Nimue kept up a silly running commentary about her body being the spoils of battle and Maric worked hard with his hands and his tongue to conquer her. But when he truly impaled her on his “sword” she gasped out his name and drew first blood with her fingernails down his back. Maric had become more daring in his lovemaking, more forceful and confident. He was a man who had withheld his body for honor’s sake and now freely gave of himself. His staying power was magnificent and Nimue suspected he might draw on his paladin’s power for while she had been married, she had not known of men who could pleasure a woman in so many positions and for so long at a time. Her body was positively quivering with release after release and she had no more words to say. This was when he plowed into her for one last time, knocking her head off the side of the bed and bellowed out her name in his own release.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, Faren rode hard along the familiar path back to Maric’s homeland. He grew cautious as the rumors of the Viking raiders grew more numerous and once he passed by a smoldering cottage where the sheep lay bloated and bloody in the yard along with a young woman and two tiny children. He stopped to bury them before hurrying on his way. His instructions had been explicit. He was to find Maric's father and mother to break the tidings of his joy. He was to invite them to celebrate at his home and had strong orders to bring back the most beautiful, most exquisite, rarest, bejeweled and elegant gown that his money could buy. Faren shook his head. How was he to know what a woman would want. He would have to involve lady friend and then be very particular. He had to order cake and food and find some minstrels. By the heavens, when this was over, they might as well have a fair.