Her mindturned toward the memories of his hands on her own body as she lay across thecouch in his study. No! Her breath became more rapid and she felt...herself ripening.What does he keep down there?She thought of his demanding presence, his ever conscious control, and shesaw in her imagination the maniacal restraints and tools he must keep hiddenbelow. She examined his wooden rack, and the slanted table. Her fingers glidedover the polished wood of the open stocks, and her eyes widened as she. ??All right, thank you sergeant, go ahead and move the rest of these mento the orchards.?While watching the militia depart, made up mostly of old men and boys,Sir Nevan knew there was little chance he would be able to stop anattack. He was under no illusion that by the end of the day, most ofthese men and most likely himself, would lie dead on the field. However,he needed to try to at least slow the attackers down.With a shake of his head, he turned his warhorse around, riding off witha group. More

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