EPILOGUE

A fraction of a mile separated the craggy foundations of the abbey from the lush woodlands of Silveneir, and soon Sorcha and DeSilva were walking beneath the shadow of the trees. No moonlight penetrated the forest canopy, and DeSilva had to light their way with the Dancing Ring. At the first clearing they reached, he spread out his cloak on the meadow grass for Sorcha and went to gather firewood. She sat, shivering a little in her brief harem outfit, waiting in the darkness and watching the bobbing light of Dancing Ring that marked DeSilva's path around the clearing.

Soon he returned and crouched down to get the fire going before joining Sorcha on the blanket.

“I should confess that I didn't actually bring any food.”

Sorcha's only answer was to growl and pounce on him. He laughed and wrestled her beneath him, ravishing her throat with his kiss while he tussled with the brief harem silks restraining her breasts. The catch on the top gave and Sorcha threw it away, clasped DeSilva's head in her hands and lifted her breasts to meet his kiss, whimpering with ecstatic self-abandon.

He pulled free of her grasp and began peeling off his shirt; Sorcha helped him, hauling it over his head and grabbing at him again. DeSilva broke down laughing, fighting her off until he could kick off his boots while she fumbled with the buttons of his trousers and disposed of her skirts.

She kept her harem shoes on, slinging her legs around his neck when he at last pinned her again to the blanket.

“By hell, you've gone wild!” DeSilva held her hands trapped above her head, staring into her febrile eyes. “Is this how it's going to be from now on? Do we dare go anywhere civilized?!”

Laughing, he shifted his grip to hold her wrists one-handed, settled a firm hand on her hips, and thrust into her.

Sorcha's gasps and laughing screams echoed long into the night, celebrating at last her long-denied freedom.