The Pendragon Legacy: Sons Of Camelot Book One

by Sarah Luddington

  I smiled up at him as Nest covered the wound in green ointment which stank. “But I didn’t, thanks to you,” I said. “You were honourable. I know you could have left me to die and no one would have known – so thank you.”

  He turned away silently. Nest watched him briefly. “He is struggling with something terrible. I don’t know what it is but I fear for Camelot.”

  “You aren’t the only one,” I muttered and flinched as she poked at the scar.

  “You don’t heal well any more, Holt.”

  “I’ve never healed well, too human apparently.”

  “It is a weakness,” she said, without realising how she sounded. I kept my amusement to myself and just watched her redress the wound.

  We rode hard again that day and semi-arid mountains turned into rolling grasslands and orchards of fine fruits. I concentrated on remaining upright in the saddle and keeping Sparrow in a straight line, though I suspected he did most of the work. Toward dusk I spotted the lights of a small town off to our left.

  “Galahad,” I called. He pulled Sherriff up beside Sparrow. “I think we should stop there for the night. There will be an inn and we won’t have to set watch.”

  He assessed the distance to the town and looked at me. “Alright,” he agreed. “Change of plan. We’re going for comfort tonight.” His eyes slid to Valla and she grinned. I kicked myself. The thought of them sharing a private room never occurred to me – I must be tired.

  I surrendered to the inevitable and we rode to the town, perched on a small hilltop overlooking a meandering but busy river. Two white square towers poked bravely out of the tightly packed white houses and when we reached the town walls we were welcomed by the local militia. I pushed Sparrow forward and fished around in my purse when they insisted on removing our weapons. I pulled out the seal of the king of Albion: a wolf with an ash tree behind it, the lower branches encircling the animal.

  “I think this will help you make the right decision, captain,” I said. “We are on royal business and won’t be staying long. We’ll move on at dawn but we really need the comfort of your town walls tonight.”

  He scowled, bit the seal for good measure and finally conceded. Galahad reached out and took the seal from my hand, rubbing his thumb over the raised emblem. “This is all I know of my father,” he said quietly.

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, I’ve told you that before,” I said, taking the seal back. Lancelot had given it to me before he’d died. I wasn’t surrendering it lightly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Galahad didn’t say anything and we rode together for a change, trying to navigate the narrow streets and cobbles, which the horses didn’t like very much. We made it to a small square and I heard the wonderful noise of ale being poured for loyal patrons. We stabled the horses in cramped but clean conditions and I walked into the small bar. The smell of hops, grape and the murmur of voices reassured me that the world would keep turning even if I had to listen to Galahad screwing Valla all night. I ordered us all drinks and food, giving the innkeeper coin enough to keep us knee deep in beer for the night. The first flagon spilled down my throat almost instantly and I felt the warmth spread through my body, making me relax in blessed relief. I watched Galahad take a tentative sip and pull a face.

  “How can you drink that stuff?” he asked.

  “Don’t tell me you only drink wine,” I said with some contempt.

  “I don’t drink – except water and milk,” he said.

  The four of us shared a glance and all laughed. Valla spent some time softening his ruffled feathers and I returned to the bar. A young man stood there, who didn’t match the appearance of the other patrons. They were smaller, darker and with swarthy skin while he was tall, almost as tall as me, and slim, with the most amazing hair. It was white and very short but quite thick and slightly curly. His skin must normally be very pale, even paler than Galahad, but a light tan covered everything I could see and a smattering of freckles over his nose made me smile as I approached. He smiled in return and a slight blush covered his cheeks. My neglected cock let me know it still existed.

  “Hello,” he said. A soft light voice, melodious and instantly friendly. His lips looked soft, his mouth generous. High cheek bones led to large, almond-shaped eyes which were upturned at the edges. They were dark blue, almost black in their intensity and I realised the irises were similar to the Salamander I’d known. His teeth, though, weren’t pointed. The clothes he wore, which I noticed eventually, were colourful but dusty and well-patched. He carried a small pack and a large bag which I guessed contained a lute of some description.

  “Hello,” I said. His eyelashes were not white, they were black, as were his eyebrows. No hint of a beard marred his skin and the open necked shirt he wore under his doublet showed no hair on his chest. “You’re a minstrel?”

  “I am, I am also a storyteller, a magician and a fabled lover,” he added with a laugh, looking at the girl behind the bar who flushed bright red, but his eyes strayed back to me. “My name is Torvec and I am famed throughout Albion, including the mighty cities in her heart.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Torvec. I’m Holt and you know The City, do you?” I asked.

  “It is a place of such wonder and mystical power that I can hardly bring myself to describe it...” He went on to describe it with such inventive splendour he almost had me believing him. It was clear he’d never set foot in the place. Once he had his audience he moved on from me but maintained that lovely eye contact and began to tell stories of dusky maidens and brave warriors. Valla clapped and joined in all the cheers and boos he elicited from the crowd. Some husbands hurried home and returned with wives and children. Soon the place was hot, busy and very noisy. Still those strange eyes would come back to me where I leaned against the bar and he’d smile.

  I really enjoyed his hearty banter and he held everyone in the room rapt with his inventive storytelling and songs. A true bard perhaps, but a young one. Eventually his voice started to crack and he begged off for a drink. I ordered him a flagon which was waiting for him as he returned to my side at the bar.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  “You are welcome, you earned it. It’s been a long time since I heard such talent. Probably not since I left The City the last time,” I said, watching for his reaction.

  His eyes slid to mine over the rim of the clay tankard. “Ah...” he said, wiping the slight foam off his top lip.

  “Yes,” I said, thoroughly amused.

  “Are you about to shatter their illusions?” he asked and I detected a hint of fear. Despite the bravado there remained something vulnerable about Torvec.

  “Never, besides I definitely preferred your version of Camelot.” I sipped from my fourth tankard, now having a good reason to stay fairly sober.

  “You know it well?” he asked.

  I smiled, trying hard to be good and failing. “I know it well,” I said.

  “Did you ever see the king?” he asked with eagerness.

  The question caught me off guard and tears rose in my eyes instantly. I coughed and turned away to hide until I managed to bring the surge of feelings under control.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, I choked on the beer, that’s all,” I said but found I could not continue the game. “He was my father,” I whispered.

  Torvec’s face froze. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open. The thoughts chased through his head and he finally settled on – “I’m sorry for your loss, Majesty.”

  I placed a careful hand on his, where it rested on the bar. “Thank you, but can you keep it quiet? Holt is fine.”

  He nodded rapidly and we drank in silence for a while. “I have one more story in me,” he suddenly declared to the crowd. “This one is for love, the love of a kingdom and for the love of our mighty royal family.”

  “Torvec, don’t,” I said quickly.

  “Trust me,” he said. The crowd cheered and he slipped f
rom my grasp. I glanced at Galahad, who watched Torvec with interest. The young bard went on to describe what had become known as the final Great War. Though there hadn’t really been a war – more a slaughter – but the heroic efforts of King Arthur and Lancelot du Lac were well known and enjoyed. He left out the sex and the passionate love, talking more of their brotherhood, but he honoured their memories and brought them back to life for all of us, including Galahad, who sat with rapt attention to every word.

  When he finished we all applauded and he held out his hat for coin. Everyone gave what they could willingly and when he came back to the bar I gave him one of the gold coins I carried.

  His eyes widened. “There’s no need for that.”

  “You earned it. They would have enjoyed the story,” I said and meant it.

  He flushed with pride and looked bashful for the first time. I laughed and bought us more beer. When it arrived we reached for the same drink and his long slim fingers touched mine. A jolt shot through me and made me gasp slightly, he shivered and our eyes locked. I placed my palm flat on the bar and his fingertips touched the edge of my hand.

  “Where are you staying tonight?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Above the stables,” he said.

  “The first door on the left up the stairs is mine, the door is open, the bed clean,” the words rushed out of me.

  “That would be... lovely,” he said. “Shall I go now?”

  I nodded. “It would be a good idea. I’ll leave soon, once I’ve said goodnight to my companions.”

  He glanced at Galahad. “Don’t tell me he’s the lost prince of Albion and the Wolf’s eldest.”

  “How did you guess,” I said with a straight face. Torvec’s eyes widened. “Go and I’ll give you the story of your life,” I told him.

  He picked up his tired looking pack and his lovingly cared for lute before heading toward the stairs. I watched his slim hips, long legs and strong shoulders. I started to ache in places I’d forgotten needed attention.

  “Where’s he going? I thought we had all the rooms,” Galahad asked when I rejoined the others for a brief conversation before fleeing.

  “My room,” I said without thinking through the consequences. A puddle of silence descended over them. I sighed and cursed myself silently. “He needs a room, he’s earned a room so he’s spending the night in my room. If anyone wants any more details they can ask me in the morning. But right now I’m going to bed.”

  Nest said, “Have fun.” And she smiled, bless her heart.

  I nodded and rushed off. I could feel Galahad’s disgust crawling after me, trying to catch me up. It didn’t move as fluidly as its target. I glided through the crowd and up the stairs. The first door on the left stood slightly ajar. I slipped through and the figure at the window turned the moment he heard me.

  Torvec crossed the room, the moonlight making his hair shine brightly, and we crashed together. His arms were strong, his body lean and his lips were soft. I turned him, using his own energy, and shoved him against the door. It clicked shut, he grunted slightly with the impact and our tongues tangled. He felt incredible. He tasted perfect. His body and mouth were confident and when I pinned him to the door, his mouth slid from mine and down over my throat. I gasped.

  I started to pull at his clothing, having to put space between our bodies to reach him. He took advantage of my shift in weight and despite his smaller mass, he moved me, hooked my leg and I started to fall back.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “Bed,” he said.

  “Clothes,” I countered as I hit the mattress. It didn’t give very much, winding me slightly and pain flaring in my side. Torvec lay over me, his hips tight to mine and he stopped kissing me. He just stared down into my face.

  “I should have lit a candle,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I want to see your face. You are... perfect, Holt,” he whispered.

  “No,” I said, running my fingers through his soft hair. “No, Torvec, but you are.” I pushed my hips into his and I felt his hardness against mine through the layers of fabric. He closed those wonderful eyes, even darker in the pale moonlight filtering through the small window, and groaned.

  “Too much,” he muttered. “This is too much.”

  He slid off me and began fighting with his is colourful doublet and the laces to his hose. I started to pull off my own clothing, trying to struggle out of everything at once. My mail shirt and gambeson already lay in a puddle of my belongings in the corner. I’d shed them the moment we arrived that evening. Torvec was suddenly free and I stared.

  He stood before me in the only shaft of moonlight and it shone on his white skin, softening the lean angles. I’d predicted correctly. He didn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere and the long, lean muscles were slim but obviously strong. No hair seemed to grace him except for a startling dark mass around his engorged cock, which stood fine and proud between his legs.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, dropping to his knees and touching the bandage around my middle.

  “It’s nothing,” I replied, wanting to touch every inch of his remarkable skin to see if I could find any flaws in its perfection. He reached out with his fingers and traced old scars and lines of muscle over my shoulders and chest. The exploration, gentle and whispery, started to drive me wild with the sensations rippling through me.

  I ran out of patience, I roughly grabbed the back of his neck and pulled hard, twisting to ensure he lay under me. He cursed softly, knowing he’d never win if he fought to escape and I kissed him. His fingers dug into my back and held me tight to his body, my hips began to thrust and his fingers sought a way to rid me of my hose. I kissed his jaw, his neck, his shoulders and chest. His breathing grew rapid and I started to work down his body. I licked the taste of sweat, I licked the taste of his musky scent and I licked the taste of his desire from that soft white skin. All thoughts of Galahad vanished under a wave of sensation for this wonderful young man.

  “Oh, gods, Holt, don’t – it’s been months. I’ll never last the course,” he murmured, his fingers in my hair.

  “Then I’ll have to work on making you hard again very quickly,” I said. “I’m not depriving myself of anything tonight and this is one of my favourite games.”

  “I’ve died and this is the perfection of the Land of the Dead,” he whispered. We were both trying to keep the noise to a minimum.

  I reached my goal, pursed my lips and blew hard, making a cold stream of air hit the most sensitive part of his body. His hips jerked up and he bumped my nose, making us both giggle. I licked, long and wet, just once over his cock and he twisted in maddened desire, then I lowered my body further and, due to far too much practice, took his heavy balls into my mouth, using my tongue to roll them. He cried out, I felt his fist bash the bed and looked up his body. He now bit his hand trying to keep quiet. I grinned, released my prisoners from their wet cave and devoured their guard instead.

  Torvec gave up on silence and uttered a long low howl of desire. He felt wonderful, I felt wonderful. For months I’d been dealing with heartache and loss. I’d lost my mother, father, Lancelot and now Morgana. I wanted to bury myself in life and lust. Torvec was full of both. When I’d driven him to the point of crying out my name, I stopped, rose off the bed and finished undressing while he lay there with his eyes shut, muttering something repeatedly.

  “Are you alright?” I asked, suddenly concerned.

  His black eyes opened and he looked into me, through me and out the other side of me. “King of Camelot, I have never, ever been more right.” His gaze travelled down my body, lingered over my naked cock and over my thighs. “You are perfect,” he whispered. He twisted in the bed, sat up and I found his mouth over my straining desire and his hand cupping my balls, in a heartbeat. The shock almost made my legs fold. Hot, wet, confident and perfect. I watched in awe as he devoured everything he wanted from me and sighed in utter bliss while he worked.

  It didn’t
take long before I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled his head back. He gazed up at me, silent and still, waiting for instruction. I didn’t need to be told who would be doing what, Torvec merely submitted without a word shared.

  I coaxed him to stand and kissed him more gently than before. He almost swooned in my arms, which drove me into a greater frenzy. I tried hard to keep myself in check. He broke off from the kiss first and caressed my jaw for a moment.

  “You are so strong,” he said. “You will be gentle, won’t you?”

  “If you want me to be,” I said, my voice almost a growl.

  He smiled and nodded slightly, gazing at me through those long dark lashes.

  I kissed his mouth once more, briefly, and turned him so his back pressed against my chest. I set to work on his neck and shoulder, forcing him to relax under the onslaught of desperate need. I slowly took hold of his cock and moved with a soft rhythm and he started to melt. It was time.

  He knelt on the low bed, spread his legs willingly, placed his hands wide to keep his balance and looked over his shoulder. “Fuck me,” he said very quietly.

  I reached for my purse and found the vial of oil I needed. The moment the oil touched my cock everything accelerated. I couldn’t wait, I couldn’t test, I couldn’t think. I just wanted to own this beautiful man. I knelt behind him and guided myself into his body, pushing slowly. His breath caught in his throat and a low moan escaped.

  “Yes... Oh, that’s good. I want everything,” he begged. “Please, I want everything.”

  I pushed, more than willing to cooperate. He began to push back and then it happened. We were fucking. I held his hips between my hands and knew peace, bliss for long moments of perfection. Torvec worked hard and I wanted to feel more of his body against mine so I wrapped my arm around his waist, pulled on his shoulder and forced him upright, tight against my chest. He groaned loudly as he found all of me pushing into his body, hard.

  His arm snaked around my head to hold me tight to him and I played with his cock. He writhed, he moaned, he cried out my name in his soft voice and I wanted more. I wanted to own this man, this wonderful man who surrendered so perfectly to my desire. His movements were becoming increasingly erratic, his desire building to the point of release. He said something in a language I didn’t recognise and power – fey power – shot through us both from groin to the crown, out of my head and cascaded over my flesh. I cried out, feeling as if I were dying and being born anew.