She was nervous. Not afraid as she had been—tension no longer strung her up like a bow close to snapping point—but she was still wary. Hugh moved very slowly and spoke in a low, slow voice, as if she were a mare to be gentled.

She has known no pleasure in her mating with the bishop, he thought, and he was sorry for that, but relieved, too. Bishop Thomas was no seductive rival for him to worry about.

“Bees are fluffy, did you know?”

The question diverted her: her fingers stopped clawing at the saddlecloth. “How do you know that?”

“They must be, to collect pollen on their legs as they do. And they love the sun.”

She smiled. “Who does not?” She lay down on top of the blanket, rolling onto her stomach and propping her chin on her hands. He saw the dark, inviting hollow of her breasts and felt his manhood twitch afresh. “What else, my knight? This is ancient news on bees.”

She was a naughty tease. For two finger snaps he was tempted to straddle her, hoick up her skirts, and spank her, but instead he laughed.

“New, eh?” He sat cross-legged beside her, walking his fingers up and down her spine. “Bees flavor their honey.”

“How so?”

“They love the red and white clover and love to gather from those; the honey they make is sweet but not over-flavored. They take from borage and the honey they make is clear and pale. If they fly to dandelions, their honey is yellow.”

“How do you know so much?”

Hugh smiled. “I have a liking for sweet things, remember?” He felt about his belt and found the small flask he had been given earlier that day by the village elder. “I have some honey here, the liquid, and honeycomb, too.” Unless it had melted into his linen undershirt, which was quite possible, given the heat he was feeling. “Will you taste?”

She nodded and held out her hand but he shook his head. “Allow me.” He leaned closer, his heartbeat racing as she did not draw back. “Close your eyes.”

He almost whooped with triumph when she did so but fought it back down his throat and dribbled a small portion of honey onto his personal eating spoon. As he held it up, the setting sun flared along its metal edge in a burst of light: a lucky sign, he hoped.

“Mmm, it tastes quite smoky. Is this the dandelion honey?”

“Yes,” Hugh said, though in truth he neither knew nor cared. She still had her eyes closed and he could stare at her without restraint. Her tongue was small and pink and she lapped like a little cat. He wanted her tongue to lap him, to taste and suck and kiss, and his tongue do the same to her in return.

“Bees feed each other honey,” he said, and now he lied, quite shamelessly. “They smear it on their bodies and let their hive fellows taste. Look you now: like this.”

He unlaced his tunic drawstrings, tugged off his tunic and undershirt. Her eyes were open again and as wide as milk pails as he took a generous dab of the bronze, fragrant honey and drew the sign of the cross on his breastbone.

For an instant he lay still, feeling the wicker pricking through the blanket and cloak, listening to a cheeping of sparrows and a low buzz of bees. What do you expect her to do, fool! his conscience goaded, but then she lowered her head and her body and kissed him lightly, over his heart. A spasm of delight jerked through him, threatening to undo him altogether.

She smiled, the little evil elf, and licked his chest, first one nipple and then, passing a finger over the drizzle of honey in the middle of his torso, brushing the honey drop onto his left nipple and gently sucking.

“You taste of sweetness and salt.” Gently she nipped his swirl of chest hair between her teeth. “You are hairier than a bear, Hugo.”

“More randy, too,” Hugh growled under his breath, praying then she did not hear. She could drown him in honey if she kept on kissing.

Lower her tongue worked, tasting and licking. When she reached his navel, Hugh raised his hips slightly, wishing he was naked and at the same time longing for Joanna to strip off and for him to do the same to her.

Back she came, her hands now joining in the caresses; up and across his belly, over his ribs, up to his shoulders. With his eyes still closed he sensed her hovering above him, sensed her shy and tender anxiety. He smoothed his own hands down her narrow face and along the slender column of her throat, cupping her small, perfect breasts, then gliding to her softly flaring hips.

He heard her breath catch and opened his eyes.

“You are grinning at me!” she protested.

“Smiling, my lady.” Surely he was smiling? His whole body was a smile. “Eager to serve.” He kissed her on the mouth, slipping his hands about her flanks and rolling so she was beneath him. “Joanna.” Her name was sweeter to him than the honey. “Truly you are a grace of God.”

She colored but did not look away, her eyes calm and trusting, with specks of fire in their depths that he would kindle more, if he could.

“I did not know you were so glib with words, Hugo.”

He let the jibe go: it was a feint, nothing more.

“I have used honey on grazes,” she added, now cooperating with him, the contrary madam. “Have you?”

“Many times.” He dipped his finger into the small jar and touched the corner of her mouth. “You have a small cut here.”

Her face glowed at the contact and she turned her head and sucked his finger. Looking at him, she looked above him and now she raised her arm. “How lovely.”

A little aggrieved she did not mean him, Hugh turned and saw the low brilliant star, winking in the southwest above the dark blue twilight, textured as a starling’s wing.

“What star is it?” he asked, although he thought he knew.

“Venus,” she confirmed. “The goddess of honey and copper.” She rubbed at her elbow. “I think I have a graze here.”

Hugh kept his face straight. “Let me see.”

He dabbed her flawless elbow and then tugged at his leggings, exposing a small, scabbing wound on his calf. At once she bent to it, her hair spilling from its golden net as he “accidentally” pushed the net free of its pins.

“Forgive me,” he said quickly, but she only smiled and pooled a drop of honey on his leg, smoothing it slowly, as if it was the rarest and most costly of unguents.

“By all that is holy—!” He craved more of her touch, her scent, her skin. In moments they were tearing off their clothes and pitching into each other’s arms, fitting together as close and tight as a key into a lock.

“You are burning!” she exclaimed, and he laughed, kissing her naked breasts, glorying in their dark, pert nipples.

“Grace, such grace,” he murmured, shivering as her hands skimmed down his back. He brushed her dark bush between her sleek, taut thighs, delighted, as she ran her hands over his buttocks. She moaned and opened her thighs and he fingered her intimate softness, her own sweet honey-spot.

“Come to me, come!” she urged, clawing at his shoulders, but he wanted her to have pleasure first, see the rapture on her pretty face. He kissed her mouth and breasts again, all the while tickling and stroking her, running his fingers through her dark intimate curls and her glossy fleshy folds, hearing her breath quicken and watching her begin to soar.

He quickened his fingering, darting his hand across her womanhood, placing one finger and then two within her, turning her so he could have her lie on his thigh and he might caress her bottom.

She began to plunge and rear like a frisking filly and then she stiffened and shuddered, a word he did not know breaking from her lips, a cry of exultation. He cuddled her, reveling in her open responsiveness, sensing the moment was new to her, seeing the wonder on her face.

“I—I…” A tear spilled from her eye and he kissed it away.

“Be at peace, we have all night,” he whispered, ignoring the urgent ache in his loins. He was no callow youth, to grab what he wanted: women were gentle, soft creatures, his Joanna most of all.

But she opened her thighs again and now drew him inside her, hissing in his ear, “Come now, please: I am lonely without you.”

She was snug in his arms and snug about him, and her heat and sweetness and passion were too much. He pounded into her, losing himself in a great rush of blazing feeling, knowing a desire and need he had never known before and a roaring sea of pleasure he had never experienced.

She nipped his earlobe, and the taut, tingling pain sent him over the edge. Rearing, he bucked and gave himself, shouting out his release.