He had permitted Gynt to get under his skin but they shared more than friendship. They shared the Heartwood and its secrets and now they shared Rubyn. Although Cyrus never allowed himself to admit it, Rubyn was as good as a son. He had cradled him as a newborn in his arms and since that day, Rubyn had rarely been out of his sight or his care. They were as close as a father and son could be and yet Rubyn belonged to another man who had recently come to claim him and put him in danger. That alone was alarming.
And the conversation with Hela had served to unsettle him far more than he had first thought. He had initially decided to leave her because he thought their conversation was headed in a direction he might regret. It was obvious the woman was lonely, desperately in need of some male companionship, and all it would have taken was a smile or a look from him and they would be rolling between the sheets right now. He hated his having deliberately set out to undermine her, make her feel uncomfortable, but he realised she was more than just one of the vast array of women he had bedded in his time. Hela possessed a razor-sharp mind and she had countered his comments and come back quick as lightning with her own, which took his breath away.
Why? Because she was right. Hela had nailed his uncertainties and insecurities as effectively as Corlin had once nailed him between two trees. For all his posturing as a brave son of Tallinor, Cyrus knew he was a coward. A coward when it came to affairs of the heart, that is. The pain experienced at the loss of his wife—a woman so gentle, so serene and so perfectly matched to him—had been too much for him to bear and so he had ignored his agonising memory of her. Locked it away. Never allowing it to surface. He had almost forgotten the curves and lines of her face.
He knew he had never really resurfaced into the light of day from the moment of her death, for ever walking within a private haze of darkness—her legacy.
He enjoyed women but kept them purely as objects of lust. Once he was satisfied, he was courteous and always gallant but he rarely saw the same woman twice and despite knowing it might hurt her feelings he never looked back nor made any apology for his ways.
But Hela had touched him somehow. Learning her story he had to admire the tough exterior she too had built around herself for different reasons. She was so different from the courtly, elegant young women who had all but thrown themselves at him when he was Prime. From such a young age Hela had needed to fend for herself and she was courageous and loyal —qualities he personally admired so much he had to look away from her when she was retelling the story of their escape from Cipres and later from Goth. It was Hela who had kept Sarel strong and Hela who would hopefully restore the Queen to her rightful throne. The Cipreans owed much to this small, resourceful and very desirable woman.
That he desired her was not in question. Her dark features and petite, curvy build spoke to him of satisfactions between the sheets he had perhaps not experienced. It would be so easy, but Hela seemed to look into him; saw him for what he was and that was unsettling. To share a deeper touch such as a kiss and all that it might lead to frightened him and Cyrus was not a man to be easily frightened. And so he walked without purpose for more than two hours until the moon was fully risen, the people on the streets thinning and he found himself standing on the landing outside their room once again.
He hoped she was sleeping. Hoped they had nothing more to say to one another and could start afresh in the morning knowing the circumstances they found themselves in this night would probably not be repeated. He opened the door with caution and stepped soundlessly inside. Cyrus held his breath but he let it out quietly as he could see Hela asleep; her dark hair loose and tousled on the pillow. He could hear her rhythmic breathing and relaxed. All was well. No demons to confront this night.
The fire burned gently now and would die to embers very soon. In its soft glow he studied her face. It was not arrestingly beautiful like Alyssa’s, nor did it have the high, superb cheekbones of his wife which had given her a serene, chiselled look.
Instead her face seemed to be a collection of nice enough features which formed a pretty arrangement. And yet the darkness of the features was extraordinary. Long lashes lying against her cheek; the hair soft, shiny and long; the sleeping eyes feline and dark—so dark as to be almost black.
He sighed softly and then, watching her face for any sign of waking, dragged together the two armchairs—wincing at any noise—not very comfortable but it would do. He pulled his shirt over his head and stretched tall, turning away from Hela now to gaze from where he stood by the fireplace out of the long windows.
Hela had always been clever at deception. Pretending to be asleep was one of the easiest of all ruses and she knew she had capably tricked Cyrus or he would not be so relaxed in front of her. She opened her eyes to slits and stared at him stretching. She had been right. His body was hard and muscled, still very lean for an older man and no sign of the paunch of age and prosperity around his belly. For one of the few times in her life, she was confused over a man. What to do? She wanted to somehow put things right between them but she did not know how and Hela did not want them to go to sleep on the awkwardness which lay between them. To do that would mean waking within the same unresolved atmosphere and, with all that was ahead for them, she could not bear the thought of it.
So Hela turned to her cunning. She used her best attribute and hoped it might win the day. Stirring, pretending not to notice him she sat up in bed and stretched herself, allowing Cyrus a perfect view of her full breasts as she pulled her hands up over her head and then allowed her hair to fall lazily down her back. She could hear his sharp intake of breath and knew he was trapped and semi-naked himself now by the fire. She continued the pretence of not realising he was there, faking that she was sleepy and still in a dreamy state as she moved her legs from the bed to the floor.
She pushed the sheet away, feeling very vulnerable in her full nakedness but determined to see where this might lead. Hela yawned and sat there a moment or two, swaying slightly as though still needing to find full consciousness and then she stood.
This was it. He would either give in to her or cut her to the quick by making some sharp comment which would have her rushing back to her sheets and covering up. She was ready for it.
He said nothing. The silence was deafening but she ignored it.
Hela took the chance, opened her eyes, still not turning towards the fire, and walked to the small jug of water near the window. She knew now she was giving him full view of her delectable back in all of its curvy, naked loveliness and she let him enjoy it for as long as she considered one might possibly linger over a few sips of water.
And then she turned, seemingly fully awake now and made to shriek at seeing him standing there and looking directly at her.
‘Hush, Hela,’ he said softly. ‘It is Cyrus.’
‘What are you doing standing there in the dark?’ she said, trying to cover herself with her hands and hair but deliberately failing.
‘Forgive me. I thought you were asleep.’
‘Were you watching me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you want me to.’
She was glad it was too dark for him to see her blush at the truth of his comment. ‘That’s a stupid answer, Cyrus. Why were you compelled to stare at me in my sleep?’
‘Actually I did all the staring whilst you were awake and showing yourself off to your best advantage.’
Did she see a trace of a smile there? Perhaps not. Too hard to tell as he had moved into a shadow.
He repeated himself. ‘My apologies, Hela. I will leave again.’
‘No!’ she said, loud enough to startle him as he turned to walk to the door. ‘Don’t leave,’ she added very softly now.
He sighed, not looking at her. ‘Hela, I can’t.’
‘Not can’t. More like won’t,’ she said, her voice a little harsh.
He cleared his throat and leaned one long, muscled arm against the mantle but made no further move to leave. Suddenly in t
he dying glow of the embers he really did look the fully sad man that he was. Proud, strong, impressive but nonetheless vulnerable.
Hela moved swiftly to stand next to him. ‘Look at me,’ she said. It sounded like a command. ‘Please,’ she added.
And he did.
‘Is it so wrong that you could desire me?’ she asked with feeling.
His eyes never strayed from hers. His voice when he finally spoke was soft. She had not heard that gentleness in it before. It melted her. ‘Not wrong at all. What is wrong is that I would use you and you deserve better.’
‘It is my choice. I’ll take the risk.’
‘No.’ He shook his head slowly.
‘Then you take the risk!’ she said a little angrily now. ‘Risk it, Cyrus. Chance that you might actually like me. Your wife is dead—long dead by the sound of things. Step back into the light and allow yourself the opportunity to love someone. I’m not naive enough to believe it may be me but risk that it might be. What is so wrong with loving each other for a night?’
She saw his grey eyes soften and mist a little. This was hurting him. And he was so controlled. So strong. Most men would have at least reached for her naked body by now, helpless against such temptation—but not him.
‘Touch me, Cyrus. I want you to. And I will risk that in the morning you will not want to touch me again. But tonight enjoy me as I will enjoy you. We are two lonely people with no one to love except a child each, neither of whom are ours. We are kindred spirits you and I. And we are walking directly into danger, perhaps death. Who knows? I do it gladly for that same young woman I love. You do it for a young woman you had never met before now. You risk so much for a stranger…why not risk your emotions for someone you know and holds you to no obligation?’
He hesitated and in that moment’s uncertainty she reached for his hand and when he did not resist her, she laid his elegant fingers against her cheek and at his touch let out the breath she had been holding. When she took her own hand away from his, she felt her heart surge when his other hand moved from the mantle to cup the other side of her face.
He held her there for a moment as he looked deeply into her eyes and then he leaned down; Cyrus faltered just for a second and then, as though letting go of all his internal protests, he touched his mouth to hers and for a blissful period forgot everything—from his long-held heartache to his fears about what they faced.
The former prime could no longer distinguish his surrounds— everything was Hela; all he could feel were her hands on his body, the smell of her lingering spicy fragrance, the touch of her tongue, the taste of her smooth skin. He cast away doubt and released years of passion, allowing his hands to roam over the small, lithe body and his mouth to search hers—sometimes gently, sometimes more forcefully.
Wrapping her legs about himself, Cyrus effortlessly lifted and carried her to the bed where he laid her down, but she refused to let go of his neck, refused to allow him escape from her kiss and so he lowered himself gently and finally surrendered to the intimate pleasures of her body.
26
Promises
Gidyon scanned the audience. The auditorium had filled quickly with happy, chattering folk keen to see one of their favourite travelling ensembles. The acts changed regularly enough on its slow journey around the Kingdom but there were favourites, such as Caerys the Snake and Sword Swallower, who made his name with the famous Cirq Zorros.
Gidyon had briefed Figgis and Themesius on their ‘turn’, as the giant liked to call it.
‘Are you sure?’ Figgis had asked.
‘No one will be able to account for it,’ Gidyon had replied. ‘And it’s quick and simple. Let’s not forget what my father urged. We must leave as soon as we can.’
The giant had nodded then. ‘I have spoken with Tyne. It only involved a small lie. He understands.’
‘Good,’ Gidyon had replied. ‘What about the Fat Lady? Is she happy with my plans?’
Themesius had smiled at this. ‘She’s intrigued…and er…more than happy to be handled by a young man.’ His deep voice had rumbled with amusement. ‘Said it would be the first time in a long while.’
‘I’m going to check for Yseul.’
Gidyon stared out across a sea of people who had taken the advice from Tyne’s hastily posted message that for one night only, the Greatest Show on Earth would play in Brittelbury.
Gwerys, his eyes shining with anticipation, spotted him first and waved, nudging his sister. She turned and a look reserved for new lovers softened across her face. Gidyon’s heart felt as though it had flipped. He remembered their kiss from earlier that day and wished he could taste it again. Was this love? He did not know. All he wanted to do was to hold her close and never let her go. She raised her hand and waved shyly. He swallowed hard. How would he find the courage to leave her?
Several acts preceded theirs, all enjoying loud and boisterous applause from an eager audience, happy to lap up all of Master Tyne’s curiosities and strange people with even stranger talents. None, Gidyon could tell, had wielded any magic and so when the tall young man walked out on stage looking anything but odd, an expectant hush gripped the crowd.
He chanced a glance towards Yseul and Gwerys; both looked radiant for different reasons—he could not help but flash a smile for them alone. Gidyon had given Tyne only a brief description of the act they would perform tonight. The Master of the Show could not believe his ears but the young man’s confidence forced him to permit what sounded like utter folly.
Tyne told the audience this was their most dangerous act. He truly believed it too. ‘Could everyone move back as far as possible and give Master Gidyon the room he requires,’ he said in a reverential tone. His sombre expression encouraged them to take him seriously and the crowd shuffled backwards as one. This was all showmanship—Gidyon needed no more room than he already had but he did not tell Tyne this.
Tyne introduced Figgis, who walked out proudly into the arena to applause. Dwarves were not common but neither were they particularly spectacular, so the applause reflected a polite appreciation of a race long forgotten. He took a bow. Next it was the Fat Lady’s turn. The audience had already met the Queen of Pork and although familiar with her incredible bulk they greeted her once again with resounding appreciation for her enormity. She smiled and waved warmly. Now it was the giant’s turn. No one in Brittelbury had caught a peep of Themesius prior to this moment. The huge, strong man strode out into the main arena to shrieks of disbelief at his size and roars of approval for a genuine ‘freak’.
Meet a real showstopper, he said, for Gidyon’s and Figgis’s benefit, grinning widely.
Figgis, keen to get the whole thing over and done with, turned to Gidyon. And so you just want me to leap towards you now? Is that right?
Gidyon nodded. At my signal.
The audience hushed again until several hundred people finally managed to achieve silence. A slow smile spread across Gidyon’s face.
‘To me, dwarf!’ he called loudly, reaching out his hands.
Figgis sighed inwardly but ran as commanded and as their outstretched arms touched, the dwarf flipped into the air and landed, feet first, on Gidyon’s hand which was raised high into the air.
Impressed?
Only slightly, like them, he replied, nodding towards the audience.
The crowd cheered warmly to reward the grace of the dwarf and strength of the man holding him in one hand, but they expected a lot more was yet to happen. It was supposed to be dangerous after all.
Gidyon ignored Figgis’s contempt. ‘To me, Fat Lady!’ he yelled, his voice carrying into the night.
Everyone laughed as what was surely the Kingdom’s largest woman did her best to move quickly. Arms outstretched, she managed to get up a surprising gallop. No one in the audience for a second believed she could do anything much more than bowl the handsome young man and his balancing dwarf over into the dust. They held their laughter as her hands made contact and then silence again as she too flipped effo
rtlessly into the air, balancing on his other hand.
Her own shocked expression told the watchers that this was something beyond comprehension. It had to be trickery for no man was that strong. No woman as large as that could flip into the air with so little effort or balance with such ease. Murmurings of disbelief combined with wonder could be heard.
All heads now turned towards the giant and then back again to the trio. Gidyon moved to balance Figgis on his head.
Is anyone going to believe this? the dwarf asked, a little bored.
Does it matter?
I suppose not, Figgis replied. Don’t tell me the Fat Lady now stands on my head!
I’m afraid so, Gidyon said and with a small flick threw the Fat Lady high into the air. She screamed hysterically. Her terror was picked up by the already tense mob as they watched her spin with grace and land on the tip of her toes on the head of Figgis. The dwarf sighed theatrically across the Link.
Now ask her to do what I told her earlier, Gidyon asked Figgis.
‘Fat Lady!’
‘Yes?’ Everything was wobbling.
‘Do what he instructed earlier.’
‘I’m not sure I have the courage,’ she hissed.
‘Just do it,’ Figgis offered gently. ‘You will not fall.’
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