by Karen Nilsen
"Comfortable," I remarked, glancing at Merius. "And quiet." Only the barest echo of the revelry in the common room could be heard.
The innkeeper shrugged. "That's what you paid for. Let me know if you need anything." He left then, pulling the door closed behind him.
Merius dropped our bags to the floor, watching me without blinking. Since we had entered the chamber, his eyes had not left my face, even when the innkeeper had spoken. His steady gaze had become a physical presence between us, a heat that bathed my skin with a tingling glow as I flushed and looked at my trembling fingers. Suddenly, he crossed to the bed and picked up my hands, his fingers gentle as if he were touching an angel wing. He surrounded my hands with his, his fingertips grazing my wrists.
"You're cold, sweet," he said quietly.
I raised my eyes, looked at his face for a moment before I spoke. "I'm not shivering because I'm cold."
"I should have told him we needed the fire."
"We don't need the fire."
He smiled and leaned down. Our lips brushed each other. Releasing his hands, I opened my mouth and deepened the kiss, pulling him farther down. He angled his head, his tongue flitting across mine, his lips lightly, easily drawing me out as if I were a nervous foal he wanted to gentle. I leaned back on the pillows, and he followed, his mouth never leaving mine as he knelt over me, his hand cupped around my side just under my left breast. He was a starving man with a feast laid before him, yet he had enough control merely to sip and taste. For now.
My blood felt hot enough to boil, tickling the insides of my veins with tiny bubbles which rose and burst, a sweet torment. I sighed and arched against his hand, and he let his thumb stray upwards, his lips less soft as he pressed down on my mouth with greater urgency. His wandering thumb found the knot of my bodice laces and the rest of his hand followed as he began to tug at them.
Suddenly I remembered the green shift. "Wait, love," I murmured as I pulled back.
He reluctantly loosened his hold on me. "What is it?"
"I need a moment alone." I trailed my fingers up and down his jaw. "I've a surprise for you."
His eyes glinted, dark sparks in the flickering candlelight. "Wicked tease. You waited deliberately-"
I grinned. "Anticipation is good for you."
He chuckled. "It better be a good surprise, witch." He touched my neck, combed his fingers through my hair. "I love you, Safire," he said softly. "If it kills me, I'll make certain you want for nothing."
"All I want for is in this chamber." I flirted with the laces of his shirt collar, twisting one around my finger over and over again.
He squeezed my shoulder before he drew away and got to his feet. His eyes ran over me. "I'd wait forever for you, but don't make me wait too long tonight, sweet. You'll kill me."
"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." I laughed and knelt on the edge of the bed so I could bait him with a quick kiss. "Now go, because I can't wait much longer for you either."
As soon as the door closed behind him, I hurried over to the washstand, where I shed my clothes. After performing some necessary grooming, such brushing my hair and dabbing scent on my wrists, I dug through my bag until I felt the silk at the bottom. I pulled the shift out and dragged it over my head. It was a tight fit in spots so it took me a minute or two of teeth gritting to get it right without ripping it. It had taken me forever to sew, since I couldn't enlist Dagmar's aid to pin the seams and darts. She would have been scandalized--only naughty women wore colored silk small clothes. I twirled before the washstand mirror, tugging the material down until the hem hung halfway between my hips and knees. I practiced a coy simper in the mirror but couldn't manage it through my fits of nervous giggles. Then I tried a sultry pout with the same results. Hell of a sophisticated mistress I would make.
I bit my lip and fluffed out my hair. The silk felt wonderful against my skin, all cool and whispery, but what would he think? There came a knock at the door then, and I spun around, my hands gripping the edge of the washstand behind me. "Come in," I said, clearing my throat.
Merius entered, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand. He moved with the strong, quiet grace of a hunter, part of the aura of danger that made my loins burn. I swallowed, wondering if my unladylike lust, my need for him, showed on the outside--my skin felt on fire. Did other women feel this way? They never talked about it, if they did--all I had ever heard on the subject were complaints about men's crude demands.
All thoughts of other women and men flew out of my head when I saw the way Merius looked at me. His stare traveled slowly down from my face all the way to my feet and then back up again. His expression betrayed nothing beyond stolid concentration, yet I noticed how he fumbled behind him to check the latch on the door, how his knuckles went white where he gripped the wine bottle.
I stepped forward, my hands letting go of the washstand. I realized then my legs were shaking so hard that I probably should have stayed where I was. Before I could find something else to hang on to, Merius had tossed the bottle on the bed and grabbed me. Our mouths came together, and a surge of blood rushed through me, my heart pounding in my ears as he gripped my body against his. His lips were taut as bowstrings against mine, our kisses rough and urgent. I nipped him with my teeth, feeling his pulse quicken where I grasped his neck. He pressed me against the washstand, and the basin and pitcher rattled. His hands roamed over me, hot through the shift. I arched my neck as his mouth moved down my jaw, a low moan escaping my lips when he reached my throat. He kneaded my back until his hands slipped under my bottom. My legs curled around his waist as he carried me to the bed, our lips locked together.
He lowered me on to the pillows and then reached behind him to tug off his boots. With quivering hands, I loosened his collar, his belt buckle. His sword and dagger clattered to the floor as I jerked his belt free.
He leaned over me, and we resumed our kissing, his hand running up my thigh and under my shift. "Your skin feels softer than this silk," he said, catching a handful of the shift in his fingers as he inched the hem up to my waist.
I shivered at his touch; my chattering teeth nibbled his ear. "You're still trembling. Are you cold?" he muttered, his mouth moving over my collarbone, his thumbs circling my nipples as he pushed the shift all the way up my torso.
"This'll heat me up." I pulled him down on top of me, and our arms went around each other. He held me as close as he could without snapping my ribs; the warmth of his silver aura enveloped us. I discovered then I wasn't the only one shaking uncontrollably.
We rolled around the bed, wrestling off each other's remaining clothes in a mad flurry of kisses and impatient caresses. He was even leaner than I remembered, and he moved over me with the playful strength and stealth of a wild cat. I never knew where or how he was going to touch me next. My fingers found new scars, and I kissed every one, the searing liquor of his aura on my lips.
When he was finally inside me and we were moving together, tears stung my eyes. He kissed my eyelids. "You taste of the sea," he whispered, breathless. "Shh, my love."
My hands tightened on his shoulder blades. "Merius . . . oh, dearest. Don't stop. Never stop."
"I wish." His chuckle was cut short by a groan as I wrapped my legs around him. "Good God, Safire . . ."
The candle had sputtered out by the time we collapsed together on the pillows. My breath came in short gasps, and I stared into the darkness, half in a trance as red stars exploded and slowly faded overhead. Merius's arm was tight around me, his hand stroking my hip. For several minutes, we lay there in silence, catching our breath as we floated back down to earth. When I finally felt enough myself to move again, I turned over and nestled my face in his shoulder, my arm loosely across his middle. His hand shifted to the small of my back.
"Did that candle burn out on its own?" he asked lazily.
"I don't know--it must have, I haven't felt any drafts."
"Sweetheart, we could have been in the middle of a blizzard, and we wouldn't have felt any
drafts."
I grinned, my face hot against his skin. "Probably not."
"You're blushing."
"How do you know?"
"I can hear it in your voice."
"Oh." I propped myself on one elbow, and our mouths met in the dark. Unlike our other kisses, it was slow and patient, a kiss for its own sake, since we were too spent at the moment for it to lead to anything more.
"Sweet," he muttered when we paused. "You know, if that candle burnt all the way down, that means we've been here for hours."
"Minutes, hours, days, I couldn't say."
"Me either. You've witched the time away."
I gave a low, throaty laugh, and suddenly found myself on my back, Merius over me as we kissed again with more heat and less patience. "Again so soon?" I murmured. "Goodness, my love . . ."
"It's your laugh, that damned chortle. How do you do that?"
"What, this?" And I laughed again, loving the sudden impatience of his hands as he rekindled my body.
This time I cried out so loudly I had to bite the pillow as we finished. "Do you think anyone heard?" I panted when we lay tangled in the damp sheets.
"I don't know. Are you all right?"
"That was a smug question."
"It's just you seem a trifle," he paused, "overwhelmed."
"That sounded even smugger."
"Is that a word? Smugger?"
I smacked him with a pillow, and he laughed. "Witch. I love you, Safire."
"I love you too."
After several more kisses, rolling around, and giggling on my part, he extricated himself from the sheets and me. "What are you doing?" I asked, hearing the creak of the floorboards as he felt his way around the chamber.
"I'm trying to find the tinder box, another candle." There was the raspy clatter of metal against stone in the direction of the fireplace.
"I am starting to feel a bit like a toadstool, kept in the dark," I conceded.
"We can't have that." The feather tick shifted as he sat on the edge of the bed. I found him and rested my chin on his head, my arms draped over his shoulders as he fiddled with the tinder box.
"How do you open this damned thing?" The metal lid squealed in protest, and we both winced. The flint and steel rattled as he swore under his breath.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"You're doing a fine job as a back rest."
I grinned, realizing my breasts were cushioning his shoulders. "Do you want me to move?"
"Hell no."
"I don't want to distract you."
There was a spark, and the candle flared. "There," he said with great satisfaction, looking at me. "Half the fun of making love to a beautiful woman is being able to see her."
I brushed his ear with my lips, my hands wandering over his chest and midriff. "Merius," I whispered. "Love, you're a man any queen would fancy. I'm blessed to wear your ring. And nothing else."
He caught my hands in his. "Forward wench. Where did you find that wicked scrap of silk?"
"I made it."
"We'll have to find you some others like that. It's most becoming." We heard a distant thump then. "Must be from the common room," Merius said after a long moment. "That reminds me--are you hungry?"
"A little."
He bent down and retrieved his trousers and shirt from the floor. "Anything special you want to go with the wine?"
I shrugged. "Bread, cheese, whatever they have that can be eaten in bed."
After he left, I stood up and stretched before I slithered back into the green shift. Humming to myself, I straightened the bedclothes and plumped the pillows. As I pulled the quilt up, something clattered to the floor. Exclaiming, I knelt and ran my hands over the floor boards, feeling around for the object. It was a cold bit of metal, a ring. I held it up to the candle. The flourished L glinted in the light. A Landers seal ring, too large to fit me. It had to be Merius's--I had left mine on the table in the bedchamber at Orlin's cottage, along with Whitten's troth ring. I sank on the bed, gazing at the seal.
By the time Merius returned, I had curled up under the quilt, cold without him there. I had put the ring on the bedside table, every once in a while looking at it, puzzling over it. What did it mean? Had Mordric given it back to him? Why? The only reason I could think of was that Merius had taken back his court duties, but I couldn't imagine him doing that, considering our current predicament.
Merius entered carrying a loaf of crusty brown bread and several cloth-wrapped packages that I couldn't identify. "Cheese," he announced, naming each package as he set it down. "Butter, blackberry jam, and smoked trout. What would you like to start with?"
"The bread and butter please. And give me the heel piece if you don't want it." I sat up, the blanket pulled around my shoulders. "But I should do that . . ."
"You stay right there. If you like, you can pour the wine in these. The cork should already be loose." He produced two goblets from his cloak pockets and set them on the bedside table before he resumed cutting the bread. His dagger was fine for affairs of honor, but its smooth edge stuck to the bread and had already made a growing pile of crumbs on the floor beside his feet. The mice would have their own feast tonight.
"Merius?" I said, setting the wine bottle down after I'd tugged the cork free.
"Yes?"
"Did you get this back from your father?" I held up the ring.
He turned around at the mention of Mordric. "What?" he said, taking a step towards me as he squinted at the ring. "Oh, that. Yes, he returned it to me." He reached out, and I gave him the ring. "Where did you find it?"
"In the bedclothes. It must have fallen out of your pocket."
He gazed at the ring for a moment, his face impassive, his aura swirling like silvery smoke that suddenly flared into icy flame. His fingers clenched into a fist around the ring, and with a sudden oath, he hurled it at the fireplace grate. I flinched as it bounced against the rocks.
"Merius? Dear heart?"
He looked at me, then came over to the bed and gathered me in his arms. I could feel him shaking. So I rubbed his back and waited, the shudder of his breath in my ears. He clutched me, his muscles tight as rigging on a ship in a storm.
"He never should have gone after you," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "Never. It was a fight between him and me, and he should have kept it that way. I should have realized he let me leave too easily, that it was another of his manipulations, but . . . but I never thought he'd be so dishonorable . . . God damn it, he's my father. How could he do this? There are times I've thought he hated me because of what he did to Mother when he drank. He hit her, you know, slapped her around. Even threatened her with his dagger once. But despite all that, he hardly laid a hand on me, went out of his way not to hit me even when I provoked him. And he slaved over my training, taught me himself at the sword, brought me to court a year early because he didn't trust the servants to watch me. God, I resented that, but I understand it now. I was difficult at that age, always performing daredevil stunts and getting out of my lessons. Even his impossibly high expectations--I even understand those, though I've often thought they would drive me mad. The truth is, he's never expected any more from me than he expects from himself. When I saw him at council, I was proud to be his son. Everyone at court is terrified of him . . . Safire, I respected him, even while I hated him for what he did to my mother, resented his attempts to control me. I respected him, that son of a bitch."
I knelt so that our faces were level, my right hand smoothing his hair while the left one rubbed the tense ache from his shoulder. "You feel so good," he whispered, his arms tightening around me again. "The way you touch me, feel in my arms--you don't even have to speak."
I drew his cheek to my shoulder, resisted the urge to take away his anger and pain with my witch hands. It hurt to see him so upset, but if he could bear it then so could I. I had taken away Mordric's rage the night he had brought me to Orlin's cottage but that was because I was afraid he would do immediate harm to himself an
d Orlin's furniture. This was different. Merius had frightened me earlier with his wild threats against Whitten and Mordric, but I understood better now.
"He's done a great wrong to you," I said after we'd held each other for several minutes.
"A great wrong to us, sweet."
"Yes." I sighed. "He's wronged me, wronged us. Worst of all, he's betrayed you."
"No, he hasn't." Merius's voice was flat. "You can't betray what you don't love."
"It's easier to believe that, isn't it?"
"Believe what?"
"That he doesn't love you."
"He doesn't love anyone. He values them, values me. Hell, he paid my ransom, even swallowed his pride enough to offer me that ring back, all because he was afraid of losing his only heir, his most useful possession. That's how he defines love--how useful you are to him."
I thought for a minute before I spoke. "You know, he could have easily had me assassinated, found a way to make me disappear so that you'd be none the wiser when you returned. Yet he let me live, protected me from Bara, even protected me from Whitten after he realized what I meant to you. He told me himself that I was a catastrophe to your career, all his plans for you, yet he let me live. He let me live, Merius. If he only considered you his most valuable chess piece at court, do you think he would have done that?"
Merius began to shake his head, his hands clutching the folds of my shift. "It's a lie. Everything he does, it's a lie."
"Words are lies, not actions."
"I don't give a damn, Safire. I still want to kill him."
"I understand, dear heart. He‘s hurt you terribly, betrayed you.”
Merius abruptly got to his feet and went over to the side table where he'd started slicing the bread. He buttered several slices with his dagger and placed them on napkins along with squares of cheese. Then he cut a large hunk off the fish, which he neatly divided in two between the napkins. I ached to run to him and kiss away his hurt as he would have kissed away mine. He didn't want me to see him like this, though, and I could respect that. We were in love, but we weren't accustomed enough to each other yet to let down the masks of our sexes. So I stayed on the bed.