Artaud's heart jumped as he detected no lie or subterfuge on her part. He held her free hand in both of his. "Am I all that to you?"
"Aye, and much more." Compassion softened her smile then she sipped more wine.
"How so?"
"You take pride in your Pagan beliefs despite the scrutiny of the Church, you fiercely protect your people, you are kind to those who serve you."
"Aye." Each loving word drew him closer to her. "Go on."
"You saw me in ondine form and chivalrously agreed to keep my secret. Tonight, you welcome me to your bed, as your betrothed, in spite of my curse."
Artaud chuckled. "I think of that lovely golden ondine each time I glance at my banner. Truth be told, I have dreams about her."
"What kind of dreams?" Her smile deserved to be kissed.
"Come closer and I shall explain," he whispered then took the wine cup from her hand to set it on the floor.
She scooted near him in a rustle of silk. Artaud encircled her waist then pushed her gently back into the mattress, seeking her lips.
* * *
Melusine enjoyed the pressure of his large hand supporting her lower back, as his wide chest bore down upon her. Under his insistent touch, she reclined on the soft mattress, welcoming the weight of this strong warrior. Tonight she delighted in young Artaud, the gallant Pagan knight she'd come to appreciate in recent months.
He smelled of soap and leather. His brown eyes softened in the torchlight as he met her gaze. Fascinated, short of breath, she stared at his lips descending upon hers, slightly open, his breath sweet with wine... or was it hers? Their lips barely brushed. He teased her with one light taste then retreated as if to see her better.
She clung to him and claimed his kiss again. This time, he plundered her mouth, getting her hot all over. Under his pinning weight, she arched in his embrace. In that instant, her entire world revolved around his deepening kiss, the insistent probing of his tongue claiming her.
A deep need inside made her clasp him tighter.
He suddenly pulled back, panting, his face red, confusion in his eyes.
"Please," Melusine raised her head from the mattress, eager for his contact. She sat up to meet him. She had waited so long for this moment. Now that she ached for him, would he not meet her expectations?
He shook his head. "I fear if I don't cool off a bit, I might lose control and rush things."
"Rush things?" Melusine's face flushed. He intended to pleasure her on their first night... The Goddess be praised. Her fingers at his nape coiled a strand of silky black hair. "Remember, my lord, that we have all night."
"Aye. To do the deed many times." He straightened, straddling her, a mischievous spark in his eyes.
The bulge in his hose betrayed his arousal. She tugged at the white tunic. It flew off over his head. A fuzzy black down softened his chiseled chest hardened in battle. He pushed her back into the mattress. The thick muscles of his arms flexed as he planted his fists on both sides of her shoulders and slowly lowered himself upon her. Loose black hair curtained both sides of his dark face.
She braced both hands on his solid chest, enjoying the contact of his warm skin that gleamed in the light of the flames. She could barely breathe.
"Where were we?" He delivered a flurry of butterfly kisses along her jaw line, down her throat, and lower as he pulled down the décolletage of her gown.
Her breasts swelled under his ministrations. Heat flooded Melusine's core. Sweet Goddess, Artaud surprised her. She never suspected such a young man would demonstrate such ease on their first night. "Where did you learn to do that?"
He emitted a soft laugh against her skin. "I may be young, my lady, but I learned more than swordplay around my father's battlefields."
Of course, soldiers knew how to please women. "I believe you may now call me Melusine."
"Melusine." How fluid the word sounded in his deep baritone voice.
"Aye. And I shall call you Artaud." She enjoyed the pounding of his name, like that of a hammer.
He grinned. "Now that we are acquainted, I would very much like to see my golden goddess as I saw her the very first time in the sacred spring... and not so long ago in her secret abode."
"Naked?"
He nodded and his eyes crinkled mischievously.
Heat crept up her cheeks. This wasn't a game anymore. His desire consumed his gaze, and she found herself breathless.
He rolled to the side, his weight straining the squeaking ropes under the mattress. With surprising dexterity, he pulled at the silk ties tightening the front of her gown.
"You have done this before..." She softened the teasing tone with a smile.
"Yet, these ties are resisting me." He reached for his boot and pulled out a wicked hunting knife. "Don't move."
The blade flashed in his hand. Melusine held her breath as he inserted it delicately under the recalcitrant silk ties. A frisson coursed along her spine. She trusted him with her life. She relished the dangerous sensation of his steel blade so close to her skin, and didn't even care about ruining the ties... or the gown.
She wanted to feel his skin against hers.
The ties sprung open and she could breathe. Artaud gathered the loosened fabric and pulled it down, along with her thin chemise, uncovering her shoulders, arms and swollen breasts. She gasped at the cool air hardening her nipples and whispering down to her navel.
His hand traveled on her skin as she arched against the sweet pressure. Then he firmly captured her breasts in both hands and straddled her as he nibbled and teased each rosy bud in turn.
Caught in a whirl of pleasurable sensations, Melusine writhed in his grasp, but far from wanting to escape, she burned with a desire held inside for too long.
"I want you," she breathed into his ear.
He bit her nipple just enough for her to enjoy the sting and propel her into a higher sphere of delights.
His hands roamed her entire body. She curled and strained against him, seeking contact. She vaguely heard the soft thud of boots dropping to the rushes. Cool air now caressed her lower body. He pressed himself against her, and she reeled at the warm contact of his muscular thighs. His hard erection against her skin made her moan in anticipation.
She met his dark gaze, like a deep forbidden pool where she wanted to drown. "I want you inside me."
"Oh, Melusine." One hand tangled into her hair, and held her captive, while his lips hovered and nibbled at hers. His other hand explored her lower region. "I've dreamt of this moment with you," he breathed against her mouth.
She gripped his back, vaguely aware of uneven scars striating his skin. "Please, take me now." She would burn up if he didn't.
He shifted upon her and spread her thighs wide with his knees. Then she felt his strong push against her nether parts and she gasped as he shoved inside her, filling her more completely than she thought possible. He moved slowly, tantalizingly at first, then deepened his thrust.
When he rammed her with impaling force, a flurry of deep sensations assailed her. Unbidden moans and cries escaped her throat in rhythm with his vigorous thrusts. She swam in a sea of pleasures she'd only known with one man, and that man had returned to love her again.
Right now, she only wanted to feel his strong love filling her. When he accelerated his cadence, he kept pleasuring her with every stroke. Sweet Goddess. She heard her screams of ecstasy as if they came from someone else. Now she relaxed into the cadence, and only the unbearable rapture remained.
She lost track of time. Her throat grew hoarse. Then she felt him tighten and tense. She tensed with him, holding him snug inside her. His thrust quickened, grew erratic, then he exploded into tremulous release, sending her into yet another blissful phase.
Ragged gasps mixed with low moans. His body slick with sweat slowed to a stop and loosened on top of her. She relaxed with him, happy and spent, enjoying the warm contact of his skin, and his weight upon her.
He attempted to roll off her.
"Sta
y." She grabbed his broad shoulders. "I want to enjoy this moment a little longer."
He smiled then kissed her lips, long and soft. "Enjoy it now, sweet Melusine, because in a moment, I shall want more of your delicious body. And I'll take my sweet time about it."
"Artaud," she said, gazing into the dark depths of his eyes. "I love you."
"And I love you, Melusine," he whispered, kissing her hair.
She shuddered under him. From the aftermaths of their lovemaking, or with foreboding? In this instant she did not care. She refused to bow to fear.
"May the Goddess keep us forever safe, and bathed in this wonderful love," she whispered against his bare shoulder.
Chapter Nine
Whitsuntide - May 1029
Despite her strong distaste for Christian gatherings, Melusine followed incognito the procession of villagers and tonsured monks. They accompanied the remains of Saint Sabin, from his Druidic grotto shrine to his new abode. Four monks carried a litter, where the bones lay gathered inside a precious gold-leaf box, carved with scenes of Sabin's life.
On each side of the cortege, altar boys in white robes swung incense burners at the end of long chains. The smoke filled the air with cloying fragrance, while the ethereal voices of the monks chanted Latin verses.
Melusine had come under a glamour of invisibility, to investigate the new monastery and its adjoining chapel. Artaud suspected the local baron must have sold this patch of land to the all powerful Church... without his lord's knowledge.
At the turn in the road, the brand new buildings stood in proud splendor with smooth walls of gray granite. They bordered on three sides a vast, square courtyard, paved with flagstones. Melusine shuddered at the idea of more Christian monks taking up residence in the heart of Forez.
She followed the faithful into the large chapel. She gave a wide berth to the font of holy water, the bane of her kind, and remained in the back to observe. Everyone faced the altar at the end of the nave.
Sabin, a local hermit from a distant past, must have been Fae, like her, performing healing miracles to help the villagers. Answering a familiar tingle at her nape, Melusine glanced back.
The ephemeral figure of a poorly robed Druid filled the open doorway, as if he dared not enter. With a bemused expression on his face, he leaned on a tall walking stick. Sabin's ghost? No one paid him any heed. Only one with enough Fae blood could see him.
Melusine nodded to the spirit. I salute you, Brother Sabin.
The spirit shook his head. What a shameful use of my remains... to spread a faith I do not share. He shrugged then walked away, vanishing into thin air.
Melusine understood his disgust. What Pagan sage expected to be worshiped as the patron saint of a Christian parish? The Church nowadays appropriated long dead miraculous healers as saints, to lure the local villagers to worship in their churches.
Better in any case than be reviled as a sorcerer. Melusine smiled. But not unlike the black Madonna, who gained in popularity as a representation of the Virgin Mary. If only these Christians knew she represented the Great Mother Goddess...
A plump prelate in rich purple robes embroidered with gold, a miter on his head, and a crosier in his left hand, walked into the chapel from a side door. His right hand waved blessings on the small crowd. All around him, several altar boys waved incense burners on golden chains like large pendulums. The monks, lined up in the front rows, broke into a chorus of Hallelujahs.
Melusine stifled a small gasp. Although she'd only sensed Bouchard from a distance during the battle, she recognized his presence, as well as the hefty bulk and the hooked nose of the infamous Archbishop of Lyon. The nerve he had to show up in Forez, after his attack upon Montarcher.
Tempted to confront him, Melusine thought better of it. She saw no soldiers inside the chapel, but she suspected he had an armed escort nearby. Besides, she had come to gather information, not make a public spectacle.
Unseen, she hurried out of the chapel and wandered through the courtyard, where she noticed a score of soldiers resting in the shade of the chapel. Some sat in small groups, throwing dice, others leaned against the granite wall or lounged on a stone bench, unaware of her presence. As she entered the monastery building, she found it deserted. All the monks must be attending the important ceremony.
She crossed a number of empty studies. Open books and parchments in the process of being copied lay on lecterns near the windows. She noticed the open door of what looked like a library. She tiptoed around the friar bibliothec asleep on his open book, letting the candle drip on the table.
Shelves along the back wall held rolled parchments dangling with very official wax seals. She reached these shelves and rummaged in search of the documents she needed to confirm her theory. She read the writing on the edge of a parchment, unrolled the scroll, perused it, then set it aside to open another.
When she saw the title of a carefully rolled parchment, she stifled a cry of victory. She read its contents with interest. As she and Artaud suspected, the local baron had sold the land to no other than Archbishop Bouchard, a few years back. Another scroll displayed a map of Forez, with the location of several small domains now marked as belonging to the Archbishop of Lyon. Bouchard was buying land from Artaud's vassals in the name of the Church, one parcel at a time.
Melusine rolled the parchments and tucked them under her arm. In possession of the proof she needed, she promptly left the premises, careful not to wake the sleeping friar. In the courtyard, she tiptoed past the soldiers. Once far out of hearing, she ran down the trail, toward the white mare she'd tethered in the woods along the river.
Artaud needed to see these documents, and she was hours away from home.
* * *
That same night - May 1029
Artaud slammed his fist on his library table, unsettling the scrolls, and flickering the candle flames on the candelabrum keeping out the night. "Not only did the weasel attack Montarcher, but he has the gall to show up on my lands unannounced? And he's the one buying pieces of my vassals' lands from under my nose?"
Melusine, standing across the table, nodded and swallowed. "If you do not stop him, soon he'll own most of Forez."
"He could build a castle on any of these parcels and rule from it." Artaud dropped into his chair and rubbed the mounting pressure from his temples in an attempt to relieve the stabbing pain.
"The archbishop needs a lesson." Bitterness tinted Melusine's voice.
"Aye. His defeat at Montarcher has not humbled him as I hoped it would." The archbishop be damned for being so persistent. Artaud must take a stand, but how?
"Perhaps you should bring the battle to him." Melusine's river-gray eyes sparkled with intelligence as she stared at him with a questioning smile.
"To Lyon?" Artaud reflected upon that preposterous notion.
"Aye. Lyon is a large city, but we know from our loyal subjects there, that the archbishop does not keep an army in Lyon, only a modest guard." She walked back and forth along the table, as she often did when gathering her thoughts. "His brother Renaud of Burgundy will not soon lend him more soldiers, since Bouchard led his last contingent to slaughter."
"True enough." Yet Artaud's gut clenched at the idea of damaging such a thriving city. A city under his tutelage. "Lyon is prosperous and peaceful. My Christian vassals will object."
"Your Christian vassals support your policy of religious tolerance. Besides, you need not destroy buildings or shed blood. Perhaps, you can scare the archbishop enough to intimidate him into submission. After all, you are his overlord."
"Well said, my lady." Artaud couldn't help a grin. Melusine always came up with the best ideas. "Once I hold him defenseless, I can dictate my conditions."
"Won't you kill him? Or throw him in a dungeon?" She smiled devilishly.
"His death on the battlefield would be a natural consequence of war. But Bouchard does not fight his battles." Too bad. Artaud would have enjoyed killing him in combat. "And keeping him prisoner might not be po
ssible either."
"Why not?" She pursed her lips prettily. "Methinks a few months in a rat-infested dungeon would do him good."
Artaud chuckled at her jesting words. "Bouchard has powerful allies. If I detain a Prince of the Church, the pope will intervene, and all the kingdoms of the empire will forget their quarrels to descend upon us."
"I know it only too well." Melusine paused, serious for a moment. "What if the archbishop refuses to negotiate?"
"Then I will have to convince him." Artaud intended to get results at any cost. "Too much is at stake."
"So, you will invade Lyon?" The laughter in her eyes had returned.
"Aye. It will take a few days to gather an army, but as soon as I have enough men, I shall march upon Lyon." He figured a thousand or so should suffice.
"Good. Then I have a present for you." A mysterious smile dimpled her flushed cheeks.
"A present?" His interest piqued, Artaud observed Melusine intently.
She sauntered toward a chest tucked against a wall. He'd never noticed it in the library before.
"Where does this come from?"
"My abode." She opened the chest filled with many scrolls and other objects. "I thought I would contribute these ancient manuscripts to our library."
Artaud appreciated her generosity. "I thank you on behalf of Forez."
"But that's not your present." She pulled out a long object he could not see. "This is."
When she turned to face him, she held a bejeweled scabbard. Although impressive in size, the sword did not strain her arm. She held it as if it had no weight. Then she drew the blade and it shone with a blue glow. "I give you Caliburn. To keep you safe through battles."
"But we are not wedded yet." Artaud knew too well the price of defying the gods. "Are you sure it's all right?"
"We are officially betrothed, and we consummated our union before gods and men. We shall declare ourselves wed upon your victorious return." She walked up to him, holding the blade on the flat of both hands.
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