I set the small ceramic pot on the table. Islwyn took it without a word. His luminous blue gaze never left mine the entire time he unlaced his leather trousers and smeared ointment over himself. It was a battle of wills. We glared at each other, but still I caught out of my peripheral vision the erection that stood proudly from his slender white hips.
“I think you might have forgotten what I do for a living, Islwyn. I’ve seen plenty of dicks.” I couldn’t stop a grin from spreading over my lips. Islwyn swallowed and tucked himself back into his trousers. Pouting, he set the ointment back on the table.
Minutes later Aneurin returned, soaked to the bone and carrying a basket of herbs and vegetables from the garden. His muddied boots squished with every step as he made his way to the table and pulled back the dark hood of his cloak. Islwyn’s face practically lit up when they settled on Aneurin’s dripping form. I had seen true zealotry before, like when the villagers took to staring at the sun as it crested with the dawn. The look in Islwyn’s eyes wasn’t the look of a zealous fanatic… It was love—or at least it seemed that way to me.
“That rain is fucking cold.” Aneurin shivered. “The road to the gate is almost washed out, so you should send your friend there on his way.” Gesturing at the villager on the cot, he picked up the basket before going back into my private rooms. Islwyn ran after him like a happy puppy, leaving me more or less alone.
The fetid smell of the unconscious villager started to prove distracting. It reminded me that I should have put some maggots in the man’s wound to aid in ridding it of the infected flesh. But if I did he’d probably say I put some spell on him or something equally as laughable or ridiculous. Gotta love it when zealotry and fear get in the way of healing. I snatched the vial of hartshorn from my shelf and waved it under the sleeping villager’s nose. Sitting up with a start, he looked around in a daze.
I gave him gauze and a pouch of herbs for tea, and sent the poor unfortunate soul on his way with relative certainty he was going to—at the very least—lose the arm.
Standing in the doorway, I watched the villager leave as the cool rain misted my body. There were torches in the trees, and in the distance on the road was a wagon with an armed escort. Squinting, I shielded my gaze from the stinging frigid rain and tried to see what kind of wagon it was. I caught of the glint of golden robes and quickly closed my door. Fuck. I slammed my head back against the door.
For a while, I sat there in front of the door listening to the rain hitting the roof and the muddied stones that lead to my door. Was I afraid of the witch hunters? To me, it seemed a rather stupid question. My little stunt with the nightshade wasn’t something repeatable. If I was honest, I had gotten lucky. Oh, I had no intention of going quietly. I refused to die on some pyre in the middle of town.
Deep in thought, I missed the sound of footsteps on the stones. So when there was a knock at the door, I practically jumped out of my skin. I couldn’t even guess who was there. I would have seen another villager, and the witch hunters on the road were too far away. The only explanation that made any sense was that the knock was from someone carrying one of those torches I had seen in flickering at the tree line. Sighing, I opened the door, only to be instantly shoved to the side as a group of about ten elves entered my home without speaking a word. They were all soaked to the bone and wore long, heavy tunics and bloodred bandannas wrapped around their heads.
“Sure. Come right on in,” I grumbled.
With my cocky utterance, the leader snapped his attention to me. His face was gaunt and all hard lines and angles. His bandanna covered the entire top of his head and slumped down to cover one eye. The other eye gleamed red in the candlelight. His hair was dark enough that it seemed almost black but still managed to hold a hint of a warmer tone. His lips were a touch on the sensuous side, but they turned in a naturally disapproving frown that was readable through his sneer. On his back was a massive recurve bow and at his side a long curved sword with a scabbard that glinted dully in the firelight.
“Pretty Dy’ne.” He smirked at me. His voice was somewhat nasal and rough around the edges. What he said wasn’t too troublesome, and yet I somehow felt threatened. He took a step toward me, and I raised my chin.
“Can I help you?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Well, look at you. Yes, I do believe you can help me and in the process, I’m going to help you. I saw the witch hunter’s procession—you need protection. I and my Redcaps will offer that protection. All you have to do, pretty Dy’ne, is open those shapely thighs for me.”
“I’ll pass.” My jaw tensed as my lips set in a hard line.
“You’ll pass?” Laughing, he said something in their strange tongue. The other nine elves joined in that laughter. “That’s cute. You thought I was giving you an option. Pretty or not, Dy’ne don’t get choices, and I think my brethren deserve a show.” Fuck. He seized my shoulders and dragged me to the table. He pushed me down, and I fought him as best as I could. I clawed at him and grabbed at anything in my reach as he tried to force my thighs apart. Snagging a wooden plate between my fingers, I hit him over the head with it. The wood broke with a crack, but it didn’t seem to faze him. Feeling around on the table again, I snatched up the small ceramic vase I sometimes put flowers in. I threw the rough brown vase at his head, and he staggered. The moment of reprieve gave me enough time to scramble off the table and reach the hearth. Growling, I seized the heavy iron poker and the room filled with the hiss of steel sliding against leather as swords were drawn from their scabbards. “Feisty, I like that.” He snickered as he waved for his men to stay back.
Aneurin came running into the main room, his footsteps pounding. He twitched in recognition as that bicolored gaze fell on the leader of the Redcaps. The swords all lowered and the nine all knelt before him, and a few seconds later the leader did as well. Aneurin looked far from pleased as a quick exchange between the two of them ended with the Redcaps all sheathing their swords.
“You should breed her,” the leader said, rubbing the bruise blossoming at his cheek. Excuse me? “Or let me. There’s fire in those veins. She’d birth fine little warriors.”
“I’d rather slit my own throat than let you plowing touch me, sheepfucker.” I spat at him, and all he did was grin. When he opened his mouth to retort, Aneurin cut him off.
“Yorwrath!” Aneurin silenced the other elf, who bowed to him.
“Have you claimed the pretty Dy’ne yet?”
“No, I shouldn’t have to. She’s giving us shelter.”
“She’s Dy’ne, Aneurin. An unclaimed Dy’ne is anyone’s cunt to plow.”
“There’s a whore in the back. If you want to plow something, she’s more than willing.”
“You heard him boys, entertainment in the back.” The other nine left, leaving Yorwrath and Aneurin alone. “Where’s your sword?”
“Outside in the shrubs with everyone else’s.”
“That’s stupid. When we’re finished here, get your swords and bows.”
“Why?”
“Witch and elf hunters out of Heves. After what happened last year, they decided it would be prudent to send two processions. I’ll give you a day to claim her—one day. Anyone else and I would have run you through and dragged her in the back by her hair and fucked her with your blood on my hands. But you’re my baby brother, so I’ll give you a day. And if you haven’t done it by then, king or no king, I’ll cut you down and have her anyway.”
“For a Dy’ne?”
“Maybe. Then again when was the last time you saw a Dy’ne with eyes like lilacs? She’d make a nice addition to my collection of slaves.”
“Fuck you,” I growled as I put the poker back beside the fire.
“That’s the point.”
“Yorwrath… Just go,” Aneurin grumbled, slowly shaking his head. His brother laughed at him, patted him on the back, and disappeared back into the rooms beyond the door, leaving a trail of mud behind him. “Are you all right?”
“
Oh, I’m fine. Your brother, however… I broke a plate over his head and a vase on his face.” I smirked, but my hands were shaking. “Someone should take a look at him, but I’m sure as fuck not going to do it.”
“I’m sorry about all of that.”
“I know.”
“And…I’m sorry about having to ask you what I’m going to ask you.”
“I thought you were their king?”
“It doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone, especially not the Redcaps. They are the great equalizer. They are the best of us and worst of us… Everyone fears the Redcaps, even me.” He sighed.
“But Yorwrath is your brother.”
“Mhm, and that’s why he gave me a day. I understand if you don’t want to… But if you don’t he’ll hunt you, Valentina. Yorwrath is nothing if not the epitome of relentlessness.” I thought for a moment. I had seen and participated in bedding ceremonies before. However, I was certain this wouldn’t be like that. Something told me it would be more involved than people sitting in chairs watching the couple as lumpy shapes moving under their heavy fur-lined blanket. “We’ll run together.”
“Aneurin.” I closed the distance between us and took his hands. “Do you want to claim me?”
Our gazes locked and he trailed his thumbs teasingly over my fingers. Smiling, he leaned forward, before seizing my mouth with his. The kiss was deep and slow and it spoke louder than words ever could. Still, once the kiss was broken and I was practically panting, he gave my hands a squeeze and spoke.
“More than anything, but I don’t want you to feel forced into this. And I don’t like the idea of you being treated like my…concubine.”
“I want to do this. I’m practical at heart. Running is stupid and something tells me Yorwrath would catch us before we got too far. I don’t think he would have death in mind for us but rather something worse—though I’m not entirely sure what. So what does this claiming thing entail? I’ve had a bedding ceremony. Being stripped in front of strangers to my shift and forced to perform isn’t new to me.”
“Well, this is different. Were I anyone else, it would be simple. We’d light a fire, then I’d lay you down on top of some furs and have you. Since I am what I am…and the people here are who they are…” He looked at his hands for a few moments in silence. “First, the room will be filled with smoke from white passiflora, damiana, and white poppy”—I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening as he spoke. That’s a recipe for disaster— “and then you will be stripped naked, have flowers threaded through your hair, and you will be presented to Islwyn, a druid, and Yorwrath, an arglwydd. They will touch your secret parts, but they aren’t allowed to penetrate you. They’ll either declare you addas or anaddas, and then they’ll take you to me. I’ll be seated in a chair in front of the fire; everyone else will be kneeling. I’ll have my trousers on but I’ll be exposed, and you’ll be expected to”—he swallowed—“ride me to completion.”
“I’m sorry… Secret parts?” I laughed a bit. “What is it with you elves and tarting things up?”
“Fine, they will touch your sex and your breasts. Happy?”
“Does the smoke have to be that exact herbal mixture?”
“Mhm.”
“You do realize a human cannot function normally after inhaling those herbs, correct?”
“It’s tradition. I’m not happy about it, but Islwyn and Yorwrath will make certain we do as tradition dictates.”
“Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I walked to the door and locked it before heading toward the entrance to the private rooms.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed. I’ll deal with the mess in the morning, for now, I just want to sleep.”
“Can I join you?”
“Certainly, but the warning still stands. I sleep with a dagger… Try anything and it’ll find its way between your ribs.” I beamed at him, and he smirked in return.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter Six
My fingers twitched around the hilt of the thin dagger. Narrowing my eyes, I grumbled into the pale of morning. Aneurin’s hand draped over my waist, possessively holding me against him. I felt I could melt in his warmth. Slipping from my hand, the dagger clattered to the floor. He shifted behind me, pushing his hips and all too willing flesh against me.
“I wish I could wake up every morning like this,” Aneurin whispered, nosing against my ear.
“You could if you stay.”
“Mmm, I could be a hunter. I’m good at it.”
“You strike me as the type, but I don’t think you’d be happy here.”
“Trust me, I would be happy in a witch’s cell if you were there with me.”
“My, aren’t you the romantic. Let me be the realist then… You are a king, no matter how reluctant. Your place is leading your people, not shacked up with some Dy’ne like me in the outskirts of this shitty town.”
“I would make a terrible king. And being king means I would have to give you up, and I refuse.”
“You can’t refuse destiny, Aneurin.” I turned and placed a soft kiss between his brows. Then, as though someone could see what was about to transpire, there was a knock at the door. I grumbled, but the noise was quickly silenced by Aneurin’s mouth on mine. The kiss was slow and full of promise as his hips lazily rode mine.
“They can wait, can’t they?” He breathed into my mouth, caressing down my side to my hip and down between my thighs. The sensation of his skin on my skin quickened my pulse. He stroked his fingers along my dampening slit. “I want to feel you.” The bluntness of the statement colored my cheeks. His seized my lips again. It almost seemed as though he were savoring my taste with the kiss when he traced his tongue over my lips, making me shiver and almost gasp. He slipped his probing finger along my nether lips, parting them as he continued its descent and the knocking grew more urgent. With that single finger of his, he teasingly stroked into me with a pace that was near torturous. “So very tight, so wet, so ready,” Aneurin practically purred into my mouth.
“I have to get up,” I groaned. Ignoring my protest, he slowly worked a second finger in to join the first.
“Stay,” he breathed, his voice heavy with need as he started to circle his thumb around my aching pearl. I wanted nothing more than to stay. The promise of what we had in the garden lingered thickly in the air as he continued to bring me closer to the edge of bliss. I could already feel my legs start to shake as that warmth began to spread.
“Wouldn’t it have been a pity if I had locked my door on you?” I laughed breathlessly as I closed my legs, trapping his arm between my knees.
“All the more reason to stay. Lest there’s some other handsome elf waiting to take you from me.” He chuckled before stealing a kiss.
“No one’s going to take me away from you. Which is why I have to go see who’s at my door. The more people I help, the more will speak up on my behalf.” He stilled his hand with my words, and a large part of myself—that part that hated the villagers and didn’t give a fuck about duty—thought I was making a massive mistake as I rocked my hips against his hand and my breaths came in soft frustrated little pants.
“Fine.” Pouting, he withdrew his hand from me. Still I lingered against him, drinking in his sumptuous heat.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” I warbled. My breaths were shaky and uneven. As I slipped from the bed, a self-satisfied smile tugged at his lips, earning a sigh from me. Grabbing my light summer robe from the hook next to the door, I stepped out into the hall. The knocking continued, growing more and more frequent and frantic as I retied the burgundy ribbon of the thin linen shift.
With a growl of frustration, I opened the door and before I could comprehend who was on the outside someone hit me on the head, and everything went black.
* * * *
Some time later I came to on the floor of what I knew to be a witch’s cell. It was dark
er than a moonless night in the tiny room with no windows or light. My head felt like it was going to split open, and within moments of opening my eyes, I vomited on the floor. The only sound in the sour-smelling darkness was the ringing in my ears. I was exhausted, but I knew that if I fell asleep, I might never wake up again. Oh, they wouldn’t kill me without making certain I’d scream for the crowd. The injury resulting from that initial blow to the head—that would kill me. I dug my nails into my thighs every time I started to feel consciousness slipping from me.
Sitting in the dark for however long, I had ample time to think. I thought of Aneurin and whether or not he was okay. But most of all, I had time to make plans and promise myself that I would survive this. Eventually, someone cracked open the door of my cell and slid a bowl of food in. I dumped the broth on the floor and flipped the wooden container over and jumped on it. The wood gave against my slight weight with a crack. Feeling around in the dark I picked the biggest and sharpest of the shards. Then I ripped a length of linen from the bottom of my shift and wrapped it around the blunt end of the piece of wood.
With the makeshift wooden dagger in hand, I waited for that door to open again with my back pressed flush against the wall. The moment the slim line of golden torchlight lanced through the darkness I turned and lunged at the guard, plunging the rough wooden shiv through the soft tissue of his eye, directly into his brain. The force I used to drive the massive splinter home carried me with his lifeless body to the floor in the warm glow of the hall. We hit the cold stone with a clash. His heavy armor scraped against the stone as I dragged the lifeless form back into my cell.
Leaving the heavy metal door to my cell opened the tiniest of cracks, I searched the dead guard. I hastily grabbed his boot knife and the ring of keys from his lifeless fingers before leaving my cell, locking the door behind me. The thud of metal boots echoed down the hall, and I ran barefoot past cells full of sleeping prisoners.
Heart of the Forest (Arwn's Gift Book 1) Page 7