by Nicole Locke
She remembered his words from her bath, in the mews, and the way he watched her at Gwalchdu and again at Brynmor. There had been lust there, but desire? No. This kind of desire was softer, deeper. He could not desire her.
‘For three days I have barely seen you,’ she pointed out.
‘A testament to my veracity,’ he said. ‘There are grave matters that I cannot tell you of, but that concern all. As much as I wish otherwise, now is not the best time for us to meet.’
‘Our meeting could hardly have been avoided because you were the one standing under the tree.’
‘True.’ He continued caressing her hands, but his body shifted so his front almost touched her knees. ‘Despite that this is hardly the time or the place, we have met now. This is not something I wanted, but it is also something I will not avoid. We are one, Anwen, and have been since the moment I caught you. I won’t deny this bond does not exist or that even now as I sit next to you, I...yearn for one word from you to end my need.’
Anwen extricated her hands from his and stood to the side. ‘I am tired from today’s work. We should return.’
He stood beside her. ‘You are changing the subject.’
‘There is no subject.’
‘There is. You are hardly unaware of it.’
Tightening the blanket around her, Anwen forced her eyes to look anywhere but him. Even so, she knew he spoke the truth. She could feel her skin flush at the thought of him, of need, of want, of desire. She hoped the shadows of the room hid her reaction. She wished she could pace, but the room was so small, standing had only made their proximity closer to each other. ‘What did you mean by an arrangement between us?’
Teague stood, measuring and calculating her response. She kept her face still to not reveal anything.
‘I want you, Anwen. No, need you. Need to know what it feels like to hold you close. To know the taste of your skin, feel how your breasts fill my hands, to skim the softness of your stomach with my fingers, my mouth—’
‘Rutting is your arrangement?’
He shook his head. ‘I wish to give you pleasure.’
‘You are no different than those men. You want to lay open my body so that you can slake your lust. All you desire is coupling!’
Dropping his blanket, he placed his palms against her shoulders. His light grasp was enough to stop her. Stop her, so she felt the warmth of his palms spread waves of heat through her body.
‘There are many reasons not to be here. I, of all men, know this should be avoided.’
‘Avoided? You planned all of this.’
‘Never. If you knew my past, if you knew what—’ He shook his head. ‘This isn’t planned. This is hope. I keep hoping; it’s why we’re here. So I talk of coupling,’ he whispered, his thumbs caressing and rubbing against her shoulders. She realised she could move, but her legs, her body, were strangely not like her own. Nothing of her was her own. She stood inside the tiny hut but her skin felt like a thousand warm winds brushed against it, her heart beating as if she’d run to the top of a cliff.
‘I think of coupling,’ he said, with more sweeping caresses across her shoulders. Caresses that changed her breath as if gusts swept them away as she stood poised on that cliff, waiting to vault.
Shifting, moving closer, against her, his movements restrained, her body responding as if he tightened the creance holding them together. Holding them on that cliff, about to soar. Her own feet and legs lifting her up...up to Teague’s lips, his head bowing. Then his words against her lips: ‘I want nothing but coupling—with you.’
Desire slammed into her as Teague’s lips and body crushed hers. She spun, once, twice, trying to think, and then no more as she flew. As she felt the firm softness of his lips, his hot hands tracing from her shoulders to the small of her back and lower, until he pressed her more fully to him. Her feet were no longer on the ground. She released the blanket and grasped his arms; her fingers curled around his biceps, the tendons taut from holding her.
His entire body was rigid. Her breasts moulded against the hard mounds of his chest, her hips cradled his, her legs, lifted by his arms, wrapped around his thighs. Her body softened, became moist, and she soared higher.
‘Anwen, please, please tell me this is what you want.’ Teague’s kisses trailed behind her jaw, where they became firmer, more insistent, before he lightly bit along her neck. It was fierce but gentle and very, very possessive. ‘Please tell me you know this is different.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured. Her relief, coupled with her need, was too much. She gripped his shoulders as if she was flying too high. ‘Yes, again.’
He made an answering groan against her skin as he laid her gently on the pallet.
There was a momentary adjusting as he knelt beside her, his hands gliding along her collar bones over her heart before circling the undersides of her breasts.
Needing more, she arched and pressed herself fully into his hands. It wasn’t enough.
‘Here.’ He gestured with his hands, he asked with his dark, dark eyes.
She raised herself up. Deft fingers unlaced her gown, released her chemise and pushed the tangled clothing over her shoulders. Her skirts bunched at her waist and bared her breasts to his touch.
‘Anwen.’ His voice low, gruff. ‘You’re beautiful. More than I imagined. More than I could ever imagine.’
His words brought her back from the cliff, to her actions, to the man that knelt before her. And she only wanted to fly again.
His eyes softened. ‘I am a warrior, Anwen. I know more of battlefields than I do the tenderness of maids, but I swear I will be gentle.’
He pulled his tunic off. She’d never seen him this close. His skin was smooth, but hard, the muscles built upon each other, giving bulk and length to his form.
The small room and flickering firelight enhanced his sun-darkened skin. She could see the scars of his training, of the warrior he claimed to be. She wanted to touch him, to test the heat of his skin, but before she could lift her arms, he stood to unbuckle his belt. He suddenly glanced through the window, and stopped, his hands frozen at his waist.
His face turned from passion, to doubt, to fury. ‘No!’
Teague’s vehemence broke Anwen’s thoughts. She pushed herself to her elbows, but Teague was already grabbing his tunic, pulling it hurriedly over his head.
‘Get dressed.’ He gazed down at her, his brow furrowing. She was not prepared for the urgency she saw in his face.
‘What’s wrong?’ She stood, pulling her chemise and gown over her head. Her fingers shook from confusion and passion as she tied the surcoat under her arm. The world was crashing around her.
She hadn’t been thinking. One moment she was accusing him of making her his whore and the next she was lying beneath him. Beneath the Traitor! Now, all signs of passion gone, he was leaving her in cold embarrassment. Then she turned and looked through the window.
Brynmor was in flames.
* * *
They ran, pulling each other through the mass of people fleeing through the castle gates. Eyes watering from searing smoke, Anwen searched every blackened face in the courtyard.
‘You have to get out of here!’
‘No!’ Anwen gasped. Brynmor’s wooden towers blazed like giant torches in the night. Half the manor was nothing more than black fractured beams and swirling ash. The upper apartments were gone, the foundation disintegrating in the heat.
Peter, his clothes half-burnt, rushed forward.
‘Where’s Robert?’ Teague demanded.
‘I don’t know; I’ve been trying to gather the men since the fire first started in the apartments.’
Alinore! Anwen surged forward.
Teague grabbed her arm. ‘I can’t worry for you and others!’
There was nothing left of the apartme
nts now, Alinore had to be somewhere else; but the fire was leaping from the manor to the mews and she couldn’t take the chance. Tugging her arm free, Anwen ran for the mews.
* * *
Anwen shuffled closer to the supply building almost fully engulfed in flaming spires. She no longer paid heed to her exhausted body’s stabbing aches or to her limbs shaking. Hours before she’d wrapped her hands in cloth to protect them from hot debris, but now they blistered and bled through the blackened cloth.
Shouting servants and running villagers swarmed the courtyard. There were still more household items to find, more people to save. Earlier, she’d found one child under a burning table, but more children could be missing.
Through the crackling of the building, she heard a shout before a thunderous crash of a wall falling. Intense heat and black smoke swirled. Anwen clenched her eyes against the sting of flying ash and gasped as the air became saturated in red fire.
She couldn’t see who shouted. She lowered herself to her hands and knees.
Something gripped her leg.
It was a demon, with hair and eyes as black as night and a body singed and covered in soot. His body was beneath a structure leaning at a deadly angle.
‘Teague.’ The increasing smoke made her voice raspy, her lungs weak.
‘Get out!’
She was on her knees, and couldn’t see his legs beyond the structure. He was trapped.
Her heart leapt. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s my leg. I can’t free it. The rest of the building is going to collapse.’
Wildly she looked around, but there was nothing to pry him free. She couldn’t move the timbers with her bare hands. ‘Give me your hand.’ She took his before he offered and grasped just under his elbow before tugging hard. The structure above wobbled and she stopped.
‘Leave before it collapses on you, too.’
The Traitor, stuck in a burning building. The Devil of Gwalchdu, who betrayed the Welsh, made Brynmor vulnerable to the English King, who increased Urien’s rages, who kept her prisoner, was trapped under Byrnmor’s flaming collapse.
It was almost horrifyingly perfect. Her own home, which would soon be nothing but molten ash billowing in the wind, would kill him. Teague, who was still pleading for her to leave, who was even now trying to save her. Teague, who needed her.
‘I have to find help!’
He grabbed her hand and clenched hard, so hard she finally felt it through her bandages and the pain. ‘It’s too dangerous!’
Gripped by his obsidian eyes, by his roughened hand that she clenched in return, it took all her strength to release him before she fled out of the building.
She ran blind until she could see Peter and veered in his direction.
Images flashed before her. Teague. Alone. Flames reaching for him, his eyes, so black, so black.
Waving her arms, crying out, she caught Peter’s attention, who ran towards her.
She would return Peter to Teague and with his sword, he’d pry away the timber to drag him free. Teague would be safe. She closed her fist, still feeling the strength of his hand in hers.
His hand. She stumbled, started to topple, only frightening realisation kept her moving forward.
Teague hadn’t grabbed her hand to gain her attention. He clenched it as if he’d never hold it again. At that last moment, his black eyes gripped hers, not in anger, but in bleak desolation as he yelled for her to leave him.
He expected her to leave him...and never return.
‘Help!’ she cried past the hoarse dryness in her throat. ‘Help!’
Chapter Fifteen
Anwen heard the crunching of the gravel beneath her ear before she opened her eyes to the river flowing in front of her. She wondered how she found herself at the river again, but it was the sounds of villagers coughing and animals bleating that broke through her confusion. She pushed up and gave a low cry. Her hands, freshly bandaged, felt like splinters of wood had been shoved in them. Before her eyes, bright red blotches appeared.
‘How do you feel?’
Rhain stood over her. Behind him were people with armfuls of kindling. Some were carrying blankets or rope. Some were sitting, leaning against the sparse birch trees or lying down. All of them were still blackened from the smoke and many of them slumped as they walked. It was as if the burden they now carried was slowly crushing them.
‘Where’s Teague?’ Clasping the blanket around her, she stood.
‘Woke up before you.’
How had she fallen asleep? She’d been worried for Teague, trying to make him comfortable, to tend him as he directed his men. She remembered him laying down, his warm hand rubbing low on her back...
Anwen glanced behind her. There was Teague, his hair wet, his clothes fresh; the only indication of their hellish night were the bandages around his leg. He was talking to Peter and pointing in the direction where some soldiers were building makeshift tents.
‘How is his leg?’
‘He hasn’t mentioned it.’ Rhain’s gaze followed hers.
Of course Teague didn’t mention it. Peter had said it wasn’t broken, but still Teague had to be in pain. Toiling, pushing himself. Already he wasn’t caring for his leg. He hadn’t even told Rhain about the injury, as if it was insignificant, as if he hadn’t almost lost his life.
‘Timber fell on it. It’s badly burnt and should be taken care of.’
Aware of Rhain’s assessing gaze and that she spoke of Teague’s care, she said, ‘You arrived quickly.’
‘I saw the fire from Gwalchdu’s towers and was already on my way here when Teague’s messenger arrived. I sent him on to Gwalchdu to bring soldiers back.’
‘You were coming to Brynmor’s aid by yourself?’
‘It was faster and the least I could do for my brother.’
Melun, with a blanket covering his shoulders, was sitting quietly with other older villagers. Ffion was tending the injured, her pouch of healing herbs swinging along with her black robes. Anwen didn’t see Urien or Alinore, but the bend in the river didn’t allow her to see everything.
Rhain offered her his arm and she rested a hand there. ‘As long as the weather holds, we’ll set camp here until we clear Brynmor of anything useful. Teague is already making decisions to move people to Gwalchdu.’
‘There’s nothing left?’
‘The keep is gone. There are a few buildings, but the fire extended to the outer wall.’ Rhain’s eyes softened. ‘With the loss, it would be unrealistic to repair.’
Especially since it was hardly adequate before. Her home was gone. ‘What needs to be done?’
‘We have brought provisions from Gwalchdu and are slowly taking some of the more wounded villagers to Gwalchdu first. It is slow as Teague wants no one unprotected and there are many working on the small fires still burning at Brynmor.’
‘Unprotected? What do you mean, unprotected?’
‘You should be resting,’ Teague ordered, as he walked towards them. Clean clothes and a fresh face didn’t hide the circles under his eyes, or the strain around his mouth. He limped, though he tried to hide it. Still, he appeared as indomitable as Gwalchdu’s stone.
She was still shaking with what had happened last night. ‘So should you. I merely need to know what I can do to help.’
‘You don’t know when to stop, do you?’ he said.
‘Goshawks are my favourite bird.’ The bird was known for tenacity in the face of adversity.
‘Yes, and they are foolhardy stubborn birds.’
Rhain glanced from Teague to Anwen. ‘I think I will take my leave and pull charred splinters from the horses’ hides.’
Anwen watched Rhain walk away. Her arguing wouldn’t return her home, nor was it the gracious response in light of the sacrifices made.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For helping.’
Teague’s eyes searched hers with a light so bright in their dark depths and yet some equally dark hesitancy. ‘I should be thanking you.’
She was shaking from her fear, shaking from what he revealed to her in the fire. Shaking from something she didn’t trust and didn’t want to think about just yet.
‘The houses,’ she said. ‘Rhain told me what you are beginning. It is not an easy or profitable task.’
Teague’s eyes lost their light. ‘But the most fair.’
‘I thought the English didn’t know that word.’
He peered over her shoulder. ‘It was taught to me at an early age.’
Another revelation. She feared knowing more about him brought her too close to him. This man of power, of control. A man, who ruled. Worse, not only did she now owe him the debt of her life, but the debt of her people.
All through the night, as she desperately tried to save what she could of her Brynmor, she saw Teague fighting to rescue her people. Now, he was giving a kindness she could never hope to repay. Her life was becoming so entwined with the Traitor’s, she didn’t know how she would ever be free of him.
Teague grabbed one of her hands, tenderly cupping it between his thick palms. His brow furrowed as he contemplated their hands before his dark gaze returned to hers.
‘Urien was not found.’
She nodded. Unfit, unwell, it would have been too much to find him alive. After hating him for so long, she wouldn’t grieve over his loss, but that wasn’t how everyone would feel. Alinore would be devastated.
‘I should leave. Alinore will need me now,’ she said.
Teague’s hand jumped over hers. The movement gave him away, more so than his eyes shifting. ‘Teague?’
His eyes darkened, softened.
‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head, willing Teague to mimic her movements, but he simply let go of her hand.
‘No,’ Anwen repeated, her soul in agony as she realised the awful truth.