They nestled, naked, upon a light blanket, spread over the dew-dampened meadow, shaded from the warm sun by mighty oaks, full with spring bloom. Robert rolled to his side, propping his head against a hand, gazing down at her, snuggled in the crook of his other arm. Her velvety fair skinned, slender body was still flushed and moist from their recent ardor.
” ‘Tis a miracle I still cannot fathom that I am here with you. That such an angel professes to love me as deeply as I love her.”
“The miracle ‘tis mine, my love.” She stroked his face with elegant, crimson-nailed fingers, “that I could be shed of that cruel bastard, William, and find myself in the arms of one such as you. I adore you more than I can say. ‘Tis as if I’ve loved you forever, in my dreams.”
“Aye. So ‘tis with me.” He handed her one of their partly filled glasses of wine glasses.
“To our love, eternal. Nothing on earth will ever destroy it.” They clinked their glasses together, sipping the warming brew.
“We are already one, Morgana. Marry me, to make it official.”
Her smile stirred him almost beyond bearing.
“Yes, my darling. As quickly as I’m shed of William. Our child will need a proper name, and I love you beyond my ability to say.”
“Our child? Are you…?”
“Yes! I missed my time, neigh three months past.”
“But how? Eight years with William, and you never…”
“Aye, but apparently t’was his lacking, not mine.” Her smile ignited him. Their hands, their mouths, wended on amorous explorations, and soon he was entering her.
Nearing a wondrous finale, the earth seemingly trembled at their exquisite ardor. Her ears twitched, and the flames of passion were suddenly chilled by an ominous sense of danger.
A vague image of a horned beast and blood-soaked beak bloomed in her head. Eyes flared wide, she struggled to glimpse the wood beyond her lover’s shoulder.
“Morgana? What’s amiss, my love?” He snatched a breath, struggling from the depths of ardor.
An approaching heavy tread was clearly audible, as the air humming with a strange whirring beat.
“Non! Mon Dieu, non!” French? Terrified, she wondered, I don’t speak French.
Locked in the steel band of her panicked arms, Robert tried to turn but before he could move he was slammed against her, his full weight pinning her to the ground. Reeling from the impact, her face drenched by blood and splattered with small spongy gray particles, Morgana’s eyes flew wide.
Paralyzed by terror and the weight of her lover, she cringed at large shadow above her, then the suddenly familiar fierce beaked head, the sun glinting off its silvery body, flailing the air with a spinning weapon.
“No, don’t!” A terrifying flash of memory bloomed… a vision of being here before!
“Arret! Not again! Mon Dieu! Non! Non…”
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Genre – Romantic Suspense
Rating – PG13
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