I drank deeply of the wine my cousin had provided for the afternoon. She told me it would calm my nerves. "Princess Sabeline," I murmured daydreaming about the title I would regain after I wed. I was no longer a princess under English rule, yet I still was to the people of my father's province.

Due to the unrest within the Welsh provinces, an agreement had been made between the king of England and my father. He promised that my marriage would secure a better alliance between Wales and England. Though my father relinquished his title of prince to the English king, he retained all of his authority of his province, and was given, instead, the title of baron in exchange for the king's protection.

I took another long swallow as a man with shoulders nearly as wide as the door entered the room and offered my cousin a ravenous kiss.

My impending marriage on the winter solstice, a beloved celebration of our people, to a Marcher lord had precipitated my cousin, Margaret, to come for a visit. While here, she arranged an afternoon of "instruction" for me to learn of the intimacies between a man and woman. Two years and one week older, she had always served as my older sister. Over the years she had taught me many things, so I had accepted this suggestion.

Nonetheless, virgin that I was, I had misgivings. Margaret winked at me and handed the man, one of my father's castle guards, two long strips of sheeting. In fascination, I watched as he tied the end of each piece to the bedposts and draped them over her naked body. She wrapped each end several times around her wrists and lay back, her arms stretched wide.

Margaret's plump breasts proudly thrust upward, their twin nubs puckered already wit