Lord of the Forest

by Lord of The Forest (lit)

  Linnea looked again at Lord Vane, whose air of genial menace reminded her in some ways of Ravelle himself. “He may be the man, as you say.”

  “Yes, he is more than a match for the demon. They share a willingness to fight to the death, though Vane is not unkind. Just uncivilized. And cursed with a fiery temper.”

  They came closer to the table where Megaleen was still seated next to Simeon. Marius and Gideon each had an arm draped over the empty chair next to them, as if they had been patiently waiting for Linnea and Rhiannon.

  Linnea hung back a moment longer. “Has Lord Vane a lady?”

  “Of a sort. When he is drunk, he tells stories of her. His beauty bare and all that. She is, I believe, made of fire.”

  “Then they will be happy. But I wish he would stop staring at us.”

  Rhiannon took her hand. “Pay no attention.”

  They took their places by the men they loved, and the discussion continued far into the night.

  Lord Vane banged his fist on the table. He’d gone down to the kitchen during a lull in the talk and from thence to Simeon’s cellars, where he’d found several small bottles of kelp brandy and smuggled them back up to the hall concealed in his tunic. He was quite drunk. There was nothing the others could do about it.

  “I tell you,” he growled, “Ravelle is a rank amateur. I can match him fire for fire, dirty trick for dirty trick.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Gideon said as calmly as he could. “But—”

  “But nothing. Why will you three not let me fight him one on one?”

  “We are six. Seven, counting you. And we are stronger together,” Rhiannon said. She glanced at Linnea, whose drowsy head rested on Marius’s shoulder. She was still awake, though, observing the proceedings through heavy-lidded eyes but Marius was in dreamland, even though he was sitting in a straight chair. Must be the horse in him, she reflected. Rhiannon envied him the ability to fall asleep in an upright position. The discussion had dragged on for hours and, thanks to Vane’s boorish behavior, was deteriorating into masculine showing off on his part.

  For the moment, he had shut up. He too was looking at Linnea, Rhiannon noticed. As a newcomer among them, Linnea had said little, sticking close to Marius. There was a love story in the making, Rhiannon thought with an inward smile.

  From the windows outside, the first light of dawn was barely visible over the sea. Simeon rose. “We have talked until sunrise and come to no useful conclusions. Let us retire.”

  “You can.” Vane uncorked the last little bottle of kelp brandy and put it to his lips. His gorge moved rapidly as he drank it down. “I’m going.”

  “Where?” Gideon asked.

  “That is none of your affair. Fuck off.” Vane sat the bottle down so hard it cracked. Marius woke at the sound, and looked around confusedly. Then he kissed the top of Linnea’s head and closed his eyes again. Vane stared at the two of them with burning eyes.

  “You are spoiling for a fight, my friend,” Simeon said firmly. “I think you should sleep it off.”

  “Yes,” Megaleen said. “There is a chamber ready.”

  “With smooth sheets and soft pillows and rushes strewn upon the floor. Peaceful and quiet,” Vane said.

  “Of course,” Megaleen began but Vane glared at her.

  “Is there no woman who will warm my bed?” he asked rudely. “Can’t you send up a strumpet?”

  “No.”

  “Bloody hell. I’ll be damned if I’ll sleep alone.” He only glanced at Linnea this time, but both Megaleen and Rhiannon caught it, and they exchanged a long look.

  They rose from their seats, a move that prompted Linnea to lift her head and nudge Marius awake.

  Half awake. Enough to stand up and follow his lady to the chamber they would share for the night. His hand moved down from the small of her back, absently patting her buttocks.

  Lord Vane, slumped in his chair, watched that with angry eyes. Rhiannon lost patience with him and urged him roughly to his feet. He grumbled at her, then remembered where he was, shooting a surly look at the two remaining lords of Arcan.

  “What?” he snarled. “Why the stern faces? I didn’t do anything.”

  In answer, Gideon and Simeon moved to the back of his chair and grabbed him together under his arms, hauling him to his feet.

  “Let me go!”

  His loud protest was ignored, and they half-dragged him to the stairs that led to the kitchen, bumping and shoving him down.

  Megaleen and Rhiannon heard the heavy door of the stronghold groan open and the quiet voices of the men-at-arms.

  “He does not deserve to be treated like a lord when he acts like a ruffian. I suspect they will bring him to the stables,” Simeon’s lady said. “He can sleep it off there.”

  “In all that straw?” Rhiannon replied. “His very breath might set it on fire. Kelp brandy is potent stuff.”

  Megaleen raised an eyebrow. “You have a point.” She moved toward the stairs herself to follow the men. “He can sleep on stone then. Outside.”

  Lord Vane did not awaken for hours. The sun had set. He ached all over and there was a bitter taste of seaweed in his mouth. Some thoughtful soul had left him a jug of water, even if he had lacked bedding.

  He got up and put it to his lips, rinsing out his mouth and pouring the rest of it over his head.

  He must have been quite drunk. The other lords were generally more forgiving when he was in his cups. But then all the women had been present, which was unusual. He pissed next, in a splashing stream that betrayed how long and deeply he’d slept. Relieved but not feeling chipper otherwise, he looked out to sea and thought of the new lady. Linnea.

  Something about her was deeply exciting. She had spirit to spare and an obvious, animal sensuality that intrigued him. He’d not been able to take his eyes off her. Doe eyes, lithe body, graceful walk—her dainty feet in pointed slippers reminded him of little hooves, like an antelope’s.

  Marius was no match for her. The way the centaur was always crashing around in the forest—bah. He was too clumsy for the elegant Linnea, Vane thought, yawning.

  He turned around, hearing distant voices coming from the stronghold that towered above him. Some friends, he thought sourly. They’d dragged him outside to sleep it off in the cold, which was why he ached.

  He listened intently. The pointless discussion of what to do about Ravelle seemed to be continuing. He didn’t want to get into all that again. If they’d left him outside, then he could come and go as he pleased.

  The evening torches had been lit and the windows above him glowed. In the highest one, he caught a glimpse of a female form.

  The very female who’d been on his mind. Linnea. He was almost sure it was her. Vane studied the rock walls of the stronghold, not seeing a way up. But if he was careful, he could climb the rough stones themselves, row by row.

  He looked down. It was a long way to fall if he lost his grip. His brains would be dashed out on the rocks below and his body swept out to sea by the foaming breakers. The silhouetted woman passed by the window again, moving quickly. He had a sudden urge to get to her before she went down the endless stairs and sat demurely at the table with the others.

  Now.

  It had always been his rallying cry. The Lord of Fire was not to be gainsaid.

  He gripped a slab of stone with both hands and hoisted himself up to the first row. The climb was arduous but exhilarating. He’d had to cling to the building like a spider, inching up, but the effort cleared his mind and made his hot blood fizz.

  He had no idea if she was still there, though. Vane’s hands gripped the edge of the small terrace at the top of the tower and he pulled himself up just enough to look over. Instantly, a volcano of pure lust boiled over in his soul, not that he had one, and he almost fell, looking at her.

  Linnea was bathing in an enormous tub made of wooden staves. He hadn’t known there was one in the tower, but he didn’t pity the maids who had to carry up the water to fill it. He would
have done it himself, just to see her naked, playing by herself, pink and slippery. Her long hair was wet—she must gone under to soak it—and it lay in lovely wiggles over her back and shoulders that dripped back into the water.

  He couldn’t see her nipples, only the tops of what had to be perfect breasts, round and full and floating.

  She was lathering sweet-smelling soap in her hands. The fragrance tickled his nostrils. Then she raised one arm to wash underneath it and straightened up, revealing her breasts, tawny-pink, erect nipples, dripping water.

  He wanted to suck every drop.

  Vane almost lost his grip and cursed under his breath. Much as he wanted to watch her on the sly, he didn’t want to die doing it.

  She was busy with her ablutions and he peered around through the jagged rock edge of the terrace. Shoved in one corner was a tall screen. A long cloth had been slung over it, for drying purposes. If he could crabwalk and then clamber over, he could hide behind it.

  He did it.

  Vane flexed his cramped fingers and squatted behind the screen to ease his muscles, tense and aching from the hard climb. And that wasn’t all that was hard. He had a massive erection that wasn’t going to go away. The leather breeches the Lord of Fire preferred to wear would hold back his throbbing cock.

  Unless she wanted to see it.

  He was tempted to hand her the towel when she got out. If she screamed, who would hear?

  He certainly wasn’t going to harm her. He would make some ridiculous excuse, ease past her and down the stairs, and plead drunkenness if anyone caught him. To hell with all of them, anyway. Except her, of course.

  Linnea stood up in the tub and he gasped. The raw wind of yesterday had died down to a fresh breeze and it made the water dripping down her body sparkle in the sun. It was still cool, though. Those nipples of hers were tight and high. She was flawless, except for a thin scar in the middle of her chest that was still pink. From a fall? He didn’t care. The imperfection only added to her incredible beauty.

  She put one foot up on the edge of the tub and bent over. Vane moved to get the best view of juicy-wet labia. Just what he liked. A plump cunt snugged between pretty haunches. All she needed was a pert white triangular tail over it. Like a doe in heat. Taking her time about it, she ran her soapy hands into her pussy and gave it a thorough, luxurious scrub. Almost as if she were a little sore.

  Marius must have had her last night. The thought didn’t make Vane jealous. It only added to his excitement. She used the extra lather to wash between her buttocks, too, bending over a little more and spreading to get in there. One slender finger slipped into the tight hole. Then out.

  She was innocently shameless. He was overcome with lust by that unexpected move and adjusted his position. And his aching balls. Did she like a man in there too?

  Vane was no stranger to that kind of play. He reached between his legs and gave his genitals a punishing squeeze. Much more of this and he would start to spurt. The lava was impossible to control as soon as the pulsing began.

  Linnea dipped down to rinse and rose again, stretching pleasurably. She bent way over to get an ewer that held more water, beautiful folds appearing in her belly as her breasts bobbed in the air.

  She held the ewer over her head and poured, and rivulets trickled down her breasts. He thought immediately of Hella, covered with his hot spray, laughing with lust, rubbing his come into her hot blue skin.

  He couldn’t do that with Linnea, not in the same way. But he could shoot his load into the bath the way he did for the naiads, let it cool the molten drops. He could imagine her bringing them up out of the water in her cupped hands.

  Smooth drops of volcano glass. Something pretty to keep in a box or fondle in her hand to remember him by. Marius didn’t have to know.

  Vane was getting ahead of himself. But he was extremely tempted to seduce her. Something about the way she handled her own flesh told him she hadn’t been completely satisfied last night. Women always needed more fucking than they wanted to admit.

  If a man took his time about exciting their sweet bodies—tongue, hands, dildos—they were crazy for it, more than ready, begging for a long, thick cock driving deep and hard.

  She wouldn’t have to be polite about it with him. Whatever she asked for, Vane would give, over and over again. Within the limits of the fire curse, of course. He would never, ever hurt her. He had never hurt any woman, no matter how drunk he was. The seething lava in his balls couldn’t touch a woman who wasn’t a fire spirit. Vane touched himself between the legs and blew on his fingertips. He was dangerously hot. He would have to ease the pressure or risk an explosion.

  Linnea was rubbing foam into her dripping hair in slow circles. Her eyes were closed.

  Now.

  He kneeled and unfastened his breeches, rubbing his stiff cock with rapid strokes. Unh. Unh. He had to come. If he sprayed the rock wall with it, it would cool in a hurry and then he could go back to his leisurely observation. Intense, almost painful, his orgasm made him shake. Gripping hard, he pointed his cock at the wall, forcing it down, not seeing the scarlet spurts because he was watching Linnea.

  She poured more water over her head, rinsing her hair. Her eyes were still closed. Then she turned her head rapidly from side to side, whipping the water out of her hair. The dark strands tenderly lashed her bare skin, and Vane was transfixed all over again. He squeezed out the penultimate drops of come and stuffed his throbbing organ back into his breeches.

  That too. Whipping. If she liked to get rough.

  He was no stranger to that either. But he would have to handle her with utmost gentleness, because Marius would notice any mark upon that perfect skin.

  Linnea sighed and stepped out, standing on the flat stones of the terrace and looking around. He took a deep breath, not sure if she would come his way or what he would do about it.

  A maidservant came out onto the terrace, holding a long cloth like the one that had been slung over the screen.

  Was he safe? Not quite. The young woman enfolded Linnea in the cloth, rubbing her gently all over. Would this sweet torment never end? At least he’d had the presence of mind to get rid of some of his sexual heat.

  But two beautiful females, one naked, one not, gentle mistress and sweet young servant occupied with the sensual routines of bathing, were almost too much for the randy Lord of the Fire.

  The maid kneeled at Linnea’s feet, taking a smaller cloth from her waist to dry them. Linnea sat down and extended one foot. The maid changed her position and took the foot on her lap.

  As far as Vane could see, Linnea’s toes were resting on the mound between the other woman’s legs. But maybe not.

  Carefully, the maid shook scented oil into her palm from a little bottle that had swung at her waist, and rubbed it all over Linnea’s bare foot, top and bottom, moving with slow strokes over her ankle, making circles with her thumbs.

  “Ah. That feels wonderful.” Linnea smiled down at the maid.

  Vane had no doubt she was right about that.

  Each toe was treated to an individual massage as the two women chatted and laughed. Their soft voices and free companionship were shatteringly sexy to their hidden observer.

  Linnea put that foot down on the stones and set the other on the maid’s lap, wriggling her toes. “More, please, Narcissa. I can’t get enough. Where did you learn to do this so well?”

  “Mistress Megaleen taught me how.” The girl continued, her skilled fingers oiling and rubbing Linnea’s soft foot everywhere and sliding up the slender ankle as before. “She did my feet to show me exactly what felt best, then she let me do hers.”

  Oh yes. He could see it. Now there were three women to dally with in Lord Vane’s overheated imagination. Linnea, Megaleen, and Narcissa.

  “Would you like me to rub your legs, Mistress Linnea?”

  Linnea laughed charmingly. “I am getting the royal treatment.” She held onto the cloth that swaddled her at the top, but lifted the hem to reveal her legs a
ll the way up to where her thighs met her body, taking her foot out of Narcissa’s lap.

  A woman with a woman. Not self-conscious and not, in her mind, thinking about sex as far as Vane could tell. Which made the sweet innocence of the encounter all the more potent for him.

  The maidservant kneeled between Linnea’s legs and raised the other woman’s feet to her shoulders, resting them there.

  “This way I can get underneath and above. Just relax. This is the best part.”

  Indeed. Vane saw Linnea’s labia when the maidservant spread her mistress’s legs. He kept his face close to the concealing screen.

  Murmuring in a soothing way, she shook more oil over the top of Linnea’s legs, catching the drips expertly in her palms and applying them to the undersides. Using long strokes, she rubbed it into the skin, then began to work more deeply, rubbing and sometimes squeezing.