Will bowed to his queen, his shoulders tense, but his smile genuine. For a long time he captured her entire attention. Time had marked his face, and like all Fey she found that fascinating. The sweet shadows of youth had arranged themselves into the mature planes of a man’s face and placed a few lines on his brow for good measure. He displayed his rising fortunes with an embroidered brocade doublet, a real beauty to her Fey eye. The face above the finery also told her much; he appeared calmer and happier. However, she could not be sure, as any dipping into his mind was impossible.
He smiled and bowed before his queen, eyes locked on the golden splendour she displayed. Sive kept her body turned a little, the galleon of her dress obscuring his view of her.
“Your Majesty.” William took the proffered ring hand and kissed it. “I hope our meagre offering did not offend.”
Elizabeth snorted, “It did nothing like offend, as you all too well know, Mr. Shakespeare. Do not think to get empty compliments from me... but it did amuse.”
Sive caught Will’s knowing smile pressed against the cool metal of the queen’s ring. He knew the nature of his queen.
“You have yet to meet my newest addition to court.” The queen nodded to Sive. “The Lady Shelton is a distant relative whom I have now winkled out of hiding in the country.”
Sive barely heard Essex introduce his grinning companion as Lord Southampton, and unnecessarily speak Shakespeare’s name as well, for by then she had turned to him. Will’s eyes lit on a face he’d never expected to see again. Sive could see his shock in the miniscule tightening of his jaw though perhaps no one else did.
Will gave her a bow calculated to a precise degree. “My Lady. I hope you too enjoyed our little show.”
“I have seen nothing like it at home,” she replied. Shockingly, Sive could feel her cheeks warming under his gaze.
Will’s blue gaze narrowed, perhaps trying to find some hidden meaning, some barb to her comment, but there was no anger in the look. The moment wore on.
Essex grinned askance, and Southampton, who Sive had ignored, shuffled his feet. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, smiling archly. “Were I so sure it was impossible, I might think you two had met before.”
Sive ducked her head. “Quite so, your majesty, that is quite impossible.” It was silly to feel this way; perhaps she should never have forced Will’s hand in such a public way. He was glaring at her, she was sure.
The queen lost interest in this odd little moment, and rose to her feet, “I have a fancy to dance, my Lord.”
Essex took her upraised hand and led her back into the further chamber. For a second Southampton looked like he might say something, but a tilt of Sive’s head sent him scurrying after his friend. The tide of court shifted and followed Elizabeth, and while Sive and Will stood still the musicians in the other room began to play.
Trapped in an awkward stance, neither of them were willing to speak first, and yet neither wanted to move away. Sive could tell many things from how he stood, the way his eyes were pools of hurt, but his body leaned towards her.
“Have you given up your power, milady, and become human?”
Sive could hear the yearning in his voice, and when she replied it was there too. “Perhaps you would say, I have found the mortal inside me.”
A low groan came from his chest, and he shook his head like an unwillingly woken sleeper. “Are you here to torment me, Sive? Does it give you pleasure to do this to me?”
“No—never Will. I need a place to hide for a time, like you.”
“And you chose here, of the thousand places you could have gone?” he said, with a short angry laugh.
“I...” Sive bit her lip, trying to find the determination she’d had only an hour before.
Will advanced. “And don’t ever say you’re like me You don’t have even the faintest idea how I feel!”
“Alone,” she whispered, “frightened sometimes in the night. Wondering what might be happening to your loved ones, and how it will all end. Trapped.”
Will stopped short, breathing hard.
Sive went on bravely, “Knowing that your whole family is depending on you—and you’re the only one to do anything about it. And all the time afraid of failing.”
It was strange how clearly she could see the trip of his pulse on his neck; he was standing closer than he had in a very long time.
“Well, William,” Sive tilted her head, and looked him in the eye, “That is exactly how I feel—only worse. For I know the man I love loathes me.” She certainly hadn’t meant to say that.
They stood for a moment not moving, breathing each other’s breath, and everything else was very still.
And then Will raised his hand, brushing it against her cheek.
How odd, how strange that her heart was beating in her throat, and her dress had become so constrictive. So this was what mortal women had to deal with—this feeling could only be a rush of blood. Sive the Shining had never been so uncertain.
Will’s eyes were scanning her, searching for some sign, some hint of Fey nature—anything that might let him push her away. However there was none, Sive in that moment as human as she had ever been, all nervousness and hopes simmering near the surface.
His fingers found hers and tightened, hard surfaces where the quill had rubbed pressed against skin that had never known calluses. Will’s thoughts surged across the thin barrier between them; the long restless nights where she had haunted him, how he had fought his love, and then in dreams claimed her. Now the Bard had reached a place where words were no longer an issue.
But Will spoke anyway. “I have never hated you, Sive, only hated myself for wanting you.” And then he decided that was enough.
They kissed in the half-lit hallway, and though it was not as sweet and innocent as when he had been a boy, it was at least a kiss that they both understood the implications of.
What’s more, something marvellous happened; Sive the Shining and the disapproving William quite disappeared. They were two lovers pressed against each other, and for the now it was enough.
Sive pulled her mouth free, only too glad to let the rest of her body lean against his. It was as if she’d already stepped over the boundary and become human.
“Take me home, William,” her lips stumbled around the words.
He pulled her head against his chest, but said nothing. He only drew her away from the torchlight, wrapping her in darkness, and towards the passion they both wanted.
13
Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
Outside the air was cold, but inside the rattling carriage there was a warmth which had nothing to do with the season. They travelled in silence like any other couple. Will leaned back in the shadows, apparently relaxed, but Sive could see that was far from the truth. His body was in fact as taunt as a bow-string, and his eyes never left hers. That gaze as lay hot on her skin as the sun, warming parts of her that had lain dormant all her time in Stratford and perhaps longer.
Beneath the tight confines of her bodice her languid immortal heart was racing like a hare’s while her breath seemed lodged in her throat. It was beyond foolish. Sive had loved more times than she could remember with Fey, both of the court and of the mercurial feral kind that roamed the hills of that realm. Never before had a human drawn her—let alone this surging desire. Sive told herself that it was his Bardic Art working magic on her even though she could feel none of its presence.
Tucking her hands into her cloak, a tremble moved down her arms and into the very core of her. She wanted to touch Will, and it took tremendous control not to at least reach across and lace her fingers with his. She knew however that if she did that all her crumbling barriers would be quite overcome. Time weighed on them as the coach creaked, groaned and shuddered through London and once again she remembered mortals were its plaything.
“You were brave to come,” Will’s voice was low and rough, emerging from the darkness to fill her ears. He had
a beautiful voice, melodic and low and she longed to hear it stretched out into a moan.
Sive knew at this moment most men, Fey or human would have praised her charms, her beauty, but Will saw right past those superficials. Her lips curled in a smile as she recognized he was praising something else—her courage.
“No braver than you,” she replied, trying not to break the delicate moment, “Leaving all that you had in Stratford for this.”
Will’s laugh sounded bitter for a second, and then he leaned forward, so that their legs pressed against each other. Sive’s breath jammed behind her teeth as she held herself rigid. His grey eyes traced along her face though he did not touch her. “You know why I left,” and there was no accusation in his tone, just sadness.
Sive had no answer for that, and she was in truth too scared to reply. So not knowing what to do, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was meant to be a gentle, understanding gesture, but they had long ago passed that point.
Their kiss roughened, hardened and became desperate as Will’s tongue brushed against hers. Sive gasped as the Bard pulled her tight against him, jerking her across the distance and across onto his lap like she was a wench not a goddess or a Fey. Yet it was the right place for her to be even if this foolish human clothing got in their way.
Luckily as they kissed and clutched at each other in the suddenly humid interior, the coach lurched to a halt. The driver pounded on the roof, announcing they had reached their destination, the rooms Sive had taken.
Reluctantly Will pulled back from her, his hands dragging over her soft skin. “I have taken you home m’lady,” he whispered into her ear, “as you asked.” His breath hot on her neck sent an almost painful twitch through her body.
The Fey laughed—low and predatory. “Forsooth Mr. Shakespeare, you would let a lady enter a darkened building alone? Anything could happen.”
The Bard shot her a wicked smile, well accustomed to the fact that she was more than capable of taking care of any dangers London might present.
They paid the driver his coin and Sive led the way up the stairs to her chambers, conscious that she was actually trembling a little. It was ridiculous, she was not a child, this was not her first time and yet despite all that the Fey realized she was nervous. It was not that she thought she could control the Bard—time had taught her the recklessness of that. It was all about the look in Will’s grey eyes as he turned her about. They stood before the door in the moonlight and looked at each other for a moment. The naked desire in his eyes took her aback. It was a smouldering, primitive emotion that she had never seen on any Fey face and have never mattered on any humans. This time it was different… this time it was her love looking at her like that.
“Will you wind me in your magic net?” the Bard asked, his fingers tangling in her loosened hair. “Send sprites to do my bidding, or perhaps bend me with your lightning?”
His words bought such a swell of emotion to her throat that Sive could make no reply. She shook her head. Even if she had enough Art in her, she wouldn’t have wanted to endanger this moment.
His hand grazed against her cheek and she leant into his touch, relishing the feeling of his warmth against her. Will bent and whispered against the soft skin of her cheek. “The prey is bought to bay, but which of us is the Hunter I wonder?”
Sive swallowed hard before undoing the latch and swinging the door open. “Let us go in and find out.”
The Bard took two quick strides in after her and pulled her up against him. Sive realized with a start that they were eye to eye—she had never noticed that before. Then his lips were once more on hers and thinking became far less important. She did not summon her Art, she had so very little of it left, but Will did, and as Sive slid her hand up his chest and against his neck, she could feel it sizzling under his skin.
She leaned in, her lips softy parted wanting there to be no space between them, wanting him, but it was the Bard that pulled back. Will’s grey eyes were hard to read, even with Fey sight, “Say it Sive,” his voice a low rumble in his chest, felt more than heard.
It was the last of his resistance to her. He needed to know that this was not another of her games.
The Fey let out a low soft sigh and blinked back what might have been tears. Will waited, his body taunt and pressed against her, not letting her go but also holding himself back until she had said what he needed to hear.
Sive tilted her head, her eyes darting up to lock with his. Her words were almost human, “I am sorry Will. I didn’t understand you… love. Now I do and I hope you can forgive me.” It was not a lie, and the honesty came very easily.
It was all he had been waiting for. With a deep growl Will thrust his hands into her thick dark hair and pulled her lips to his. Fey men had kissed her, and she'd enjoyed the erotic tickle of Art and flesh, but this was something different. The love she had carried for Mordant had been an echo of this passionate want and desire that was as thick and real as the earth of this realm.
When the Bard’s mouth opened against hers an unknown room opened inside her. Passion licked up through her core as they kissed, so sudden and unexpected in its rawness that she let out a groan of delight.
This was not some ethereal pleasure that tickled the senses like a warm summer afternoon, this was a primitive fire that came from somewhere deeper she hadn’t even known existed.
Together they tugged and tore at their clothes, skin screaming to be free. Sive was unfamiliar with human buttons and ties, but Will stilled her hands, pressing her back against the wall. The Fey’s breath was coming in short gasps, but she lowered her head a little and glanced at the Bard with hungry eyes.
“Let me look at you,” he said, as the moonlight streamed in through the window. To remain motionless now became a matter of honour as Will’s hands trailed down the curve of her face, stroked her neck and sculpted the curve of her breast. The tempest of sensation that his lightest touch caused her was a hard to resist. Sive bit her lip as his strong, sure hands loosened the points on her bodice, more used to human fripperies than she was. Will unpinned her sleeves and skirts letting them drop from her like a curtain on one of his stages. His last gesture being to unfasten her hair and spread it across her shoulders. It ran like a dark curtain over her breasts and curled on her hips. Sive stood there, unashamed but only just holding herself in check as Will’s gaze devoured her. Certainly she knew she was beautiful and plenty of humans had worshipped at the altar of the dark goddess, but this was very different.
She smiled a little wickedly at him, enjoying that feral hot look. “Composing an ode Mr. Shakespeare?”
Will made no clever reply, no rhyme or sweet words. Sive could see his breath quicken underneath his opened shirt. “By God I could look at you forever,” The Bard hissed over his teeth, “But I am not going to.”
He was there, against her, his hands sliding up the length of her naked back. The roughness of his clothes, honest homespun burned against Sive’s soft flesh. They whispered each other’s true names as they pulled his shirt loose so that skin met skin.
The thought flashed across Sive’s mind that she now understood what Brigit had meant. Being in this moment of pleasure and fulfilment was worth every terrible moment she had waited. The bed was in the next room, but neither of them could move to it. It had to be here and now.
The dark goddess’s mind whirled with surprise and ecstasy, feeling herself pinned against the coarse texture of the wall as the Bard entered her. This must be what it is to be truly alive, she thought and Will thrust into her again.
Surrender was something the dark goddess had never entertained, but she was prepared to let the Bard show her the ways of human lovemaking and fragility.
But first it was something else. Desperation would get fed and be given its due like a hungry dog. Sive quite lost her sense of dignity and Fey decorum.
It was a revelation. It was sweat and groans, the delightful strain of muscle and sinew. Will was delving into his Art, though if he knew it
or not Sive did not contemplate, as his body drove her to heights of animal passion. Certainly there was no other way a human could have matched the stamina of a Fey, yet Will was channelling earth magic in a way that she would not complain of.
Eventually they made it to the bed and found new luxury there that made Sive appreciate the comfort of a feather mattress and the taste of humanity. The Bard was in the goddess, at first rough and demanding and then as the morning began to crawl its way towards them, dipping to gentle and concerned. Pushing her hair, now corded with sweat out of her eyes, he kissed her once more. “My love,” he whispered, and they were the sweetest words she had heard from lips immortal or mortal. It was a moment she had never thought would come.
“Still no verse?” she asked running the pad of her index finger over the fullness of his bottom lip, entranced with it.
On that taunt, Will smothered her breath with his mouth, hungrily taking in her gasp as would a sprite sucking dew from a buttercup. His eyes gleamed almost green in the light of the early morning creeping between the drawn curtains. He parted from her and twisted her on to her stomach. "It is a verse you are wanting is it?" he hissed. "Then what of this?"
Sive gave out a moan she had not contemplated giving again this morning. Something in his stroke, in feeling the Bard enter her in such a fashion, blanketed her in pain exquisite, intense, and delicious.
Then his hand drove into her long raven hair and he pulled her tight up against him, the sweat on her breasts cooling in the grey air around them. Her nipples tingled, some in part to the dark's cold caress. Some from the excitement in how this mortal took her, claimed her—she had never experienced like this in her immortal life.
He thrust at the end of every line, her breath locked in her throat, as he whispered into her ear.
"My love, mysterious, dark, and wanton,
How is't you bewitched me so.
This craft thou hast weaved about me
Cannot be ill, cannot be wrong,
Chasing the Bard Page 20