A Memory of Love

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The prince lay atop his lover, groaning and sweating his pleasure. The child, standing at the head of the bed, watched impassively. The prince's eyes met hers.

"Go outside, Rhonwyn," he said.

" 'Tis raining," the child whined.

"Then take your sheepskin and lie quietly by the fire, lass," he replied. Beneath him the woman moaned softly, shifting her hips suggestively as her impatient ardor grew.

"I want to sleep with my mam," Rhonwyn said stubbornly.

"Nay, lass," the prince laughed softly. "Tonight I sleep with your mam. Now make your bed by the fire. If I have to get up, I'll beat you. Go!"

Finally cowed, the child did as she had been bid and lay by the fire, wrapping herself in the warm sheepskin. She hated it when the prince came to their cottage. Then her mother had no time for her or her baby brother. The prince was their father, her mother had told them. They owed him their love and their allegiance. Without him they would starve. She and Glynn must always remember that.

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