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This month I am spotlighting my hot medieval romance – Branwyn’s Love
Scene Set – Branwyn begins her training as a courtesan. Dune- means trainee/beginner
Duna – means instructor
Gon-dra – means – Heir to the throne
It is Gon-dra Malacke who is the male sleeping.
Excerpt –
“Dune Branwyn, please come sit over here. Did you rest well?”
“Most wonderfully, Duna Trea. And you?”
“Excellent. Now we begin your first and most important lesson - tragor. In your language, it has many meanings. But I believe duty is a good word. Through your duty, you must submit. Submission is your tragor. Do you understand what that word means?”
“Yes, Duna Trea. I am a very obedient person. When my aunt or uncle requested I do something, I did it without question.”
“But yesterday I told you not to speak to anyone unless spoken to first, yet you disobeyed me. And did it to Gon-Dra Malacke.”
“I am sorry,” said Branwyn. “I was frightened and confused. I… I did not know who he was. But Leah explained these things to me.”
“So, do you state that you understand tragor?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Then stand and remove your upper garments. Unlace your bodice, let it and your sleeves drop to your waist.”
With trembling fingers, Branwyn tried to comply, but the laces refused to undo.
Duna Trea waited while Branwyn fumbled with the laces. “Now your shift. Expose your body.”
Branwyn’s muscles stiffened. A chill swept through her. “But I will be naked! One should not expose one’s body to another. It is against the—”
A flash of anger filled Duna Trea’s eyes.
Remembering Leah’s instructing and her discomfort, Branwyn did not want to cause any more pain to her. Surely, Duna Trea knows it is wrong to expose oneself. She paused, hoping her duna would rescind the order.
“Tragor.” One anger-filled word hung in the room.
Eyes squeezed shut, and bottom lip trembling, she reached for the bow to loosen the front of her shift, tugged on the right sleeve and removed her right arm. She gripped the material in her underarm and lowered the left sleeve. Placing her arms in front of her breasts, hands clasped under her chin, she raised her elbows, letting the material drop.
“Lower your arms.”
Three simple words cut Branwyn like knives. She tried to drop her arms, but the muscles refused to obey. Tears slipped between closed lids and trickled down her cheeks.
“Tragor, Dune.”
With every muscle fibre fighting the motion, Branwyn lowered her arms but held her hands clasped before her.
“Place your hands behind your back. Complete exposure. Good girl. Now step this way.”
Duna Trea stood next to Malacke.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Branwyn stepped over and stood next to Trea. “Have you ever touched a man?”
Her eyes widened. She covered her gasp with her hand. “No. It would be wrong.”
“I thought not. Some lands lack the knowledge needed to properly train young women. Touch him. Run your fingers down his chest. Experience what a man feels likes.”
“But…” Touch him. Must I? He is very handsome. Strong. Maybe just a quick touch.
“My herbs lulled him into a deep sleep. He may stir, but he will not fully waken.”
The magnificence of the man sleeping before her outweighed her fear. Branwyn wanted to touch him. Angry wounds and faded scars told stories of hard-fought battles. Solid muscles proclaimed he had won those battles.
Trea knelt, slipping her hand along his arm. “Feel the hardness of his body. It is one that knows how to kill men and pleasure women. Many women. And yes, women can derive great pleasure from a man. You give pleasure to them and they give it back.”
Following Trea’s example, Branwyn knelt and skimmed her fingers across his chest and down his arm. Rubbing her fingers together, she felt the oiliness of Trea’s healing pastes. Sniffing her hand, she recognised the aroma of lavender and yarrow—herbs that induced sleep and contained healing powers. She brushed back a fallen curl of thick black hair. As her nerve increased, she stroked his stomach with her full hand, watching her fingers rise and fall as they ran over the ripples. He sighed.
“Now, repeat what you have done with your breasts.”
Blurb and Links –
Daryl Devoré pens another hot read – the medieval romance -Branwyn’s Love.
The tale of a young woman sold as a courtesan in training. Branwyn arrives in a new land to begin daily lessons in the bewildering art of bedding a man.
The noblewoman chosen to be Prince Malacke’s bride rejects him by bedding his hated rival. Malacke turns his anger towards increasing the power and wealth of Black Dorn castle. And he succeeds until his attention is captured by the face of the woman who will be his queen.
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What an intense scene! And this line is so gorgeous: Angry wounds and faded scars told stories of hard-fought battles. Solid muscles proclaimed he had won those battles.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I love those lines as well.
DeleteThe scene made me feel so sad for her - clearly better things are coming :)
ReplyDeleteEventually
DeleteAh, if only we could all have been taken in hand and taught "the ways of the world," instead of having to fumble clumsily in the back seats of cars, with equally inept partners! I'm jealous that she's getting this opportunity. Great scene.
ReplyDeleteHmph - no one else has ever looked at it that way.
Delete