“Not exactly,” Elathan answered, while he started to walk. To her surprise, he was carrying her effortlessly in his arms. He ignored the elder bushes at the edge of the glade that parted to let him through. “My people would call me a wood-former, but this magic is not my most important ability. I am also able to summon fire if I wish, as well as control or destroy it. The power over the flame is a very mighty gift, and it is only bestowed to the throne heir, the king’s oldest son. I was born with it.” He grinned. “You should have heard my nanny’s screams when I set the nursery on fire for the first time. She was a cave troll and gave me the beating of my life to teach me not to do it again.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Next place where I started a fire was her bed.”
“You must have been a charming little prince,” Igraine remarked, and he chuckled. She loved it when a smile softened his sinister features. It made his face almost painfully beautiful. Hesitantly she stretched out her hand to touch the old scar across his cheek, tracing it with her fingertips. “My dark angel,” she whispered. Elathan's eyes widened, and it occurred to her that, it had been a long time since he heard an endearment like this, if ever. He held her close to the hard muscles of his chest, as if she was made of glass and he was afraid to drop her. Never before in her life had she felt so safe.
When they reached the clearing, a merry fire was burning in the middle. The boar Elathan had brought from his hunt was roasting on a wooden spit that seemed to turn on itself, enhanced by magic. But when Igraine looked closer she saw several tiny lights flying around one end, obviously moving it. She stiffened when she recognized them. They didn't seem to like what they were doing; she could hear their high, agitated shrieks.
“Yes, some of your little friends who tried to lure you into the bog,” Elathan said close to her ear. “It is part of their punishment. They fear nothing more than open fire, for it can burn their delicate wings if they are not careful. I do not take it lightly if someone tries to kill what is mine, even if it is in their nature. They are vile little creatures.”
He shooed them away with a gesture of his hand, telling them something in his elven tongue. It sounded like a warning. Igraine guessed that it might be an old form of Gaelic, but softer and less guttural. His mesmerizing voice would have made any language sound like an alluring song. She loved just listening to him.
Igraine was surprised to find a pile of green, soft velvet cushions and blankets laid out before the fire. Elathan gently placed her down on the makeshift bed. When she looked at him, he smiled at her. “There are not only fairies who try to kill unknowing humans who stumble through their wood, Igraine. Some of them have very skillful little hands, and they love to make beautiful things … like this.”
He reached under a pillow and drew out a lovely dark red gown which shimmered golden where light fell upon it. It had wide sleeves that were slit up to the elbows, revealing golden brocade underneath. The long, flowing skirt was embroidered with tiny birds and flowers. With it came a girdle made of golden coins, each of them bearing the royal seal and a white, sleeveless chemise so thin it seemed to be made out of cobwebs. Speechless, Igraine held it into the light. The fabric was incredibly fine, yet it felt comfortably warm on her hands.
“How did you …?” she breathed, uncomprehendingly, while the elf sat down at her side.
“Bring you a new dress in the middle of the forest? I don’t know … with magic, perhaps?” he answered mockingly, one pale brow raised. Her joy about his present seemed to please him. He took a hand to her face and cupped her jaw, looking into her eyes. “It will suit you very well, sweet Igraine. But haven’t you forgotten something?” She felt her pulse quicken under his scrutinizing gaze.
“You forgot to thank your prince for his efforts, woman,” he murmured before he lowered his head to hers and placed a soft kiss on her lips, light as the touch of a feather. He deeply inhaled the scent of her skin, whispering “water lilies”, before he continued to kiss her chin, her cheeks and the tip of her nose, each sensitive lid of her closed eyes. Shortly he pressed his forehead to hers, and she heard his unspoken order in her mind.
Never try to leave me again, Igraine. I need you.
“I did not leave…” she breathed, but never finished the sentence because he claimed her lips with a fierce, hard kiss, letting her know what it had cost him when he had found her drowning in the pond, drifting peacefully towards her death. “Why didn’t you fight them with all your strength, Igraine?” he asked her, anger in his voice. “Why did you give up so easily? Is there no reason for you to live?”
His hands covered her shoulders, shaking her as his eyes burned with fury. “I shared my blood with you, made you mine forever,” he growled, his rugged breath proving how hard he struggled to control himself. “You will stay with me, Igraine. I forbid you to give up again, no matter what happens. Your fate is no longer your own choice. You are mine,” he finished, starting to kiss her again, his mouth taking hers recklessly. His tongue moved playfully over her lips until she opened up for him, licking teasingly at his upper lip. He groaned and sucked her into his mouth, playing with her until she could take no more and threw her arms around his neck, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him closer to her.
She didn’t even know how he had removed his tight pants and boots, but suddenly they were gone, his glorious naked body rising over hers while he eased her gently down to the silken pillows. His long fingers slid under the hem of his shirt that still covered her trembling body. Inch by inch, he pushed it up, over her hips and her tight belly until he bared her sweet, supple breasts, rosy nipples hardening under his gaze. His eyes went dark with desire. Quickly, he pulled the shirt over her head and carelessly threw it to the side.
“Mine,” the prince repeated admiringly, his deep voice husky. His hands cupped the twin mounds and pressed them together, raising them up to meet his lips as he lowered his head, his moonlight hair stroking her oversensitive, heated skin. Then his lips devoured one sensitive peak, kissing it first, his rough elven tongue circling it until she moaned with pleasure. He bit her very softly, making her cry out before he sucked her into his mouth as if he wanted to eat her alive.
He continued to cover her other breast with tender bites, his teeth grazing her skin ever so slightly. Igraine wriggled helplessly, wishing he would enter her hot, throbbing emptiness that yearned for him so desperately. His hand began to explore the soft lines of her waist and hip, slowly searching a way between her legs. Igraine writhed beneath him, eager to touch his skin. But the prince was in control now, lifting his body from her so she could not press herself against him. She moaned with frustration, spreading her thighs for him.
The elf chuckled. “So eager today, sweet Igraine? Let’s see how thankful you really are, little slave …” A long, sensitive finger glided over the inside of her thigh, moving up until he reached the core of her womanhood. He opened her tenderly, wetting his finger with her juices before he entered her slick channel, probing it. Igraine cried out and threw back her head, dark curls spilling over her naked shoulders.
“Well, you are a thankful wench indeed,” Elathan murmured, then hooked his finger into the soft swollen pad of flesh he felt inside there, pushing up gently. He smiled when he heard her surprised, lustful scream, demanding more of his sensual play. Kissing her, he inserted a second finger and repeated his upward movement, increasing the pressure while his thumb started to rub over her aching little bud in small circles. It made her scream again, so he rubbed her some more, moving his fingers inside her simultaneously.
“Mine,” he said for a third time, close to her lips.
Igraine convulsed so violently around his hand that he felt her inner muscles squeeze him hard, making it impossible for a moment to withdraw his fingers. He continued stroking her insides, intensifying her climax until she came again and again, waves of ecstasy rippling through her body.
She was still throbbing with one explosion after another when he moved away his hand and replaced it
with his long hard manhood. Holding her in his arms, he sheathed himself into her with one quick, graceful movement of his hips. Gently he raised his long fingers to her lips, offering her a taste of her own honey before he licked it off with a naughty smile. Moaning, she clenched around him when he started to move inside her. In and out he went, slowly first, but moving deeper and deeper into her before he pulled back again, only to enter her anew. Igraine molded herself to his magnificent body and met his mighty thrusts by pushing up against him, wanting him to go faster. Their bodies were in exquisite harmony with one another as they mated with equal passion.
When he heard her scream out his name, the prince lost all self-restraint and drove himself into her softness like a wild beast. He groaned with pleasure as he spilled himself, her tight inner muscles contracting around him while she found her final release. This time it was Igraine who bit her pale lover, marking the skin of his neck with her teeth in a raw act of possession.
“Mine,” she whispered into the silken mass of his hair. She didn’t see the amazed expression in Elathan’s eyes before he caught her in his strong embrace, making it impossible for her to ever leave him again.
Chapter 13: The Silence
It definitely felt good to sit by an open fire in the woods at night, leaning back against a warm male body. The elf had encircled her in the safety of his strong arms and held her tightly to him, feeding her pieces of roasted meat with his long, pale fingers. Now it seemed as if he was the slave serving her, not the other way around. Igraine sighed and closed her eyes while he cut another slice of the delicious meat into tiny morsels for her. It was so wonderful being cared for, just for once, when all her life she had been the one who sacrificed her own needs to help others, desperately wishing they would love her for it.
At first she had refused, having lost her appetite after her near-deadly encounter with the water nymphs completely. But Elathan had simply commanded her to eat. "You will need your strength later, believe me,” he had added with a wicked smile, although he didn’t manage to conceal the sorrow in his eyes every time he looked at her. Somehow, he still wasn't sure she was out of danger now.
Igraine was wearing only the thin chemise of the new clothes he had given her, but it was more than enough with an elven male’s heated skin warming her from behind and the fire in front of her. Once in a while his hand wandered under the light fabric, caressing softly over her thigh, the swell of her breasts. His warm breath grazed her ear, tickling the sensitive skin behind it until small shivers of pleasure ran down her spine.
He sat with his back against a tree, his head bowed slightly forward so his hair fell like a silver cascade over them both. She touched it very lightly at first, loved the feeling of the long tresses gliding over her hand. When she discovered that he didn’t mind, she began to entangle her fingers in it and played with the smooth strands, pulling at them for punishment whenever he said something to tease her. He did nothing to stop her; indeed he seemed to enjoy it, for he tilted his head to the side, towards her hand. She discovered some thin braids that tamed the heavy mass behind his pointed ears and decided she would plait them for him from now on. Surely an elven prince didn’t have to braid his hair by himself, so Igraine guessed that some helpful magic creatures were responsible for that. But she was his pleasure slave, after all, and wouldn’t ever let a little fairy near his hair again.
Her head was resting comfortably in the curve where his neck met his muscular chest. She breathed in the exciting scent of his skin which had become so familiar to her during the last days.
“Tell me a story,” she said, cuddling closer to him in front of the crackling fire.
The prince smiled sadly. “Those words. It has been a very long time since I heard them. My race is called Sidhe in my tongue, the fairy people. When I was a young lad at my father’s court, it was the throne heir’s duty as well as his prerogative to tell the stories of his people so they would never be lost. But it was only asked of me when my father held a great feast, for we also had bards and storytellers who preserved the old legends. A harper used to play while I told a tale. His music was so sad that all who listened began to cry … or laugh, when he chose to play a merry tune. I liked to think of him as one of Boand’s sons.”
When Igraine looked up at him questioningly, he explained, “Boand, the River Goddess. She bore her husband, the harpist, Uaithne, three sons. When Boand delivered her first child, it was a difficult birth and she cried out. To ease her pains, Uaithne played the harp at her bedside, and when his first son was born, he named him Goltrai after his mother’s cry. The birth of Boand’s second son was much easier and she laughed out loud for joy, and he was named Gentrai. The third time the River Goddess fell asleep to her husband’s song and gave birth to her last son, Suantrai. The sons all grew up to be great harpists like their father, and whoever heard their music cried, laughed or fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.” He smiled, staring into the fire. "When they played at the court of the king and queen of Connaught, twelve men died from crying and from sadness, the legend says.”
Igraine listened to his melodic voice weaving the old stories. It was like a beautiful medieval tapestry that came to life before her inner eye, making her able to see everything in rich detail. Perhaps this was part of his magic. She could easily imagine the young prince standing before the elven court, enchanting his listeners with the power of his voice alone.
“I’ll tell you the story of Fráech and Finnabair, sweet Igraine, for I am sure you will like it. Fraech was a handsome young man, the son of Idach, a human warrior, and Befinn, a Sidhe. Thus he belonged to both the human race and the fairy people. For years he lived without a wife, preferring the merry company of fifty sons of kings who lived in his household. But word spread that Finnabair, the golden-haired daughter of King Ailill and Queen Medb, had heard of his courage and beauty, so she was in love with the young warrior without ever having seen him. Fráech decided to seek her out and woo her. He went to his mother’s sister Boand, and the fairy people provided him with rich clothes for himself and his companions, and precious gifts to take to the stronghold Cruachan where fair Finnabair dwelled.
“He left for Cruachan with his amazing retinue of fifty warriors on horseback, seven horn-blowers, fifty hounds, three fools, three druids and three harpists of the highest rank, the same brothers I told you about, Boand’s sons. Fráech rode in front of them in his shimmering bronze wagon, repeatedly throwing up his spear high into the air and catching it before it fell down to the ground.”
Sighing, Igraine closed her eyes and listened to his captivating tale, playing with a strand of his hair while she relaxed against him. It seemed that she drifted in and out of sleep. Yet his voice seemed to reach her even in her dreams, for later she could remember everything he had said.
He told her how Fráech was received well by the king of Connaught, and that Queen Medb desired the young warrior for herself after having played chess with him on his golden board for three days and nights. When Fráech asked the harpist Goltrai to play, the queen cried like all others who heard his music, so she lost one game after the other until Fráech won twelve cows from her, but gallantly gave them back. But when Medb wanted to take him to her bed, he convinced her to listen to Suantrai's harping first, and the queen was lulled to sleep.
After two weeks of feasting, Fráech had still not seen young Finnabair so he went to the river early in the morning and found her there, washing her hands. She gave him a golden thumb ring she had received from her father, as a token of her love. Fráech kissed her three times before he let her return to her father's house.
Elathan continued, telling Igraine about the exorbitant bridal price King Ailill demanded of Fráech, who refused to pay it; how the king stole the ring out of the young warrior’s pocket and threw it into a pond in which he had asked Fráech to swim, wanting to get rid of him. The ring was swallowed by a salmon, which Fráech caught and hid at the water’s edge.
Then Ailill asked the
young warrior to dive in again and swim to the other side to fetch him a branch of a service tree from the far side, knowing that a beast lurked in the depths of the water. When it attacked Fráech, Finnabair followed him into the pond, bringing him his sword.
“Having killed the beast, Fráech was heavily wounded,” Elathan said at last. “One hundred and fifty elven maidens came to take him to his people, and the Sidhe healed him and brought him back the very next day. At a banquet, Ailill demanded the ring from his daughter Finnabair, threatening to kill her if she couldn’t find it. Fráech had ordered that the salmon should be served at the king’s table, so the ring was eventually found when Ailill cut it open. The king had promised that his daughter might marry whomever she wanted if she found the ring. Now he was obliged to agree to the marriage, but only as soon as Fráech could bring his large herd of cows to Cruachan. And Fráech accepted gladly, knowing that he had found his one true love.”
After he had finished his story, the prince watched the flames for a while, holding the woman sleeping at his chest as tightly as he could without waking her. Then he lay her softly down on the pillows and went to one of the huge old willow trees that stretched out their branches over the clearing. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead and hands to the trunk and began to whisper in his elven tongue, asking the father tree to give shelter to him and his human mate, whom he did not wish to sleep on the ground where too many dangers lurked.
The willow’s leaves trembled with excitement as the age-old magic ran through them. After a while, the living wood began to yield to the prince’s will, changing its form until a chamber began to evolve from the tree, high up in its crown. The chamber had an arched roof and a round door covered by a dense branch that lowered itself before the opening, shielding the elven dwelling from the cold night air. Short thick branches grew out of the trunk, leading around it in circles up to the chamber. They served as steps for the human, who couldn’t climb as well as her elven lover.
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