Oh, my, you are far gone, aren’t you? thought the old, cynical part of him that had always kept the world at a distance.
He finished the song, and everyone stopped clapping. For a few heartbeats, the hall was amazingly still. Then it erupted in wild cheers. Bridei stood, and with fingers that trembled slightly, placed the harp on the bench. He felt the warmth and adoration of the people wash over him. It felt good, yet different than usual. Along with pride of accomplishment, he experienced a deep sense of gratification that he’d been able to give them so much pleasure, and repay them for what they’d done for him.
As people came up to speak to him, he answered questions, showed off the harp and nodded graciously to their praises. He was aware of Dessia moving through the hall, mingling with her subjects. Now that the entertainment was over, people began to gather up their belongings and collect their children in preparation for going to bed. Bridei couldn’t help wondering where everyone was going to sleep. On a normal night, two dozen or so people slept in the hall. Tonight it would have to accommodate many more, with the rest bedding down in the stables, the barracks and what other shelters they could find.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bridei saw Penrick and Sarlic. He’d been meaning to speak with them ever since they arrived, but not under these circumstances. What he wanted to ask them must be done in private. They approached and talked with him briefly, Penrick commented on the design of his harp, which he said looked much like what Saxon performers used. Bridei managed to respond genially, despite his growing tension. He was desperate to speak to Dessia, to gaze into her eyes and see if he had a chance with her. It seemed she was avoiding him, but perhaps that was his imagination. She did have her duty as hostess. The other question looming in his mind was how they would ever manage to be alone. Would they have to find a secluded place outside the hillfort?
Finally, too restless to remain still any longer, he excused himself from the two traders and made his way through the press of people. Although he could see that many of them longed to talk to him, he kept moving, telling those few who persisted that he needed to use the midden. Once outside, he headed there quickly. As soon as he’d finished, he circled around to the cistern by the gate, moving stealthily in the darkness. He washed his hands and face, then removed his tunic and leine and splashed water on his upper body. Despite the chill of the air, he was sweating from nervousness.
He toweled off with the linen leine, then put it and his tunic back on again. After pacing the perimeter of the fortress for what seemed like an endless while, he started back to the hall.
* * *
Where was Bridei? The question haunted Dessia’s brain as she alternately paced in the tiny open area of her bedchamber, went to the window to look out at the darkness, then paced some more. It seemed a very long time since she’d seen him depart the hall. Had he left the hillfort, vanishing into the winter’s night? It almost seemed so. But where would he go? To the lake?
She wondered if she should go after him, then realized she couldn’t. Cahermara was crammed with people who were her guests. Unlike Bridei, she had responsibilities. She couldn’t go wandering off as the mood took her. The thought aroused a stab of resentment, but it was quickly replaced by fear. Where was he? Was he ever coming back?
Recalling his magical performance, she had the desperate thought that maybe he was some sort of supernatural being, and having set his spell on her, he’d vanished like a will o’ the wisp—here one moment, gone the next.
She clutched her hands together in dismay and let out a sigh. Clearly, she was tired and overwrought, or she wouldn’t entertain such a fanciful notion. The thing to do was undress and go to bed. There were a dozen things she must see to in the morning. It was witless to stay up and worry about Bridei. He was a grown man, and he’d survived a great deal already. And there was absolutely no reason to think he was one of the Fair Folk . . . no reason to think that such beings even existed.
With such stern, sensible thoughts in mind, she took off her shoes, then her jewelry, leaving it on the table for Aife to put away. She unfastened the lacing on her gown and pulled it over her head. Now that she wore only her shift, she realized how cold it was in the room and went to close the shutters. Returning to the table, she sat down on the stool and began to unplait the small braids around her face.
* * *
As he’d hoped, the torches had been quenched and only a faint glow from the hearth lit the interior as Bridei entered the hall. The mead and wine had done their work, and most people appeared to be asleep. He struggled to avoid stepping on anyone as he tiptoed around the edge of the hall to the stairs leading up to Dessia’s tower room. Reaching the stairs, he started up them, pausing to try to compose himself halfway up.
On the last few steps, he paused again. His heart drummed in his chest and his mouth was dry. What would he find when he reached her bedchamber? The answer to his dreams? Or bitter rejection?
* * *
The process of undoing her braids was tedious, and Dessia had begun to wish she’d asked Aife to stay and help her. But she’d shooed the maidservant off this night, telling her to enjoy herself with Keenan. She imagined them off in some private nook, cuddling and kissing. A terrible sense of emptiness came over her. Bridei was right. She’d given up everything for her grand goal of rebuilding Cahermara and holding on to her family’s lands, casting aside any chance for joy or pleasure in her life.
She glanced down at her hands, imagining them shrunken and spotted with age. Her hair, white. Her smooth skin, wrinkled and sagging. A lump formed in her throat as she contemplated herself many years hence. Proud, powerful Queen Dessia, now a dried-up, lonely old crone.
There was a sound on the stairs, and she stood, startled out of her reverie. Before she could even move, Bridei was there.
She looks so young and vulnerable, Bridei thought as he stared at her. Perhaps it was because her hair was unbound and small strands curled softly around her face. Or because she wore only her shift, and the thin garment revealed the womanly contours of her body. Or, perhaps it was her expression. Her eyes appeared dark and haunted and her lips were parted. In surprise? Invitation?
The old Bridei would have entered with assurance, but he felt tentative, uncertain. He bowed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, milady. I wanted to see you alone and could think of no other way.”
She nodded.
“The first song I sang, it was ... I wanted to ...” Here he was, a bard, and as tongue-tied as a green boy. “I hope it didn’t displease you,” he finally finished.
“Displease me? Nay,” she responded in a husky voice. “I thought it was beautiful.”
Bridei nodded, unsure how to continue. Did she understand what he felt for her? It had all been in the song. He felt his palms begin to sweat, and a part of him, watching from a distance, was incredulous. Don’t just stand there, you fool! Kiss her!
He took the two short steps that separated them and pulled her into his arms. Although he’d half-feared he wouldn’t know what to do next, as soon as their lips met, his doubts and anxieties fell away and he felt—as he had the first time he saw her—that if ever a woman had been made for him, this was her.
She tasted of wine and woman and her scent enveloped him like the most fragrant of flowers. He was consumed by desire, and they kissed and kissed as if they were starving for it. Her body was soft and yielding in his arms, and he thought how different this Dessia was from the fierce warrior queen he’d embraced in the past. He drew away to look at her face, to feast his gaze upon her coral lips and her mesmerizing green eyes. On her delicate nose and strong fine jaw, her elegant cheekbones and haughty brow, and her skin like pale pink dogwood petals. Grasping a strand of her thick wine-dark hair in his fingers, he again brought his mouth to hers, to drown in sweetness.
But drowning wasn’t enough. He wanted fire, to burn in her heated flesh. Kissing his way down her neck and shoulder, he cupped one full breast in his fingers and mouthed the nipple thr
ough the thin fabric of her shift. As she arched her back and moaned with need, he could barely stand it.
He drew back, trying to slow his racing heart and rein in his throbbing arousal. Unless he was very wrong, Dessia was a virgin. To make her first experience one of complete pleasure and delight, he must use all his skill and patience. But he found he could scarcely control himself. He felt like a raw youth, clumsy and brash with desire.
“What is it?” Dessia asked, gazing at him anxiously.
“I . . .” He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m afraid I’m going too fast.”
She stared at him. “What is it?” she said again. “Don’t you want me?”
He laughed weakly. “I want you too much. I’m afraid I won’t do it right.”
“Right?”
“Aye,” he answered, again feeling like a halfwit. “I want to make it good for you. The first time . . . can be uncomfortable for the woman. I need to make certain you’re ready.”
“I am ready. I feel I will die with it, I am so ready.” Her voice was raw and shaking and he saw from her heaving chest and flushed face that she meant her words.
He took her hands gently. “I have to warn you. I won’t be able to stop, once we begin.”
“And you think I will?” Her expression was incredulous.
“I know you think you understand what it’s like, but since you haven’t yet experienced lovemaking, you can’t really know how you’ll feel.”
“I know this . . .” she whispered. “I know I will die for certes if you don’t kiss me now!”
It was an order, and he felt himself smiling as he pulled her into his arms and leaned down to caress her mouth with his. Aye, she was untried maid, but she was also a queen. Thus commanded, he could do naught but obey.
He’d barely begun to kiss her again, exploring her lips and teaching her the way tongues could touch and caress, when she shoved him away, pulled her shift over her head and jerked it off. The breath seemed to leave his body as he looked at her. She was ravishing. A goddess. Voluptuous, yet lean and strong. Her legs seemed impossibly long. Her breasts, full, rounded and delicious. And the contrast between the delicate pallor of her skin and the fiery color of her maiden hair . . . Desire scorched him, incinerating the last of his control.
He pulled her near and began kissing her again. His hands caressed her body, exploring the silky skin of her bare shoulders. Down her long, slender back to the firm, plush flesh of her buttocks. He squeezed them with both hands, pressing her pelvis against his erection. She moaned into his mouth and writhed against him, then moved her hands from his shoulders to under his tunic and across his chest. Her fingers stroked him, tantalizing and greedy.
Dessia felt desperate, out of control. She wanted Bridei naked. Wanted to see him as he’d seen her. His kisses inflamed her, making her want more, so much more. To be naked against him. She pulled away, begging, “Please. Take your clothes off. I can wait no longer.”
She watched as he took a deep breath, the pupils of his eyes huge, the dark hunger in them swallowing her. He went to the bed and sat down. First, he removed his boots, then his tunic. As he stood and undid his trews, she stared at his naked chest. She hadn’t seen him like this since the day he’d arrived and she’d watched him washing himself at the cistern. As she had been then, she was awestruck by his beauty, the graceful lines of his body. Broad, well-muscled shoulders. Lean chest with a sprinkling of dark hair. Narrow waist and flat belly.
He let his trews fall and stepped out of them. Dessia stared some more, her mouth dry. She knew what men looked like naked. Knew also, from seeing livestock, that the male’s phallus enlarged before mating. Even so, she was unprepared for the sight of his bold, jutting erection. He looked at her and smiled. “Aye, I am well endowed, milady. All the better to please you.”
She nodded, feeling slightly unnerved. He approached her, completely naked, as she was. Pulling her into his arms again, he began to kiss her, and her unease vanished. She knew nothing except the feel of his bare skin against hers. The pressure of his erection against her belly. The inflaming things he did with his mouth and teeth and tongue. All of it combined seemed to drive her to madness. She felt restless and dissatisfied, and she moaned and gasped and ground her body against his. Holding her tight against him, he pulled her toward the bed. The next moment she was lying down upon it and he was on top of her. His kisses moved from her mouth to her neck, then he licked her ear. She felt his hot breath like a jolt of lightning. As he tongued her nipple, she quivered and whimpered her pleasure, clutching him tightly, her fingers twined in his hair. The fire built inside her. A great blaze, ready to consume them both. At last he touched her where she most desired it, his fingers cool against the aching, swollen flesh between her thighs. “Oh, please!” she moaned.
“Aye, soon enough,” he whispered back.
If only she knew how tenuous his control was, thought Bridei. How close he was to forgetting everything he’d learned about women and thrusting into her hard and deep. But some lingering remnant of reason kept him in check. She was a maid, and he would not ravish her, no matter how much she begged.
He shifted his body lower, still stroking her, opening her with gentle fingers. She cried out as he bent down and brought his lips to her sweet quim. He held her hips still with his hands as he laved her silken folds with his tongue. His whole body was trembling with his own need and longing, and when she cried out again and her body shook with her release, his restraint shattered. Moving upward, he pushed into her with one quick thrust. She gave a gasping moan and he went still. The feel of her tight flesh around him was near unbearable. He felt as if he stood teetering on the edge of a cliff; one tiny movement and he would go tumbling over. Gasping, he began to move with slow, rhythmic strokes.
Dessia felt waves of pleasure rock her. There was pain, too, but it was so entwined with the other amazing sensations that it didn’t matter. She was near mindless with it all. Drowning in a deep, unknown sea. It felt as if he were a part of her, as if his flesh had melded to hers. She breathed his scent and clutched his muscled arms, iron hard as he braced himself over her and moved inside her. Her lower body convulsed and shuddered. She arched her hips and reached to meet him, feeling each thrust like a tingling caress of her soul.
Pressure built inside her. She reached for the rainbow of ecstasy lingering just beyond her grasp and came away with a pulsing, fiery shower of stars. Following the stars down, she reached the earth as her lover collapsed upon her.
Tears filled her eyes. Tears of awe, amazement and tenderness. Although their bodies were no longer joined, their spirits still seemed close. She stroked her fingers through his hair and knew that her life would never be the same again. At the thought, she felt a pang of fear and wondered what she’d done.
Bridei rolled away to lie on his back and waited for the usual sense of contentment to wash over him. It was there, but buried beneath another emotion, something akin to panic. You won’t be able to walk away now, a voice in his mind warned. He felt very different than he usually did after lovemaking. Not triumphant and self-satisfied, but shaken. Dessia was no ordinary woman, and what they’d shared was far different from his usual experiences. Always before, even at the moment of climax, his mind remained detached. No matter how good it felt, how lovely the woman, a part of him always seemed to be watching from a distance. But with Dessia, all of him had made love to her. Flesh, spirit and even the dark, brooding shadow self that followed him everywhere.
Dessia got up and went to the table. Pouring some water into a basin, she began to wash herself. Bridei watched her, trying to think of something light and easy to say. But the sight of her nakedness seemed to render him tongue-tied. She was so beautiful; he could lie here forever and stare at her.
Having finished her ablutions, she went to the other side of the table and poured them each a cup of wine from the ewer there. She carried the cups back to the bed and handed him one. A teasing comment came to mind�
�that he certainly deserved a drink after all his exertions—but he couldn’t seem to get his lips to form the words.
Dessia sat on the side of the bed and drank her wine. After a few moments, she got up, placed the wine cup on the table, and went to retrieve her shift. As she started to put it on, he called out, “Nay!” She looked at him uncertainly.
“If you’re cold, come back to bed.” He got out of bed and set his wine cup on the table next to hers. Then he returned to the bed and pulled the blankets aside, motioning for her to join him. She slid in next to him and he spread the blankets over them both. For a brief moment, they lay there stiffly. Then he drew her near, cuddling her against his chest. He nuzzled her hair. The faint scent of herbs from the water she washed it with mingled with her own warm, sweet fragrance. He sighed.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he muttered back.
“Is this what you do—after?”
Aye. I have to rest, or I won’t be able to pleasure you again.”
“There’s more?” He heard the incredulous note in her voice.
“Aye. There’s more.” A grin formed on his mouth. How little Dessia knew about what men and women could share.
He tried to relax and sleep but was unable to do so, which surprised him. He was used to taking his pleasure and then going to sleep. Some women found it aggravating, and but it was the way he was. He’d learned when he was a slave how to block out everything and escape into the oblivion of sleep, but now the ability failed him. Perhaps it was because he was so intensely aware of the woman in his arms. Another surprise. Usually, as soon as he bedded a woman, he began to lose interest. But, if anything, he wanted Dessia more than ever.
And it wasn’t lust. His body remained satisfied, and his weary muscles longed for rest. It was another part of him that sought to stay awake and savor this moment. Was that what Dessia was doing? For she was surely awake as well. He could sense the tension in her body and her breathing hadn’t taken on the deep, even rhythm of slumber.
The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) Page 15