Return to Viggo/Orlando by author, title, or rating. Jus Primae Noctis
Rating: NC-17 ~~~~ Miranda, named after her mother, kicked an unoffending pinecone into the brush and cursed aloud at her fate. She was halfway down the steep path that wound under the wind-sculpted evergreens, a perfect metaphor for her life just now. Below in the long, winding valley she could see the huts and houses of her small village tumbled like a rookery down the hillside: the place she came from. Behind her, on the peak, the fortress crouched like an eagle in an eyrie: the place she aspired to. Just now, she was in the middle. Irritably, the young woman pulled her wealth of wheat-colored tresses into a long tail and tied it back with a thong. The wind still plucked at her homespun garments with chilly fingers, but her hair stayed out of her eyes and mouth. These were small cares beside the one that had sent her up the road, but she could not bear even tiny aggravations just now. She was still smarting from her lover's last words to her. Colin was one of the lord's men-at-arms now, living behind the walls of the fortress and it seemed he had shaken the sheep-dung from his boots for good. In less than a moon, Miranda's lover had become someone she hardly recognized: someone who was not interested in being seen with a girl from his village. Colin had made it clear that while he would be pleased to give her the odd tumble, he had no intention of wedding her. Not even the knowledge that his seed had borne fruit could sway the young man. Colin had offered the opinion that Miranda was but guessing when she named him the father of her burgeoning bastard and refused to take any responsibility for it. He had been unimpressed by her vehement insistence that she was telling the truth; he knew her too well. Miranda glanced back once at the high, thick walls of Castle Morte hoping to see Colin on the wall, but she did not recognize either of the sentries. Clenching her small fists, she stalked on down the path, her thoughts whirling. What would she do now? The notion of telling her parents, suffering her mother's scorn and her father's fists, did not appeal to Miranda. She had eaten plenty from both dishes and neither was to her taste. The idea of spending what remained of young years as a servant in her parents' house, raising a bastard, beholden for every mouthful of food made Miranda feel ill. She must find another way out of her dilemma. Miranda raised her head at the sound of a merry laugh. Straying off the path, she followed the laughter to the stream that cascaded down the rocky slope. Keeping out of sight, the young woman peered through the fragrant branches of a fir at two young men she knew well. Elijah was the woodcutter's son and Orli the son of the widowed weaver. As she watched the boys fishing, a plan formed in Miranda's imagination. As she made her way home, she turned the audacious scheme over and over in her mind searching for weaknesses, but could see no flaws. It would take nerve, but however things fell out, she would be provided for. Thankfully, none in the village knew of her condition as yet, and she must see that it stayed a secret for a while. Yes, she must have a care for her appearance now. The first step of her plan required that she catch the eye of young Orli. That should not be difficult, Miranda thought smugly; she was the most comely maiden in the valley if popular opinion meant anything. When Orli was snared, the second step would inevitably follow. It would be a near impossibility for a pregnant peasant girl to gain audience with the new lord of Castle Morte, but there was a way Miranda could speak to him personally. It was the ruler's right to lay with the bride on the first night of the marriage. On her wedding night, the nobleman would most certainly appear to claim jus primae noctis and Miranda intended to use this law to the advantage of a commoner for once. When it became obvious that she was with child, Miranda could claim it was Lord Mortensen's, particularly if the infant had golden hair. In her wildest fantasy, the nobleman was so overjoyed at the thought of an heir that he asked for her hand. In a slightly more believable version, he kept her at the fortress as a mistress and she got to lord it over Colin anyway. What she actually expected was that Lord Mortensen would give her some gold for the child's upkeep and continue to do so over the years. Even if the lord denied her claim, she would still be hand-fasted to Orli, the comeliest lad in the valley, if popular opinion meant anything. His family was not wealthy, but neither were they as poor as hers. Orli's father was a skilled weaver and dyer of cloth who was teaching his art to his son. Moreover, Weaver Bloom was a widower and there would be no mother-in-law to disapprove of Miranda. No, she did not see how this plan could work to her disadvantage. Even if Orli proved an unsatisfactory mate, she could take lovers under cover of her respectable marriage. With a small smile on her lips, Miranda entered her parents' ramshackle cottage. Ignoring her mother's shouted inquiry about where she'd been, the young woman set about her evening chores without being told. She'd not be doing drudgework for much longer. ~~~~~~~~~~ "Will you be going down to the village now, m'lord?" Colin asked with a poorly concealed smirk as the nobleman appeared in the doorway. Lord Mortensen sighed. "Aye, lad. My thanks for saddling the mare." "Tis my duty, m'lord," Colin answered. "As this is yours." "I suppose," the nobleman said, swinging up into the saddle. "My heart is not in it." "My offer to accompany ye stills stands, m'lord," Colin said. "No lad. I would rather not take soldiers to a festive occasion," Lord Mortensen said. As he took up the reins, a smile lightened the nobleman's handsome face. "If you are still awake when I return, I shall tell you all about it." "If you are sober enough, m'lord," Colin teased, presuming on the lord's good nature. "Aye," the man's smile grew wider in the frame of a golden mustache. "For many toasts will be drunk to the bride's health, I doubt not." Colin gave the mettlesome mare a smack on her solid hindquarters, and she trotted out of the gate. Lord Viggo Mortensen waved in response to the ribald catcalls of the sentries and other soldiers who had gathered to see him off. He was happy to take up the rule of his childless uncle's domain, but he would do away with this embarrassing custom altogether if the villagers did not expect it. He only hoped his debut would not disappoint. ~~~~~~~~~~ "Elijah, please, I want you standing beside me." "I cannot, Orli. I still do not understand how you can be betrothed, and now you are about to be wed. You must forgive me, but I cannot bear witness to this." "You scorn my marriage?" "Yes. Of course I do. It is a mockery." "If that is how you truly feel, perhaps you should not attend." "That is my wish, as I told you," Elijah said, tears overflowing at last. "Do not cry, Lij," Orli said miserably. "This is a happy day." "Not for all," Elijah burst out. "How can you marry her?" "She carries my child," Orli was goaded into saying. Elijah's wide eyes grew bigger with shock. "How?" he breathed. "In the usual fashion," Orli said, his cheeks turning pink. "You lay with her before the wedding?" "She wished it," Orli said. "It was very sweet of her to want to give me something when she has so little. I could not refuse her." "And it was… Well obviously, it was a success," Elijah said, wiping a sleeve across his face. "I congratulate you and I ask you to forgive my surprise. I thought… But it does not matter what I thought. You are to be married and already you have a family." Orli smiled, the sweet smile that drew the heart right out of Elijah's chest. "Aye," Orli said. "It is rather sudden. Who would have thought that the beauteous Miranda harbored a secret longing for the weaver's son?" In that, she is no different from most, Elijah thought as he offered Orli his hand. Orli drew his oldest friend into an embrace and soundly kissed both Elijah's cheeks. Pulling back to look into Elijah's eyes, Orli spoke softly. "It would mean much to me to have you at my side today," the groom said. "But I will understand if you do not wish to stay." Elijah clapped Orli on the shoulder. "I shall be right here," he said. "Now, shall we go and see you wedded?" "I confess I am a trifle nervous. Thank you for staying." Elijah hooked his arm through Orli's and pulled him toward the chapel. The priest was waiting along with most of the valley's inhabitants and a radiant Miranda. The couple's vows were soon witnessed and solemnized and the merrymaking commenced. Standing alone at the edge of the festivities, Elijah was the first one to see Lord Mortensen arrive. ~~~~~~~~~~ "I do not care if it is the custom," Orli said. "Miranda should not have to suffer this." "It is no more than any other bride has endured," the Elder said. "Why is Miranda different?" Orli glanced at his new wife, but she gave no sign that the secret should be revealed yet. Unable to plead the excuse of pregnancy, the young man had no answer. Before he could think what to say, the door of Elder Bernard's house opened. "My lord," the old man bowed, touched his forehead in deepest respect. Viggo acknowledged the retired soldier's gesture. "You served my father, did you not?" the lord asked. "Aye, my lord. Good of you to remember. This is Orli, Weaver Bloom's son and of course this is the bride, Miranda." The nobleman glanced at the lovely young woman with white flowers crowning her rippling tresses and gave her a vague smile. He turned his attention to the groom, intending to salve the young man's pride with some dusty platitudes. Lord Mortensen's gaze focused on the lad and whatever he had been about to say flew out of his head. The Elder cleared his throat. "Does my lord wish to be alone with the lass now?" he prompted. "Or will you raise a glass with us first?" "A toast," Viggo said gratefully, dragging his eyes from the boy's compelling features. "Pour a dram for Miranda as well, if you please, Bernard." Miranda studied the nobleman, her gaze greedily devouring the details of his rich clothing and the gleam of gold at his throat. Though old for her taste, he was a comely man and she found she was looking forward to the next hour. Miranda had bedded Orli twice; the first time to provide credence when she claimed him as her child's father, the second to confirm the fact that the boy had no clue what to do with female body parts. She was going to enjoy training him to tend her pleasure, but just now she had an itch, and a notion that Lord Mortensen was just the one to scratch it. Orlando's eyes simmered as he watched the haughty nobleman over the rim of his goblet. The lord's laughter, as he listened to some pointless story of Elder Bernard's, seemed crass and overloud to the boy. This was no longer a joyous occasion and he could not fathom how the other three could stand about making merry. Bernard and Lord Mortensen seemed content to drink and reminisce, but a knock at the door interrupted the flow of the old man's distressingly clear memories of the smallest doings of the current lord's ancestors. With relief, Orli turned from the Elder and caught Miranda exchanging a glance with the handsome nobleman. Shaken by the look of wanton lust on his demure bride's pretty face, Orli did not at first hear what Bernard was saying. It penetrated his shock that the Elder was wanted at the celebration and it was time for the lord to claim his right. Squaring his shoulders, Orli waited with the others for their ruler's pronouncement. "I am here, as you know, under the law of jus primae noctis, to take a tithe of the wedded pair. Thus has it always been and I shall not flout tradition. However, I have been recently reminded of a little remembered fact about this somewhat… barbaric custom." Miranda, Bernard and Orli stared at Lord Mortensen as the man paused to take a drink before continuing. Viggo swallowed a great mouthful of the heady mead and steeled himself to say the next words. "Before I exercise my right, I wish to say that I know this will hurt the pride of some in this room and for that I ask pardon. Now, in accordance with ancient custom I claim a measure of joy to bless this marriage." Miranda stepped eagerly forward, setting down her cup as the nobleman reached out his hand. Her mouth fell open in a pink O when Lord Mortensen wrapped his fingers around Orli's wrist, making it appear as though he were claiming the groom. The notion startled a hysterical giggle from her that drew a frown from Bernard. "What means this, my lord?" the Elder asked, turning back to Viggo. "The law does not specify which of them I must hypothetically deflower," Lord Mortensen said. "Everyone simply assumes it will be the bride." "Hypo… Hypothet… My lord," Bernard said. "I still do not understand." "As it happens, the reason that there is no Lady Mortensen is because I prefer my own sex. The men I brought with me to Castle Morte are loyal and quite happy to spread spurious gossip about my bedchamber exploits. I hope the knowledge is not too distressing for you." The old soldier squared his shoulders and faced the nobleman, looking him in the eye. "That is as pleases you, my lord," he said crisply, "and no business of the likes o' me." "I can see that my father and uncle were well-served," Viggo said. "Go and enjoy the festivities, Bernard. I can attend to matters here. Please take Mistress Bloom with you." "My lord." Bernard inclined his head and offered his arm to Miranda. Miranda stared at the limb as though she'd never seen such a thing before. "Come along, lass," the Elder said kindly, pulling her from the room. The bride drifted away like a sleepwalker, stunned by the turn of events. Orlando watched the old man escort Miranda out into the noise of the celebration and then the door closed, leaving him alone with Lord Mortensen. Abruptly, the young man snatched his hand from the nobleman's grasp. "Easy, lad," Viggo said, as though the boy were a skittish colt. "I will not hurt you." "No, you'll not hurt me," Orli mocked. "You only want to ravish me." "That I do not," Viggo said. "I wish to lay with you giving and taking pleasure, which is quite another thing entirely. I will not force you." Orli gave the nobleman an incredulous look. "My word of honor," Lord Mortensen vowed. "I will try and persuade you and you must allow it, but I will not make you do aught you do not wish. If my touch cannot rouse you, we will wait a suitable time and then tell the others tradition has been satisfied. Will that suit?" Orli frowned, little knowing how charming was the expression, or how the nobleman wished to kiss away the small pucker in his smooth brow. The boy could see no shame in what Lord Mortensen proposed. Indeed, it was more than fair under the law. "Very well," Orli said. "Come closer," the nobleman invited. "I am not trying to persuade you, my lord," Orli answered. Viggo smiled; he liked spirited boys. "I take your point, but soon you will take mine, if all goes as I wish." "You have a clever tongue, my lord." "I have often been told so by those who have felt its lash," the nobleman smirked. "I do not enjoy vulgar wit," Orli said. "Then I'll not waste mine on you," Viggo said, reaching out to touch the boy's cheek. Orli made himself stand still as the man caressed him gently. Lord Mortensen ran his hands through the loose silk of the boy's hair, thumbed the petal soft eyelids and traced the sweet curves of the sculpted lips. The young man was annoyed to feel a warm tingle that lingered wherever the nobleman touched him. "I am going to kiss you now," Viggo warned, before bringing his face close to Orli's. Orli used all his will power to keep from flinching as Lord Mortensen licked delicately at his lips. What sort of kiss was this, the young man wondered? The nobleman pressed his mouth to Orli's and his tongue slithered between Orli's lips and abruptly Orli's knees went weak. Viggo wrapped his arms around the young man, holding the slender body upright as he explored the softness of the sweet mouth. Tightening the embrace, the nobleman sucked the boy's tongue into his mouth, eliciting a muffled moan. The groom clutched at Viggo's shoulders like a drowning man as the kiss went on. Lord Mortensen let his hands drift down and pressed their groins together, as he pulled his head back. "Do I feel evidence that my argument has begun to sway you?" Viggo asked. Orli blushed as he freed himself. "I have never been kissed like that," he said. "I campaigned with my father in France," Viggo said. "Let me show you what else I learned while we were there." "I cannot deny that you have roused me," Orli said. "But please bear with my inexperience." "Gladly," Viggo answered. "May I remove your clothing?" "Perhaps not just yet," Orli said quickly. "First, kiss me again." "Right gladly." The nobleman swept the boy into a fierce embrace and took his mouth in a kiss that gave preview of what his cock would do in Orli's lower opening. The same heat rose in the young man's groin, melting his bones and setting his blood afire. Orli had to admit it; kissing Viggo excited him more than thrusting his manhood into Miranda. Viggo untied the colorful sash that belted the boy's tunic and let it fall to the floor. Lifting the hem of the garment, he slid his hands up the narrow back. Flattening his palm between Orli's shoulder blades, the nobleman brought his free hand to the front. Relinquishing the lad's lips, Viggo took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Orli's gasp was loud in the silence as a bolt of dulcet lightning shot from his pinched nipple to the tip of his cock. All along the pathway of the thunderbolt, wildfires spread setting the boy's entire body alight. Viggo yanked the tunic over the young man's head and took the stiff brown nub between his teeth. Flicking his tongue over the tip of the sensitive bud of flesh, the nobleman drew another moan from Orli. Sucking and nibbling at each nipple in turn, Viggo worked his hand beneath the woolen leggings. Orli gave a short, sharp cry as the man's fingers closed on his hard length and squeezed gently. Slowly stroking the hot, silken flesh, Viggo claimed Orli's mouth again. Orli moaned helplessly, feeling as though he were losing control over his body. Miranda had touched him only to help guide him in and he had thought nothing of it. Now he realized there was much he had been missing. Lord Mortensen felt the boy's surrender and it gladdened his heart. This lad was not meant to pleasure maids; he was made to be cherished by someone, someone like… like a lonely nobleman, strong and wealthy enough to keep him. Recalling that the lad in question was newly wed, Viggo leashed his rampant imagination. Orli felt cool air on his thighs. Opening his eyes, Orli glanced down to see that the nobleman had somehow managed to push his leggings to his knees and was palming his sack. Even as the young man regained some of his wits, Viggo's forefinger stroked his cleft passing over the ring of his anus. Orli's groin melted in a liquid pulse that rendered him breathless. "Have mercy, my lord," the young man panted. "Never have I felt such pleasure and it is like to make me swoon." "Know you how sweet your words are?" Viggo asked. "No. Of course you do not. Please be candid as you like, Orli." "When you touch my bumhole, my knees turn to water," the boy said faintly. Viggo chuckled and nudged the flexing port. Orli groaned and pressed closer to the nobleman, offering his mouth to the man. The lord did not wait for a second invitation. Hungrily Viggo plumbed the velvet wetness and a thrill ran the length of his spine when the boy reciprocated. Judging the moment ripe, the nobleman pushed a bit harder. Orli stiffened in the man's arms as the blunt fingertip entered him and Viggo immediately withdrew. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Lord Mortensen wet his fingers and resumed his fondling. When he prodded the small opening this time, the lad pushed back against the pressure. The slick digit eased into the tight passage and stopped at the second knuckle. "Does it hurt too much?" Viggo asked softly in the boy's ear. Orli shook his head, afraid to trust his voice. The nobleman was moving his finger and the sensation was indescribable. The young man was afraid that his straining cock would burst if he did not receive some relief from the pressure soon. The fingertip lingered on a particularly sensitive patch of flesh in Orli's sheath and he felt a rush of pleasure so intense it overwhelmed him. Viggo eased the pliant young man a few steps to the Elder's dining table and lifted him to sit on the edge. With gentle pressure against Orli's sternum, the nobleman encouraged the boy to lie back on his elbows. Taking the flask of oil from his belt pouch, the man covered his fingers with the golden liquid. "I am going to put my finger in you again," Viggo said. "I do not mind," Orli panted. "Whatever you did before felt very good." "Then I shall endeavor to do it again," the blonde man said. "Yes, please," Orli said as a slippery finger wormed into his sheath. Viggo quickly found the boy's pleasure center and exploited it relentlessly, rubbing small circles in Orli's passage while he trailed his fingers up the underside of the leaking shaft. Orli whined and wiggled against the polished surface of the table as Lord Mortensen stimulated him to an almost unbearable peak of excitement. "I am going to put my cock in now," Viggo warned his mount. "Yes, my lord," Orli said in a dazed voice. Exposing his hard length, Viggo grasped the long cock near the base and anointed it from the flask. He gave the stiff shaft a few strokes to ensure it was well greased and brought it up to Orli's crotch. The boy lifted his head and watched as the thick rod approached his glistening opening. Viggo ran the head of his shaft up the crack of Orli's ass and over the velvet balls until it slid against the lad's arousal. The young man groaned as the nobleman took both rods in one big hand and pumped them languidly together. Leaning over, Viggo nipped at the cocoa brown nipples and pressed insistently against Orli's sweet spot. "I am going to spurt, my lord," Orli cried out. "Wonderful," was Lord Mortensen's reply. "Let it fly, boy." "Have a care for your… oh, oh, oh God!" Orli's words broke apart into incoherent sobs and small cries of pleasure until a surprised grunt signaled his release. A thick stream of pale fluid jetted from the tip the young man's handsome cock to spatter against the nobleman's velvet tabard. Releasing the twitching shaft, Viggo let his manhood slide back down to Orli's entrance. Gripping the base of his rod firmly, Lord Mortensen pushed the swollen head through the tight ring of muscle. Orli's breath hissed in over his teeth as the long cock slid up his passage, dragging against his prostate. Viggo groaned in ecstasy as the contracting sheath hugged his length, and he began to thrust delicately. Orli was stunned that his pleasure had not ended with the spilling of his seed. It was at this point that Miranda pushed him off of her and asked him to leave. Lord Mortensen continued to fondle Orli, nuzzling his neck, gently tweaking tingling nipples, and tenderly stroking his contented cock. "By my ancestors, boy," Viggo said hoarsely. "I have never felt such pleasure." Orli's shaft jerked under the man's hand and began to stiffen again. A pleased smile lit the nobleman's ruggedly handsome face as he maintained the speed and depth of his thrusts until the boy's rod stood up from its nest of sable curls. Slowly, steadily, Viggo rocked his hardness into the greased passage, dragging against Orli's sweet spot coming and going. "No more, my lord," the young man sobbed. "I can bear no more." Viggo grasped the yearning length sliding against the boy's taut belly in patch of its own fluid. Orli's back arched in deep bow as the man pumped his cock rapidly. Viggo pushed the lad's thigh back with his other hand and thrust deeply. Orli came with a strangled cry, spilling a small amount of seed over the man's fingers. Viggo leaned forward until his balls touched the boy's buttocks and thrust in a series of short sharp jabs into the quivering sheath. Orli shook his head from side to side, his hair coming loose from its ribbons and trailing across his face as the man pounded into him. Thumbs rubbing circles on the soft inner thighs, Viggo held the long legs wide open as he withdrew to the brink and paused. Orli's opening flexed on the tip of the man's shaft and Viggo grunted his pleasure. Orli did it again and when the nobleman pushed back into him, the boy bore down the hard length as though seeking to keep it out. Viggo moaned at the exquisite sensation and his shaft abruptly gave up its seed. He thrust once more, but his climax was already rolling through him like a wave crashing onto shore. His knees trembled and he held onto the boy like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a spar. Orli sighed and held up his arms. Gratefully, Viggo laid his head on the smooth planes of the sweat-dewed chest and tried to catch his breath. To call the experience sublime would be to damn it with faint praise. Surely nothing this side of Heaven could feel that good. Even the way their bodies fit together in the aftermath was ideal. The young man shivered deliciously as the nobleman's tongue traced the whorl of his left ear. The softening cock in his sheath twitched in response and Orli groaned deep in his chest. Viggo moved his hips subtly and the boy clutched at the lord's shoulders. "Stop, please. If you rouse me again, I will surely go up in flames." "Forgive me," Viggo murmured, soothing the boy with light touches and kisses. "No," Orli whined, moving restlessly. "No more. I beg you." "I am not doing anything," the nobleman said. "Liar. You are touching me. I can feel your… manhood wanting to plow me again." Viggo raised his eyebrows. "Are you a witch, boy?" "One who is already burning on your stake, my lord." Viggo grinned sheepishly. "I beg your pardon again. It feels so good to me that I did not consider how uncomfortable you must be." Gently, the nobleman disengaged and fetched cloths. Orli still looked somewhat stunned, but he was sitting up. When Viggo tried to clean him, the young man snatched the wet cloth from his hands and performed the task himself. "You might be a trifle sore," Viggo said. "It will pass." "And my memory of this, will it pass?" "I hope mine does not," Viggo said fervently. "How I wish you were free." "Why?" "I would steal you away and put you in a room lined with satin and silk. I would adorn you with jewels that you do not need and keep you jealously to myself. I would love you every moment of my life and maybe even beyond." Orli blinked. "Was I really so enjoyable?" Viggo smiled regretfully. "You are an earthbound angel and I wish I might clip your wings and keep you forever." Orli had been thinking how pleasant it would be to have this man do these things to him every day, if he could survive it. However, it could not be. "My honor weighs heavily against it, but did I have my freedom, I would give it to you," the boy said. "Miranda carries my child and I will not desert her." "But if you were free, you would come with me?" Orli nodded as he pulled up his leggings. "If only I had met you first," he said sadly. Viggo took the boy's arm and whispered into his ear the information Colin had given him about the virginal, blushing bride before he came down to the village. Orli's dark eyes widened in shock and then narrowed in outrage. Grabbing his tunic, he pulled it on with quick angry movements. "Do you really want to see her?" Lord Mortensen asked as the boy headed for the door. Orli thought about it. "No," he said at last. "I am too angry." "Come back to the castle with me. I will give you use for all that energy." "I must see my friend Elijah first." "He will wait, I think," Viggo said. "He is the one who informed me how vague the wording of the law was." "He knows me better than I know myself," Orli said fondly. "That is why he will wait," the nobleman said. "My horse is tied behind this house and can easily carry us both the sort distance up the hill." Orli looked around, but saw nothing he would really miss. His father would be disappointed that there would be no grandchildren, but not overly, as long as Orli was happy. "Tis odd to think that it is my wedding day," the boy said. "Tis not odd," Viggo corrected. "You just married the wrong person." "I can scarce believe I had never seen you before an hour ago," Orli said, brushing a lock of straw-colored hair from the man's forehead. "It hardly seems possible," Viggo agreed. "Let us not examine it too closely, but accept it as a gift from whatever god smiles on old soldiers put out to pasture." "Do you speak of yourself, my lord?" "I do and you are never to call me my lord again. I am Viggo." "You are not old, Viggo," Orli said. "My love for you grows apace," the nobleman said. "Come. Let us test what pleasures may be taken on horseback before we reach the fortress." "Gladly," Orli answered without a second thought for any belongings he was leaving. He would fetch them later, or Viggo would send for them. The boy giggled at the thought of himself haughtily ordering servants about. He would not be able to do it without laughing. Viggo followed the lad out the back of the Elder's house and found his horse. Letting the boy mount first, the nobleman swung up behind him. "This is your last chance, lad," Viggo said mock-sternly. "Once we reach my castle, I shall never let you go." "Good," Orli said, nestling back against the man's broad chest. "Now that you have claimed me you will find it difficult to be rid of me." "Good," Lord Mortensen echoed, wrapping an arm around the boy's slim waist. In a few moments, the horse's gait put notions in both men's heads and the rest of the journey proved quite interesting, as did the lord's homecoming and the manner in which the nobleman woke his young guest the next morning. And most mornings thereafter. It is not known what became of Miranda. Elijah saw her last, walking down the valley road in her white dress, shredding her wedding chaplet of snowy blossoms, bluing the air around her with her curses. Of her child, much is known for she left the baby with the monks of the abbey at the foot of the mountains. Though the baby girl's father was never determined, she was legally adopted by Lord Mortensen, and illegally by everyone else in the fortress. The blonde charmer grew to be a strong and wise woman who ruled with tolerance and an even hand. Responsible for sweeping changes in the archaic social system, one of the laws she did away with was the jus primae noctis. Even though, as she often remarked, it had brought her parents together. This formidable woman ruled long and well, uniting the warring clans and earning the love of all her subjects from greatest to least. She was called Miranda after her mother, but hers is a story for another time. THE END If you enjoyed this story, please send FB to Bailey. 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