a special dress of black when first her brother then her mother died. He had taught her how to do her hair, for no one understood the purpose of hair as an accessory to an outfit like Timbor did.
The man's thick form was more like that of a woodsman or carpenter. He had huge arms and it was into these that Caralynne fell one day, giggling over some lesson she'd learned in a book from some strange land. Timbor hadn't been able to resist her cute little charms, and they had kissed. All it took was one kiss, just one, for them to be utterly smitten. He had no doubt it was a passing phase at the time, one Caralynne would grow out of, leaving him behind in her days of youth, and leaving him with his own broken heart. Adults didn't see love as carelessly as the young did, and he knew he would wear that scar proudly when it came. But it never did.
Young Caralynne had given her heart to the man who first held her in the throes of splendorous passion. Timbor had shown her how to love without ruining her maidenhead. He had taught her how to kiss, how to touch, how to please a man. These were gifts she never wanted to share with anyone else, despite Timbor's insistence that one day she must. She committed herself to her personal tailor mind, body and soul, doing everything she could as she grew older to keep him close.
One day, it had been too much. A simple dress fitting had turned into a sexual interlude on a couch, and someone had walked in. Caralynne was shamed and Timbor was sentenced to death. Caralynne had helped him escape her father's jail, and they had sworn they would find each other. But that had been eight months ago. Before Caralynne's marriage to a man in a distant province. She had almost begun to give up, so hard it was to keep Gregory Esteban at bay. He was a good man, and a good husband. Caralynne was more afraid of dieing of a broken heart than giving in to Lord Esteban.
"Don't ever let me go again," she whispered, touching Timbor's cheek.
He shook his head and smiled down at her, cradling her in his huge arms. She'd forgotten how very golden brown his eyes were, and how speckled his beard was with blonde, brown and grey bristles.
"I have to let you go," he said quietly. "You know that. You came here knowing it."
"I didn't. I want to never leave you."
"You have a husband. Duties and obligations. You must fulfill them."
"I'll die if I'm not with you…"
Slowly Timbor stood up and set Caralynne down on the bed. Then she watched as he pulled his buttons free and drew his shirt from his chest, exposing the thick grey-brown curls of his body hair to her. It was something she had never seen before.
"Then do not be without me," the elder man whispered as he slowly lowered himself atop his young lover. "Be with me."
Caralynne spread her arms, engulfing Timbor in a long-awaited embrace. She held him close as his hands drew the dress he had made just for her up and away from her legs. Beneath, she wore what he expected, and he handled it well, sliding material and soft cloth aside to penetrate her. He hadn't even removed his own leggings or boots, so eager he was to make love to her, as if she were his bride, his first and only bride.
Caralynne rose up, her spine arching as a stabbing pain filled her. Timbor was three times the man her husband was, and what Lord Esteban failed to do each time he tried, Timbor did with ease. He was like a hot knife slicing through a brick of thick butter, and Caralynne felt herself cleaving to him readily. Her legs lifted, and she cried out as he joined her in revelry at their passion. The bed beneath them shuddered and threatened to break but somehow managed to stay upright as they made love again and again and again.
For Caralynne, it was as if they were making up for the long months they had spent in love and had chosen to not consummate their affection. It was like each and every time her husband had tried to make love to her was surreptitiously washed from memory by kiss after kiss, touch after touch of Timbor against her flesh. And soon it was as if Gregory had never existed. She lay curled up in Timbor's thick hairy arms, feeling him moving still behind her as they spooned on the raggedy blankets that covered the mattress. And for the first time in all her young life, Caralynne felt whole, felt womanly, and felt loved.
"Stay with me," Timbor said softly, whispering against Caralynne's ear. "Sweet Cara. Stay with me forever. We'll run away…"
She shook her head slowly, staring across the one room cottage to the table that held all of Timbor's tools. They were between sessions, catching their breath it seemed for the first time in hours.
"I cannot." She couldn't believe she had the strength to say it, but she had to. She had thought about it, in between making love to him and breathing. "If I stay with you, they will hunt us both. My husband will be shamed and my father will be enraged. They won't stop until you are dead, perhaps both of us."
For a long moment, Timbor said nothing, then she felt him nod against the tangled mess of her hair. He knew she was right, even if he had been the first to say she should stay and had only changed his mind because of how good it felt to have her so close.
"I will give you this though," the young lady whispered, turning to face her lover, chest to bare chest. "No child of his shall pass through my body. Only yours."
Timbor laughed lightly. "I couldn't ask you to do that, sweet Cara. It isn't as easy as you think."
Cara frowned and cupped Timbor's cheek. "It's what I want. Show me. Show me how to make it so."
Timbor stared into his young lover's eyes. Then he shook his head and sat up, moving over her body to stand in the middle of the room. He looked at her, then looked away.
"There are medicines-" he started to say.
"And they can do as much harm as they can help. There are other ways, physical ways, you know them. You've told me before."
"Care, oh dear one, I can't-"
"Show me!"
She had that same spoiled brat voice he'd fallen in love with many years ago, before she could ever have known. Sighing, Timbor gave in to Lady Caralynne in a way he'd never given in to any woman, not even his own daughter. Slowly, he turned Cara's slender form around on the bed, putting her on her hands and knees.
"This is going to hurt," he whispered softly as his hands caressed her body.
"I love you, Timbor. And I would do anything for you." Cara glanced at him over her shoulder. "This is nothing compared to living without you. And if I must be with him, I shall. But let me be YOUR wife, mother to YOUR children. Please!"
Nodding, Timbor moved close, and showed sweet Caralynne, dearest in his heart, how to please a man without taking his seed into her womb. Hours later, she came in the door of her husband's house, cloak clutched around her body. She headed upstairs and made for the privacy of her bathing room, spending only a few moments there before making her way to Lord Esteban's bedroom.
He was sitting upright in his bed, looking as nervous as a school boy when his wife entered and turned to lock the door. Caralynne shed her cloak, and her dress was in utter disarray around her shoulders and waist, mud coating the long length of her skirt and making it hug her hips in far too intimate ways.
She would obey both husband and lover, Caralynne knew, but in her own way. As she approached the bed, slowly peeling the new but sorely used dress from her limbs and stepping out of the puddle of silk it created on the floor, she realized how powerful she felt. She was going to be in control of one thing in her life. One ever so important thing. And that was all that mattered to her.
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