The Twelve Kingdoms: The Mark of the Tala

by Jeffe Kennedy

  More stories come to life. He slipped the boots off my feet and smiled that wicked half smile at me. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Andromeda.” He stood, urging me to my feet, and swept his free hand over my hair. “Would you help me with my boots?”

  I understood the hesitation in his voice when I knelt at his feet to pick one-handed at the wet knots. Though he’d performed the same service for me, I felt oddly subservient. The image of the long-ago foreign queen slipped through my mind, forever kneeling at the throne of her conqueror while her people glared at her with accusation and pity.

  “I wonder what you’re thinking about,” Rayfe mused. “Not about the bears of the north, I think.”

  “Perhaps I am. Or about lethal hunters in general.”

  “Is that how you see me?”

  I looked up to see that he’d leaned forward, tails of hair that escaped from the knot at his nape falling around his sharp cheekbones.

  “Trying to choose the right words?” He sounded amused and I remembered Ursula teasing me the same way, standing in the exercise yard a lifetime ago. I could see the echoes and layers around him, just as I’d seen around her that day.

  “I see the wolf in you. And the raptor. I see—” him dead in the snow, surrounded by a circle of crimson blood. I willed the image away.

  “What do you see?” he urged, curiously intent.

  I shrugged, abruptly self-conscious. “Dreams and visions. It’s of no matter.”

  “Visions were one of Salena’s gifts. If they are yours, too, you’ll have to learn to wield this ability.”

  I stared at his boots, the black scuffed and worn. “What about shape-changing?”

  “That, too. Have you ever?”

  “No.” I shook my head, confirming it to myself. “But I feel . . .”

  “Most learn as children,” he told me in a gentle tone. “And even for the most experienced, it’s far more difficult to accomplish away from Annfwn. I’ll teach you that, too.”

  “But not tonight. My mind and heart can only stretch so far, so fast.”

  He slipped his fingers under my chin and raised it, brushing my lips with a kiss so sweet my heart turned over in my chest.

  “No. Not tonight,” he murmured.

  Flustered, I slipped the loosened boots off his feet. The sight of his long, slender feet, almost elegant toes, struck me. Had I ever seen a man’s feet? They looked oddly vulnerable, attached to this man who unsettled me so.

  “Come sit on my lap,” he invited in a gravelly tone. I settled myself on his muscular thighs, in the same position we’d ridden in for hours. No cloaks divided us this time. It seemed like I could feel his hot skin burning through his clothes. Not giving me time to settle, he captured my mouth with his again, kissing me long and deep.

  I let the warm tide take me over. Rayfe’s hand roamed my body, stroking me like one might a cat. I could imagine myself purring, while he plumbed the depths of my mouth, learned the contours of my hips and waist. Then his hot hand slid up my calf, smoothing the skin up to my thigh. The longing intensified, my woman’s center growing heavy, burning.

  When he stood us up again, I murmured a protest, swaying a bit on my feet.

  “This will go far better with fewer clothes.” He spoke in my ear, tugging on my earlobe with his teeth. I blinked my eyes clear and saw he held a small silver knife. “This is a lovely gown—will you grieve to see it ruined?”

  I shook my head, bemused. “It was Amelia’s. But will I have anything else to put on?”

  He flashed that wicked grin. “If I had my way, no. But yes, I have clothes for you, for when we ride out again. Hold still.”

  Deftly, he slipped the little blade under the cuff of my sleeve and worked it upwards. The fragile silk peeled away like a butterfly wing, leaving my arm bare. He cut through the shoulder and the fabric fell down, the bosom of the dress loosening, the fire suddenly warm on my skin. Reflexively, I put a hand up to stop it from falling off. Then realized how silly that was. Rayfe watched me with gentle patience, and I knew then he’d let this take as long as I needed it to.

  But, in the end, I would be naked in front of him.

  With a sigh, I let the dress go. It slithered off me like a snake’s skin, leaving me bare and vulnerable. I busied myself with stepping out of it. Couldn’t stand it anymore and looked at him.

  Rayfe reached out and brushed my long hair back over my shoulders, then took his time surveying me, his hooded eyes roaming from my toes up my naked body to my face and down again. My mouth dry, it was my turn to wonder what he saw when he looked at me. Not the most beautiful woman in the Twelve Kingdoms. That was certain.

  I fixed my eyes at a point over his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not Amelia.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “It’s just—it must be disappointing not to get the beautiful daughter. Especially now that you’ve seen her.”

  He stroked a hand over the crown of my head, trailed it over my cheek and down my throat. He paused to trace my collarbone, then cupped my breast. I gasped at the sensation. When his thumb brushed my nipple, my knees weakened. Rayfe stroked it again, blue eyes blazing into mine.

  “You are far more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever known, Andromeda.”

  “That’s kind, but I know it’s not true. A thousand poets can tell you otherwise.”

  He shook his head, giving me that mysterious half smile. “They didn’t see you. They didn’t know you like I do. The woman behind those storm-gray eyes that see so clearly.”

  “You don’t know me at all,” I protested weakly, because the things he was doing to my breast made it impossible to think.

  “Oh, but I do. I know you better than you know yourself.”

  I gazed at him, bemused. Aroused. I didn’t know how to assimilate that.

  “Would you like my clothes on or off?” he inquired, just as he’d asked if I was hungry.

  “I have a choice?”

  “Some gentlewomen of the Twelve Kingdoms prefer not to be offended by the sight of a man’s body, so I’m told. It can be done that way.”

  “You didn’t offer me the choice to keep my clothes on.”

  That wolfish grin. “No, I didn’t.”

  I lifted my chin. “Off, then.”

  Gravely, but with eyes sparking, he presented me with the hilt of the silver blade. “As my lady wishes.”

  “Turn your head.”

  Without hesitation, he did so. As if I’d never used a blade against him. I severed the tie that held his hair back so it spilled loose around him. Like in my dreams. I followed his method, starting at the cuff of his dark red sleeve and slicing up. The cloth parted, revealing the strong muscles of his forearm and upper arm. His shoulder gleamed in the firelight, with gorgeous masculine lines. The impulse to bite it seized me. I resisted.

  It moved me in a way I hadn’t anticipated, to cut his garments away and see him revealed before me. I forgot my own nakedness as I discovered his chest—whole and unscarred—his flat belly with fine black hairs arrowing down to where his manhood would be. I set the blade in the waistband of his pants.

  “Those can be removed without cutting.” His voice was rough, his face alight with desire.

  I widened my eyes. “But you could have had me by lifting my skirts and yet my dress was totally ruined. Fair’s fair.”

  He laughed and wound his fingers in my hair. “Hurry, then.”

  In full agreement, I sliced the trousers, peeling them off him and tossing the little blade aside. His thighs were long and leanly muscled. His manhood. Oh.

  “Touch me, my queen.”

  He groaned when I did, tipping his head back, stern face clenched in a look of near pain. I had meant to caress his throat and chest, explore the lines of his belly, but that upthrusting manhood had drawn my unthinking first attempt. To most rewarding results.

  I wrapped my fingers tighter around him and stroked, watching the pleasure reverberate through his body. The hunter, tamed
. He clamped his hand around my wrist, stopping me. He kissed me like a starving man, pulling me against him. The shock of flesh on flesh astounded me. It felt like coming home.

  “My turn,” he growled, pulling my hand off him and setting it on his shoulder. I stroked the velvety skin there, absorbed in the musky smell and feel of him. Then convulsed when he plunged a hand between my legs.

  The enormous pleasure shook me and I clung to him, winding his hair around my hand to anchor me. He caressed me, sliding through my slippery folds. I had never imagined a man’s touch could feel so much different than my own.

  “So hot, so ready.” He groaned the words between kisses. “Can it be now? I fear I can’t wait.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.” In that moment, I wanted nothing more.

  He laid me on my back on the white rug, bracing himself over me and settling between my spread thighs. His hair fell around us, a black curtain gilded by firelight. He fitted his manhood against my core, nudging me open. I moaned at the feeling.

  He kissed me, slow and tender, and dropped his forehead against mine. “This may hurt.”

  “I ride a lot of horses,” I whispered.

  He smiled at that, then sobered. “This is the first way. With this, I make you mine, Andromeda, my queen.”

  He thrust into me, a long clean stroke of the blade, and I cried out as if mortally wounded. But no wound ever spun such delirious pleasure. My body welcomed him in, wrapped around him, and shimmered with a golden glow.

  I waited for the next, but he didn’t move.

  I clutched his hip with my free hand, frantic for more.

  “Are you all right?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “Yes. Now, Moranu take you, move!”

  He laughed, wild and delighted. Then drew back and plunged in again. I cried out my thankfulness, nails digging into his hip, urging him deeper, harder. His skin grew slick against mine, heightening the sensation each place we touched. I wrapped my legs around his waist as we flew higher, lightning sparking between us. The fire filled my blood, building to an impossible tension. I sank my teeth into his shoulder and he shouted out, convulsing against me. Still he drove on, increasing his pace until the blood burned red under my eyelids.

  With a broken cry, I clung to him while the storm raged through me, washing the fire away with cooling rain, cleansing, releasing. Lowering me gently down again to the real world, where Rayfe lay draped over me, buried inside me, the taste of him in my mouth.

  15

  Whatever I had expected—from Amelia’s letters, from the songs and stories—it hadn’t been this. It occurred to me that it would be different every time, each coming together a magical intertwinement. And this moment was so infused with Rayfe, this man buried between my thighs, that I couldn’t imagine it any other way.

  He levered himself up and brushed the hair out of my face. Then he snagged the little knife I’d tossed aside and severed the ties binding our wrists together. I stretched my arm, relieved to have it free again. His lips twisted in that half smile.

  “That goes”—he tossed the silk away—“this remains.” He stroked himself inside me and I arched my back at the deep pleasure.

  “That will make it even more difficult to get around,” I gasped.

  He chuckled, then withdrew from me, leaving me oddly empty. My whole life I’d spent not filled, yet now it felt wrong for him to go. As if I already craved him. He walked to the kitchen, his masculine backside a stirring sight. He moved sinuously, long muscles flexing, his body made of hard lines, so unlike mine, and disappeared around the corner.

  I held my wrist up to the light to examine the wound from the priest’s knife.

  The skin looked as always. I couldn’t possibly have the wrong arm—the red ridges and bumps from the tight bindings remained and my fingers prickled still with the returning movement. But there was no cut, no scab, only a fine white scar, as if ages healed.

  “Believe me now?” Bringing back a cloth and a pan of warm water, Rayfe knelt beside me. His manhood lay long and heavy against his thigh, no longer upthrust. He’d cleaned himself of our fluids and now reached out with a damp cloth.

  “I can do it myself.” I took the cloth from him and turned away slightly, conscious of his eyes on me, wiping hastily between my thighs and ignoring the slight burn. I scrubbed a bit at the pink-tinged stain on the white fur, too. “Sorry about this. White was probably a bad choice.”

  “Your blood is precious to me. I’m happy to have that souvenir of this night.”

  “So you can hang it on the castle walls as proof of my virgin status?”

  He laughed and took the cooling cloth from me. “And you call us the barbaric people. Lay back.” I hesitated and he took another cloth, dipping it in the warm water and holding it up. “Please.” I did as he asked, feeling more vulnerable now. Though he’d seen me already, without the haze of desire I became acutely aware of my nakedness, especially as he stroked the cloth over my skin, examining every inch in the bright firelight.

  “The Tala care little for such things.” He drew my arms up over my head, laving the undersides. “Truly I’m relieved that your first time caused so little pain. I’d heard stories otherwise.”

  “Oh, yes, believe me, I had, too.”

  “Your sisters?”

  “Amelia, yes. Not Ursula.” I started giggling at the memory. “But you should have seen this letter Amelia wrote to us after her wedding night. Oh! The pain. Oh! The glory. And Hugh! The kindest, gentlest, most noble man ever, but Oh! The rivers of blood!”

  Rayfe’s amused eyes crinkled at the corners. “Amelia is a pretty girl, but a bit dramatic, it seems.”

  “Yes.” I felt a stab of guilt at agreeing. “Though she’s not false. I believe she truly feels every bit of what she expresses.”

  He trailed the cloth over my belly, intent on his task. “You know I was most careful with her, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer immediately, and his eyes flicked up to meet my gaze, all laughter gone.

  “Yes,” I told him. “I have to believe that. All the guilt is mine.”

  “No. I will share in your burden. I forced you into making a choice.”

  “Why did you?” I whispered. “Won’t you tell me now?”

  He raised an eyebrow, trailing the cloth over my breasts and tweaking my nipples so they crinkled and popped up. My breath caught at the bright sparking that lit the heat in my belly once more. This is the first way, he’d said. Clearly he proposed to do more. “Why, to have you at my mercy, exactly like this.”

  His dark head bent over me and he dropped light kisses on my nipples, then took them one by one into his mouth and suckled them. I burrowed my fingers into his silky hair, not sure if I wanted to pull him closer or push him away. The sensation of his mouth on my breasts undid me. I unraveled, all thoughts melting away, my woman’s core heating in a flash.

  With a pleased sound, he left my breasts and trailed his mouth down my belly, which fluttered and trembled under his soft kisses. He was between my legs again, raising my knees and running long fingers over my hips and down to the tender skin at the juncture of my thighs and body.

  He dipped those clever fingers into my weeping woman’s core, and I cried out. He watched me, dark-blue eyes burning with renewed hunger. Kneeling between my splayed thighs, black hair spilling around him, he looked like the wolf now, and I realized he could see my most intimate folds in the bright firelight. His manhood, at full life again, pointed to the truth of it.

  And yet, I was helpless to close my thighs to him. I wanted him to keep touching me that way, especially when he slid a finger inside my slick passage, slowly, seeking. I writhed under his hands and didn’t care.

  “Not too sore?” This wasn’t the polite inquiry. His voice was a growl, and I felt a surge of gladness that I was not the only one feeling consumed by need.

  “No,” I gasped. “Please.” I waited, expecting him to plunge into me again.

  “Turn over.” />
  I didn’t understand.

  “Turn over, sweet. Onto your hands and knees, then.” He urged me into the position he described, arranging my hair over my shoulder so one side of my neck was exposed, and running his hands along my flanks. He covered me from behind, pressing against my upraised bottom and reaching beneath to gather my hanging breasts in his hands like so much ripe fruit.

  I moaned, then pitched against him when he slid a hand down my belly and into my hot sex. He positioned his manhood against my woman’s mouth. My body strained, vibrating with anticipation and need.

  “This is the second way,” he growled in my ear. Then his teeth sank into the ribbon of muscle at my neck and he plunged into me, spearing me with unspeakable pleasure from two directions that somehow met in the center and shattered me.

  This way was for the animal nature, then. He pounded into me, feral, ferocious, and I screamed out my pleasure, unable to get enough of his hands on my breasts, in my sex, his manhood spearing me and filling me to the core.

  I bucked under him, a wild mare, and he responded in kind, wrapping a fist in my streaming hair and arching my head back, fastening his mouth on mine in a kiss that poured through me like the melted rocks in the volcano.

  This time I came apart first, while he sucked the cries from my lips. Then he seized my hips in both hands and held me still while he plunged in and out of me, finishing with a hoarse shout that echoed in my mind like a wolf’s howl.

  He collapsed onto his side, taking me with him as he slipped out of me, my hips snugged up against his, arms wrapped around my breasts and belly, his breath hot on the back of my neck.

  I blinked blearily at the fire, near emptied out. Sweat soaked and limp muscled, I might as well have been at sword practice for hours, the way I felt.

  Finally I found words. “How many ways are there?”

  Rayfe chuckled, sounding as spent as I felt, pressing a warm kiss to the nape of my neck, lingering there. I shivered and my breasts tightened. How could my body possibly want more?

  “I’m not sure anyone has put a number to them,” he murmured. “You’ll have to keep count. But the two are all that are needed, by our customs.”