Geoffrey's hands touched the sides of her face and he gently pulled her up. "I am still waiting for my kiss," he said, his voice deep and velvet.

"Here?" she asked with innocence, pointing to his lips. "Or here?" she suggested, touching the tip of his nose. "Or perhaps," she whispered, sliding her hand below his waist, "here?"

Geoffrey's gaze told Elizabeth he could not remain passive much longer. She was pushing his control away, touch by touch. He knew her game and was amazed by her uninhibited display; his mind would have allowed her to continue, to see just how far she would go, but his body was demanding with his need, becoming more painfully insistent with each passing second. "You will kiss me now," he ordered, caressing her shoulders to soften the harshness in his voice.

"As you wish, Geoffrey," Elizabeth whispered. She was no longer smiling as she reached up the length of him and touched his mouth with her own. The kiss ended the game for both of them. Her mouth opened for his tongue, her hands cupping his face to hold him still. And then the embers of passion ignited and Elizabeth too lost her control. She couldn't seem to get enough of him, tugging at the hair on the back of his head to keep him prisoner.

Geoffrey rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body while he continued to kiss her. The taste of her, sweetened by the ale, made him thirsty for more. His hands stroked and touched, rough in hurry, and when his hand slid between her thighs and he felt the wetness there, he knew her passion matched his own.

He could wait no longer. Nor could Elizabeth. She parted her legs and arched against him, eager to have him inside her. Geoffrey was breathing so heavily that he could not speak, could not form the words to tell her how very much she pleased him, could only groan with his need. He thrust deep, shuddering for control, and heard her cry out. Her nails scraped his shoulders as she tried to push him away.

"You hurt me, Geoffrey," she sobbed into his ear as she continued to struggle against him.

He heard her and immediately stopped all motion. Lifting himself on his elbows, he looked into her eyes, saw the tears streaming down her face. "Shhh," he comforted, "it will not last long, Elizabeth. The pain will be gone." He leaned down to kiss her but she turned her face away.

"I am too sore," she whispered, "you must stop." She was crying now, both from the pain and from the need so conflicting inside her. "But I don't want you to stop either, Geoffrey."

He could not stop, wanted to tell her he could not, and knew she would not understand. She was too innocent of men to understand. Sighing, he rolled with her to his side, willing himself to keep his patience, keeping inside of her by holding her firmly by her hips, whispering all the while words he hoped would soothe her.

Geoffrey pulled her leg up and rested it on his hip. "It will be better now," he said, and when the sobbing stopped, he knew he was right. He kissed her then, a long, intense kiss meant to melt away her resistance and rekindle her passion, and after a time, Elizabeth began to respond. Her hands quit pushing against his chest and began stroking again. And the soreness was gone, or unnoticed, with her renewed passion.

"It is better?" he asked, thinking that he could not remain still inside of her much longer.

Elizabeth moaned a reply and her hips began to move against him. It was all the urging that Geoffrey needed. His mouth covered hers, capturing her moans while his hands pulled her hips closer. He meant to move slowly but could not, thrusting again and again, deeper and deeper still. He heard her cry out again and thought that he caused her more pain, but still he could not stop until the explosion rocked him from the mountaintop he had just climbed. He felt her shudder beneath him and only then realized that he had rolled her onto her back and that her legs were clenching him with the force of her reaction.

When his breathing calmed and he felt her relax beneath him, Geoffrey said, "You are all right?"

She nodded against his shoulder and Geoffrey relaxed. He rolled to his side and pulled her next to him, glancing down into her eyes. They were still glazed with passion, causing Geoffrey to think that she remained unfulfilled. "I have not satisfied you?" he asked, concern in his voice. Elizabeth adjusted herself to his side and settled her head on his shoulder. "I am most satisfied, Geoffrey," she whispered. Her voice was full of wonder and sleepy pleasure. He worries that he does not please me, she realized, and felt a glow of contentment warm her. Soon, she thought, he will realize how much he is beginning to care for me. And one day, she considered, one day he will say the words.

"And have I satisfied you?" she asked, though she knew in her heart that she had. She had heard him cry her name and felt his strength explode into fragments just seconds before her own explosion. Aye, she had remembered calling his name too.

Elizabeth was sound asleep before Geoffrey voiced a reply. He chuckled to himself and closed his eyes. Contentment was here, in this room. It was there, whenever Elizabeth was by his side. He admitted it without argument and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Elizabeth opened her eyes the following morning with a thousand questions floating through her mind. Geoffrey was still sound asleep, one arm holding her prisoner against him.

She decided to let him sleep a while longer and took great pains not to disturb him as she slipped out of bed. Clothes were spewn about the floor, and once Elizabeth was wrapped in her robe, she quietly saw to cleaning up. She would have to tell him that he snored, she thought, smiling to herself. He won't like hearing that, she knew, and that pleasured her all the more. Ah, but she loved to tease her husband! Too much of her grandfather's character in her, she supposed with a shrug. And he was the master of the game. Geoffrey was such an easy victim, with such a serious disposition and an inclination to scowl most of the day. Why, his very personality made it most appealing to try to goad him, she admitted without guilt.

Elizabeth walked over to the window and lifted the piece of fur. Looking out, she saw that it was a grand day indeed, if the warmth of the air and the brightness of the sun were any indication. It felt as hot as summer, the gentle breeze upon her face.

Grand, she thought again, for today she would find some answers. Her gaze turned to the forest's edge, to where her uncle and his men camped. Today he would receive justice, she thought as she scanned the area. Something was wrong but her mind could not grasp what it was. She shook her head and cleared her thoughts. The men were gone! No, that cannot be, she argued with herself. She ripped the fur from the wall and leaned out for a better look. The facts did not change. Belwain and his men were gone, fled during the night.

Enraged, she turned to her husband. God but he would be furious, she predicted. Why didn't the warning sound when Belwain broke camp? Why wasn't her husband informed? "Geoffrey! They are gone!" she yelled the news. "All of them gone."

Her husband's reaction did not please her. He opened one eye, scowled, and rolled over onto his side, away from her.

He does not understand, Elizabeth thought. She raced over and knelt on the bed, poking him in the shoulder, and repeated, "They are gone, Geoffrey. Wake up and clear your head. You must get up now. You must… do something."

Geoffrey groaned, making a sound like an angry beast, and rolled onto his back. "Quit bellowing," he yelled.

"You do not listen. Belwain has gone, fled," Elizabeth said again, and still did not lower her voice. "You must get dressed. We have to go after him. We-"