The huge Master of Ceremonies bellows over the din, ‘Perhaps our Lord and king will save this child murderer from the sharp end of the guillotine’... He pauses, gauging the response of the gathered thousands… ‘Perhaps Not’ he laughs. She is one with them, her voice and blood rising with theirs, a sheen upon her skin as bodies press about her. Conscious, as she is shouldered and tussled about, that some hands move over her with intent. Outwardly ignoring the fleeting grasps at her skirts. But. A delicious wild aroma from Anya’s skin, from the warm fold of her arms destroyed what little restraint was left in Lorna. Without asking, Lorna took off the cloth bag from her shoulder, the rough movement of the strap jarring her soft left breast and nipple into a jitter for a second, which all but melted Lorna’s heart. She wound her wet right arm around Anya’s neck, drawing her face close to hers, letting their temples touch and looked directly into her eyes letting out a flurry of words,. More

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