England 1192,
…Alana was sitting on the bench, sipping from a mug of ale as if pondering on how best to teach them both a lesson. She looked up as they approached, squinting between them.
She stood, setting the mug aside, and then she looked at John. “A word, my lord.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She walked by him and he followed her back up the path. She turned when they reached the apple trees. As always, the leather jerkin she wore fit her perfectly.
“You look really good,” he said.
She sighed. “John.”
He reached for her belt, pulling her to him by it. Her sword was in his way and he unbelted it, tossing it aside. “There are consequences for defying me.”
“Defying?”
“Yes.”
“How did I defy you?”
“You called me, my lord, and then you said my name.”
“But you act like you want me to do that. Besides, what am I supposed to call you?”
“Just because I like it doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences.”
“You really don’t make sense.”
“I know.”
He kissed her, harder than he probably should have, but when she wrapped her arms around his neck he couldn’t help but to continue. He twisted his fingers into her hair and tipped her face to one side to kiss her throat.
“Is this the consequence for my actions?” she breathed…
Darcy Branwyn 
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