Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02]

by The Swan Maiden

  His hand left her breast, making her yearn for more, stirring her heartbeat. Fingers gentle against her throat, thumb tipping her head back, finger pads tracing the arch of her neck. She tilted her head and opened her mouth, seeking within his mouth as he delved into hers.

  Now his head tipped down and his hair, like midnight silk, slipped soft over her skin. His mouth was hot and exquisite on her breast, seeking, finding, and she sighed and arched into him. The dream went on, and she flowed within it.

  She furrowed her hands through the heavy satin of his hair, found the rasp of his beard, played with his ear, until he sucked in a breath and came up to meet her mouth again, taking her there with such extraordinary gentleness that the rest of her melted like drizzled honey.

  Moaning, she heard his deep, breathy echo. Her hand progressed along his arm, over the carved plane of his chest and abdomen, over the velvet-textured hair lower down. She wanted to know, wanted to touch, wanted to be touched. Her fingers found the waist of his garment. He was heated and solid there, rising against her hand. He took her mouth again, firmly this time, and lifted his mouth away. He whispered her name, kissed her ear.

  Gasping, she lost the edge of the dream and opened her eyes.

  Gawain. Not some nameless dream lover. His brown eyes stared into hers, blinked, his lashes and brows black as coal. A cool silvery light spilled over his body, over hers. She lay half on top of him, their silk-bound hands beneath them. She stilled, and he was silent. The same nurturing warmth as in the dream enveloped them. But her heart pounded through her chest, and his heart thumped against her.

  His hand drifted away from her breast. Her hand was still cupped over his hardness, linen separating her skin from his, and she slid free. Her body felt lonely, cool.

  Slowly, he turned his head and closed his eyes. His hand lingered on her arm, utterly tranquil.

  Perhaps this was yet the dream. He was achingly beautiful in the dawn light, perfectly made, tender and strong. She felt love and passion lingering, palpable as light and fire.

  A dream, she thought, closing her eyes. An extraordinary dream. She was too weary to distinguish time from timeless.

  Resting her palm over his heart, she felt its rhythm, and slept before she could think, drawn back into the web of comfort that still held her.

  When she awoke in the full light of morning, she was alone in the bed. The silken veil, still tied around her wrist, floated free at the other end.

  Chapter 15

  At midmorning he had still not seen Juliana, and neither had his sisters nor his mother. He worried that she had escaped, despite her promise. A groom in the courtyard finally told him that Robin had taken her fishing. He walked briskly through the open castle gates and over the drawbridge to see for himself.

  His stepbrother and two pages sat on the bank of the moat, a favorite spot for fishing, but Juliana was not with them. They waved toward him, and pointed down the meadow toward the river.

  He hurried there, crushing wildflowers underfoot, scarcely noticing the spring air or the white clouds and perfect sky overhead. Juliana was all he saw, standing in plain sight beside the calm river.

  She wore the mulberry gown and the white veil. In the sun-warmed air, she had no cloak. When he approached, she glanced over her shoulder, her face lovely and innocent. Yet he saw a light that was alert and knowing, and wonderfully sensual, in her deep blue eyes. He was glad to see no flash of anger there, for he knew he deserved it.

  Slowing his step, he felt himself flush as he recalled what had happened at dawn. He had awoken with Juliana deep in his arms, his lips upon hers, his hands—and hers as well—finding joy with each other's bodies.

  He could hardly apologize, for he was not certain she had been awake. He knew he had been caught in the blissful throes of a dream that had merged with reality. Now, the thought of those lush moments with her threatened to arouse him again.

  Forget this, he told himself sternly, though it remained agonizingly clear in his mind.

  "You have swans here," she said, turning back to look at the river. "But they are nae tame."

  "Aye. Wild swans have often nested on that far bend in the river. I hear that some of the Avenels who lived here long ago tamed the creatures, but none of us have that knack." He stood beside her, hands folded behind him, watching the river. Far down along a bend, a pair of swans dipped their beaks into the water. "They are wild and distant and do not come close often. My mother enjoys watching them when they are here."

  "You do know how to tame a swan," she said quietly.

  He glanced at her. "I doubt that."

  "You brought bread to the swan cob that was with me in the king's court," she said. "You fed him, and showed him patience and gave him food. It takes little more than that."

  "He was already tamed," he said.

  "He was a good cob, Artan," she said faintly. She folded her arms around herself, and sighed, then sighed again.

  "Juliana," he said. "Artan is free."

  She glanced at him quickly. "The king ordered him prepared for the next day's supper."

  "Ah, well." Gawain shrugged. "A good coin invites a favor. I would guess the king ate peacock or pheasant that next night."

  She stared at him. "Artan was released?"

  He was glad to surprise her, pleased by the brightening in her face. "If my gold and my suggestion had any influence, he is swimming on the Tyne even now, or searching for a new home. I bribed a guard to free the bird."

  "Ah, Gabhan," she said, uttering his name in soft Gaelic. "How very kind of you."

  By God, he thought, closing his eyes briefly and turning away. He loved the sound of his name in Gaelic, like some secret pleasure. "'Twas no matter," he said casually.

  "Is it just a bonny tale to ease my mind?"

  "Ah." He cocked a brow. "I see you have noticed the family tradition. 'Tis the truth, I swear it." He held up his palm. "Shall we go inside? My mother would like to visit with you, and the girls asked if you would shoot arrows with them later. Robin has lately begun to teach them some archery skills."

  She smiled. "I would love that."

  "And tomorrow morn we leave for Scotland."

  She looked up at the sky. "Mayhap Artan will be back on Loch nan Eala by the time we reach Inchfillan."

  "I thought he would find a new home in England."

  "He would seek his own home or burst his heart doing so, that cob. His family is there. And 'tis Scotland. He would never be content on an English river."

  He watched her. "Nor would you."

  "'Tis peaceful here, but I must go home. I must." She looked at him, her eyes burning blue. "It torments me to be gone so long. I feel as if I could grow ill if I do not go back. I—I cannot explain it."

  "I will take you back," he said quietly. "I said I would."

  She said nothing in reply, and watched the swans on the river for a few moments. "You could tame those swans, you know."

  He laughed. "I cannot imagine any member of my family doing that. It needs far too much patience."

  "Love and patience will tame any creature."

  "Even a Swan Maiden?" He smiled.

  She shrugged and walked away, and he went with her. Shielding her eyes, she peered toward the swans. "They are building a nest, see. The cob is pulling reeds and grasses out of the water and the edge of the bank. And the pen is taking them from him, and tucking them in place. She is making a circle for herself. But whether she will accept the cob when the nest is made... time will tell. Sometimes the cob will pull materials for three or four different nests before the pen is satisfied, and lays her eggs."

  "Poor fellow! So making this nest is no guarantee?"

  "None at all. She may yet fly away."

  "I thought they mated for life."

  "Usually," she answered, moving a few steps ahead. "But it can take a long while for them to decide upon a mate. Even then, they do not always have cygnets every season. And," she added, "if he tires of her, or she of him, they
will separate. I have seen it, rarely, among the swans on Loch nan Eala."

  "You know swans well, it seems."

  "I do," she said. "If you bring food—bread and grains-—to these swans every day, at the same time, they will learn to come to you and learn to expect you. They will tame a bit."

  "Tell my sisters," he answered. "They would enjoy that. But the creatures are said to be ill-tempered. 'Tis partly why we leave them alone and watch them from afar."

  "They only attack when their safety is threatened, or their families and territory are invaded. Treat them with respect and they are good companions for life."

  "Ah, is that the secret. We Avenels do not know much about swans, I fear," he said wryly.

  "Swans take care of themselves. Just make certain that this part of the river is safe from their enemies—dogs, foxes, and otters—and see that they have plenty of food available to them and good places to nest. Protect them, and they will repay you with beauty and loyalty."

  "Aye," He did not mean swans. He wondered if she did.

  Her glance flickered away. "They would be content here. And once they are tamed, they will march over the drawbridge and through the gate and pester everyone in the courtyard if they think to find food from familiar hands there."

  He laughed. "My mother and my sisters would enjoy that."

  "Ah, there they go," Juliana said, watching as the swans took a running start and lifted up out of the water into flight.

  Gawain craned his head back to watch them, too.

  "They will not fly much longer," Juliana said then. "Soon their feathers will molt for the summer, and for weeks they will be earthbound."

  "Easily caught," he said softly, watching her.

  "Aye." She glanced at him, then past his shoulder. "Ach, I think you should kiss me now."

  He Winked. "What?"

  "Here come your sisters," she answered. "Kiss me and be done with it. This morn they were determined that so soon as they saw us together, they would demand kisses between us."

  "Well, then." He drew her toward him. She lifted her face and he touched his mouth to hers. She tasted sweet, warm, infinitely giving. He felt her curve into him. The powerful dream returned, pulled him under, and he was lost in the current.

  His heart drummed hard as he lifted his head and looked up to see the approaching twins. Juliana turned with him.

  "'Lovelonging has caught me!'—so says Bevis's true love," Catherine said. "And true love has found our Sir Gawain. We did not even have to remind him about the forfeit he owes us!"

  "Sir Gawain, whom no damsel would have," Eleanor added.

  "But the Swan Maiden wants him." Catherine smiled.

  "Hush," Gawain said sternly.

  "Were there maidens who did not want him?" Juliana asked.

  "Oh, aye, so many we lost count," Catherine said. "None of them had the lovelonging." Eleanor giggled. Gawain scowled while Catherine gestured toward the castle.

  "Our lady mother looks down from her window, see there?"

  "Aye." He waved, and the twins called out, waving. Lady Clarice lifted a hand and smiled, framed in the arched window.

  "She is glad you wed Juliana," Catherine said. "She seems happier, even heartier, this morning than she has been in a long while. You are her first child, and your happiness is very important to her. She worries more about you than about us."

  "She worried that you might never wed," Eleanor said.

  "This," Juliana said, "I must hear about." She sent him a teasing smile. The twins laughed.

  "Gawain offered for the hands of several heiresses and even a widow... and each one turned him down," Eleanor explained.

  "Why?" Juliana asked. Her eyes were bright with curiosity as she looked from one girl to the next.

  "My poor behavior," Gawain said. "'Twas long ago."

  "I find that hard to believe—a fine knight like yourself."

  "Believe it," he said. "Five refusals. I am no prize."

  The twins nodded. "He could not attract a bride because of his transgressions. At least 'tis what Father said."

  "I want to hear more about this transgression," Juliana said, looking at Gawain.

  "The first or the second?" Catherine asked brightly.

  Juliana watched him somberly. Gawain shrugged. "I overstepped my bounds in Scotland," he answered. He had not planned to tell her yet, comfortable with his habit of keeping matters to himself. And it was hardly the time with the twins here—he wondered if he would ever find a good time for it. "I begged icing's peace. Twice. 'Tis done." He half turned away.

  "What did you do?" Juliana narrowed her eyes curiously.

  "The first time," he said, clearing his throat, "I abetted the escape of rebels in Scotland."

  "At Elladoune?" Her glance was keen.

  "Aye." He looked away.

  "You were seen the night we met?" she asked quietly. "And punished for it?" He nodded, and she frowned. "I never knew."

  "'Tis done, as I say," he answered. "I pledged anew, and was admitted into king's peace again."

  "And the second time?" she asked.

  "Similar to the first," he said dismissively. "I helped a Scotswoman in need, and a few months later, had to petition for king's peace again. My reputation was not the best after that, as you can imagine. Helping Scotswomen is apparently frowned upon in the English court." He glanced at her quickly.

  "I am glad that you have that penchant," she murmured.

  "The marriages that Henry and my mother tried to arrange were refused by the ladies' fathers or the ladies themselves. I have been left to find my own bride," he said, "and I was little interested in pursuing the matter—until now." He bowed and smiled, taking the conversation into a lighter vein.

  "And so you see why Gawain is no prize," Eleanor said, turning from fervent whispering with her sister.

  Juliana tilted her head to consider him. "Is he not?"

  He gave her the sour look he had bestowed upon his sister a moment earlier. Eleanor, who tended to giggle and chatter more than Catherine, tittered behind her hand.

  "I wish you and Juliana would stay here, Gawain," Catherine said. "Mother seems so much better today. She may not be with us long," she added in a whisper. "The physicians say—" She lowered her head.

  Gawain touched her shoulder. "She is stronger than you think," he said gently. "Mayhap she will surprise us all."

  Though Juliana turned away, he saw her brow fold, her eyes mist over. She was touched deeply by his mother's illness, he realized. He was grateful for her tender heart.

  The girls ran back toward the castle, waving and calling to their mother. Robin and the pages walked to meet them, and they crossed the drawbridge together. Gawain strode beside Juliana to cross the meadow after them.

  "I owe you my thanks," he said somberly. "You have done far more than I asked. You have brought my mother joy." He watched their feet as they walked through grasses and wildflowers.

  "Do you think she will surprise everyone, and get well?"

  "She is weaker than when I saw her last, even a month ago."

  "Then why did you tell your sisters so?"

  He sighed. "What am I to tell them?" he asked. "That she will lie in her grave by winter, as I believe will happen? That they should gather their rosaries and purchase black silks?" He swore suddenly and halted, drawing a breath against the onslaught of grief that came at him like a strong wind.

  Juliana touched his arm, then lifted her face and kissed his cheek, quick and sweet.

  He blinked down at her. "Are the twins coming this way?"

  "That was for you," she said, her cheeks pink. "A seasoned knight who is not afraid to show love for his mother—nor is he afraid to help Scots in need. That man deserves praise and reward, for he is a rare creature indeed."

  He felt himself blushing. "Ah, well. 'Tis my name, you see. I am obligated to match the perfection of Arthur's knight Gawain every day of my life. 'Tis not easy to have that name."

  "You do honor to
it." She smiled gently. "Tell me what ails your mother."

  "A disease of the lungs, they say, that saps her strength and will kill her someday. Her physicians dose her and bleed her, and annoy all of us. They cannot help her. But she seems to have accepted it more graciously than I have." He paused. "My lady mother is one of the finest people I know, strong and kind. She and I survived... a tragedy together, years ago, before she wed Henry. 'Twill be hard to lose her." He could not look at her, then.

  She touched his arm, a quiet comfort. "You are fortunate to have such a mother in your life for any space of time."

  "Your mother," he said after a moment. "Is she gone?"

  "Gone into the religious life. She will never come out of the convent she chose, and I will not see her again unless I travel there, and 'tis far. She left me to watch my brothers while she cared for her soul. 'Twas more important to her than the souls of the children who needed her," she added quietly.

  "Juliana," he said, feeling a surge of sympathy. "That must have been difficult for all of you." She shrugged admittance.

  "You have a wonderful mother," she said softly. "Be grateful for her company as long as you have her."

  "I am," he said. He knew that his mother would love Juliana as if she were her own daughter—then he shook his head at his own fancy, for he truly did not know what would become of this marriage once they returned to Scotland.

  He walked on with her. After a moment, she linked her arm firmly with his and looked up, smiling shyly.

  "I must be very deserving today, to earn such affection from a lovely lady," he teased.

  She grinned. "Look, I have saved you once again, I think. There are the girls—and they have a book with them. More forfeits in store for you, sirrah."

  "Not more verses," he groaned. The twins waited in the courtyard, one of them holding the new volume he had given them tucked under her arm. Juliana laughed up at him.

  He looked down at her and smiled. He did not think he could pay these forfeits much longer without paying a serious price in the bargain.

  * * *

  Avenel was paradise. She felt as if she walked through a dream world. The sun shone brightly, and love and kindness and laughter surrounded her. The Avenels and their servants, and even their dogs and cats, were attentive and friendly. She wanted to look around, now and then, to be sure they talked and smiled at her—at Juliana Lindsay, a Scottish rebel in their English nest, and not some beloved princess come to call.