Llewellyn’s Song
Page 8
He held off thrusting so he could watch that for a while. But his buttocks contracted of their own accord, sending his cock plunging back into her sex. Tamara let go of his balls and grabbed at her clit, arched her back even more, and a stream of music left her throat.
He joined her a second later, elf song bursting from his throat just as a jet of hot seed shot into Tamara’s womb. He held on to her waist, his hips thrusting madly, their elf song rising in urgent harmony, then falling into a gentle duet.
And he caught sight of his face. Yes, men looked half dazed, half dim-witted when they came. He was glad to see Tamara had her eyes closed.
The bed was softer than he was used to, and so the night passed slowly. He didn’t dare move though, for fear of waking Tamara. She’d been so exhausted she’d barely touched her dinner, and she would need her strength and rest. Somewhere in the wee hours she woke and clung to him and they made love again. This time softly and gently, like the smallest of waves breaking upon a calm shore. Their song was just a whisper in the night.
And then it was morning, and the trumpets sounded. Tamara and Llewellyn said their goodbyes in private. Neither knew when they would meet again, but no tears were shed. Now was the time for action and determination.
In the courtyard, Tamara’s team of scouts and messengers was gathered. Llewellyn was glad to see that Merlin was part of her troop. Branagh and Melle were there to bid them farewell. They would be following with the bulk of the army within the week, if all went well and the weather held. The sky was gray and heavy with snow. But that would not stop them. After crossing Bald Pass, they would send news.
Tamara twisted around once on her horse to wave goodbye. Then she rode off and didn’t look back. Llewellyn stood on the battlements until she was lost from sight. As her troop vanished, the first snowflakes began to fall.
Melle came to him and touched him lightly on the shoulder. “She is a remarkable woman.”
Llewellyn nodded. He didn’t need to tell Melle that he missed Tamara already. That seeing her ride away was like losing part of himself. She knew. In less than a week Melle would be leaving Branagh to join the archers, while Branagh would be at the head of his army, leading them all to battle.
The air grew colder as he stood there, and he realized the wind had turned and was out of the north. Everything, it seemed, was conspiring against them.
“I’m going to the supply captain to check that everything is set for the hospital tents.”
“I’ll see you for dinner tonight,” said Melle. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She too had noticed the change in wind. Her eyes, as they scanned the sky, were dark with concern.
Llewellyn made his way through the city. The people were subdued. They knew war was upon them. Their sons and husbands had armed themselves and prepared to leave. Winter solstice was near, the festive season. But not this year. This year the mistletoe and holly would go ungathered. Tinsel and lights would stay packed in their boxes. The solstice gifts would be practical and dangerous things this year—cloaks, bows and arrows, boots, swords, knives and love knots made of hair.
Until the Mouse King was defeated once and for all, war would once again haunt Hivernia. Llewellyn quickened his pace. The faster it was over, the faster he would be with Tamara. He sent a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening, then, taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door to the supply room.
For him, for Hivernia, the second war against the Mouse King was about to begin.
Chapter Nine
The Scout
Tamara didn’t look back. If she had, her heart would have broken. Instead, she gazed ahead between her horse’s pricked ears and studied the landscape. The rising sun broke through the heavy cloud cover and sent shafts of pale apricot light through the gray air. But the light was cold, and flakes of snow began to drift through the air.
Merlin, on her left, was silent as well. Behind them, the troop he’d assembled rode without speaking. There were no words that would soften the day, or make the bleakness brighter. Everyone was alone with their thoughts. The only sounds were the steady clopping of the horses’ hooves, and in the city, the ringing sound of the forges as the smiths hammered out swords and shields. The ringing would go on day and night now.
They left the city by the north gate and headed straight across winter-bare fields. And still Tamara didn’t look back. Instead, she began to plot the easiest way to her tribe’s valley, and then onward, ever north.
The plain seemed endless, but all too soon the forest was ahead and Tamara realized the sun was directly overhead. They had been riding for hours. She was glad they’d given her a calm, steady horse. Her riding skills were still rudimentary, and her legs and buttocks were starting to ache dreadfully. She sighed. Her horse was not tired, but she was, and hunger pinched her stomach. She was just about to call a halt when Merlin reined in his horse. They had barely entered the forest, and the plain behind them was just visible through the trees.
“Are we stopping to eat?” asked one of the troop members. Gavin, Tamara thought his name was. There were five of them and she had just met them that morning.
“No, someone is coming over the plains.” Merlin got off his horse and drew his sword. “I don’t know if it is friend or foe but our mission is secret, so we’d best hide. Go deeper into the forest and take the first path to the right. You’ll find a grove of holly. Stay there and wait for me.”
Tamara started to say something along the lines of “I don’t take orders from a male”, but she bit her tongue and nodded. Merlin and she were both leaders of this troop. He had taken charge this time.
“Come,” she said to the men, and they galloped down the path.
The holly grove was dense, and the dark green thorny leaves made good cover. Red berries glowed brightly in the trees, making the scene look festive. Tamara knew holly was prized for many things, being hard and smooth-grained. At another moment, she would be searching for branches to cut for arrows. But her heart wasn’t in it. She fiddled with her horse’s reins and wondered why Merlin was taking so long. Surely he could turn away whatever meddlesome person had followed them. The group of men obviously thought along the same lines, because they started to wonder aloud what could be keeping Merlin.
Hoofbeats alerted her to someone approaching. She held her hand up for silence and the men behind her quieted. Merlin cantered into view, his expression unfathomable.
“What is it?” she said, then caught sight of two other riders, not far behind him. Her throat closed up. “Llewellyn,” she managed to say.
“I suppose Branagh let you go,” said Merlin. They had made camp and were sitting around a small fire, grilling their meat on a skewer. This would be their only warm meal for the day. At night it would be too risky to light a fire.
“No. He wanted me to stay.” Llewellyn looked bleakly at the fire, then smiled at Tamara. “I told him I’d be there for the first battle, that I’m not much use until the wounded start arriving. He finally agreed. It took Melle’s intervention to convince him to let me go, however. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here at all.”
“What about you, Sebring? What’s your excuse? Aren’t you supposed to be with the archers?” Merlin didn’t sound angry with his twin. Instead, Tamara heard relief in his voice.
“Well, you’re supposed to be with the archers too, don’t forget. Just because you’re off on a vacation trip north…” Sebring’s words trailed off and he gave a little cough. “I wanted to go with you at least part of the way to see for myself what was happening. My men are highly trained, we don’t need to shoot arrows at targets. Actually, I told them all to go home, say their goodbyes and get ready for battle. Some of them hadn’t been home in months.”
“That was a wise move,” said Llewellyn. “But some may not come back, you know.”
“I know. It’s a chance I had to take.” Sebring shrugged. “I have a feeling my men will be waiting for me though. All of them.”
Tamara
’s hand crept out and found Llewellyn’s. “I’m glad you came,” she said. It was incredible how light her heart felt now that he was here beside her. The war and all its possible horrors receded. Alone, she was just half a person now. But with Llewellyn she was complete.
“We’re in this together, all of us,” she said, and the men looked at her and nodded.
They ate lunch and were on their way before the hour had gone. The whole afternoon and evening would be spent riding, and then the night would be spent camped in the dark, hidden in some cold corner of the great woods. But she would have Llewellyn beside her, his cloak over her shoulders, his arms around her body, keeping her warm. Her cheeks grew hot at the thought and Llewellyn, riding beside her, gave a soft chuckle.
“I can read your thoughts,” he said in a whisper.
“Then you know how much I love you,” she said.
“I know how much I’m glad I came along.” His horse jostled against hers, his knee brushing her leg. “I’m coming with you when you go to see your tribe. I’ll speak to your clan mother myself. She’ll listen to me because Branagh has given me a scroll for her. It will tell her the truth of what’s going on. After we’re done I’ll take you with me to the healing tents and we’ll stay together for the battle. All right?”
Llewellyn’s presence might save her from the punishment of leaving the tribe. Her clan mothers were not stupid. Such a great threat meant they had to join forces with Hivernia. Tamara thought of her kinswomen, who would certainly be fighting alongside Branagh’s troops. But she knew Llewellyn would be mad with worry if she fought in the battle. “All right,” she said. And at those words, she knew her fate was sealed. They would stay together. It was meant to be. As the sun dipped below the trees and the forest grew dark she knew she’d made the right decision. She and Llewellyn would be together for all time.
About Samantha Winston
Samantha Winston is the pen name for Jennifer Macaire, an American freelance writer/illustrator. She was born in Kingston, NY, and lived in Samoa, California, and the Virgin Islands before moving to France. She attended Parsons The New School for Design for fine art, and Palm Beach Junior College for art and English literature. She worked for five years as a model for Elite. Married to a professional polo player, she has three children.
After settling in France, she started writing full time and published short stories in such magazines as Polo Magazine, PKA’s Advocate, The Bear Deluxe, Nuketown, The Eclipse, Anotherealm, Linnaean Street, Inkspin, Literary Potpourri, Mind Caviar and the Vestal Review. One of her short stories was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. In June 2002 she won the 3am/Harper Collins flash fiction contest for her story “There are Geckos”.
Samantha welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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A Grand Passion
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Fever-Hot Dreams anthology
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Lady Jaided’s Virile Vampires anthology
Royal Bondage anthology
The Argentine Lover
Veiled Pleasures anthology
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
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Llewellyn’s Song
ISBN 9781419906008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Llewellyn’s Song Copyright © 2006 Samantha Winston
Edited by Ann Leveille
Cover design by Syneca
Photo: Istockphoto.com
Electronic book publication August 2006
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