Benedict grinned. 'I was going to say that it is neither safe nor respectable for a young woman of your rank to be here tonight, but I know that you'll only stamp on my foot. The rules do not apply to you. Perhaps I should just warn you to have a care. Men do indeed come here to "wear the green" and you are a sight to make any of them forget his reason.' His voice grew croaky on the last words.

Julitta drank straight from the jug and then offered it to him. 'Even you?' she asked provocatively.

'Especially me.' He drank and set the jug back down on the trestle with a wobble and a bang that revealed his own senses were blurred by the potency of the drink. 'You are beautiful and wild, like the May herself.'

Julitta's knees weakened at the timbre of his voice. Her whole body quivered. She was poised with the anticipation that he was going to touch her, and the fear that he would not. She did not dream of running away. Benedict might be Gisele's husband, but he had always belonged to her.

Slowly she raised her hand and laid her palm upon his chest, uncaring who saw. Tonight was May Eve, and people's eyes were dazzled. Even Mauger, her watchdog, had gone into the shadows with one of the village women, and there was no sign of her father.

Benedict swallowed and clasped his fingers over hers. 'Your father said that I was to bring you home in a while,' he murmured, and pulled her tight against him, hip to hip, groin to groin, then spun her away in a muted rhythm of the wilder dance around the phallic pole.

'But not yet.' Julitta stepped lightly, a smile on her face, her breathing pleasantly short as he drew her against his body once more. They arched together, side-stepped and parted, maintaining the link of hands.

'No, not yet.'

They danced and drank, drank and danced. Julitta's hair began to wisp free of her braid and with an impatient twist of her fingers, she shook it free. The crown of May blossom slipped down again, and she would have cast it away, but Benedict caught her hand, and taking the chaplet from her, replaced it delicately on her brow.

'Queen of the May,' he said softly and traced one forefinger gently down her cheek. Julitta lifted her face, mutely offering him her lips. He took them, meaning only to salute the new season, but the spark engendered was beyond all his knowledge, and within moments, beyond his control.

When he was with Gisele – the times she permitted — there was nothing, a pale, cold flame that gave off little warmth despite all his efforts to kindle it to a more robust heat. This was true fire, blood-red of flame, molten-white at its core, beating with the night. Julitta's lips clung to his, sweet and warm, tasting of cider. Her body followed his, as fluid as a shadow, a mirror-image. Whatever his hands did, so did hers, and her lips and her tongue; without hesitation, without shame, until they were both incandescent with lust.

By mutual need, they moved deeper into the shadows, playing out the ritual of the deeper fertility dance. She wound her hair round him like the ribbons on the Maypole. His fingers wove a pattern of desire over her flesh, the cold silkiness of her thighs, the stems of grass between them. Her hips, the dark triangle of the Maythorn gateway. And then his own thighs over and between hers, and the first sure, blood-hot thrust.

Her throat arched and her fingers clutched convulsively at his sleeves.

'Did I hurt you?' He ceased moving, although it was torture to do so; his entire groin was one magnificent, swollen ache.

'Yes,' she whispered, but clasped him to her and raised her hips. 'But if you stop now, I will kill you.'

'Then I won't stop,' he said breathlessly. 'This is a far better way to die.' He lowered his mouth to hers, teasing the outline of her lips, then covering her mouth, enclosing the cry in her throat. The kiss moved in concert with the surge of his hips. She pushed down upon his swollen flesh, desiring to be one with him, and although it hurt, it was the pleasure that was almost too much to bear. She broke the kiss to cry out and clutch at him. She pressed her hot face against his throat. 'Ben!' she wept. 'Oh, Ben, please…' Striving for she knew not what, only that she would die without it.

Panting harshly, Benedict knew that he could wait no longer. Julitta's voice, the wild innocence of her need brought him to the edge. He braced himself on one forearm, and sought down between them to the sensitive little nubbin above the passage he was filling. Once, twice he stroked it, and Julitta suddenly caught her breath and went rigid in his arms. Removing his hand, he pushed forward hard, and groaning her name, burst within her. He felt the ripples of her climax swallow over him, drawing each surge of his own pleasure into her body until both of them were spent. But even then, they could not bear for it to be finished, and lay in the grass together, touching and stroking, while around them the celebrations continued, and above them the stars glittered like salt crystals. The enormity of what they had done lay heavy on both their minds, but neither of them was willing to break the joy of the moment by admitting that a world beyond themselves existed. 'Is it always like that?' Julitta asked after a while. Benedict smiled and drew a tendril of her hair through his fingers. 'No, not always,' he said with a gentle wryness, knowing that nothing would ever be able to match tonight. May Eve, the soft spring earth and a beautiful virgin. And yet it went much deeper than the venting of springtime heat. Julitta, his lovely, wild Julitta. His throat ached with poignant grief.

Julitta sat up. 'Then it gets better?' she asked with spurious innocence as she shook back her hair and tidied the disordered bodice of her gown.

Benedict's eyes widened. For one brief instant he was taken in, and then he realised that she was teasing him. He lunged at her. She squealed and tried to escape, but not very hard. Accidentally on purpose, her hand brushed his now flaccid manhood, enchanting it into immediate hardness. She wriggled and squirmed but not to escape.

Benedict had intended returning her to the castle before the night grew much older and questions began to be asked, but he could not resist the lure of her body. This time they took each other with laughter, with breathless, snatched kisses and teasing touches. Julitta was an apt pupil. As the moment of crisis approached, she stopped moving, lay perfectly still until it had passed, with Benedict, scarcely breathing, poised within her. And then, when it was safe, they began to build again. Higher, faster, hotter, until they were molten. And then, the moment before they were welded into one, Julitta saw her father standing in the shadows, staring at them in disbelief, and with him was the Cluniac monk whom Arlette had been entertaining earlier.

Julitta stiffened, the fire turning immediately to ice. She pushed at Benedict, whimpering, and when he only groaned and gripped her closer, she cried out in panic and struggled to free herself.

Benedict opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but Rolf pre-empted him, his voice a soft snarl.

'I should kill you,' he said. 'Get up.'

Benedict closed his eyes. Beneath him Julitta was shaking. He bent his head, took a deep breath. 'Will you turn your backs?' he requested.

'For decency's sake?' Rolf bit out acidly, but turned away, drawing the monk with him.

Benedict rolled off Julitta and adjusted his clothing. He pulled her skirts back down to cover her legs. She struggled to fasten her gown, but her fingers were shaking so badly that she was unable. Benedict in contrast was calm and controlled. Leaning over her, he tied the drawstring on her shift, kissed her cheek in reassurance, then rose and joined Rolf and Father Jerome.

'It is my fault,' he said. 'Do not punish her.'

'The lust of Eve is common to every woman,' said the Cluniac. His eyes roved the scene of May revelry. 'My son, to the peril of your soul, you have yielded to the temptations of the flesh. You have sinned greatly against God and nature.'

A muscle worked in Benedict's jaw as the monk spoke. There was an open wound. Salt had to be ground vigorously into it. Rolf stood rigid as stone. Feeling sick, Benedict faced him. 'I will take all the blame. It was not intentional between us; it just happened.'

Rolf nodded viciously and ground his teeth. 'It just happened,' he repeated. 'Came out of nowhere, hit you so fast you did not know?'

'I…'

'Christ Jesu, Ben, nothing "just happens" without our will!'

Julitta came unsteadily to Benedict's side. Her hair was loose, her clothes burred with bits of grass, and fear trembled through her body. 'It is as much my fault as his,' she owned with a stubbornly lifted chin. 'As Ben says, it was not intenttional at the beginning, but I am not sorry, and I will gladly pay the price.'

'Harlot, have you no shame?' thundered Father Jerome in outrage. 'Your own sister's husband!'

'He was mine first,' Julitta retorted, her lips curled back from her teeth in a snarl. 'I do not care what you do with me. Now and forever it was worth it!'

'Then you are more foolish than I ever believed.' Rolf seized her arm in a grip of iron. 'You are coining back with me now to the keep. Tomorrow, I'll decide what is to be done with you. Benedict…' His jaw worked, the sinews cording in his throat. 'Just get out of my sight.'

'Sir, it wasn't her fault,' Benedict repeated, his voice cracking. 'Don't punish her.'

'You should have given thought to the consequences before you lowered your braies!' Rolf said contemptuously.