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Authors: Lesa Fuchs-Carter

When Day Turns Night

BOOK: When Day Turns Night
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Day Turns Night

Lesa Fuchs-Carter

This short story is fiction. All
names, characters, companies, incidents, and places are from the
author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious manner. Any
similarities to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

content of this eBook contains sexually explicit and graphic
situations and is intended for persons over the age of 18. All
characters portrayed in sexual acts are 18 years of age or older.

© 2012 by Lesa Fuchs-Carter

rights reserved. Please do not reproduce, print, or otherwise
distribute without prior written permission of the author.

By Ember Rose.

designed by Lesa Fuchs-Carter. Photo used with permission.

you for respecting the hard work of the author.

For new releases,
comments, or to connect with the author, visit:

Ireland, 1117

My father, King
Dauid, was a brilliant man, kind, fair, and humble. A natural
leader, people followed him because he was good, not because he was
overbearing or strong. It was not for power that he rallied an army
together and took the throne, but to supplant the evil man who sat
upon it, starving his people. With his best friend, Artan, by his
side and flanked by Artan's wife, Muirenn, a powerful witch, they
lead an army nearly a thousand strong upon the castle Mac Raith.
When they won, Artan stood beside my father, pushing him to take the
crown when they had won.

Muirenn, whom was
delivering their first born son during that final epic battle, was
not privy to the impromptu crowning of my father, blessed by Artan
and the other leaders of the army. It is rumored that Muirenn had
plans for the throne and when she discovered the crown lay not on her
husband's brow, but my father's, she shrieked and cursed my family
and Artan, calling him a traitor to her power and love. But shortly
thereafter the witch declared herself loyal to the crown, and begged
the forgiveness of both the king and her husband for her outburst.

My father's
kindness and fairness was his fatal flaw.

Now that a true
king once again sat the throne people journeyed from throughout the
land, flocking to him for blessings for their harvest, their
children, their animals. My father declared he would grant no
blessing until he had granted one on Conchobor, Muirenn and Artan's

The kingdom
rejoiced when the babe was brought forth, and my father offered his
first blessing as king.

“My people!”
it is written that he said, “This day a child has been brought
forth whom shall no doubt be great with power and friendship as his
parents, without whom our kingdom would still be under the reign of
Mac Raith. Tonight I make a declaration, none shall usurp him as
heir and future king save the son of my blood. Rejoice and welcome
the heir to the throne!”

Unfortunately, the
blessing was granted by the gods, and Muirenn twisted it to her own

Early Fall, Ireland,

“You look
lovely, Jesmaine,” My mother said, crossing the stone floor to
me. I had to agree the deep purple of my gown looked beautiful
against my pale complexion. She took up the comb beside me, gently
running it through my deep brown hair.

“Not half as
lovely as you mother,” I smiled. She was a mature woman, her
hips widened by the girth of delivering my sister and I, her brown
hair, always kissed with the golden suns rays, even in the deepest of
winters, had gray at her temples. The complicated braid that wove up
and around her head was weaved with the golden crown of her royal
station. She carried herself with the grace and beauty of a true
queen, though she, like my father was born and raised in humble

I knew it saddened
her that she had never been gifted a boy, but her friendly love of
Artan lessened the blow, for surely he was raising his son well to be
king, and to be my husband. I had known since birth that I would
marry Conchobor, whether a brother was born or not, to ensure that
Artan's lineage was brought honor as well for his families help with
the war. I had only met him a few times as Artan had taken a castle
near the borders of my father's kingdom to hold them strong and firm.

Today I would meet
him again, my father's declining health ensured that the marriage
would happen soon, within the year no doubt, if not sooner. Though
from my knowledge of Conchobor he didn't particularly want to marry
me, who he considered a willful child. The goal of today was to show
him how
childlike I was.

Though of course I
was innocent in the art of lovemaking I knew of it, and had been told
much on the ways of pleasing a man. My gown was snug, showing my
feminine curves, slim waist, and breasts. My mother tied small
flowers in my hair, taking her time to wind the stems in so they
would not fall, then braided my thick hair to hang down my back in

My little sister,
Ita, came bustling in, her hair bound in a quick knot at the back of
her head, and a soft blue gown hanging from her fragile shoulders.
She was a slight thing of only 12 years, much younger than me, but
she had been a much sought for child, and when we'd nearly lost her
and my mother, my father had declared that the last child they'd
attempt for. I love her like the dove loves the spring, and the bee
loves the flower.

She plopped down on
her belly on the foot of my bed, her bare feet raising and showing
her legs up to her knees. “Ita, really,” our mother
tutted, and I chuckled. My father had given her a lot of leniency
because of the risks of her life, but my mother was continually
trying to rein her in.

“Wanna go
riding?” Ita asked, rolling to her back and looking at me
upside down.

I smiled and winked
at her, “I can't, Gooseberry. I am meeting my future husband,
and you know it.”

“But it would
be so much more enjoyable to go hunting.” She rolled back over
again, a wisp of her golden brown hair, much like my mother's, fell
down into her face and she pushed it out of the way. “Faelan
says the rabbits are coming out in troves, and we should get the hunt
on before the first snow hits.”

I rolled my eyes
playfully. I was a good hunter. I could catch a rabbit faster then
any man I had hunted with and while it
much more
enjoyable, I was too much a lady to go against my father's wishes and
not meet my future husband.

My mother permitted
our cheerful banter as she finished my hair, finally placing a slim
golden circlet on my brow.

“I will ask
Conchobor if he would like to hunt with us in the morning,” I
asked, grinning at her.

My mother smiled,
she knew that I was willing to meet and marry Conchobor, and to make
this work. I was a lady, and it was what was expected of me, but as
all I hoped for love. My father and mother had an arranged marriage,
one securing wealth to the new king – her father made a lot of
money as a merchant – but they had also very quickly fallen in
love. My father had adored her quick wit, her gentle and kind
nature, her love of the kingdom and the people.

I could only pray
that Conchobor would come to love me and I him.

We exited my room
and moved down the long hallway to the curving stairs that took us to
the great hall. It was adorned with green and red tapestries,
carrying my father's story as he defeated King Mac Raith, making the
castle his own. There were stories of my birth, and tales of Ita and
even of Conchobor, Muirenn, and Artan. Red flowers adorned the
spaces between the tapestries, a rich and vibrant red carpet had been
brought in, and a fire the size of my bed was burning in the center,
keeping the chill of early autumn at bay. Light filtered through the
upper windows, lighting the silver and gold serving wear, filled
already with some of the bounty of my father's harvests. He had
invited many people, much more than normal, hundreds of guests from
all stations, even peasants, cleaned and dressed in their poor
finery. I smiled at them all, merchant, noble, and peasant.

My father had
brought peace to this land, and he had taught all the nobles that
their wealth was fleeting if not for the work of the serfs.

Each party we had
he would invite families from all districts, to remind him and teach
Ita and I of our heritage. There was a lovely lady in the course
spun wool of a peasant, two wide eyed children clinging to her gown.
They looked only mildly out of place, more for their own awkwardness
then for their clothing, for there were many knights and military men
wearing much the same. I greeted everyone I could, asking of
harvests, their labors, and of their children, listening to the
concerns and happy chatter of our people. I had just turned from a
group of merchants, being promised a gift of a snow fox fur coat for
my wedding, and came upon a group of young military men.

“My sword
would bury into her sheath until she cried out in ecstasy!”

I blushed at the
crude statement not intended for me to hear.

conquered many a maiden, but none so fair as the,” he turned to
look at me at the frantic direction of one of the other men, his
smile only faltered for a brief second, then split even bigger.

I smirked at him,
instantly feeling the strangest connection to him.

He had dark blue
eyes the color of the sea in a storm, and his hair was a dark blonde,
almost brown. His jaw was firm and square with sharp cheekbones and
a nose that had a slightly crooked tilt to it, no doubt from a break.
But it was his smile that caused such a stir within me. Toothy and
beautiful, lips full and ready for a kiss. I knew of his type, had
been warned against them by many a nurse.

I noticed the quirk
of his brow as he took me in, not just for another lay, but for
someone he found as beautiful and intelligently equal as himself. I
saw the question in his eyes doubting the statement of conquering me.

My father always
told me that I was strangely gifted at reading people, he had told me
it would serve me well as queen. I could see into their souls, know
their desires and decipher their intent. I had always laughed it
off, until that moment.

I knew that he was
doubting his station in life, doubting that women were indeed only
for his carnal pleasures and the care of their men. I could also see
that his men loved and respected him. While he seemed fickle with
the desire to bury his sword in all sorts of different woman sheaths,
he had a depth he'd never shared with a woman before, and had never
expected to want to share.

Finally remembering
his station he stepped back into a grandiose bow, sweeping his cape
back, and joining his men as they bowed to me. “Ah, and now
you show your respect!” I laughed, lightly, “oh mercy
gentlemen, please stand up and we shall enjoy light conversation. It
a party.”

It wasn't the first
time I had heard unsavory comments about myself. I was, after-all,
the most sought after maiden in the country, and beautiful in

The man stood up
slowly, his eyes registering my mirth, and I knew he was not
accustomed to being the brunt end of a joke himself. I also could
see that he held me in higher regard for turning it all into a joke,
as was its original intention, and not over-reacting to the lewdness
of his comments.

“And what is
the name of the valiant knight I should call should my lady's maids
need a good sword thrust?”

He grinned, loving
that I was playing with them. “My Lady Princess, 'tis Trian.”

He bowed his head
again, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. Again that powerful
connection sparked between us. I had never experienced anything such
as it – nor had I believed in the love at first sight of so
many of the stories I had heard at the bard's knee. Butterflies
danced in my belly, and strangely lower. Secret places within me
tightened and ached, and my lips seemed to need continual wetting
from my tongue.

BOOK: When Day Turns Night
3.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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