Dragon Age One Shots

Regency Cullen 7

Crisp greens of a cool summer part overhead, the whole of the forest swallowing their horse as they slip deeper into the foliage. In the past months since arriving at the Honnleath estates, Gwen explored the neighboring gardens and the pond with her charge. Never once did she dare think to leap into the tangled forests beyond, but the Duke didn't bat an eye.

With her cheek pressing into his back, her hand loosens from its grip upon his taut stomach. Then the horse leaps over a downed log, and Gwen digs in even tighter than before. She somehow works her hand under his Lordship's vest, only a linen shirt keeping her from touching his naked skin. A blush burns over her cheeks at the memory that she knew what his unclothed belt felt of -- warm, pliant, and intoxicating.

"Are you yet behind me?" the Duke asks, his voice light and airy as if he need only escape the looming shadow of the estate to find himself.

"I pray so, otherwise I am uncertain who is responding to you," Gwen responds, and a chuckle rumbles under her spread palm. How would it feel to touch his chest as he succumbs to laughter from her wit?

"You said that you needed to speak to me," he prompts, shaking away her foolish thoughts.

"Yes, it is...regarding your nephew," Gwen begins. She'd trudged over to him without pause, concerned only for her charge. But now, the pair alone in the trees, her nerve crumbles. Not many men are trained in mulling over their emotions, nor turning them productive. It seems doubtful for the Duke to be out of the ordinary.

"What of him?" he continues, his honeyed voice turning sour at her silence.

"I am concerned about him, and his..." she tries to power through her fear, when the horse leaps another stump. Her body flies off the bareback of the steed, Gwen gasping in shock. On instinct, she grips both hands around the Duke's stomach and buries her entire face into his back. Perhaps it is the cries of fear of her tumbling from the horse, or he's growing more incensed at her silence, but the rapid trotting slows.

Clicking the horse over a creek, water splashing up her boots and dangling skirts, the Duke says, "Perhaps it would best to speak on solid ground."

"Yes, yes," she nods her head against his solid back before leaning away, "if you would so please."

With an unassailable assurance, his Lordship slows the horse to a standstill, the edges of his heels barely brushing into the ribs. After rubbing along the ebony mane, he raises a foot and slides to the forest floor below. Gwen grabs onto the saddle and the standing horse, prepared to push herself away, when gentlemanly hands envelop her waist. In shock, he falls directly into the amber eyes she now towers over, the Duke graciously guiding her to the ground.

For a brief moment, after leaving the horse and before striking the fallen leaves, she's in his arms. Nothing to support her gentle fall but his strong body. When she plops into her shoes, she stares entranced up at the man who was only trying to keep her from harming herself. That must be why.

Though, it is harder to explain the palms lingering around her waist, the forelock nearly brushing against the top of her head, and the eyes burning into hers. "Thank you," Gwen whispers, her body trembling at the nearness of such a man.

The Duke steps away, no doubt remembering her waning position in the world as he adjusts the cuffs of his jacket. "You are..." A hint of a smile warms his lips and he says, "Happy to assist."

Her stomach tries to bubble in warmth at the sweet sentiment on his sculpted lips, but there are other matters at hand. Placing her palms to her belly to try and calm both the jitters and butterflies, she says, "While Branson is often a happy child, finding play when he can between and sometimes during lessons..."