“He should be back before the babe is born, at least. He and Eastra visit several times a year, even though they make their home in Londinium now.”
Bridei struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. “What do you mean? I thought . . . the battle of Camboglanna . . . they said it was a rout. I presumed . . . I presumed Rhun had been killed along with Arthur.”
His mother shook her head. “Nay. Rhun is fine. In fact, he’s prospered since the Saxons took control. He's largely responsible for the fact that everything hasn’t fallen into complete disorder and confusion in the East. Rhun is able to see both sides and negotiate between the British chieftains and the Saxons.”
“Aye, he would be good at that,” Bridei said, feeling a sense of wonder . . . and relief. He’d always cared a great deal for his much older half-brother, although he’d been loathe to admit it, even to himself. Now that he’d found Dessia, it was also easier for him to understand Rhun and why he cared so passionately about things.
“So . . . you still haven’t told me about yourself. Ten years is a long time, my son. You were only a boy when you left here. I still grieve over that, as does your father. He should never have sent you away. Rhun said you always pretend to be carefree and easy-going, but that underneath he sensed you were very bitter and angry, especially at your father. He feared you endured some awful things after you left here, and that’s what had made you act like that.”
His mother’s words struck too close to the truth. He wouldn’t distress her by telling her what had happened to him. It was all in the past, anyway. “I suppose there have been times I felt bitter, especially towards my father, but I’m a new man now. Since I met Dessia, I’ve come to look at things altogether differently.” He glanced at Dessia fondly. “She’s suffered much more than I have, yet she never lost her courage nor her commitment to her cause. She’s a queen, Mother, in every way. Proud, strong and as capable as any man.”
“She also appears to love you deeply, which is all that matters to me,” said his mother.
“I hope so. For I love her with all my being. And I feel certain we are meant to be together. I’ve felt that way since soon after I met her. Indeed, I’ve had visions of her and me. I think I must have inherited some of your gifts. I’ve had several visions in the past few months, all of them involving Dessia. Even more amazing, I was actually able to call down a storm and save myself from being drowned by slavers.”
“Slavers?” His mother’s eyes widened. “However did you end up in the hands of slavers?”
“As Rhun probably told you, before the battle of Camboglanna, I headed north to the land of your people, the Brigantes. While I was there ...”
He had no trouble telling his mother this part of the tale. It was the earlier part of his life he didn’t want to reveal to her. He knew it would grieve her to think he’d suffered such degradation. But the story of his life in Ireland was full of joy and magic. He told her how stunned he’d been when he’d first met Dessia, how impressed he was with her beauty and cool authority.
Then he told his mother about Dessia’s life. How she’d survived the attack that killed the rest of her family. How she’d learned to fight and gathered together men still loyal to her father and with their help, reclaimed her family’s lands. How she’d rebuilt Cahermara, this time in stone, so it would be easier to defend. He also told about the enchanted forest where she’d taken refuge as a girl and how he’d followed her there soon after arriving at Cahermara. And how when he held her in his arms in that ancient, sacred place, he’d known it was his destiny to fall in love with her.
As he spoke, his mother smiled, and watched him in that tender, knowing way of hers. Just being near her had made him feel better about things, and it shocked him to think he’d let his pride stop him from coming home for all these years. Only someone very foolish would do such a thing. But he’d behaved foolishly for a good share of his life. He could see that now. Being in love had changed him and made him understand what was really important.
He was telling his mother in more detail about how he’d rescued Dessia, when his father interrupted. “Bridei, your lady friend appears tired. I think you should take her to the guest chamber now. You’ll have time to talk with your mother tomorrow.”
“Aye. Of course.” Bridei got to his feet, but before he could reach Dessia, his father had helped her from her chair. Maelgwn bowed to Dessia. “Goodnight, my lady. Sleep well.”
She bowed back. Bridei took her arm and started to lead her off the dais. “Goodnight . . . my son,” Maelgwn called out.
An older woman servant led them out of the hall. Bridei struggled to remember the woman’s name. Hywel . . . Hefina . . . something like that. She was married to one of his father’s men. He couldn’t remember the man’s name either . . . He was still puzzling on the matter when they reached the guest bedchamber.
As they entered and he glanced around, Dessia said, “Bridei? Bridei, have you been listening to me?”
“Of course.” He focused his attention on her.
“Then what did I say just now?”
“Ummm . . . I don’t know.”
“Ah, so you weren’t listening.” She raised her brows. “I suppose I should get used to it. I remember my mother saying that men never listen to women.”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said, I think there’s hope your father will warm to you after all.”
“Why? What makes you think that?”
“The way he said goodnight to you. The way he looked at you. For a moment, the mask he wears . . . the fearless visage of the powerful, formidable king . . .” She raised her eyebrows again in a look of exasperation. “For a moment it slipped away and I swear I saw yearning in his eyes. And perhaps even regret.”
Bridei snorted. “I think you’ve had too much wine and you’re imagining things. The only time my father’s expression warms is when he looks at my mother. And . . . my sisters. Although that was years ago. They might have done something to earn his animosity by now.”
“Nay. I saw the way he looked at you as we left the hall. He’s just too proud to reveal to you what he feels. At least for now. But give him time.”
“That’s what my mother says.”
“Anyway.” Dessia turned to look at the room. “I’m so happy to be here, to finally feel safe. And certainly I couldn’t ask for a more luxurious place to spend the night.” She gazed around the room, astounded by the extravagance of the furnishings. The room was almost as opulent as Conla’s guest chamber. Thick colorful rugs covered the floor, and a glowing brazier sent toasty warmth into the room. Dessia gazed longingly at the huge carved wooden bed covered with a beautiful plaid blanket in shades of red and blue. And then she noticed the tapestry hanging above the bed. She drew nearer to examine it, marveling at the forest scene it portrayed. Among the thicket of swirling green threads, she spotted the golden blaze of a small fox, a shy doe hidden behind a thorn bush and a multitude of birds, so detailed that she could almost see their feathers. “It’s so . . . real,” she said, “so alive.”
“My mother’s work,” said Bridei
“It must have taken her months, nay years, to create such a thing.”
“Perhaps months, aye. But she loves it. She oversees every detail, from the dyeing of the wool to the spinning of the thread, to weaving the background cloth. Then she sits down at her table in her workroom with needle and thread, and creates a world as vivid as any tale I might tell. Indeed, her tapestries are very like tales. You were too probably too distracted in the hall to notice, but there’s one on the far wall that tells the story of her and my father’s life together. I’ll have to show you sometime.”
“To someone who can barely wield a needle well enough to hem a gown, her skill is awe-inspiring.”
Bridei widened his eyes at her. “You can’t sew? I’m horrified. What sort of wife will you make?”
She poked him playfully in the chest. “I can’t wield a needle, but
I wield a sword well enough. That’s a much more valuable skill for a queen than sewing.”
“Oh, aye, it is.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. “We’re even then. My abilities with a sword are limited, which some would say doesn’t make me much of a man. But I try to make up for that lack with my other gifts.”
“Oh, aye, your other gifts.” She pressed herself against him, smiling teasingly. Bridei kissed her deeply, then nuzzled her neck. Dessia felt her body responding. Her nipples tingled and her lower body filled with a melting heat that made her legs weak. She let out a sigh of pleasure, all thoughts of sewing, swordplay and everything else vanishing from her mind. “It’s so warm in here,” she whispered.
“Aye. Perhaps we should remove our clothing,” Bridei responded, his voice husky.
He released her and Dessia hurried to undress. She felt breathless with desire as she stripped off her cloak, then started on her gown, shift, shoes and stockings. In moments she stood naked before him. He’d removed his tunics and shoes and was now unfastening the leather tie holding up his trews. Finally undoing the knot, he let them fall. Dessia let out her breath in anticipation. It had been so very long since she’d seen him completely naked. He was so beautiful. So perfectly, tantalizingly male.
“Do you like what you see?” he whispered.
“Oh, aye,” she murmured. “Speaking of gifts,” she added in a throaty voice as she stared pointedly at his up-thrust manhood. He smiled one of his beguiling smiles, then approached her and guided her hands to his phallus. Dessia sighed with delight. It felt so wonderful to touch him. To feel silky warm skin overlaying firm, solid flesh. She cupped the soft tip, and daring thought came to her. It had almost undone her to have him kiss and tongue her nether parts. Why could she not do the same to him?
Kneeling down on the plush rug, she brought his heated flesh to her mouth. She licked the flushed engorged tip. He tasted warm and alive, faintly sweet. Intrigued, she took him in her mouth. Just the tip at first, then, closing her eyes, she drew him deeper. He filled her mouth with a delightful and tantalizing sensuality, and she sucked upon him as if he were a ripe fruit full of juice. Hearing his gasp, she leaned back so only the tip of his manhood was in her mouth, then opened her eyes and gazed up at him. His eyes were closed; his face wore an almost agonized expression. Yet it was not pain he felt, she knew, but pleasure so intense he struggled to endure it.
She swallowed more of him, entranced with her sense of power. Now it he who was in was thrall to her. He who was helpless.
She cupped his ballocks gently and drew as much of him into her mouth as possible, enjoying weight and pressure against sensitive skin. He filled her to bursting, satisfying her in a way she had not known she yearned for. Slowly, she drew back until the tip of his phallus was like a ripe succulent plum between her lips. Opening her mouth wider, she grazed him with her teeth, then sucked hard. She heard him moan. His fingers grasped her hair and he eased her away from him. “By the Goddess, but you torture me!”
“Don’t you like it?” she whispered.
“Aye, I like it. If I liked it anymore I’d expire from sheer pleasure!” When she tilted her head and smiled teasingly, he murmured, “Oh, you are a sorceress. And I’m your helpless victim, ensnared in your spell.”
Their eyes met. Dessia felt she could drown in the depths of his gaze, like the darkest midnight sky. “I love you,” she whispered.
“And I love you, cariad.”
“Show me. Make love to me.” Her voice was pleading. She was wrong; she could never have power over this man. Even when she pleasured him, it only inflamed her own desire.
He drew her near and whispered into her hair, “Ah, my darling, I thought you would never ask.”
He held her against him, cupping her buttocks, then sliding his fingers down to the wet, aching flesh between her legs. Lightly, he caressed her, until she sighed and shivered and her legs seemed too weak to hold her. As she swayed against him, he wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted her. Still holding her, he carried her over to the bed and sat her down on the edge of the straw mattress. Before she could lie down, he grabbed her splayed thighs and pulled her toward him, impaling her on his engorged cock.
Overcome by the sensation, she let out a half-scream.
“Hush, sweeting,” he murmured against her hair. “You don’t want anyone to think I’m hurting you.”
“Oh . . . my . . . ohhhh!” She gave another wordless moan. She felt as if she were being rent asunder. His erection was huge, so deep within her that she felt as if he possessed her very essence. As he began to move, she was carried away on a giant wave of pulsing pleasure until her body surged into an explosive peak.
He held her tight, his sweaty face pressed against her shoulder, his breathing labored. She felt a choking rush of love. He was so dear to her, so precious. This beautiful, glorious and magical bard. Oh, how she loved him.
“I guess you liked that,” he said as he caught his breath.
“You could say that,” she said with a half laugh. “How many more delightful ways are there for a man and a woman to make love?”
“At least a dozen,” he said. “Well, perhaps there’s more, but that’s all I’ve tried.”
“And how many women have you tried these things with?”
He disengaged himself from her and lay on his back beside her. “There are some things that are better not discussed. Just consider how fortunate you are that I learned so much before I met you.”
“That’s true, I suppose. But I can’t help wondering about all the other women you’ve pleasured.”
He shook his head. “Don’t wonder. I may have given other women pleasure, but I never gave any of them my heart. You’re the first, and last, woman to ever get this close to me.”
“Do you regret it?” she couldn’t help asking. “Do you wish you hadn’t fallen in love with me?”
“I didn’t get to choose. The gods chose for me, when they answered my plea and sent the storm that brought me to the shores of your lands.”
“You believe the gods sent you there?”
“Aye. When I first lay eyes upon you, I was beguiled. And then, when I held you in arms in the Forest of Mist, I knew there could be no other woman for me.” He smiled. “I worried when my plea to the gods was answered and the storm came. I thought I might have conjured my own end. And in a way I did. For the storm brought me to you, and in your arms the old Bridei died, to be replaced by a new and different man. One who loves you and would give his life, his heart and his soul for you.”
“I suppose I knew you were my destiny the day you walked into the hall at Cahermara,” she answered. “For that was the day I had my first Seeing. As I gazed at you, I saw behind you the image of your father’s banner. The golden dragon on a background of deep red. And in that instant, I think I knew our futures were entwined.”
“Entwined. They definitely are now,” Bridei said, gently stroking her faintly swollen belly.
Chapter 27
“My lord Bridei! Are you awake?” Bridei sat up in the luxurious bed. The female voice called out again, “My lord. I’m sorry to wake you. But your father requests your presence in the hall.”
“And when the Great Dragon requests something, one must obey,” Bridei mumbled grimly as he climbed out of bed.
“What is it?” Dessia asked in a sleepy voice. “Is something wrong?”
“Not a thing, sweeting. Go back to sleep.”
No need for her to get up. This was his battle to face. Besides, she must be exhausted after everything she endured yesterday, ending with their passionate lovemaking.
He dressed quickly, splashed his face with water from the ewer on the table, then went out. The maidservant waiting for him was young and sweet-faced, but unfamiliar. He told himself she would have been a small child when he left Deganwy, so there was no reason he would recognize her. She smiled at him tentatively and gestured. “This way, my lord.”
As he’d guessed she
would, she led him to his father’s office—the Dragon’s Lair, he’d heard it called. He’d been there before, of course, as a child. Back then he hadn’t been afraid of his father. Now he was. He couldn’t explain why. Perhaps because falling in love with Dessia had forced him to face what he felt rather than burying it away. There was a part of him that wanted his father’s regard. A part of him that yearned for his father’s love.
But he wouldn’t die if he didn’t get it, he told himself. He still had Dessia, and that was what mattered. With that thought to fortify him, he entered the office.
The place hadn’t changed much after all these years. On one wall were shelves with manuscripts. On the other side, a parchment map of Gwynedd was pinned to the timber supports. His father sat at a table by the window. He turned to look at Bridei, his expression unreadable. As the moments passed, Bridei observed the small changes in his father, the evidence of ten years passing. To his surprise, the awareness of his father’s aging distressed him. He didn’t want to think of his father as mortal. He’d always seemed so formidable, so powerful. He was the Dragon, a beast found only in stories.
“You’re much changed,” his father said. “Taller than I expected. You must have grown two hand spans since you left here.”
“Aye. I was a puny child. Perhaps that’s why I was always so arrogant and difficult. I felt I had to do something to gain attention. How else was I to compete with my great, tall brother Rhun?”
“Was that it, then?” Maelgwn rose from his chair and approached Bridei. Bridei saw how slowly he moved, the toll a lifetime of riding and fighting had taken on his body. “You did those things to gain attention? To compete with Rhun?”
“I suppose so,” Bridei answered. He wondered if his father was doing this intentionally, standing over him, trying to intimidate him with his height. Then he had the sudden awareness that his father had drawn near so he could see him clearly. There was a vague filminess in Maelgwn's blue-gray eyes, suggesting his sight was no longer sharp.
The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) Page 35