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Chapter 12: Chapter 12

by LadyBluejay

Chapter 12

The stable emptied. Just the grooms and lads remaining: their priority, as ever, to their charges.

Lothíriel’s heart was beating wildly. She stared for a moment at Fudge; the little mare was huddled in the far corner of the stall trembling violently. There was another thunderclap but this time it was not so vicious. The storm was moving away.

The children! How could she even think of staying here? The princess, with a helpless nod to Díor, picked up her skirts and ran madly for the door. Éothain, Hulda and their two small boys lived in the North East Tower, Fréowyn’s orphaned granddaughter shared the housekeeper’s quarters near the kitchen. Most of the accommodation for guests or those working in Meduseld were in houses nearby but Frecca and one or two other servants lived in the hall.

She ran across the stable yard and out onto the main street, from there she had her first glimpse of what could be a catastrophe. The main part of the hall looked to be untouched but flames were coming from the top of the North East Tower. Alphros! She screamed silently to herself. Her nephew had formed a friendship with Cedric; Éothain’s eldest, and had forsaken his billet with his mother and father for the adventure of sharing with the two young Rohirric lads.

As she neared the steps that led to the hall she could see figures on the main roof, some frantically trying to dampen down the thatch and stamp out any flying sparks whilst others were attacking the flames at the top of the tower. Fortunately there was no shortage of water as a stream gushed from under the stone stairway and ran in an open channel down the side of the main street. The four towers of Meduseld were made of stone, but it would be the tower roof that was burning, she thought: it was made from wooden tiles. She looked back up to the main roof; if only the storm would break the thatch may be saved. As she got nearer the figures on the roof came into focus: there were about a dozen men up there and of course it was easy to pick out Éomer. His mop of blonde hair and his build made him easily identifiable. Then her heart leapt with unaccustomed pride as she recognised Amroth and Erchirion. They must have sobered up fast. Her brothers were annoying and domineering, but they could always be relied on in a crisis.

The steps were covered by chains of men using containers of every sort to transfer water, both inside the tower and up to the roof. The lawn around the hall was packed with people, refugees from the feast as well as townspeople, their mouths agape at what could happen here. Lothíriel desperately searched the crowd for someone who could answer her increasingly urgent questions. She pushed her way towards the stone terrace ducking under arms and squeezing between young and old. When she reached the top she saw that it was Faramir and Elphir who were directing the containment effort, there was no sign of her father or King Elessar. Suddenly, with a certain amount of relief, she saw Éowyn, standing outside the main door. She was looking shocked and white faced.

Guards were holding the people back but when they recognised the princess, she was quickly let through.

“Éowyn, Éowyn,” she called out urgently, “where is Alphros?”

Éowyn looked around to see where the voice was coming from. “Oh Lorí,” she answered in a rather relieved voice, “no one knew where you were. Éomer climbed straight up onto the roof without saying anything. Where have you been?

“The stables, but never mind me. What about Alphros and the other children?

“Oh, they are fine. It was the tower roof that caught. Merilan and Arwen have taken them all down to the guesthouse.”

Lothíriel clutched at the other girl, a stab of relief causing her to falter for a moment. “Where is my father?”

“Inside. He and Aragorn are supervising the salvage of the tapestries, wall hangings and important papers from Éomer’s study. They are not in immediate danger but if the main roof catches…” The White Lady of Rohan could say no more and burst into tears.

That was when the Valar took pity on them, Lothíriel always thought afterwards. There was a ferocious roar and the clouds opened.

Once the rain started it came down in bucketfuls, making the efforts of the men meaningless. The crowd of onlookers dispersed as quickly as it had formed and Éowyn grabbed Lothíriel’s hand.

“Come on there is no point in us staying out here and getting drenched; they will have it under control in a moment.”

The two girls ran together into the hall where various people were milling about, mostly the servers and kitchen staff. The Prince of Dol Amroth was very evident and, as soon as he saw his daughter, made his way towards them

“Not a moment too soon,” he remarked with considerable relief, pointing his chin skywards. “Hopefully it is just the tower roof that has gone.”

“Yes, probably. They will have to put some tenting canvas over it until it can be repaired properly,” Éowyn answered. She sniffed the air, “Although we will have to put up with the smell for a bit. It happened once before when Éomer and I first came to Meduseld. Lothíriel eyed the tapestries that had already been rolled and stacked on one of the large tables. “Your efforts were wasted, Father,” she smiled. “They will all have to be put back.”

“Yes. But luckily we were about to get that one down when we heard the rain.” He pointed to the large hanging which depicted Eorl the Young riding out of the North to the aid of Gondor, and to victory, at the Battle of the Field of Celebrant.

The Princess walked over to the table and unrolled one of the smaller hangings. “They looked fine on the wall,” she mused, “but this one, at least, really needs some repair.”

“Most do,” Éowyn agreed. “But the last few years have been grim. No one felt like it and sewing and embroidery are not my first love,” she admitted.

Imrahil walked over to examine the hanging. “You may have a job for life here, Lorí,”
he grinned, indicating the large pile of decorative pieces.

The stitching is no problem but the most difficult thing will be matching the colours,” his daughter replied, “the dyes are different than those we use at home.”

“There is a very old lady who lives in Edoras who is an expert,” Éowyn joined in. “She was always going on about restoring them, but as I say, the time was not right.”

“It will make a pleasant winter job,” Lothíriel told her.

They were interrupted by Fréowyn and Frecca arriving with huge armfuls of cloths.

“Those boys are going to be soaked through, cold and hungry by the time they have finished tonight,” the housekeeper stated emphatically. “The washing up from the meal is not done yet and I need someone to stoke up the fires and carry water for baths.” She looked pointedly at the Prince of Dol Amroth.

Lothíriel could hardly stop her self from laughing out aloud at the expression on her father’s face. At that moment King Elessar appeared on the other side of the hall, emerging from Éomer’s study. She waited with eager anticipation for the forthright Rohan woman to order the King of Gondor to make up the fire but unfortunately, she thought, he forestalled her.

“Ah, Fréowyn, would you like me to rustle up some help? I imagine you have a lot of fetching and carrying that needs to be done.”

“Yes, my Lord, it you would not mind. It will be a long night.”

It was a long night. But after it was established that the damage had been contained, only the roof tiles had gone and the massive beams supporting them were just blackened, it was fun.

Lothíriel helped Frecca make a huge vat of mulled cider and a large mug was handed out to the tired men when they eventually streamed into the hall after all was safe and watertight. They were all soaking wet and dry cloths were handed out. Everyone crowded around the massive hearth in the centre of the hall, steaming gently. Those who had been on the roof were the last to come in, and Éomer, Éothain, and a few others including her brothers were not only wet but, as they had actually been fighting the fire, black and smelly as well.

There were so many people thronging around Éomer that Lothíriel found it difficult to get anywhere near her betrothed to find out how he was. She was relieved, however, when his superior height gave him the opportunity to look over the top of those clamouring for his attention and wink at her. Since his face was black it looked exceedingly funny. He eventually managed to escape when Fréowyn announced that baths were ready in the guard room for those who had been on the roof, nearest to the fire. The guardroom was near to the kitchens so it saved lugging water around too much. Lothíriel wondered what her brothers would think about communal bathing but as they had no inclination to go out in the deluge again and make for their own quarters, there were no objections. Since their spare clothes were in the main guesthouse, Lothiriel was rewarded by the sight of two princes of Dol Amroth supping soup after their bath wrapped only in bed sheets. No one was fetching clothes until the rain stopped. She was passing round a basket containing hunks of bread to go with the soup and arrived in front of her brothers to offer them some at the same time as Éomer, who of course had been able to avail himself of clean dry clothes. He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “There was no trouble in the stables after I left?”
Erchi looked up before she could answer. “Oh, so you did end up there. And what were you doing may I ask?”

“Erchi,” Éomer addressed him in a rather exasperated tone, “I was about to offer you some dry clothes but if you continue to behave like a pratt, you can stay wrapped in a sheet.”

Lothiriel handed Éomer a piece of bread to go with the soup he had been given. She was glaring at her brother and was severely tempted to stamp on his bare foot.

“If you must know, Erchi, at that time we were merely checking on the horses.” She wondered why she even bothered to answer him. He was impossible. Not long ago she felt proud of him and now she could hit him.

As thick skinned as ever he could not leave it alone. “I am sure you were not checking on the horses all that time, Lorí.”

“No, we were not,” she snapped at him. “We went for a walk down to the wall.”

“To check on the guards, I suppose,” he smirked.

“Erchi, leave her alone.” Amroth was getting irritable now.

“No,” she said carefully, savouring her answer. She was going to enjoy this. She had only had a very small cup of mulled cider, and there really hadn’t been that much brandy in it, she decided, just enough to let her not care a damn. “We did not go to check the guards at all; we went to practice for our wedding night.”

There was a splutter from Éomer, and some hot soup found its way back into the bowl.

“Practice?” Erchi’s expression would give incredulity a fair start, she thought.

“Yes, practice,” she repeated. “I am sure Éomer does not need any, but I certainly do. Now excuse me, but I must pass this bread around.” She turned on her heel leaving two totally astonished faces behind, and one with laughter all over it.

She had not gone more than half a dozen steps when she bumped into her father. He put a hand on her shoulder.” Is everything alright, Lorí? Your face is red and those two,” he indicated his two younger sons, “are looking decidedly green.”

“They are upset, father because I went for a walk with the man I am going to marry in three days time. No, not three days now, only two,” she corrected herself, it was well after midnight. “I would have thought that even they would think it a good idea if I actually knew what a proper kiss felt like before my wedding night, but apparently not And that’s what we did Father, we kissed. And what’s more I enjoyed it,” she announced in a voice that challenged him to object.

An amused smile swept across her father’s face and he placed his lips gently on her forehead. “Believe me, Lothíriel: I am very glad you did.”


Arwen’s maid was putting the finishing touches to her hair, the woman certainly had a knack, it looked lovely. Swept up on top of her head and then hanging down her back in long soft curls. Mind you it had taken hours. Most of the day had been taken up with getting ready and her hair always took ages to dry. At least with all the sitting and lying around she shouldn’t be tired tonight. She giggled inwardly; she certainly wouldn’t be falling asleep at an inappropriate moment.

It had been an eventful couple of days and the annoying thing, as far as she was concerned, was that there had been no opportunity to repeat the kiss. The day after the fire was spent clearing the debris and rounding up horses. It rained that evening and yesterday she and Éowyn had gone for a quiet ride, that is if any ride with one of the Rohirrim could be called quiet, even if the Rohirrim concerned was with child. Lothíriel had enjoyed the ride and was extremely relieved that the salve had worked on her legs and there were no more red marks. All the men, including Éomer, had been sent out hunting to get them out of the way. It was probably due to the presence of the three Princes from Dol Amroth that the hunt had been so successful – her brothers were fanatical and extremely skilled. The larder had benefited anyway. They had left before dawn and did not return until after dark and spent the rest of evening telling everyone else of their prowess. She had not seen Éomer today and would not until she joined him in the Hall for the ceremony. That was a bit of Gondor tradition. They were being married according to both. A simple vow in Rohirric was all it took in Rohan normally, but they were also having the Gondorian binding of hands. She would be well and truly married. Far more important, to Rohan, would be the crowning ceremony tomorrow when the people would welcome their new Queen.

“There you are, Princess, I hope you are happy with that.” The maid had finished at last.

“It’s beautiful, Anneal, thank you. It is no wonder Queen Arwen always looks so lovely.” Lothíriel was very pleased. She liked her hair to look nice and piling it up made her look taller. The maid curtsied and with a smile and a nod to Frecca left the room. There was one thing Lothíriel really liked about Rohan and that was that the people did not take offence easily. Frecca had been more than happy to let Anneal do her hair, respecting the Gondorian woman’s skill rather than being jealous of it.

Lothíriel picked up little pot of kohl and a small bush and used just a little to outline her eyes. Her brows were dark enough and they had been plucked into a neat shape. A little rouge and lip colour was all she needed. Not too much, just enough to enhance was what she liked.

As soon as she had finished Frecca brought her dress over. It had turned out well. The main body of the dress was two layers, the flimsy overdress letting through the blue of the silk underneath. The sleeves were long and tight ending in points that projected over the backs of her hands: they were made of the transparent material covered with small pearls as the rest of the dress. There was a swan embroidered on both points of the sleeve, she had worked on them herself knowing she would be in for a lot of hand kissing. The dress would be highly unsuitable for life in Rohan but maybe she would be able to wear it again in Gondor or Dol Amroth, if one of her brothers got married, perhaps. She picked up her silver circlet and necklace – it would be that last time she wore these – the Rohan ones were gold. Lothíriel adjusted the neckline as Frecca was lacing the dress up, it was cut rather low and she smiled to herself, it would give everyone a good view of her ‘attributes’. She might be small in other parts but her bosom was, well not large, but certainly ample in comparison to the rest of her figure.

Frecca finished the last lace, “Well, Princess, if you don’t want me around tonight you know who will be undoing this, don’t you?

“I imagine he’s done it before,” she answered without thinking.

Frecca burst out laughing, “You are under no illusions then, my Lady?

“No, I am not,” Lothíriel grinned, “not with three older brothers. Frecca,” she carried on, “I hope you don’t mind me not wanting anyone else about. I know that is the usual way in Rohan.”

“Yes.” Frecca was quiet for a moment. “You make the vow in front of a witness and he wraps his cloak around you and there you are. If you are lucky he picks you up and carries you well away from everyone else. I was lucky, he was young and strong.”

“Frecca,” Lothíriel was flabbergasted, “are you telling me you have been married?”

The girl nodded. “The day after Helm’s Deep. I was young, but we had loved each other for quite a time and my parents gave permission. With what was going on there was not a lot of point in waiting.” She sighed, “He rode off to Gondor and never came back. Crushed by one of those monsters, I understand. It seems like a dream sometimes.”

“Oh, Frecca,” the Princess instinctively put her arms around her maid. “This must be awful for you, why did you not say?”

Frecca shook her head, “No, I wanted this. I needed something useful to do. Fréowyn is a friend of my mother’s and she arranged it.”

Lothíriel smiled, giving the girl a gentle hug, “I have seen you in the company of one of King Elessar’s soldiers.”

“He came last summer with the Funeral Cortège. He made eyes at me then, but now he wants to make more than eyes,” Frecca smiled back rather wryly.


“And nothing. If I was in love with him, I imagine I would gladly go to Gondor. But I am not. It is too soon and I want to stay in Rohan. Now come on, Princess, enough of me it is nearly time. You just need some perfume.”

There was a knock at the door. Lothíriel knew it would be her father. She took a deep breath and checked herself in the long mirror whilst Frecca went to open the door.

Her father smiled as she went towards him. He reached for her hand and took it to his lips. “You look absolutely beautiful, Lorí. Éomer is very lucky.”

Lothíriel could not say anything it had suddenly hit her that this was it. The Prince was silent until they were away from the door and then he stopped.

“Lorí, I want to apologise. I was wrong. I should not have promised you to Éomer without at least discussing it with you. I was just so eager to protect the future. I am sorry.”

She shook her head, “It doesn’t matter any more. I was very angry but at least I now understand your reasoning,” she hesitated, “but thank you for that.”

“I think it has worked out well,” her father smiled, “will work out well, I mean.”

“I hope so. It could have been a lot worse, Father,” she grinned, “he really could have been a huge ugly warrior!”

No, Éomer certainly wasn’t ugly, and she was reminded of that the minute they entered the hall. The royal apartments were at the back and the King of Rohan rose from his seat and turned towards her, somebody must have given him a signal. He was staring at her as if it was the first time he had ever seen her and she could not take her eyes from him. He looked larger than ever. His long golden hair was flowing around his shoulders and he was wearing his crown. He looked confident and dignified in his heavily embroidered ceremonial cloak, which would be wrapped around her as part of the simple Rohirric ceremony. He wouldn’t be carrying her off though, at least not yet. She gave him a nervous half smile and his face broke into a beaming grin. The whole hall rose, her soon to be husband walked towards her, and her father handed her over.

The Princess’s small hand felt lost in his large rough one. He wasn’t exactly squeezing it, but he was holding it very tightly. She wondered if he was afraid she would change her mind and run off down the hall, but then he bent his head slightly and whispered very quietly so there was no chance of anyone else hearing,

“You look so beautiful that for a moment I thought I was dreaming and would wake up wrapped in my bedroll on the hard ground.”

Lothíriel looked up at him; astonished, never imaging he would say anything like that. There was no chance to reply because King Elessar came forward for the Gondorian part of the ceremony. She watched the ribbons being wrapped around their hands in a sort of stupor not quite knowing how she managed to remember the words, luckily there were not many as Aragorn had to do most of the talking. Suddenly they were wed, but she knew she would not feel totally married until they said the words in Rohirric and he wrapped his cloak around her.

Moments later they were looking into each others eyes and she was listening to his rich deep voice, it seemed to vibrate right through her. Then it was her turn, she had practised and practised, it was not an easy language. She could see herself reflected in his irises and the green flecks in them were dancing about. When she had finished, she had managed it perfectly, she thought, he unhurriedly took off his cloak and placed it around her shoulders. He continued to stare into her eyes for a moment and then, with a hand on each edge of the opulent garment he bunched it up until it was tight around her and used it to pull her towards him until he could kiss her. She felt his lips, warm and solid. It was a kiss quite unlike the one of a few nights before, but the meaning was clear and the shivery feeling she already had in her back made its way all the way down to her feet. Her legs decided to via with jelly for wobbliness and she thought the entire hall must be able to hear her heart thumping. He let her go, the guests broke into the traditional clapping and cheering and the feasting began.


Considering that supplies were still not back to normal in Rohan, the cooks had done a wonderful job. With pork, apples and honey still reasonably plentiful, no one would go hungry. She knew pigs were being roasted down in the city as well, but the main festivity would be tomorrow, when she received her crown. The celebration tonight was more for family and friends, with just the worthies of Rohan present.

Lothíriel looked down at the piece of blackberry pie that had been put in front of her, she was not sure she could eat it. She dug her spoon in, scooped up a little and put it in her mouth. That bit went down but she knew she could eat no more. She gave up, put her spoon down and gazed around the room. She had the distinct impression that everyone was becoming slightly inebriated, everyone except herself and Éomer. Certainly the noise was getting louder, drowning out the musicians. The wine had been flowing freely but she had kept topping up her goblet from the water jug. Edoras was blessed with clean fresh water that came down from the mountain. Her new husband would probably not stop her from drinking whatever she wished but now that she was allowed to have as much wine, or ale for that matter as she wanted – it didn’t hold quite the same attraction. Anyway, she did not want to say or do anything stupid.

“You are not eating much.”

She jumped, his voice startled her. He had been talking to Arwen for a moment; the Queen was sitting on the other side of him.

She smiled to reassure him, he probably thought she was too nervous to eat but it was not that really. It was the rich food and the excitement.

“I have had plenty, thank you. It was lovely.”

He took her hand, absently playing with her fingers and leaned closer. “Are you happy that you did not back out when I gave you the chance in the library that day?”

“Yes, I am.” She could be completely truthful because she was glad. Very glad. “I like Rohan, the people and …” she broke off, unable to say any more.

Éomer let go her hand and slid his arm around her shoulders. “We will make each other happy, Lorí, I promise.”

She nodded and reached over and put her hand in his other one. She just wanted to go, she wasn’t interested in speeches, dancing or anything else. It was in her nature – when there was something to do she just liked to get on with it.

He must have picked up her thought because he said softly. “Aragorn is not going to say much; if you like we can disappear after the first dance. Judging by the state of everyone already, nobody will notice.”

She smiled gratefully and leant closer against him. “Yes, I would like that. As long as nobody feels they are missing out on anything.”

He shrugged, “It’s our wedding night we can do what we like.”

It was not quite so easy to get away. As well as many others, her brothers, who were never normally interested in dancing with her, were extremely intent on doing so tonight. In the end however Éomer took hold of her hand and said in a very firm voice. “Come on, Lorí, let’s go and get some air for a moment.”

“Don’t say anything, just come,” he whispered to her intriguingly.

She was even more intrigued when once outside he led her around the corner of Meduseld towards the kitchens. “Are you still hungry?” she joked.

“No, we are going to go into our apartments the back way.”

She had no idea how, especially when they passed the door at the back of the south east tower that led to the store rooms and kitchen. The door was wide open; it would be hot down there. She knew there was also a gate into their private garden, but the garden was totally overgrown, except for a small area outside their sitting room. They would not be able to get through. It was a job she was hoping to start, with help, once all the guests had gone home.

They were walking along under the shadow of the wall, just about able to see where they were going from the torches that were lit around the hall at regular intervals. Sounds of laughter and merrymaking were wafting up from the houses below as well as from inside the hall, but they were cocooned on an island of peace.

“Are you alright?” he was holding her arm very tightly.

“Yes, but we are going to be missed if we do not go back into the hall.”

“Don’t worry; Éowyn has been primed as to what we are doing. I told you I would plan a campaign,” he grinned, squeezing her arm.

Lothíriel still had no idea how they were going to get in but she decided to wait and see. He must have arranged something.

They reached the strong fence that surrounded the garden. It was high, reaching above their heads sheltering the lower part of the garden, but it allowed views from the terrace higher up.
Éomer pushed on the gate and to her surprise it opened silently. There was a bigger surprise inside; the path had been hacked clear. Hacked was the word, obviously done in a hurry, but at least you could walk along the narrow stone way that crisscrossed the terraces, somebody had even placed a few torches to light the path.

“Éomer, when did this happen, and why did I not see from the window?” she asked mystified.

“Most of it was done when you were out riding yesterday and the bit nearer to the windows was finished off tonight.” He turned around and shot the bolts home on the heavy door. “Be careful there are probably a few brambles around.”

He took her hand and led her cautiously up the cleared path until they reached the place where it widened out into the small terrace, designed for eating outside when the weather was fine. She had already thought it would make a good place for young children to play in safety. Children! She gulped; the furtive escape from the hall had put the reason for the flight from her mind. She shivered. No; she would not give in to nerves.

“Are you cold?” the amused voice was back.

“This time I am,” she laughed, poking him in the ribs. “It is not very warm and my dress is quite thin.”

“Good, come here then.” He wrapped her in his arms holding her close to his chest. “You won’t be for long” he whispered softly as one hand went up to her hair, “Can we get rid of these pins? I love your hair flowing down your back, all silky and soft.”

Before she could say anything one pin was removed and the creation stated to topple, talk about removing the lynch pin, she thought. “It took ages to produce that today,” she said, a little miffed, as the second disappeared. What was he doing with them?

“And it looked lovely, but not very practical for what I have in mind,” he chuckled softly. The third one came out and she realised he was sticking them in the tree above her head. After he had removed the forth her heavy black hair lost its battle with gravity and the mass of it slithered down over her shoulders. He ran his fingers through the thick tresses pushing it back behind her ears and down her back. His fingers were massaging her scalp. It was a sublime relaxing feeling. “Hmm, it’s lovely, and so luscious and thick,” he whispered close to her ear. When her hair was arranged to his satisfaction he brought his hands back up to cup her face. “Our first proper married kiss, Lorí.”

He stared into her eyes for a few heartbeats before he lowered his lips to her. Teasing her for a moment by running his tongue across her lips, and then nibbling gently at her bottom one before plunging his tongue deep into her expectant mouth.

Somehow, she had been pushed back against the tree, which was a good thing, she thought or she might have toppled backwards when he let her go. Well, at least she might, if his arm was not holding her so tightly. She had not much time to think, however, because the lips that had so recently been pressing against her own were trailing soft kisses down her neck, but not only that, the hand that was not behind her back was moving up from her waist to meet the lips. Lips and hand met in the region of her left breast and caused an involuntary groan to escape her throat and a searing fire somewhere much more intimate.

“I …” His hand was still on her breast, and the thumb of that hand lazily rubbing over her very hardened nipple.

“I… what?” He repeated when she made no move to explain herself.

“I didn’t know… think I would feel quite like this.”

“Like what?” There was that amused tone again, but it was soft and loving.

Lothíriel buried her head in his chest, he had not stopped what he was doing to her breast and it was difficult to think straight. “That all the apprehension I have been feeling would be replaced by so much anticipation,” she said is a muffled voice. He might as well know how she was feeling, although no doubt he could tell.

There was an appreciative chuckle. “I am glad, Lorí. Although I have never had any doubt you would enjoy a little …attention shall we say when the time was right.”

That reminded her; she had wanted to ask him and couldn’t really do so until now, “Éomer, what did you think when I fell into you arms in the library?”

“What I couldn’t tell Éowyn, you mean?”

She nodded; she really did want to know what he first thought of her.

“Well, before I saw your sweet little face properly I was treated to a very pleasing view of your … wonderful breasts”, he said with more than a hint of mirth. “The neckline of your dress really was rather askew,” he paused… “as to what I wanted to do to them… then I think I had better show you – indoors – or that beautiful dress will end up in the mud.” Before she knew it she was whipped off the floor into a very strong pair of arms, “The men of the Riddermark always carry their brides away,” he whispered.



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Chapter name
Chapter 12
21 Dec 2005
Last Edited
21 Dec 2005