by Kai Andersen
The anguish in his voice cut through to Giselda’s heart. Who was Talina? Was she the girl who had captured his heart? The girl whom Rodin had rhapsodized about? Was that the reason she didn’t know about Rodin’s plans, because she had gone before he could tell her?
Chapter Thirteen
Giselda grasped him by the shoulders, determined to shake him awake. “Rodin, wake up! This is not real; it’s a nightmare --” By the embers of the dying fire, she saw his eyes snap open. She sighed in relief. “Oh, you’re awake. You’re having a nightmare, you know, and --”
A particularly loud clap of thunder cracked across the sky.
His eyes reflected stark terror as he shouted, “Talina, no! Hold on!”
He pulled her down to him and rolled over so that her back was half-on, half-off the bedroll.
“Rodin, what are you --”
His lips came down to hers, and he kissed her hard. He came up to say “I’ve got you, I’ve got you” before he possessed her lips again, this time with his tongue seeking entry into her mouth. She struggled to be set free, finally realizing that Rodin was still in the grips of his nightmare. He held on, but his kiss had gentled. He was now wooing her with his mouth and his hands, caressing and inciting her to a fever-pitch excitement. His hands roved over her body and tore her lacy panties when they encountered that flimsy barrier. His fingers as they delved into her pussy were hesitant and yet sure, massaging her folds and drawing fluids from her core.
She was beset with a pulsing excitement. Her body recognized him and welcomed his touch.
She responded by opening her mouth, and his efforts grew more frenzied, more desperate. He inserted one finger into her tight sheath, and she gasped against his mouth at the feel of that invading digit. Her gasp turned into a moan as he began a thrusting motion with his finger, starting slow and then moving faster and faster, bringing her almost to the peak of that heart-rending pleasure. She sobbed when his finger withdrew, but it was replaced almost immediately by something else that filled her, that stretched her to the point of pain.
She cried out, beating her small fists against his chest. “No!”
He stilled in his movements and shook his head. “Giselda?” He looked down in horror. “What have I done --”
The pain in her was fading, replaced by a tightening pressure that she had felt before, beyond which lay a heart-shattering pleasure that she wanted to experience again. He started to withdraw, but she clamped her legs about his waist and pushed her hips up, impaling herself on his shaft, his cock buried to the hilt within her.
For a moment, she savored the feel of his cock -- so big, so full, so complete. Then another, more primal urge took over. She wiggled her hips. “Rodin ... I don’t ... understand. What ... What do I want?”
His voice was flat as he said, “You want me to do this.”
“This” was the tiniest of movements, of him pulling out and reburying himself inside her. It set off shockwaves of pleasure.
“Yes! Yes, oh, yes, please.”
“No.”
“Please. You want this, too, Rodin. You want this.” Her whisper was a siren call, and coupled with her experimental movement as she mimicked him, it was his undoing. He pulled out and pushed back in, over and over, plunging in and out, slow at first and then faster ... faster ... as fast the pouring rain, as loud as the booming thunder. The friction he was creating in her was unbearable, burning, soaring until she exploded, wild and free. He continued pumping, pouring his seed into her, until, with a hoarse cry, he thrust one last time. They fell back to the ground, clasped in each other’s arms.
Rodin’s solid weight was heaven above her. He smelled of earth and grass and rain, a heady scent. She rubbed soothing circles at his back, loving the smooth skin, the interplay of muscles beneath her fingers.
He moved to get up.
She clutched him tighter. “No!”
He rolled over, taking her with him so that she sprawled on top of him. She heard the soothing thunder of his heart and felt the solid warmth of his chest. She twirled a finger through his chest hair, finding his nipple and playing with it.
For a long while, no one seemed inclined to talk, but the silence was not uncomfortable. It wove a web of intimacy between them, such as one between lovers. For the first time in her life, Giselda didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. She was content to just lie there.
Finally, he tipped her chin up and looked somberly into her eyes. “I have done you a great disservice, Princess.”
He was back at it again. Unaccountably, tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
He groaned as the tears dripped onto his chest. “See, I’ve even made you cry. I deserve to be beheaded.”
“Because you called me Princess.”
His eyes were tender as he smiled. “I’m sorry, Giselda. I never meant for this to happen.”
“I know,” she agreed in a small voice, sniffing as she laid her head back on his chest. “But you didn’t know what you were doing; you were having a nightmare.”
“Whatever the reason, I shouldn’t have done this.” He paused and smoothed back her hair. “I have taken your virginity, Giselda. It is not something that can be put aside. I would have married you if you were an ordinary girl, but you are a princess. I don’t think your father would allow this union. I’m sure he would rather have my head. Besides --”
“Besides, I am going to marry Michael.” She didn’t know why each of his words stabbed her. He would rather give up his life than marry her. To save her pride, she had brought up Michael, whom she had hardly thought about all day. Desperately, she clung to her dream of being Michael’s wife, of being queen.
He went rigid beneath her. “Yes, we must not forget your prince.”
“Aside from which, I am not a virgin.”
He stilled even more, becoming absolutely motionless. “You are not?” He sounded like there were some big stones lodged in his throat. “Who?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Michael. He is my betrothed, so it is perfectly acceptable.”
And forgettable.
At first, she had been excited by Michael’s touches and kisses. It had felt wicked and daring to let a man into her bedchamber, especially in the dead of night. That they were about to do things that should have been done on their wedding night had added to her excitement.
With hindsight, she now realized that Michael had been eager to finish before she was ready. The moment she was fully naked, he had taken out his thing and pushed it into her. She had screamed until she was hoarse, but he just kept on doing his motions, no matter how hard her arms and legs had flailed against him. When he had finally collapsed on top of her, it was all she could do not to sigh in relief.
She had thought she understood then why it was a closely guarded secret. If women knew about it before they were married, they would all opt for singlehood instead.
But now, she knew she had been wrong. She believed women would die for the chance to experience the ecstasy that she had found in Rodin’s arms. He was so big, bigger than Michael, which was why she had felt pain, she supposed. But after that momentary pain, it had been all she could do to induce Rodin into the same motions that had driven Michael. For she had felt it with Rodin; she had tasted that elusive element that had caused men and women over the ages to engage repetitiously in the act.
So now she knew.
How ironic that she had not found it with her husband-to-be, but with Rodin -- an old-and-yet-new friend, bodyguard and ... lover.
A thrill tingled through her body.
Lover.
What a cozy and intimate word.
Rodin had brought her to the heights that Michael never had, but she would not tell Rodin. No, she would not tell Michael, either. Ever. It would be a secret she would carry to her grave.
Now she said, “So long as we keep this between the two of us, you need not worry about Michael seeking you out to avenge my honor.”
“I
f I were him, I would kill every bastard who so much as touched you.”
“You are going to kill yourself?”
“After I have completed this mission and brought you back to the castle. Then I will ask my king’s permission to ... retire.”
She had been trying to call his bluff, but from his grim tone, it was evident that he was serious. She gave a short burst of laughter as she tried to dislodge the fear that had suddenly lodged itself in her heart. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rodin! This matter does not warrant your death.”
“And if I have given you a child?” His tone was cold and hard.
She sat up on his stomach and laughed, a sound wilder than the first. “You flatter yourself.”
“It has been known to happen.”
“And it could very well be Michael’s.”
She was not prepared for his roar of outrage. “You are going to pass off my child as his?!”
Giselda let out a sound of exasperation. “I don’t understand you, Rodin, and I’ve decided I don’t want to even try. The point is, we don’t even know if there is going to be a babe or not. All I know is that this is the wrong time in my cycle.”
“That’s good, then.” His strong arms lifted her by the waist and laid her on the bedroll. “Next time you catch me in a nightmare, run as far away as you can.”
“But you’re my friend. I want to help you!” she burst out. The thought that even her touch was repulsive to him added to the anger within.
“You can help me by staying away from me.” His voice turned even colder, ice-cold, as he asked, “Or is it because I saved your life that you decided to sacrifice your virtue? There is no need, princess. It is my duty to serve and give my life for the royal family.”
Giselda was so frustrated, she wanted to stamp her feet, tear her hair out, and run screaming into the rain. “Believe what you want! But in case it escaped your notice, I was the one who continued the act when you would have pulled away. I was the one who allowed us both to experience that out-of-this-world pleasure. If you have to place blame, you can place it all on my shoulders because I, at least, admit that I wanted it and enjoyed it!”
He stared at her for a long time as she fumed in her anger and outrage. Finally, he said stiffly, “I will face the consequences of my actions when we get back --”
Giselda interrupted in a furious voice, “Meaning you would accept whatever punishment the king doles out.”
“It’s only right.”
“But there’s no need for anyone to know! Think of the damage to my reputation when everyone finds out. You’re going to subject me to that?”
“I am not so foolish as that. Naturally, I will request to have a private audience with the king. In the meantime, there will be no repeat of the incident. For the rest of the night, and the next few nights, as well, we sleep separately.”
“Fine.” She lay down on the bedroll and pulled the blanket over herself. She was aware of him putting on his shirt and lying down a few feet away from her. She found it hard to sleep, for the wonder and excitement and pleasure of their union kept going ’round and ’round in her head. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Not to mention that his nobility and stubbornness both pleased and infuriated her.
“Who’s Talina?”
She sensed, rather than saw, him tense.
“No one.”
“You mentioned her name several times during your nightmare.” She didn’t understand this urge to talk about things that could make her heart ache. But she wanted to understand him, to know a little more about him.
“Go to sleep, Giselda.” The hard voice held an edge of warning, a warning she ignored.
“Is she the girl you were telling me about?”
“No.”
“You mean there’s another girl?” She sat up and faced him, peeved. “How many girls do you have, Rodin?”
A short bark of laughter burst out from him. “Go to sleep, Giselda.”
“I’m not through with you on this, Rodin.”
Silence.
She didn’t believe he had fallen asleep so soon. “Rodin, do you hear me?”
Silence.
“Rodin!”
Well, he would know soon enough that she wasn’t kidding. They had the whole day ahead of them tomorrow, and that was time enough. Time enough to let him know how serious she was.
Chapter Fourteen
A fist slammed against the tree trunk.
Rodin stared into the distance, noting in some dim part of his mind that his hand hurt.
He couldn’t believe -- he didn’t want to believe -- that Giselda would give herself to that slimy, oily bastard. But the fact was, she had. Not that it mattered that he wasn’t her first -- all right, it bothered him a little. But only a little. All right, it shouldn’t, and he was a bastard, but it did bother him. A lot.
He was more concerned about her. Had the prince made her first time an enjoyable one? He hoped she hadn’t hurt too much, that the prince knew how to make it pleasurable for her, though it killed him to think of the two of them making love, their bodies entwined on her bed, on his bed. Still, did she enjoy having sex with the prince? Did she make all those soft little moans when she was aroused?
Of course she did. He hated the bitterness that welled up in him. If he, Rodin, was able to elicit those moans, how much more the prince, whom she loved?
He wished his hand hurt for a more important reason, like because it had connected with the face of a person, also known as Prince Michael of Ermont, who well deserved the punch.
He didn’t know how long he stood that way before he finally decided that enough was enough. There was nothing he could do about anything. Anyway, he should remember that even if he were the one to have taken Giselda’s virginity, it was unlikely the king would bestow his blessings on this union. She could never be his, for so many reasons that were unimportant in his eyes, and that was that.
Rodin turned to prepare his horse for the day’s journey. He pulled the strap with unnecessary force as he tied the bags to the side of the saddle. He looked back toward the cave. Giselda was still inside, probably changing into her dusty traveling clothes, with Randalin guarding and protecting her virtue from him.
Despite his resolve not to think about it anymore, blood flowed to his groin at the memory of how tight she had been last night, of how sweetly and generously she had given of herself, a privilege he had dreamed of but never dared hoped for. It had been better not knowing, because now that he had tasted of her, he craved her again and again. Those few minutes in Giselda’s arms, with him buried deep in her tight sheath, were sheer heaven. He had been tempted to take her once more last night, but his own sense of honor had kicked in at the last minute. Bad enough that he had seduced the princess he had sworn to protect; there was no need to compound the error. How could he have betrayed his liege lord like that? Moreover, there was that knowledge that she would never be his. Who was he kidding? Not only would the king not give her to him in marriage, Giselda herself would most likely jump out the window rather than marry him.
So he determined to keep a good distance away from her until he could return her to her prince’s keeping. When that happened, he wasn’t going to shadow them or interfere anymore in whatever they wanted to do. Even if it killed him.
When she came out a moment later, her brows puckered in a worried frown, all his good intentions were shot to hell. He could no more stay away from her than he could from air or water. He needed her like he needed them to stay alive. He didn’t know what he would do when the time came for her wedding, but until then, he would treasure every moment he had with her. Not that she had to know about it.
“What is it, Giselda?” Good, he sounded concerned but aloof.
“It’s Randalin. She’s favoring her right leg.” Her hands twisted together in front of her.
He cursed. He knew how much Randalin meant to Giselda. He hoped the mare’s injury wasn’t so bad that she needed to be put away. Because if that happen
ed, he didn’t know if Giselda could survive it.
He clicked his tongue in sympathy upon seeing the mare’s swollen right foreleg. “She must have sprained it yesterday when we were fighting the storm.” He gently placed the leg back on the ground.
Randalin nickered softly.
Giselda caressed the mare’s nose. “You poor dear.”
Rodin caught the look of adoration and love on her face. Just like that, he was jealous of a horse. He heard it in his voice as he snapped, “Come, we don’t have all day.”
“But I cannot ride Randalin.”
“No, we’ll take it slow today. You ride my horse, and I’ll walk. Maybe we can get another horse at the village. Are you done?”
At her nod, he grasped Randalin’s reins and led her out of the cave. He stopped beside the warhorse and motioned to Giselda. “Come, I’ll help you up.”
“One question, please, Rodin.”
“Go ahead.”
“How much weight can your horse carry?”
“He cannot carry your mare, if that is what you are asking.” Jealousy bloomed within him to monstrous proportions and made his voice come out sharper than he intended. What did horse meat taste like?
“Can he carry three men, then?”
“Yes. Even four, if there is space on him.”
Her smile was blinding. “Great! We can both ride him, then.”
Rodin suddenly saw all the dangers in that suggestion. The loyal servant warred with the desperate lover in him. He turned away. “No!”
“Rodin.” She tugged at his arm. “I really feel bad for taking your horse away from you.”
“Then I’ll ride, and you walk,” he snapped.
“All right.”
His irritation faded at her subdued tone, but before he could say a word, she had taken Randalin’s reins from his hand and begun to lead her away, her head bent as she kicked at the ground. He looked after her in exasperation, wondering where this meek Giselda had come from and if he had been the cause of it. If he was, he would never forgive himself. Her spirit was one of the things he admired about her.