the curving stairs that took us to the great hall. It was adorned with green and red tapestries, carrying my father's story as he defeated King Mac Raith, making the castle his own. There were stories of my birth, and tales of Ita and even of Conchobor, Muirenn, and Artan. Red flowers adorned the spaces between the tapestries, a rich and vibrant red carpet had been brought in, and a fire the size of my bed was burning in the center, keeping the chill of early autumn at bay. Light filtered through the upper windows, lighting the silver and gold serving wear, filled already with some of the bounty of my father's harvests. He had invited many people, much more than normal, hundreds of guests from all stations, even peasants, cleaned and dressed in their poor finery. I smiled at them all, merchant, noble, and peasant.

  My father had brought peace to this land, and he had ta
ught all the nobles that their wealth was fleeting if not for the work of the serfs.

  Each party we had he would invite families from all districts, to remind him and teach Ita and I of our heritage. There was a lovely lady in the course spun wool of a peasant, two wide eyed children clinging to her gown. They looked only mildly out of place, more for their own awkwardness then for their clothing, for there were many knights and military men wearing much the same. I greeted everyone I could, asking of harvests, their labors, and of their children, listening to the concerns and happy chatter of our people. I had just turned from a group of merchants, being promised a gift of a snow fox fur coat for my wedding, and came upon a group of young military men.

  “My sword would bury into her sheath until she cried out in ecstasy!”

  I blushed at the crude statement not intended for me to hear.

  “I've conquered many a maiden, but none so fair as the,” he turned to look at me at the frantic direction of one of the other men, his smile only faltered for a brief second, then split even bigger. “Princess!”

  I smirked at him, instantly feeling the strangest connection to him.

  He had dark blue eyes the color of the sea in a storm, and his hair was a dark blonde, almost brown. His jaw was firm and square with sharp cheekbones and a nose that had a slightly crooked tilt to it, no doubt from a break. But it was his smile that caused such a stir within me. Toothy and beautiful, lips full and ready for a kiss. I knew of his type, had been warned against them by many a nurse.

  I noticed the quirk of his brow as he took me in, not just for another lay, but for someone he found as beautiful and intelligently equal as himself. I saw the question in his eyes doubting the statement of conquering me.

  My father always told me that I was strangely gifted at reading people, he had told me it would serve me well as queen. I could see into their souls, know their desires and decipher their intent. I had always laughed it off, until that moment.

  I knew that he was doubting his station in life, doubting that women were indeed only for his carnal pleasures and the care of their men. I could also see that his men loved and respected him. While he seemed fickle with the desire to bury his sword in all sorts of different woman sheaths, he had a depth he'd never shared with a woman before, and had never expected to want to share.

  Finally remembering his station he stepped back into a grandiose bow, sweeping his cape back, and joining his men as they bowed to me. “Ah, and now you show your respect!” I laughed, lightly, “oh mercy gentlemen, please stand up and we shall enjoy light conversation. It is a party.”

  It wasn't the first time I had heard unsavory comments about myself. I was, after-all, the most sought after maiden in the country, and beautiful in addition.

  The man stood up slowly, his eyes registering my mirth, and I knew he was not accustomed to being the brunt end of a joke himself. I also could see that he held me in higher regard for turning it all into a joke, as was its original intention, and not over-reacting to the lewdness of his comments.

  “And what is the name of the valiant knight I should call should my lady's maids need a good sword thrust?”

  He grinned, loving that I was playing with them. “My Lady Princess, 'tis Trian.”

  He bowed his head again, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. Again that powerful connection sparked between us. I had never experienced anything such as it – nor had I believed in the love at first sight of so many of the stories I had heard at the bard's knee. Butterflies danced in my belly, and strangely lower. Secret places within me tightened and ached, and my lips seemed to need continual wetting from my tongue.

  “You are even more lovely in person,” he spoke softly, and I could see his eyes were still taking me in, noting the flick of my tongue. The strange sensation that he too was feeling these odd and awkward sensations rolled through me.

  “But not what you expected, my lord knight.” I smiled, laughter in my green eyes, forcing myself to keep my tongue in my mouth.

  “Most certainly not, I expected you to be, well,” he paused and had the nerve to blush which caused the laughter to bubble up and out of me.

  “The crown prince, Conchobor and his lady mother, the Duchess Muirenn!” The announcement echoed along the stone walls, interrupting my laughter. We turned then, toward the great hall doors as the party split around Trian and I.

  I felt my back automatically straighten, and the butterflies that had been dancing stilled as though frozen by a chill wind. My mouth set in a firm smile, as he entered.

  Conchobor was tall, thick in the shoulders and powerful, he just had more girth then the man beside me. His smile was barely there, and looked more like a gloat then a genuine smile. I saw it falter as he took in some of the peasants and lesser born nobles. His dark hair hung loose about his shoulders, mixing in his scraggly beard. His eyes told volumes, quick wit, sober humor, anger.

  Muirenn, well she was vastly different from the stories I had heard. Her hair was as white as snow, her eyes ice blue. She wore a long black gown, her body still straight and beautiful, but I could see a frailty that hinted toward the end of her years. She had a firm set to her mouth, like she had spent many of her years glaring instead of smiling.

  Artan was not with them, and I marveled at that, he would not have missed this for anything. I remained still, intimidated by their presence. A new sensation for me. My father crossed toward me, though he was ailing he did not show it in his thick shoulders, his happy grin.

  “Muirenn!” He laughed, spreading his arms wide.

  He acted as though he didn't see her smirking glare as he wrapped his arms around her.

  I knew in that moment that I was a means to an end. There would be no love in my marriage, and I was not going to be ruling at my husband's side.

  Conchobor had bowed out of the hunting expedition, saying he and his mother needed to settle into the guest chambers. We'd learned that Artan was ill and unable to make the journey, though he'd sent his wishes that he wanted the marriage to happen soon. Something about that struck me as odd.

  I skipped down the steps in the early morning hours, predawn. I exited the side chamber, next to the guard house and stables. I straightened my heavy wool tunic over my dress, heading to the stables, and saw a sight I wasn't meant to see.

  Between the stables and guard house was a well of fresh water for the horses and guards, and standing beside it was a very nude male. I froze, watching as he scrubbed at his naked body with a rag. He was washing his hair, his back to me. I stepped closer to the stables. I knew a lady shouldn't pry on a man, especially betrothed, but I couldn't help it. His firm muscles corded down his back to a beautiful buttocks, powerful thighs, round calves, he was slim and beautiful. And then he turned.

  My eyes wandered the front of him as he poured a bucket of water over his face. I had never seen male genitalia, but it wasn't as intimidating as my ladies had told me. I should have turned away, but god if I wasn't curious.

  In a few months, I would be a bride and taking care of my husband and making him happy. Surely this man wouldn't mind his princess looking at him in a scholarly way. I knew that the length of him would harden and stretch, becoming even bigger than it already was, and somehow would insert into me.

  He rinsed his hair, water sluicing along his skin in the dim light, splashing over his manhood. I wanted to touch those oh so tender balls hanging beneath the length of his penis, feeling the softly haired portion and discovering the texture. I wanted to make that softened member stretch at my fingertips, engorging with lust and blood and heat.

  Finished with the rinsing, he shook his hair out, much like a dog after the rain, and I gasped. Trian. In all his glory. We had met only a few hours ago, and yet I had been desiring him, yearning for a few more sentences from his full and teasing lips. Unfortunately that gasp alerted him to my presence. He looked toward me, and our eyes met. He grinned, turned, and blushed at the same time, though I knew that he would have displayed himself for
other women.

  “Princess!” He called softly, quickly wrapping a linen cloth hurriedly about his hips. “Are you in need of anything?”

  I knew I should let it go, I should excuse myself and hurry away and pretend I had never seen anything, but my heart hammered, and my belly-and lower-was filled with butterflies.

  “Actually, my lord knight, my sister and I are about to head on an expedition to hunt, would be best if we had an escort.” I paused as he approached me, nude save that wet clinging linen cloth. I tried hard but failed miserably to not look down at the way the shaft stuck to the wet cloth. I also noted that it was changing, lengthening before my eyes, hardening and growing erect. I fought with my eyes and forced them back to his face, flushing a deep red.

  “Are you asking me or the barracks in general, my lady Princess?” He asked softly, and I felt heat fill me to my core.

  My thoughts argued with my heart, but as oft does for a young maiden, the heart won out. “You, Trian, please. Please come.”

  I heard Ita's racket as she exited the castle, and stepped quickly into the shadows of the alley, secured from my sister's sight and bumping into Trian's firm chest. He was damp still, his hair hanging unceremoniously about his face and throat. I swallowed and looked up at him. Fighting at the urge to look once again at his member as it pressed into my belly through the thick wool coat.

  His eyes explored mine, and I felt certain they mirrored my own expression of need and desire. There was most definitely the confusion in them I held in my own. While the bards sing of love so powerful it erases all else, I had been taught above all that respect and obedience to my husband was first and foremost.

  His hand raised and I thought my virgin lips would taste their first kiss, as his hand hovered beside my cheek. I could see the desire in his brow, in the set of his shoulders, reading him like a book. The spell wound between us, causing me to push gently into him, pressing my sensitive breasts against his firm chest, begging for that member pushing in my belly to be pushing elsewhere. His breath was minty against my face, spiced with cloves.