Reader Advisory: This is a BDSM romance. This book contains spanking, light bondage and D/s themes and brief F/F touching. This is a work of historical fiction, it is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of or guide to how people recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a work of historical erotic romance, it is also not intended to portray modern BDSM or D/s lifestyles.
If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this post.
Black Dorn - an erotic medieval romance by Daryl Devore.
Heat Rating - 5 hot peppers
Purchased to be trained as a courtesan, Branwyn arrives in a strange new land and begins her daily lesson in the art of bedding a man.
Back from battle, Prince Malack returns to the court of his father. The noble woman chosen to be his bride rejected him and bedded his hated rival. Malack turned his anger onto the focus of battle and increasing the power and wealth of Black Dorn. Until his gaze settles onto the face of the woman who will be his queen.
A horse's snort startled her. Branwyn hurried toward the sound. Two magnificent beasts - a human one and an animal - stood next to a small creek. The dusty, brown horse drank as the man wiped his chin and returned a wineskin to his horse’s saddle. The man was in profile to Branwyn but she could still distinguish he was a fine specimen. Brow, nose and chin were all pleasantly formed, and curly, black hair skimmed his shoulders. His arms and chest looked strong enough to easily manage the large sword hanging at his side. The horse turned an ear toward her, lifted his head and whinnied. Startled, the man returned from his reverie and looked at her.
Branwyn scurried over. "Oh please, sire. My name is Branwyn. I come from Black Dorn, but I’m newly arrived there and have gotten lost. Can you please direct me?"
His brow furled as he scowled. "If you live at Black Dorn, who is your serving girl? Your duna?"
"Leah serves me. Duna Trea is to...to...instruct me."
"Explain why you’re so far from Dorn."
"I was wandering about the beautiful flower garden when I saw the maze. I got lost." Her eyes filled with tears and she lowered her head.
"Did you enjoy the maze?" His voice made her want to giggle.
Branwyn shook her head.
"No? But it’s a place of games and pleasure. Did you not go there to seek pleasure?"
"No, I found no pleasures there. Only games I do not understand." She wiped away a tear. "Please sire, I’m tired and hungry and feel I may soon collapse. Which way must I travel to return to Black Dorn?"
His horse nudged him in the back with his nose. Placing both strong hands around her waist, he lifted her to his saddle. Mounting the horse, he tugged on the rein and directed his horse back to Black Dorn.
When they entered the courtyard, Leah ran across the cobblestones, skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees. The horse halted a few feet in front of her. Branwyn slipped down from the stallion, curtsied to her escort and walked to her serving girl.
"Leah." His voice boomed across the courtyard. Still kneeling, Leah quivered. "Do not let your dune wander about freely. She needs guidance." As he turned, a stable boy reached for the reins. He tossed them over, dismounted and strode toward the castle.
When the sounds of his footsteps faded, Leah stood.
"I do not need guidance," Branwyn snapped. "I got lost. What a rude, arrogant man. He didn’t have the upbringing to know to introduce himself."
"Dune Branwyn," whispered Leah as she led her into the castle, "that’s Gon Lacke’s eldest son. He will inherit the castle, lands and people. There’ll be a feast tomorrow to honor his safe return. But now I must get you to your room. You must be exhausted from your day. A bowl of mulled wine will soothe you."
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