10 April, 1369. The Islian Midlands.
The steady motion of the carriage as their cavalcade gathered speed, was making it hard for Celia to think clearly. After fighting a losing battle with her tiredness for a while, she finally gave up.
Hovering between sleeping and merely dozing, snippets of memories from the night before drifted behind her eyelids.
Lucas's hot stare and clever hands. Her fingers clawing at him while his hard frame pressed against her. The way she'd begged him for satisfaction and he'd delivered.
My lord, had that man delivered.
She really had done all that. Now jolting fully awake, Celia had to press her fingers to her lips to stop herself from giggling out loud. Who could've guessed she could be so shameless?
The very next moment, the familiar self doubts began piling on.