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Warning: Mature Adults only
Lucille had been nursing Sharpe for several weeks after the unfortunate incident during which she had shot him. The gunshot wound in his leg was healing and he was beginning to hobble around the crumbling chateau, eventually lending a hand with the chores as he was able. Lucille had become convinced of Sharpe's innocence in the death of her brother and was finding herself more and more physically attracted to him. However, the things he had mumbled in his fever about his wife Jane formed an invisible barrier between them.
Sharpe, too, was very aware of Lucille as she fed him and tended his wounds. Later, as he sat outside in the weak Normandy sun with his leg propped up on a barrel, he watched her every move. There were only a few elderly servants still helping around the chateau and Lucille was obliged to be involved with everything. He was amazed at her competence both inside the farm house and without. To his surprise, he discovered that he enjoyed the peace and quiet routine of farm life.
Brave, accomplished and resourceful as she was, Lucille had one abiding fear. Sharpe found out about her terror one night in the middle of the third week of his recuperation. That night a summer storm rolled through the valley with huge claps of thunder and loud crackling arches of lighting piercing the sky. Well accustomed to the noise of battle, Sharpe simply rolled over and back to sleep after taking note of the disturbance but Lucille lay shaking in agonizing fear in her bed, covers pulled over her head. After a number of long, terrifying minutes she crept out of bed, threw her shawl over the shoulders of her night dress and fled down the hall to Sharpe's room.
"Richard, Richard, wake up, I need you" she said, entering his room without knocking.
She stood trembling by his bed as Sharpe's eyes snapped open. He sat up quickly and reached for the pistol on the table beside the bed.
"Richard, I'm so afraid. Lightening and thunder terrify me. Please help me." He immediately turned back the covers on the bed, reached for her and pulled her into bed with him. She tucked herself up under his arm as he cradled her trembling body against his. He whispered softly in her ear and gently stroked her hair as she burrowed into his shoulder.
The storm eventually passed and as the celestial bombardment ceased, Lucille fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Sharpe, on the other hand, was wide awake, unable to relax. He listened to the quiet sounds of her breathing, he inhaled the clean, fresh smell of her hair, and felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his arm.
Shortly before dawn Lucille awoke. For a moment she could not think where she was; then she remembered the storm and the fear that had driven into the security of Richard's arms. She became aware of the closeness of their two bodies and was terribly embarrassed. She quickly disentangled herself from his embrace, rolled over and sprung out of bed. She found her shawl twisted in the bed covers, flung it over her shoulders and turned to leave.
"Lucille, stay with me." Richard said. "I want ya."
Lucille paused and turned to look at the dark figure in the bed. Again he said, "Lucille, please stay the rest of the night with me." For a moment she stood poised to fly, then again, firm and strong, came his urgent "please." Still groggy from sleep, she thought of her beloved husband, killed by the English; her dear brother, cut down and mutilated by an unknown enemy; and the generations of enmity and hate which had existed between the France and England. Then she focused on the English soldier who lay in the bed before her who was asking for her body. She knew, deep in her soul, she wanted him too..
With just a moment's hesitation, she turned and walked back to the bed.
"Oui, Richard, I will stay with you." She carefully put her shawl over the bedpost and then slowly unbuttoned her night dress and let it slide from off her shoulders on to the floor. Her inhibitions slipped from her as the gown fell. The cool night air touched her body and she shivered in anticipation. Lucille slid quietly back into the still warm bed and wriggled into the arms of Major Richard Sharpe.
"Where's yer gown, woman? Y'er naked."
"Oh, Richard. I want you so."
He had been intending to place his hands on either side of her face but instead he immediately gathered up her breasts, squeezed and gently kissed her lips. Richard then prized her lips apart and their tongues met. Her nipples hardened in response as he gently stroked them. She thrust her hips forward and was thrilled to discover how hard he was under his night shirt. His hands slipped around her waist and down her back. He cupped her hips and pulled her more tightly against him. His lips left hers and moved to her throat. He kissed her neck with increasing passion as her body moved against his. Slowly, slowly his kissed moved down to her breasts. He nibbled gently at each nipple as his hands moved between her legs.
Now on her back, legs gradually moving apart, her sighs were growing more intense. His fingers touched her and softly stroked the springy hair between her legs. Lucille could feel the moisture seeping out from her as his fingers moved into the tender crevice.
"Ya do want me, for sure" he said.
"Richard, take your shirt off. I want to feel your skin against mine. "
Sharpe rolled onto his back, sat up and threw his shirt across the room. Then he fell back on top of her and she placed her hands around his waist, pulling him to her. Between her legs she felt him hard and warm. His breath was coming raggedly on her neck as he sought to find a comfortable position that would not tear open the wound on his leg.
"It's been a very long time, Richard. Please go slowly."
He grunted in reply and moved more gently as he sought to enter her. Her knees drew up as he settled in and found the place he had been seeking. Slowly he entered her, as she threw back her head in rapturous joy. She felt herself stretch around him and they molded themselves together like fingers in a well-made glove. After what seemed like hours but was probably only a moment or two, union was achieved. Their skins glowed against each other in passion.
"Now, my beautiful Lucille. I don't wish to hurt ya' but I cannot hold back any longer."
In response she simply thrust her hips against his. In and out, he ground himself into her with increasing fervor. She felt the sweat build in the hollow of his back, just above where his hips began. His breath beat raggedly against her neck as his passion grew.
And then she was caught up. She had wondered if after all this time she would feel the frenzied joy of orgasm. Yes. Yes. She was consumed with passion. Panting, sighing, writhing against each other, pleasure filled their bodies. Then Richard cried out and he began the rhythmic movements which indicated his passion was spending.
"Richard, oh Richard."
At the end, neither could do aught but utter each other's names in breathless gasps.
He rolled off her and lay panting on his back. She turned over into the cradle of his arms and snuggled up against his damp body.
"Two horny old fools, Richard Sharpe. We can still teach the young ones a think or two about fucking."
"Aye" he replied with sleepy satisfaction as the rising sun peeked into the room.