She had found him a month ago. Frozen in the snow, wounded. She had known who he was. Everyone knew who he was. Sir Nickolas. One of the bravest knights in the king's army, Delia thought he'd always been the most handsome. Thick blond hair, piercing blue eyes.Strong, hard muscles.She'd seen him in numerous tournaments and he always winked at her whenever he spotted her in the audience.

She had been on her way home from her work in her aunt's seamstress shop when she'd come upon his unconcious body laid across the snow,blocking her path. Horrified, she had pushed her horse at a run to get her father and together they brought Nickolas to the house where her mother, a medicine woman some thought of as a witch, tended to him. For weeks he burned with fever, the wound festering, infected. Delia sat by his side, helping her mother, praying that God saved him. Finally, one morning she awoke by his bedside to find his fever had broken. She had wept with relief.

Her parents had left her alone this day. Her virtue wasn't in any danger because poor Nickolas had yet to regain his energy....or so they thought.

He was asleep when Delia walked in to his bedroom to change the dressing on his chest. Delia liked when he was asleep because she could just stare at the beautiful muscles of his body without him knowing. A few times she would run her fingers along the smooth tanned chest giddy over the unfamiliar territory of a man's body. She'd even dared a few peeks 'there' when her mother was out of the room. It stood thick and hard sometimes usually when she had run her fingers along his chest. Other times it lay soft against his thigh. She felt a strange tingling btween her legs when she saw it. She had to resist the urge to touch it. That was evil. A lady would never do that but she found her fingers itching to do just that, to hold the length in her hand, wondering what it would feel like. She knew 'that' was what made babies. A man put that inside you and you had a baby. Delia saw the familiar bulge beneath the blanket as she tightened the bandages around his chest. He let out a soft groan when her fingers brushed his rib cage.

She waited until she heard his breathing even out, indicating he was back asleep. Carefully she pushed the blanket down off his hips and looked at it. Thick again it stood amid a nest of fair curls. Delia bit her lip. Who would know if she touched it,just once. She was 14 years old. Younger girls than her were already married and knew what baby-making was like. Surely you were allowed to touch it if you were married. Delia pushed aside the reminder that Sir Nickolas was not her husband. Would never be her husband. She was a blacksmith's daughter. He was a knight in the king's court. Still, what harm would it do to pretend he was her husband while he slept? No one would have to know.

It emanated a soft warmth as Delia's fingers inched towards it. At the first touch of her finger at the base she gasped. Her eyes flew up to make sure Nickolas was still asleep. Safe. She let her fingers curl around the base, his hair tickling her knuckles. She ran her fingers slowly up along the steel like length. Warm, hard and like tanned leather is what it felt like. Nickolas groaned and Delia jerked her fingers away, in horror. She had hurt him! Oh God! What was she doing? She hadn't realized it would hurt him. When she looked up to his face Nickolas' eyes were locked on hers.

"Touch me again sweet Delia" he begged licking his dry lips. Terrified, Delia fled from the room.

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