Elathan worked his magic into the tree until his deed was done, then he whispered a few thankful words. The willow trembled one last time before it stood still again, as it had for centuries. Quickly Elathan retrieved the silken pillows and blankets from the forest floor and climbed up the tree to lay them down in the chamber, not needing them himself but knowing that Igraine would enjoy their comfort. He jumped down from the highest branch, whirling through the air several times until he landed softly on his feet like a cat, laughing with joy.
Before he picked up Igraine from the ground and carried her to their new home, the prince stood in the middle of the clearing, motionless like a statue. Deeply inhaling the earthy scent of the forest, he listened to the sounds of little animals rustling through the greenery, eager to take in all signs of life his keen senses noticed.
Finally, he was home.
* * * * *
Igraine dreamt of days long gone.
She imagined herself standing on the battlement of an ancient Irish castle and watching the impressive wedding procession travelling along the muddy road leading to the stronghold. They just had reached the plain of Cruachan. She couldn’t believe that all this splendor was meant just for her, that he had actually come to win her heart.
Igraine looked down at herself, wearing a sumptuous gown of crimson velvet, embroidered with golden flowers. Her hair was braided, the long plaits hanging down to her waist. When she touched it, she felt the metal band over her brow, made of heavy silver. It was obvious that she was dressed to show off her beauty as befitted a royal bride.
It was just like in Elathan’s story, but she saw the scene in astonishing detail, more than he had told her; the fifty young warriors, wearing white tunics and dark-blue hooded cloaks, each one of them adorned with golden rings and brooches of red gold, carrying gold-hilted swords, silver shields and royal golden candles in their hands, tipped with precious gemstones that shone like the rays of the sun. Even their gentle gray horses wore plates of silver with little bells of gold around their necks, whose melodic ringing filled the air.
Horn-blowers rode in front of the procession, announcing the arrival of the noble suitor who had come to woo his princess. Between the lines of riders, three druids clad in long white robes went along, holding boughs of white-blooming holly, moving it through the air as a sign of male energy and protection.
A tall, burly man walked with seven chase-hounds leashed with chains of silver. Three jesters followed him, jumping around and joking with the awed villagers who stood along the roadside, watching the spectacle. After them, three young men caught her eye; the bronze wagon which followed them, bearing their richly adorned instruments, indicated that they were the harp-players, the river goddess’s sons. Their regal demeanor was distinctive, and there was an otherworldly beauty in their half-elvish faces. They wore their fair hair in thin braids as the Sidhe did.
Igraine’s eyes searched the crowd for a sign of her bridegroom, she had expected him to ride at the front. But there was no one standing out from the others, and she wondered if he would arrive separately. Lost in her thoughts, she simply stared at the wondrous parade crossing the plain until it reached the outskirts of the castle.
There the hounds were let loose, and they darted off to hunt some game to bring to the king’s banqueting table. All the riders but one dismounted. The last warrior raised his head, looking straight up to the battlements where Igraine stood. She gasped when she saw him and his unmistakable elven features, the high cheekbones, pale skin and dark-rimmed eyes. When he threw off his hood and cloak, his long, untamed mane fell freely over his shoulders, shimmering like polished silver in the soft evening sunlight.
They called him the Warrior of the Sun. But as she watched him, the name didn't seem appropriate to her.
The moon, she thought. The stranger looked like the glorious male offspring of the moon. His dark-golden eyes caught hers in an instant, briefly resting on her face before a smile spread across his sensuous lips. It wasn’t a gentle smile to greet her. It was an expression of triumph and of a possessor’s pride, telling her she already belonged to him. But at the same time she saw open desire in his eyes, so raw and blatant she felt her knees go weak. She took hold of the parapet with one hand and tried to calm herself, while the beating of her own heart sounded like thunder in her ears.
My Prince. In disbelief, Igraine watched as he slowly raised his gloved hand and laid it on his broad chest, right over his heart. To her astonishment, he bowed his head, acknowledging her as his bride. A roguish smile softened his hardened warrior’s face and his beauty was so overwhelming that she forgot how to breathe for a moment. Right then she wanted him for herself, desired him with an intensity that made her body tremble. He will be mine, she thought.
The prince wore only chainmail under his ivory tunic, having discarded the heavier armor for the long ride. His eyes never left hers as he dismounted with predatory grace. Doubtless he intended to head for the castle entrance to pay his respect to the king and queen before he would claim the prize he had come for.
She was so deeply lost in his eyes that she didn’t notice at once how their expression changed, the golden glance wavering for the first time. Bewildered, he lowered his head and looked down to his chest, where a long arrow had penetrated his mail and pierced his heart; his garnet-colored blood streaming out of the wound and stained his tunic. He placed his hand there again, the gesture a cruel imitation of his gallantry just a moment before.
Igraine heard a woman’s agonized screams echoing over the battlements. She didn't realize that they were her own. Horrified, she saw that the prince began to stagger, slowly losing his proud posture. She lifted the seam of her gown and ran, faster and faster, down the endless steps of the watchtower, until she finally reached the inner ward. Then she raced through the two gates, already opened for the prince and his company. She did not care at all if she behaved like a princess should.
Breathlessly, she crossed the bridge and reached the lawn. The warriors had assembled around their dying prince who knelt on the soft green grass, head bowed and eyes closed as if he was in deep prayer. His pale mass of hair covered most of his face, and there couldn't be much life left in him. Yet he stubbornly refused to fall down and held himself upright while his blood was running along the arrow shaft, slowly dripping down like a sacrifice to the gods of the earth.
Furiously screaming at the tall warriors who hardly noticed her, she elbowed her way through to the prince. After one of his guards had broken off the arrow, she knelt down before her betrothed, looking into his handsome face. When he raised his amber eyes to hers, she stretched out her hand and carefully touched his chest, wishing that her fingertips had the power to heal him. Desperately she wished that she could rip this deadly arrow out of his heart and pierce her own with it, if she could only save his life. But it was too late.
“My Prince,” she whispered, surprised that he had heard her, for he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly. “Don’t leave me. I need you.” Her words sounded strange in her own ears. It was as if she had heard them before, spoken by another voice, in another time, but she couldn't bring herself to remember.
His only answer was a regretful smile, and the color of his eyes deepened with emotion. Then he began to slump forward, his dying heart winning over his iron will at last. Quickly she opened her arms and caught him, supporting him with her body so he stayed on his knees. She wouldn’t allow him to lie down now. Crying, she held him close to her, ignoring the growing pain, the burden of his heavy weight that crushed her down.
“You will not fall, my Lord. I am with you,” she whispered in his ear, not even knowing if he heard her.
The dying prince and his bride were a sight to behold. Cheated of their wedding night, they knelt under the fading light of the sinking sun, enclosed in each other’s arms. The princess held him upright, unyielding, while his heart’s blood spread over her lovely wedding gown, coloring the red velvet to a deeper crimson. She h
eld him tightly, again and again telling him that he would not fall, while she sensed every single shiver running through his body. Knowing she couldn’t cause him any more pain now, she pressed herself closer to him. She felt the beating of his heart as if it was her own, slower, slower, then one last time until it finally stood still.
When she heard a woman’s breathless sobbing, again she wondered where it came from, for silence had fallen over the field like a thick black cloud, suffocating every other sound.
Chapter 14: Bound
Darkness surrounded her. It was a comforting, merciful darkness, making her blind so she couldn’t see his empty eyes, staring lifelessly over her shoulder while she held him. Still entangled in her dream, she realized that his weight was gone now, and she didn’t feel him leaning heavily on her body anymore. She had lost him.
Igraine sensed that she was lying on a soft surface, but when she tried to sit up something hindered her, forcing her to stay down. She began to struggle against the unknown presence that held her imprisoned, crying helplessly like a child while the pain washed over her like a wave. But then she felt the warmth of the strong arms that were holding her pinned to the ground, pulling her backwards until she lay molded to a large male body. A deep low voice murmured soothing words into her ear. Although she didn’t understand their meaning, they calmed her, and she lay still at least, sobbing.
“Wake up, Igraine,” Elathan said. Hugging her close, he turned her gently in his arms until she faced him. “I am here. Look at me.” He felt her unbearable pain, her fear, but didn’t know the reason. A simple nightmare would never cause this amount of distress.
Reluctantly she opened her eyes, unable to say if she was still dreaming. It was impossible. He had just died in her arms, she had been with him until the end. But it was his voice, his scent, his body, so warm and alive. “Come back to me, mo ghrá.”
My love. He had used the endearment without thinking about it. But why? She was only a human slave, even if they had shared their blood. They were as close as elf and human could ever get. Usually a royal prince chose a female amongst his elven peers. He should not even think about her unless he needed her body to satisfy his carnal needs. Suddenly he remembered his words when he had found her half-dead in the pond, murmuring that he loved her.
This was ridiculous. He was no youngster at the king’s court anymore, seeing a beautiful female and thinking himself to be ‘in love’ with her. Surely it had been caused by his shock when he found her drifting in the water, nearly dead, so soon after he had sworn to protect her.
He had only let Igraine out of his sight for a few moments, and she had so easily managed to run into three of the most dangerous creatures inhabiting the forest - the water nymphs -who didn’t cope very well with female competition, especially when it came to him. Well, there had been a few very enjoyable encounters with them, but it had been centuries ago. It lay in their nature to be possessive, and he hadn’t minded until they had tried to kill what was his. He drew back his lips into a sneer. He would show no mercy with the surviving two nymphs if they ever dared to cross his way again.
Igraine overcame her lethargy and began to believe that he was real. “Elathan,” she breathed. “I thought you were dead.” Tears still streaming over her face, she reached out to him and touched his high forehead, feeling his scars before she traced the length of his straight, aristocratic nose. Her fingertips paused on his lips, feeling his warm breath that quickened when she put a finger into his mouth to meet the tip of his tongue. He bit her softly, so she retrieved her finger, but he caught her hand in his and raised her palm to his lips, kissing it. Then his tongue started to draw little circles there, a touch so intimate she felt it running down to the most sensitive spot at the juncture of her thighs, making her ache for him.
“Alive,” she said, closing her eyes as he continued with his erotic game on her hand, his tongue flickering over the sensitive inside of her wrist where her pulse was racing. “It was only a dream. You are alive.”
“I am, woman,” he murmured as he kissed and licked his way up along the delicate flesh of her inner arm. “And I will prove it to you.”
Without warning her, he grabbed her around the waist and sat up, leaning his back against the wooden wall of the chamber. He placed her right on his lap so she straddled him. His hands pushed up her thin chemise over her hips so her hot, throbbing flesh brushed against his groin, hardly tamed by the light elven fabric of his trousers. He covered her seductive backside with both his hands and pressed her hard against him so she felt his enormous arousal, showing her that this particular elf was very much alive. Igraine moaned while he wrapped a handful of her hair around his fist and pulled her head back.
“Look at me,” he ordered, and she opened her eyes, devouring the glorious sight of him in the gloomy chamber.
“My prince,” she whispered.
“I do not know what your nightmare was about, but I can feel your fear, Igraine. Your dream is gone now. I am here with you, and I forbid you to think about it anymore.”
“I can’t,” she answered softly. “It was too real. I can still see it before my eyes.”
“Then share it with me.” He placed his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her to him, touching her forehead with his. Her pain shook him to the core while he explored her thoughts, reliving what she had seen in her dream. His own death, while she held him in her arms, drenched in his blood, comforting him. If I were to die, I wanted to be with no one else but her, a voice in his head whispered before he could stop it.
Her imagination was astonishing for a human; he had never known a mortal woman with her visionary abilities. It was possible that she was gifted with second sight. She even had seen details not mentioned in his story, so she had found a way to enter his mind without knowing it. He felt a spark of magic in her, as if joining their blood had awakened something that had slept deep inside her soul; some of his powers had clearly devolved to her. He had not heard of such a strong bond between elf and human before, and it fascinated him.
Determined to make her forget, he let his strength flow into her; his mind whispering soothing words in her head while he took away the pain that tortured her and embraced it, making it his. Again he felt the depth of their connection. It was more than the bond between elven master and human slave. So much more.
Igraine felt her pain melt away, knowing that the prince now bore it in his heart along with his own, enduring it for her. Enough, elf, her mind told him. I am stronger than you think. But he continued, ignoring her. She felt his skin grow cooler against hers. It seemed that he, too, had to pay a price for the exceptional bond they shared. A shiver ran down her spine.
She had the sudden urge to revive him, wanted to feel alive herself again. Abruptly, she lifted her head, breaking the mental connection between them. Before he could command her to do otherwise, she quickly bit into the side of his neck, grinning triumphantly when the elven warrior winced, surprised by her, a lowly human. Then she remembered something, and she moved her hands to his waist.
The elf took a sharp breath when she started to tickle him, trying to escape her tormenting little fingers. But she continued mercilessly, liking the sound of his deep chuckle. When she started to rub her nails over his ribs, he began to laugh aloud, the cheerful sound of his voice rumbling through the room. She didn’t know that the trees outside rustled slightly with their leaves. Even they were astonished by the sound of their master’s laughter, which hadn’t been heard in this wood for centuries. It was an expression of sheer joy, and Igraine loved it, tickling him more earnestly now. He grabbed her arms and bent them behind her back, holding her wrists together with his large hands so she couldn’t reach him anymore.
For the first time she noticed that he was leaning against a solid wooden wall. “Where are we?” she asked breathlessly.
“I thought you’d never ask, wench. This is our new tree-house. I made it for you,” he remarked dryly.
A wide smile sprea
d across her face, when she understood the meaning of his words. For you, he had said. I made it for you. She wanted to question him about it, but then he looked down into her face to scold her for the disrespectful manner with which she’d treated a prince. When their eyes met, all laughter and mocking was gone. The elf’s eyes turned darker, looking like liquid fire now. Slowly he lowered his head and rubbed his face against her neck, as if he wanted to leave his scent on her, to mark her as his own. Then his dark lips took possession of her mouth and played with her for a while, suckling and biting softly but not touching her with his tongue. Igraine struggled to free her arms. She wanted to touch him, feel the hard muscles under his marble skin. But the prince grasped her wrists with only one hand now; leaving her helpless while his other hand opened his belt and impatiently ripped the trousers from his body. Her breath came in ragged gasps when she felt his hot, rigid flesh against her damp folds, ready to enter her.
As his mouth wandered deeper, leaving a searing trail over her neck and throat, she turned her head slightly and placed a soft, feather-light kiss on his ear. Elathan paused and went rigid against her, a shiver running through his tall body. Igraine wondered about his reaction, then continued to explore his ear with her lips, gently tugging on the lobe, biting it just a bit.
A deep groan answered her, and sharp elven teeth grazed her shoulder in protest. His breathing seemed to be heavier now. The elf rubbed his proud shaft against the moist, slippery cleft between her thighs. Slowly he pulled down the chemise over her upper arms and exposed her breasts while she licked her way up to the pointed tip of his ear. Once there, she kissed this interesting part of his anatomy before she sucked it between her lips, encircling it with her tongue. He shuddered visibly.
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