No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
Warning: (MA) Mature Adults only. M/F.

[a variation on themes from the video version of Sharpes Sword]

Sharpe's True Lass

Mary Catherine Coulter sat squeezed on the coach seat between her brother Dennis and her father. It was still dark outside although a pale predawn light was beginning to appear in the east. The swaying and lurching of the coach combined with the other thing made her hugely ill; the towel in her lap was already soaked. No one said anything and the only sounds were of her retching as the horses tore through the disappearing gloom.

This was not what she had had in mind when she started keeping company with Captain James Dicken, a British officer posted to her god-forsaken part of Ireland. The excitement of secret meeting with someone her father would never approve of coupled with the romantic tingle when she was with James had been an adventure.

Her father had not told her where they were going. He had only sent a note up to her in her room ordering her to pack her trunk. She had been locked in that room for nearly three weeks, receiving food twice a day from Bridget the kitchen maid and having her chamber pot emptied in the mornings by the upstairs maid Nora. Her knuckles were bruised from hammering on the door and her voice was raw from shouting. Shed tried climbing out the window but shed been caught by one of the stable lads and dragged back to her room. Afterwards theyd hammered boards across the windows.

To be outside in the fresh, frequent air of a late spring morning in Ireland was a joy but the uncertainty of it all, coupled with the awful nausea made the whole experience miserable. When she had told her father she was pregnant by Capt. Dicken she expected an explosion of anger but not this. She was used to his Irish temper, with roars of anger ringing through the house usually aimed at one or another of her brothers. Shed told her father Dicken wanted to marry her and since she knew she was her fathers favorite, especially because she looked so much like her long deceased mother, shed assumed that hed finally come around and agree.

Mary Catherine had been allowed to grow up different from city-bred girls, schooled with her brothers, free to wander in the woods and ride daily. Her facility with languages gave joy to the procession of tutors who were utterly frustrated by her three brothers--the two oldest Hugh and Bennett and the younger Dennis. Until her 18th birthday she had never thought of men as anything save friends or competitors. Then, at a ball to which she had been reluctantly dragged by Bennett, she had met Capt. Dicken. The British officer was tall and slim and danced divinely. They spent most of the evening in each others company talking of horses, and dances and London society. They arranged to meet later in the week.

For the next weeks she rode out to meet him on many occasions and arranged to be where he was when she could. He touched her gloved hand and she shivered in delight. He kissed her fingers and she melted. One evening, alone together in the woods, he kissed her and held her tightly. His lips on hers brought a delicious knot to her stomach. Then he touched her breasts and told her how beautiful she was. Things progressed from there and soon he had laid his coat on the ground for her to recline upon. Thinking back on the moments leading up to her seduction, she now wondered if she could have stopped it or if it was destined to be. Anyway, the situation was well beyond regrets. Twice she and the handsome captain had lain together under the butternut trees and now she was with child.

She had told James of her situation and he had gallantly offered to marry her. She had counseled delay while she spoke privately to her father. She knew what he thought of the English and was concerned that he would simply throw the young man out without having heard his story. But nothing had gone as she planned. When she told her father he simply sat for a full five minutes growing increasingly red. Then, in a quiet but terrifying voice he ordered her upstairs. She never saw James again.

The coach careened south along the rutted dirt road hour after hour. They stopped several times to rest the horses, relieve themselves, and have a bite to eat but at no time did Kates father allow her out of his sight. They were both embarrassed but he was adamant. After night fell the smell of salt grew heavy on the air as they approached the coast. They spent the night at an inn near the waterfront of a bustling seaport town she thought was Galway. In the morning the coach took them to a ship and her father and brother rushed her aboard while the coach man swung her trunk up.

For five miserable days Kate walked the decks, ill beyond belief. Her father, too, was seasick but her brother, always a good sailor, walked with her hour after hour, holding her hand, giving her sips of water and handing her fresh towels. Aside from asking her how she fared, he didnt speak with her at all. She wished she were dead.

On the sixth morning land appeared on the horizon. The ship sailed into a small harbor and the passengers went ashore. Kate didnt know where they were but she was sure the people there were speaking Spanish. A coach was hired and the weary trio set off into the interior. For several days the they traveled southward into mountainous country. Kate was exhausted. At last the coach pulled into a small town set high on a mountain and stopped. Her father ushered her out and her trunk was pulled off the coach. They walked to a nearby church and her father left her with her brother. She sat on a seat at the rear of the church with Dennis and uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for the respite from the uncomfortable swaying and bumping of the coach.

Mr. Connelly returned shortly trailed by a stern looking nun. The nun took Kate by the arm and started to lead her off. Kate turned to her father who simply said, "Kate, go with Sister Dominica. She will take care of you and the child to come." He then turned and walked away, followed by her brother and not another word was said. Tears welled up in her eyes as she was hustled away but she was determined to show no emotions.

And she showed no emotions all through the months of her confinement. She walked around the dry, parched courtyards of the convent talking with no one but the servants. Her ears were always open, listening to the conversations and gradually she began to understand and speak the language which she now knew to be Spanish. She seldom spoke to the nuns but she enjoyed chattering with the young women who cleaned and washed. Eventually she was able to ask the name of the town that bustled outside the convent walls. Paredos de Nova was the answer. She was forced to attend Mass several times each day. Her room was small and it seemed to grow smaller still as she grew larger. She ate apart from the sisters in her room. The food was brought by a servant but a nun always accompanied her. As she came to understand what was being said, she realized that each ones approach to her was different. Sister Benedicta would kneel on the floor and pray for her damaged soul; Sister Dominica would stand by the door and urge repentance while threatening damnation. Father Hector, the priest who came to hear confessions, would double and then redouble her penance while denouncing her wicked ways.

When Kate felt the babys first move in her belly she began to think less of James and more of the new life growing in her. She held long, silent conversations with the baby which she called Angel, telling it of her daily activities and thoughts. She sat in a shady spot in the garden, making baby clothes hour after hour. The seasons gradually changed and she finally knew her time was approaching. She asked Mother Superior if there were a midwife to be called and was assured that a capable one was available. She no longer was able to get to her knees at Mass but no one seemed to mind. However, the nuns kept on their incessant prayers for her immortal soul. She asked sweet little Sister Juana once if shed pray for baby Angel too. After that, on several occasions, the prayers would include blessings for the young life to come which gave her great comfort.

Then the time came. She woke in the night with a great gush of wetness between her legs. She screamed for the nursing sister and continued screaming until several nuns arrived on the run. For the next day she was in labor, growing weaker and weaker. The midwife worked with her but she faded in and out of awareness as contractions raked her body.

"Ah, theres the head. Its time to push hard now."

And push she did with each contraction. Grunting and groaning with the effort, Mary Catherine was rewarded by a tremendous feeling of relief.

"Praise God." "The Lord be praised, its a girl." "Shes got fine lungs, just hear her yelp." "Sister, help me tie off the cord. Ill wipe her eyes and then you can swaddle her."

The gentle voices surrounding her calmed her. Soon she felt the baby being put into her arms and she fell asleep with the sound of ever so gentle breathing in her arms. She had already decided to call her Angelica before she drifted off.

When she awoke she was alone. "Sister Juana, Senora Lopez, where is everyone? Where is my baby. Where is Angelica?" She tried to get up but she was still weak and disoriented. Finally, Sister Dominica came into the room.

"Wheres my baby?"

"The child is gone."

"Gone where? Is something wrong with her? I want my baby, please."

"The child is gone." was the tall sisters only reply.

Mary Catherine began to cry and her cries soon grew to wails when it became clear that they were not going to bring the baby to her. She struggled out of bed, clutching the blankets around her nearly naked body and struggled out into the courtyard. She headed straight for Mother Superiors quarters despite the demands of Sister Dominica who was running after her, telling her to stop.

She banged on the door, screaming, and was nearly knocked flat when Mother Superior flung open the door. She sat down suddenly on the dusty sill, tears streaming down her face. Sister Dominica puffed up behind her and seized her under her arms and pulled her to her feet. She was half pushed, half carried into MSs sitting room and lowered into a chair. MS sat in front of her quietly. Gradually she calmed down and held out her hands imploringly

"Where is my baby? I want my baby."

"Your baby is gone. She is being well cared for. Your father left instructions that your child should be placed with a worthy family and you should take holy orders after the child was born."

Mary Catherine let out a shriek of anguish.

"Taken away. Oh no, I want my baby. Please, Mother Superior, I will raise her as a good Catholic. I want her so. Please help me. Dont do this horrible thing to me. Shes mine. She needs me. I need her too."

Another sister came in and the two of them carried the exhausted young woman from the room. They put her back in bed and left her weeping piteously. Sister Juana came in after an hour or so and stayed the entire night with her, praying with and for her and her now lost baby.

The next two weeks were hell. Her breasts were enormous with milk but there was no baby to feed. Every time she moved MC was reminded of the child taken from her. She wept, she pleaded, she screamed out her rage, frustration and misery throughout the day and night. Her only small comfort was Juana who held her hand throughout the long nights.

When she was physically recovered from the birth, MS met with her privately in her quarters. MC prostrated herself on the floor in front of the austere woman and pleaded one last time for her child.

"I know I have sinned and that this child is a product of my sin. Yet a mothers love is the strongest tie in the world. Dont do this to me."

A stony silence was the only response.

"We have followed your fathers orders. You are to lay aside your petty concerns and join us as a bride of Christ."

"I will not. You cannot force me to become a nun. I want to leave this awful place now. Let me go."

"If you will not accept this offer to join with Christs church, then we must change your mind for you."

So saying, MS rose from her chair, rang the bell summoning assistance and ushered MC out of the room. As she began to leave, MS briefly conferred with Sister Dominica. Her arm was taken and she was led from the room. They did not return to her room but she was taken to a part of the convent she never seen before. A heavy door was opened and she found herself standing in a dark corridor, dimly lit by high, dusty windows.

"Where are you taking me" she asked hesitantly.

At the end of the long corridor was another heavy door with a bolt. The tall sister opened the door, thrust MC inside and slammed the door shut behind her. She heard the bolt drawn across the door as she looked around her in amazement. She was in a cell. There was a high barred window on one side. The faint light showed a rough bed and a bucket, that was all. Then she understood what the Mother Superior had meant about changing her mind. She stood in the middle of the floor in defiance and screamed out

"No. You cant make me. I will not become a nun."

Days passed. She marked the passage of time by scratching a mark on the wall with a splinter from the bed frame with each rising of the sun. Once a day a small tray of food was brought to her and the bucket was emptied. No one spoke to her. One day a week she received no food, only water. She tried to keep up her strength and spirits by walking, singing, praying and hoping but there was nothing to give her hope beside her own youth.

One month after her incarceration she was visited by Mother Superior. She entered the cell with her usual urgent stride, full of the sound of swishing petticoats and clacking rosary beads. MC could no longer smell her usual combination of incense and stale sweat because she, herself, smelled so bad.

"Ive come to once again ask you to join our sisterhood."

She had not spoken to a living person for 28 long days.

"No, I will not" she croaked in response. "You cant make me."

"Well see" the nun replied briskly.

Another month with less food. Another visit from Mother Superior. This time Mary Catherine could not rise from the bed she was so weak. Yet the answer was the same.

"No, I will not" she whispered. "Never."

And so another month passed. On two occasions Little Sister Juana slipped up to the door at night and whispered to her through the bars. She passed a few scraps of bread through the bars with a quiet prayer. Mary Catherine was growing weaker and more discouraged. She ceased marking the passage of days on the wall as she waited for death.

One morning as the pale light of morning slipped through the bared window Mary Catherine heard an unfamiliar roar in the distance. Thunder, she guessed, but what she could see of the sky was blue and cloudless. Something else was strange. It was quiet in the courtyard outside the window. No bare feet scurrying round with morning errands, no sounds from the kitchen, and certainly none of those smells which used to drive her nearly crazy with hunger. Nothing at all...just the sound of a chicken clucking as it scratched for bugs. And so it was all day. Absolute quiet. No one brought food or water. Mary Catherine could not remember such a day.

The light disappeared and the sound of thunder, which had been going on intermediately throughout the day, ceased. Now not only hungry but with a ragging thirst as well, Mary Catherine knew she was dying.

"Lets get on with it" was her whispered prayer through parched lips. How long did it take to die of thirst? The night was cool and quiet, no sounds of prayer from the chapel or church. But she could not sleep. Suddenly, in a lucid moment, it came to her. Those had been guns firing, maybe even cannon, not thunder. Guns, war, where, why, and then nothing.

Two Days Later

"Chosen Men, two of you make sure no French are hiding in the church. Harper and Ill check the chapel. The rest of you make a sweep of outbuildings." Sharpe carried his loaded rifle under his arm, while his other grasped his straight cavalry sword.

Suddenly there was the sound of a stout door being kicked in behind the church. Sharpe lifted his head, trying to determine the meaning of the sound. He and Harper jogged around the church in the direction of the sound.

Cooper was coming out of small building with a broken door. "Come quickly, sir. Ive something to show you."

"Holy Jesus. Whats this?" Sharpe followed Cooper down the hall of what looked like a prison and into a cell. He looked down at a bundle of foul smelling rags bunched up on a mattress on the floor. He poked the pile with his foot and a small groan emerged.

"Cooper, Perkins, find out what this is? Its human. Left locked up here to die of thirst for sure. Whod do such a thing?"

"It seems to be a woman, sir. Shes skin and bones and barely breathing" said Cooper. "And wha a smell. Aint never seen anythin like it."

"Perkins, get some water inta her quick. See if she can swaller or if shes too far gone." The others had gathered around in amazement. "Get back to yer jobs ya lazy bunch of sods" said Sharpe. "Mind yer backs. This could be a Frenchy trick."

Perkins had timidly placed his hand behind the womans head and was attempting to pour some liquid into her mouth.

"Not that way ya fool. Here, let me do it." Sharpe dropped to his knees beside the reeking pile and gently placed the head into the crook of his arm. His fingers pried the dried lips apart and he poured tiny drops of water into the mouth onto her tongue. As she felt the blessed water in her mouth, Mary Catherine slowly opened her eyes and looked up into the face of Richard Sharpe. She had never seen such beautiful green eyes. She tried to swallow but she could not.

"There, lass. Take it easy. Well do this slow and careful."

Sharpe continued to drip water into the womans mouth little by little. Finally she was able to swallow with an audible sigh.

"Harper, pick this woman up and take her to the baggage train. See if ye can find Ramona and ask her to tend her. Im not sure shell last the night but we should try. Ive never seen such a bunch of bones."

Giant Harper picked her up like a limp rag doll and strode off as the men finished checking the convent area. No one had been found. Everyone gone along with anything that could be moved...except for the woman chained to the wall.

Ramona clucked with amazement and pity. "What an awful thing to do to someone" she told Harper. "Sure, Ill do my best for her but who can say if shell make it."

The woman did live the night, stalwartly taking first drops of water and then drops of broth given her by Ramona. And she survived the next day and the next, gradually gaining strength. Ramona cut her clothes off of her on the second morning and burned them. She looked at the slender figure before her, literally nothing but skin and bones, her hair a tangled rats nest of curls. She wrapped her in a shroud ready for the next round of fighting and tucked her into a corner of one of the wagons. Every time the wagon stopped she rushed forward and gave the woman another sip of two of cold broth. Each time her eyes were a bit brighter. But she said nothing. Twice daily, Sharpe strode over to the wagon and looked down at the woman.

"Ramona, I cannt believe shes still alive. Yer a miracle worker, you are. Will she make it?"

"Shes a fighter, that for sure. I dont think she wants ta die just yet."

Sharpe asked Ramona to put her on his bed in his tent. He looked after her himself after the first night so that Ramona and Harper could have a little time alone together. She was like a young dog and needed feeding every hour, or so Ramona had said. Sharpe dutifully fed the woman every hour throughout the night. Toward morning she, and he, fell into a deep sleep. Often while she slept she moaned piteously and kept crying out Angel, oh Angelica. Most mornings she awoke with tears streaming down her face.

One of the things Ramona wanted to do was wash the girl. As soon as she seemed strong enough she boiled a kettle of water, laid her naked in the shade on her shroud and washed her thoroughly.

"Thank you" Mary Catherine whispered to Ramona in village Spanish. "It feels so good to be clean. Now can I have something solid to eat, please. Im starved."

Later that day when Sharpe came to check out her condition, Ramona showed him a clean patient who clearly had an appetite.

"Shes Spanish" said Ramona. "She spoke ta me in good Spanish."

"But now youve cleaned her up a bit she doesnt look Spanish, Ramona" said Sharpe. "Her eyes are blue."

"Perhaps an English father?" replied Ramona.

"More than that I think" said Sharpe.

He leaned over her. "Tell me who ya are, lass. Where do ya come from? And what were ya doin locked in that cell, left ta die?"

She looked up in his face and gave him a weak smile, saying nothing.

"Dont ye understand English, lass? Are ye Spanish? Ask her, Ramona."

"Shes not ready to talk just yet, Captain Sharpe. Perhaps later."

Every night Harper carried the still gaunt figure to Sharpes tent and every night for the next week Sharpe slept on a pallet beside the camp bed. The woman was eating more food at a time now and didnt need to be fed every hour. Still he often woke up and looked at her in amazement wondering how she came to be in such a predicament.

Ramona had canvassed the women in camp and assembled a motley collection of clothes for the young woman to wear. Harris cobbled her a rough pair of shoes since she was now up and about every day helping Ramona as she was able. Yet every night she insisted on sleeping in Sharpes tent, even though both he and Ramona had tried to find quarters for her elsewhere. Several times Sharpe had awakened and discovered her eyes open and watching him in the dark, and yet shed not say a word to him.

One evening Ramona strolled over to Sharpes campfire. "Shes not Spanish, Captain. Dont know what, but not born here."

"How do you know, Ramona?"

"I just know, Captain."

That night Sharpe once again tried to get the girl to speak to him.

"Lass, where are ye from? Wed like to get a letter off to yer family, tellin them youre alive. Im sure theyre sore worried about you.."

The reply surprised him greatly. The voice was low, cultured, and clearly Irish. "Im Mary Catherine Connelly. I was born in Ireland. No one cares or needs to know about me. I was brought to Spain and abandoned. You are my family, the first people to really care about me in a long, long time." He could not get her to say another word.

With each passing day, Mary Catherine looked more human. Although she was still lean as a whippet, she no longer looked starved. She was gaining strength daily and walked behind the wagons laughing and talking with the other women, switching from English to Spanish to Gaelic with equal ease. Once Sharpe looked up as he passed her on reconnaissance and was surprised to see how many soldiers were staring at her. He couldnt believe it but she was .... pretty.

The army was quartered at San Anselmo for a week and some of the officers decided to liven up their social life with a ball. Someone thought it would be sporting to invite Captain Sharpe knowing hed never come. So as a bit of fun he was formally invited. And when Mary Catherine, whom Sharpe still called Lass, saw him open the invitation she gave a big smile.

"Richard, oh Richard, lets go. I havent danced in years. I feel strong enough now and I promise I wont embarrass you."

"Embarrass me. Not bloody likely. I dont dance."

"Please Richard. Take me. It seems an eternity since Ive been to a party."

"All right, lass. Lets see if we can find you something to wear."

Ramona found Mary Catherine a dress to wear and on the night of the ball, she appeared before Sharpes tent looking radiantly beautiful. He couldnt believe this was the same bundle of rags hes discovered only a month before.

"Lass, yer a treat. You look like a real lady."

"Richard, I am a real lady."

Richard escorted his Lass to the ball and within five minutes of their entry he was seated in a corner, drink in hand, watching Lass being squired across the make-shift dance floor by first one officer and then another. She danced with joyful delight and smiled and laughed and made all the men feel like a touch of home had come to them. After some time, Sharpe, who by now was on his 4th round of drink, saw Major Munro come up to Lass and ask for a dance. And they danced together for the next hour. Heads together, laughing, chatting, Sharpe was amazed. Hed never seen Munro smile, let alone dance. And here he was like a young buck in heat.

Finally, it was over and Sharpe moved in to reclaim Lass.

"Quite an evenin, girl. You looked like you wer havin a good time."

"Why didnt you come and dance with me Richard? I kept looking over at you and hoping youd ask."

"I told you, I dont dance. Im not a proper officer and I never learned how to dance. My kind of dancin is whats done in pubs on a Saturday night after everyones drunk. Not suitable for an Officers Mess."

She had taken his arm as they walked back to his tent in the dark. Twice they were challenged by sentries who then politely wished the Captain and his good lady a pleasant evening.

"Major Munro asked me to move into his tent with him."

"Wha! I cant believe that sly old dog. Asked ya to set up housekeeping with him, did he?. My God, he must be morn 40 years old."

"He misses Ireland terribly. He enjoys speaking the Gaelic with me. Makes him feel closer to his home. I told him what an honor it was to have him ask me but I couldnt just up and leave you like that, you being my protector and all."

"Your protector, my ass. Now everyonell think youre my wench. Im nothing ta you. What made ya say such a thing?"

The woman reached out and tentatively touched his sleeve. Then she laid her fingers on the back of his hand. "Well, maybe I wanted it to be true. Id like to be your wench, or whatever. Dont you need a woman in camp like Harper and others do? Ramona told me about your wife Teresa. Im so sorry. I know you miss her terribly. But now youve got no one. Im here and Im volunteering."

They had stopped in front of the tent while she was talking. Now silence descended. They could hear the sounds made by hundreds of sleeping men around them, the wind, the sounds of the sentries on post. It was a warm night and Richard had loosened his jacket at the neck.

Mary Catherine stepped inside. "Help me with my dress, Richard. Ramona got me into it but I cant get out of it alone." Sharpe stepped in behind her, lit the lantern and tried to figure out how to unfasten the dress. After some minutes of struggling and swearing he came to the opinion that shed been sewed into the dress. She was squirming and trying to make practical suggestions about something which she could not see. Richard reached for the stiletto he used as a letter opener on the small table and expertly slit all the stitching down the back. The dress hung on her shoulders for a moment and then slid to the ground with a gentle rustle. And she was naked save for her shoes and stockings. He looked at the smooth curve of her back as it sloped into her hips and let out a sigh. Then he leaned over and blew out the lamp.

The young woman stepped out of the dress piled at her feet and shivered in the cooling night air. Sharpe reached out a hand around her waist and with the other gently touched a breast. Then both of his hands were gently kneading her bosom as he bowed to kiss her neck. Her nipples hardened under his touch. She smelled so good to him. One of his hands pulled her tightly against him while the other slid down her belly and between her legs. At that, she sighed "Richard, kiss me, first. Let me taste you and feel your skin against mine."

He did as he was bid, turning Mary Catherine around by her shoulders. He pulled her close to him and gave her a long, deep, thrusting kiss. Then he moved away from her and began to quickly unbutton his tunic. While he was going through this practiced movement he noticed another smell. It was the faint, musky smell he associated with women and sex. So, she wanted him as badly as he now was wanting her.

Finally, the tunic was tossed off, the suspenders slipped off the shoulders, the shirt pulled over the head. Sharpe pulled Lass back toward him and there was skin against skin, as requested. After another long kiss, Lass began to fumble with his fly. She managed to get it undone and his breeches fell down around his boots. He was trapped. His pants hobbled his legs together and he couldnt do anything without slipping out of his boots which he couldnt do standing up.

Lass immediately assessed the situation and began to take advantage of his inability to move. She reached down between his legs and began to fondle and stroke him eagerly. He was laughing, groaning and protesting all at once. When he tried to take another step he tumbled forward onto the camp bed in a tangle of legs, arms, breeches and boots.

"Lass, stop it! Help me off with me boots if you want to carry on with this."

She stopped tickling and harassing him long enough to help him off with the troublesome footgear. Then he kicked off his pants and grabbed the woman, pulling her down on top of him. He kissed her soundly while giving her a smart smack on the rear.

"Yer not supposed to laugh at and tickle yer lovr, gal. Come here and let me shew you how to do this right." By this time both were rolling about the narrow bed trying to get a good grip on the other. Lass kept grabbing for his balls and he kept trying to keep her hands away. They were both giggling and laughing and thrashing about in joyful abandon.

Harper, in a nearby tent set bolt upright in bed when he heard the laughter coming from Sharpes tent. He leaned over to Ramona and gently woke her.

"Whats goin on in the Captains tent? Sounds like a fight." Ramona rolled over, listened, and smiled to herself.

"Go back to sleep, Patrick. The captains having a bit of fun with his Lass. Let him be."

Harper listened again and sure enough, there were two voices, and if he understood rightly, the sounds would begin to change soon. And, they did.

The laughter changed to gasps, and groans and sighs as Sharpe rolled over Lass. Now she was on the bottom. Her legs were gently separated and a hand began to tickle and caress her. His lips were on hers, his tongue moved into her partly opened mouth and his fingers continued their tortuous, tormenting process into her most secret place. She could feel his mounting pressure against her thigh. Her skin was sensitive now to all of the signals coming from him.

" I do want ye, Lass. Can I take ye now?"

She tightened her arms around him and thrust her hips tightly against him.

"Yes" she breathed.

And he maneuvered himself and gently pushed into her. They both sighed together. The two of them sought to find the most comfortable position as he continued to thrust forward. Then he was fully in. She felt wonderfully full. This time it didnt hurt. Shed lost her maidenhead and had had a child and now she was able to accept the full length and fullness of this fine soldier. And he couldnt wait. Gradually, with increasing intensity and passion he moved back and forth in her. She responded by holding him tightly, squeezing, thrusting her hips, groaning in unison with his sighs. Then, it was over. She had felt the drops of sweat in the hollow of his scarred back, the convulsing shake of his hips and the out rush of breath, which signaled the moment of his release.

"Next time Ill see ya right, Lass." Sharpe had found his true Lass, for the time being.

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