A finely dressed older gentleman opened one of the large ornate doors. He bowed very crisply to sarah and the coachman who'd brought her here. Her escort returned the bow and sarah curtsied, doing her best not to look jittery. Today she would meet a true artist, well known within the realm. Maxwell said Gireau had seen her at various markets, vending her sculptures and fine pottery for the Double Moon, and asked to have her sent to his manor.

"Miss Sarah to see Master Gireau, sir, as requested." Giving the older fellow another brief bow, the coachman then stepped back and returned to wait with the carriage. Sarah watched the houseman too closely, she was certain, but didn't want to miss any cues. She needn't have worried. He nodded then stepped aside with a grand gesture for sarah to enter.

"If you'll please wait here in the foyer, Miss, I shall announce you." He was curt and proper and gone in a few steps, leaving sarah alone in the vault of an entrance foyer. She adjusted her cloak and dress, never as comfortable in anything as her smock when sculpting. She tucked her hair behind her ear, wondering again if she should have put it up.

This was indeed the home of an artist or collector, evidenced by even just the works displayed in this anteroom. Sarah glanced over the statuary and paintings then was compelled to move closer to a large slab of stone on one wall. It was an inset or carved in relief from the stone wall itself. She saw no seams though and assumed it was created from one solid block.

She wanted to touch the textured stone but dared not. Instead her eyes investigated it. It was the image of a man, life-size, caught in stone. She could not decide whether he appeared to be emerging from the stone around him or sinking back into it. She wondered of the mood of the image. His arms were raised, crossing his face. Was he hiding from something? Protecting himself? Or anguished in some way?

Sarah startled to hear a voice behind her. "Do you like him?" Master Gireau seemed sincere in his query. "His name was Joseph, I believe."

Sarah turned to face Gireau but of course lowered her gaze, grateful that this helped hide her blush as well. "Yes. I admire the work, sir." All she could see of the Master were bare feet, dark breeches and the lopsided tail of a white poet's shirt hanging loosely. "I am sorry I did not remain where your man left me. I--"

"Now how can I be disturbed that you wanted to see my work more closely? Come!" With that he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a corridor. "I'll show you more! We'll tour my studio." He took her through a winding set of halls and doorways and practically had them running by the time they reached his studio.

Sarah stepped into the light and airy room. Half of the north wall was windows so he might work as long as possible each day by natural light. There were canvases and drapes and stools and crates and paints and stone and.... Everything she had ever imagined one might need for creating was scattered and stacked around the room.

Gireau released her hand and turned to look at her gaping wonder. When sarah finally realized he was watching her, she lowered her eyes and shook her head. "Again, I apologize. This is just more than... than I'd dare dream, sir."

Gireau moved in close to her and smiled as his fingers tipped her chin up. "Sarah, you may look. I am an artist, just as you. What we do is more than what is seen, but it must be seen to be known, aye?" She returned his smile then and nodded. "Good!" he said. "So, let me show you my works in progress."

She followed him around the huge room, listening intently as he explained about his sketches and paintings and sculptures. He seemed to be working on a dozen monumental projects at once and Sarah was curious as to how he ever finished anything. When she paused at one rather amorphous and large lump of clay on a crate, Gireau took notice and stepped in behind her.

"May I ask..." Sarah began cautiously. "What shall it be?"

"Hmmm... good question." His hands went to her shoulders and reached around to untie her cloak then slip it off to toss it to a chair. "Quite a coincidence that you ask." She sensed a change in his mood and his tone. He'd gone quiet and his fingers now pushed outward across her shoulders, at the sleeves of her soft floral dress. He paused with the fabric bunched beneath his hands on her arms. The open bodice was now stressed across her breasts, accenting her pale swells.

She shivered as his voice vibrated against the nape of her neck. "Perhaps it shall be you." His body pressed against her back so he could look over her shoulder. Both of them watched his hands slowly push the dress down further. Her breasts escaped the cloth then his hands bunched the fabric at her waist. Sarah's heart was pounding as he left the dress in that state and slid his hands up beneath her breasts.

"You know I rarely have to hire a model. Most often I see someone I want to sketch or paint or sculpt and request their company." His fingers played over her fear hardened nipples, making her heart thump even more. Her wrists were trapped within her own sleeves, arms pinned within his embrace. Her fingers grasped at the skirt of her dress when his voice turned in against her ear. "I need a variety of models, you see, just as I need to work in various media. I grow bored otherwise."

His hands began to migrate downward again, fingers gliding beneath the folds of the dress and continuing against her skin to splay across her lower abdomen. The dress finally relented and fluttered to the floor. Gireau pulled sarah back harder against him. She could feel him beneath the cloth of his shirt and breeches. His hot tongue licked beneath her ear then he whispered across the moisture, "How inspiring that you have never been a model before."

The heat rushed to sarah's face even as her heart pounded hard within her chest. She had thought Master Gireau's request was to do with her sculptures. It was obvious to her now that he intended more. "I..." She didn't know what to say or where to begin or how to explain that she was unsure if what he hinted was acceptable for her to do. Perhaps a business approach? "My mistresses would need to be aware that--"

Gireau chuckled against her as one hand reached between her thighs and grasped her, making her curl over with a gasp and cross her hands there too. "How do you think I know you are untried, lass?" He curled around her and bit the back of her neck, hard enough to make her jerk from his hands. She tried to step away from him but her feet tangled in the dress and she fell to the floor.

When she rolled to sit up, Gireau was leering over her. "Oh! A little spunk perhaps? If you applied some of that to your work, you might be useful at more than pottery!" Sarah scrambled to her feet and backed away from him, trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. Gireau's eyes flashed at her above his grin. He ran his hands through his long sun-blonde hair then reached down to gather the tail of his poet's shirt. As he pulled it over his head, sarah looked around quickly then ran to a stretch of scaffolding. She scurried in behind drop cloths hanging there and peeped between them. She watched him scan the room for her as his shirt flew across toward the chair holding her cloak.

He was very still, listening. Sarah was afraid he could hear her breathing even if he could not see her. He yelled out in the vaulted room, his voice echoing, "Has no one told you what you are, lass? You think you are only a potter for the castle that feeds and clothes you and gives you a place to live?"

Yes! she thought. Why can I not just be that? Why must I... Lost in these thoughts, she almost missed his movement in her direction. She knew she should stay put. Surely he could not know she was there beneath the cloth and scaffold, except for her breathing, which she now barely dared to do. Still, her heart lurched as his steps grew closer and she had to run. She bolted from the scaffold and took off across the expanse of the room toward a pile of crates.

He was patient. He waited til she ducked out of sight again. In his bare feet and with intimate knowledge of the territory, he had stealth if needed. He paced and pretended to fume over the willful lass but inside, he was exhilarated. He made sure to walk where she would likely be able to see him. Let her look, he thought. Let her fear force her to run again. His hand idly rubbed downward over the growing bulge in his breeches. How difficult it was to stifle his grin at the game he played with her.

Strategy, Gireau, strategy, he thought. What would her next move be? How could he counter it? He huffed rather loudly and seemingly with resignation, he walked over to his shirt where it had missed the chair. As he bent to pick up the shirt, he grinned at the sound of her slippers scampering across the floor again. Being prepared for this possibility, he swept the shirt in his hands and turned to leap over a small crate. Within a few of his longer paces, he managed to nearly catch her.

In a moment of choice, sarah was lost. She came to a large pile of stone and had to decide, left or right. In the pause, Gireau lunged to loop her in his shirt and pull her to him. She cried out, only half hearing his hiss against her ear. "Fly again if you wish, little bird. I enjoy the chase." His chest heaved against her back as she tugged and twisted uselessly at the tightly wrapped shirt. He dragged her to a nearby crate and pinned her against it with his body as one arm swept out and cleared the surface of brushes and papers and rags, sending them flying.

He released enough pressure against her body to roughly turn her around then push her back onto the crate. She tried to crawl backward away from him but his arms caught her, pulling her to him and spreading her legs to either side of his hips. Sarah's hands pulled at the shirt, now simply lying across her. Gireau's hands caught hers and he pressed them to her stomach, while curling over her to look into her face. Both of them were breathing heavily from the chase.

Sarah looked up from her hands to Gireau's face. His brow was arched. He looked confused or curious? She was trying not to cry, being caught with apparently no more opportunity to escape. He looked into her eyes. The fear and sadness in them touched him, but not enough to stop him. He whispered down to her, "How can you so desperately fear what you do not know?" He gripped her wrists with one hand and held her firmly in place while he slipped the other to set himself free from his breeches. He guided his stiffness to her frightened moist lips and looked up at sarah again. Her head was turned, eyes closed tightly.

He had to act before he lost his resolve, before the fire within him cooled. He pressed in and felt her stomach collapse beneath their hands as her voice pushed out a soft cry. Her fright and his exhilaration worked at him quickly. He released her hands, which she then used to claw at the shirt. She pulled it up over breasts as they shifted with his motion. Gireau leaned over her, slipping his hands beneath her shoulders and holding to her as his hips worked the length of him in and out of her tense muscles in long but quickening strokes.

Sarah tried to pretend he was not laying on her, that he was not driving himself into her, but as his thickness swelled she could not ignore him. He was not hurting her, more than spirit. He was not shaming her, more than being bartered to her first master then left at the Castle. She knew this day would come and sighed aloud, realizing it would be followed by many more. Her body relaxed. She had no choice but to abide.

Gireau heard her sigh and was urged on by it. He was so consumed with his own need that he paid no attention to her resignation. His arms pulled her hard against his hips with each thrust now until his body jerked then stiffened, the length of him buried deepest within her, making his release.

He collapsed, panting across her body. His hands slowly drifted from her shoulders and dragged the shirt away. He twisted his head to look at her, surprised to find her looking back. Now gentle, his fingers softly caressed over the swells of her breasts. Sarah shivered. It echoed down through her to suck the last drop from Gireau then force the last of his softened member from her.

( Continued on page 2)