Little Sins by Meredith Rich

Author:Meredith Rich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media

Ian nodded his head sadly. “Tom Blackthorn’s had to make certain compromises in the twentieth century.

The horses grazed in the soft grasses among the ferns. Rosalie, Claire, and Justin threw off their clothes and went wading in the cold brook. Mick and Henry disappeared hand in hand. Juno wandered off picking flowers, the colors exploding around her like fireworks. The mescaline carried her on a wave of senses, through the forest and back through time. Down that path rich merchants rode, behind every tree Tom Blackthorn lurked. She could almost hear the voices of happy, singing maidens, and the scolding tones of their mothers urging them back to the house.

And then, from behind, a rough hand covered her mouth; another gripped her breast. “You’re Tom Blackthorn’s bride this season,” a voice growled.

She twisted, brought an elbow back into something soft. There was a sharp grunt and the hands released her. Juno dropped her bouquet of flowers and sprinted off, giggling, down a path streaked with the sunlight that filtered down through the trees. Behind her came heavy footsteps, and the same voice.

“I shall have you, I shall. You can’t escape from Tom Blackthorn!”

Juno looked back, laughing. “I can run faster than you any day.” But her foot caught in something and she tumbled into some ferns. In a flash, Tom Blackthorn was upon her.

“I’ve had my eye on you. You’re the fairest of all the village girls. You’re mine now. You cannot escape my spell.”

“Do I have to stay till spring?”

“Nay, forever. Old Tom Blackthorn’s found what he’s after.”

“Oh,” she said, a little breathlessly, “and what’s that?”

He kissed her. With tearing and fumbling, their clothes came away. For Juno it was not jeans and T-shirt that were tossed into the bushes, but a long peasant dress that laced up the bodice. Ian’s clothes, too, had taken on the look and texture of garments from a century long ago. The forest was the same as it had always been.

The sex was lusty and passionate. It tapped the wild animal streak in Juno that Max Milton had first exposed in her at Yale, that she longed for and feared. It was a release to her, a throwing off of layers. The bandit king rode her roughly, and she clawed his back with her nails and bit his shoulder. She came once with a shrill cry, but he was still hard inside her.

And then the mood changed. A song of a different beat rose out of the forest’s hum. Ian became gentler, a poetic troubadour, and she the lady of the castle, no longer a peasant. They reached climax together this time, and it was as pure and sweet as the song of the robin that perched in the tree above them. A medieval bird, a twentieth-century bird, there was no difference. They were simply man and woman, and could have lain like this in any century.

The sun was dipping lower and a breeze began to stir the leaves around them. Ian held Juno tight in his arms to keep her warm, and they listened to the sounds of the woods.

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