this confident, articulate man of the world. At almost twenty-nine, Yul was in his prime and had exceeded his earlier promise. He was as tall and well-muscled as his father had been, fit and powerful. His chiselled face had lost all boyishness and was a study of fine, classical bones and strong planes. Yet the slanted, deep grey eyes still smouldered beneath a tousle of wild black curls.
Yul nodded as he scanned the sheets of paper; Harold had come up with yet another idea for the company and Yul was sure he was onto something promising. Stonewylde toiletries – rosemary soap, lilac bath oil, watercress face wash – a range of pure and organic products attractively presented in tiny hand-woven wicker baskets. It wasn’t an original idea, but, as ever, Harold had done his research and found there was a huge market for luxury, home-grown toiletries. Harold had such a talent for sniffing out opportunities and Yul had learned that going with his ideas invariably paid off.
Harold had even located an under-used barn near the Village which could be easily converted into a cottage-style factory to produce the soaps and oils. All Yul needed to do was give him the go-ahead and Harold would set the wheels in motion, organising prototypes and preparing finely-adjusted costings. Best of all, it was women’s work – not taking any labour away from food production or maintenance and building work, which at traditional Stonewylde still tended to be done by the burlier men. Even the children and old ones could help make the little baskets as everyone was expected to make some contribution to the community’s economy. This was just the right sort of money-making scheme to add to the ever-growing portfolio, and Yul was delighted.
Yawning, he switched off the computer and stood up, stretching hugely and feeling his spine realign with a crack. His body ached from sitting still too long. He’d have liked to ride Skydancer now, galloping along Dragon’s Back in the moonlight with the cold air on his face. But if he went to the stables now he’d wake people and then they’d wait for him to come back. He’d have to make do with a long, hard early morning ride instead.
Yul strode across to the French windows and flung them wide, welcoming the crisp October night air. He stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the sunken garden where Sylvie had sat and talked with Professor Siskin all those years before. He breathed deeply, drawing in lungfuls of air. The brilliant moon was visible as it hung on high, just clearing the edge of the vast building and all its turrets, roofs and chimney stacks.
Yul stood absolutely still then, his breath clouding around him as he looked up at the moon. He felt a stirring deep inside, a primeval need that Stonewylde had bred into him. Tonight the women were ripe, and as the dominant male it was his duty to ensure the survival of the tribe. He smiled slightly in acknowledgement of the instinctive urge and quelled it with an intellectual denial. He had two children and the community couldn’t survive any more population increase or in-breeding. He wouldn’t be out and about indulging his moon lust as generations before him had done, but would instead do the civilised thing and quietly go to bed.
Yul turned his back on the moon and the night and stepped into his study, leaving the French windows slightly ajar for the fresh air. He used the adjoining small bathroom and then quickly made up his bed on a sofa. He stretched out his long limbs and closed his eyes, thinking longingly of his beautiful wife upstairs alone in their bed. He was sure Sylvie would’ve gone to sleep ages ago and he didn’t want to disturb her. He found it impossible to sleep in the same bed and not make love to her, but it wasn’t fair to wake her up so late. By staying down in the study he’d contain himself and let her sleep in peace.
Yul was careful not to impose himself on Sylvie, not to be selfish or demanding. She’d retained that air of fragility and delicacy that had clung to her as a girl; as a woman she still seemed to command a gentle touch. Yul knew how important it was to keep his wildness and constant desire for her curbed and under tight control. He wanted her no less now than he had as a young lad, when