Once, two young and valiant men had jousted to secure her favours and she had watched, fascinated by the sight of the blood they had both shed and the...horrible injuries they had inflicted one on the other. After the tournament, she had presented the weary, and half dead, victor with a richly embroidered silk handkerchief, which he had promised to treasure for ever. She had given him nothing else! "All muscle and no brain - typical of his kind!" had been her sardonically dismissive comment to. ~~ "Cyn." His deep, husky voice purrs at her ear, heated breath stroking her senses. "What are you thinking?" She turns to him with a soft shiver, pulled from her reverie, gazing at his dark, charismatic face, feeling the pull of his personality in the silver gleam of his eyes. Chameleon eyes, from mist to midnight in a moment, a clear harbinger of his mood. "I was thinking of the first time we attended La Matraisse together, Ruan, my love, Master of my soul." The soft earthy yearning for him. More

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