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The next two days the trio met in their hideaway to grovel in the arms and privates of the other. Their muffled cries were often hard to disguise; and there were no less than six spying souls about the castle who were whispering about what they’d seen and heard take place in the hidden garden.
When the flirts denied Leonas a fourth meeting, he was despondent, but agreed that it would be wise not to tempt fate—a fate already set in motion. Only the poor man could not stop now. Days later, he remained obsessed by the trysts and insisted—on pain of punishment—that the two nymphs join him for another lewd session. They finally agreed, knowing that the scoundrel would soon pay for his unfaithfulness.
d
Rosaura was one of few virgin maids in Mountbane’s realm who was not destined for the dungeons. Her father, Sir Ellemore, had made it clear that his youngest daughter would not be subjected to the trials most women in Ilusia were deigned to suffer. Because the poor man’s wife had died, and because he was a most sensible advisor to the court, and simply because Lord Mountbane himself
found it rather novel to let this child’s destiny be ruled by her elder’s wishes and not his own, she escaped the intense education required of most young women. This put her in a category of her own, outside the laws of Ilusian nature. Of course, Rosaura knew the rudiments of humility just from living in her society. She was raised to be a compliant and humble young woman; and by her very nature, she was as submissive as a playful kitten—and a thousand times more lovely. Even so, her upbringing was guarded from the sexual extremes so abundant in her world, as if her father thought he might marry her to some prince or nobleman outside Ilusia.
The fair beauty became known for her billowing hair, which in a pale chestnut cascade of curls shimmered far past her shoulders. As the sunlight danced through her locks, it glowed like an angel’s halo, gleaming with a soft and golden hue. Her eyes were wide and blue; her mouth dainty, a bare, pale pink; and her cheeks looked as though she brushed them with the tip of a red rose.
Raised so far from the most brutish elements of her world, she was so wholly innocent and carefree that Rosaura was completely unconscious of her physical endowments and how well she moved inside her gently seductive shape. Early in her teenage years, her breasts had grown plentiful. As she matured into her late teens, her hips flowered naturally, a feature that only enhanced her small waist and the delicate but shapely limbs. As she became more visible about the castle, a hundred eyes of lewd-thinking men gazed at her enrapt by Rosaura’s ability to seduce and still maintain a quality of simple virtuousness. She seemed apart, different from other girls and the older women. Mountbane assured her father that no man would touch her without his permission. As she approached her nineteenth year she was as prime a female as Ilusia had produced in some years; though she remained ignorant of the carnal possibilities of her world and the expectations for its women.
Falling in love with the rogue, Leonas, was like falling into a dream. Like so many dreams, this one was filled with fantasy and illusions that could hardly endure the reality of this vulgar realm. Still, the deception held for nearly a year while the randy son of one of Mountbane’s most randy noblemen privately courted the maid and won her undying affection. Their non-affair was kept a secret from the critical eye of her father—Rosaura thinking this was a naughty rebellious venture for a normally obedient woman. Leonas, himself, was quite itchy to get under the gentle maid’s skirt; though he was duly cautioned by Lord Mountbane to keep the courtship chaste until they were married. For a country used to reckless revelries, blatant debauchery and the sexual enslavement of women, this was quite a thing indeed.
It was no wonder that Mountbane had his eyes on the prize himself; and once viewing the goods, found her chastity so rare and without blemish that he, too, fell in love.
d
Charlotte let the gossip about Leonas and the flirts filter through the kitchens, marketplace, and noble chambers of the Ilusian castle. She fanned the flames several times herself with odd comments sure to spark the interest of those well acquainted with the maid, Rosaura, and her discreet though not so private courtship with Leonas.
A conniving Charlotte remained close to the girl so she’d know when the maid had finally heard the news herself. The older woman sensed the first signs of a gentle heart breaking.
Two afternoons following the last tryst, Charlotte found Rosaura hurriedly on her way toward the market, a basket in her hand, tears in her eyes.
“So despondent, miss,” she observed, catching up to Rosaura.
“No, ma’am.”
“But I feel it, and see tears in your eyes.”
“I cannot hide them, but they do me little good.”
“And what would they be about? Perhaps I could help in this difficulty.”
Rosaura looked so terribly distraught, “Can you make a man mend his ways?” she was nearly consumed with grief.
“Ah, that would be difficult,” Charlotte agreed. “So you have heard the gossip?”
“Do you suppose it’s true?”
“Have you asked Leonas?”
“I haven’t the heart. I love him so. I’m afraid to know the truth.”
“But wouldn’t it be better if you did?”
“How so?”
“I think it’s better to know the heart of a man than be deceived.”
“Then perhaps I should ask.”
Charlotte had changed the young woman’s path, so that instead of entering the marketplace, they were headed toward the castle gardens and the secluded place where she knew the flirts had taken Leonas for their fourth rendezvous. Before they even reached the hidden bower, the two women could hear the faint sound of female laughter.
“Perhaps we should go elsewhere,” Charlotte suggested trying to steer Rosaura away.
“No, I think I hear familiar voices,” the girl disagreed. “If my Leonas is here, there could be no better time than now to confront him.”
