White Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Her blue eyes sparkled. She opened her lips, and nipped at his fingers with her teeth.

  He hardened swiftly, his entire body reacting to that touch. Evelyn drew closer, lifting her mouth to his, kissing him sweetly. She took his hand, and guided it to her breast. He ran his thumb over her nipple, a tiny peak under the cotton. She filled his hand perfectly.

  His Evelyn, his beloved. For this one night . . . he’d see to her pleasure above all things.

  She leaned into him, and he took her weight with ease, letting his mouth explore the soft skin behind her ear. Evelyn shivered, but he knew full well it wasn’t the cold. It was the heat that lay between them.

  Evelyn stepped back, and reached for his belt, but Orrin caught her hands. He moved back for a moment, breathing hard, looking at her flushed face and half-opened eyes in the firelight.

  He knelt before her slowly, never losing eye contact. He reached out, and let his hands trail up the sides of her legs and over her hips, sliding the fabric of her shift to gather at her waist, exposing her.

  Evelyn shivered again, reaching out to touch his hair. She shifted her stance, opening herself to him.

  Orrin leaned in, and worshipped her with his mouth.

  Evelyn cried out at the first gentle stroke of his tongue. Her hips jerked as she pressed his head close with her hands. Orrin obliged, increasing the pressure, pulling her close, offering her nothing but pleasure.

  Her sighs were soft, and Orrin curled his tongue to thrust deeper into her heat. Within a moment Evelyn shuddered, her knees giving way. Orrin reached up, cradled her, and eased her down onto the pile of bedding before the fire.

  She lay there, disheveled and dazed, her shift still pushed up around her hips.

  Orrin stood, and looked down at her, pleased with his work. She stirred, and smiled at him, then pulled her shift over her head and off.

  She was glorious, her breasts pale and perfect in the light. No scars marred them, to his relief. Every hair on her body was white, and it all caught the light and reflected it. It paralyzed him for a moment, the idea that one such as she would allow him even to touch her with his rough, stained hands, much less . . .

  She lifted a hand to him, with a pleading look.

  Orrin swallowed hard. “I’ve dreamed of you like this. Warm, and wanting me.” He started to remove his belt, lowering it to the floor, careful to leave the sword within reach. “But in those dreams, you were stretched out on the Great Bed of Wareington.” He stripped off his tunic, and threw it to the side. His boots were next, and he placed them side by side near his sword. “Cushioned in velvet and silk,” he whispered.

  Evelyn stretched, lifting her arms over her head, pushing her breasts out, their nipples tight pink buds. He took a deep breath, enjoying the sight. “It was all I could do not to enter your chamber that night.” Orrin stripped off his trous, and added them to the pile.

  Evelyn’s eyes traveled over him, and she smiled, clearly pleased. He took another deep breath, trying to maintain a bit of control. He reached down, and offered his hand. “Come to bed, lovely lady.”

  She let him help her up, and together they took up the comforter. The bed was not large, but they climbed in, skin on skin. Evelyn came into his arms with a sigh, her hair spread over his arm like a sheet of silk. He threw back the comforter so that it pooled at the bottom of the bed. Their shared fire was warmth enough.

  He nuzzled her ear, and she arched her neck, giving him access to that warm, sensitive skin. His hands started to move, exploring her softness and every curve. Following the line of her neck, he kissed her breasts, taking her nipples gently between his teeth, and tugging. Evelyn’s soft moans guided him, and he listened to her body as he loved her.

  Her hands weren’t still, either. She reached to wrap her fingers around his length, her soft touch nearly sending him over the edge. But each time, she retreated, letting the passion build between them.

  Orrin broke off his kisses for a moment, looking into her eyes. “Evie, you’re not . . . you told me before you aren’t a virgin.”

  She nodded, her hands on his chest. With a wicked look, she scratched lightly around his nipples.

  “I want you to know—”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “No, I’m not a virgin,” he said. “But I want you to know . . . I need you to know . . .” He reached out, and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ve done this before. But never with someone I loved.”

  Her eyes lit up, and she kissed him, bringing their bodies close together, skin against skin. For a brief moment, he was amazed at the difference it made. So much more than just physical caresses. He felt her love shine through their every move. Then he was lost, wrapped in her arms, no real thought other than their pleasure.

  Finally, he was poised above her, trembling and ready, cradled between her hips. He nipped at her lips, and she sought his with her own. As they kissed, he entered her moist folds.

  Evelyn gasped into his mouth, and he froze, trembling at the effort. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, her eyes bright with tears, and then thrust her hips up. He gasped at the feel. Still he hesitated, uncertain.

  Evelyn kissed him, and used her hands to urge him on.

  He did, slowly, carefully, until he was fully seated within. They both stopped then, their breathing ragged as their bodies fully joined.

  “I never knew,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

  Evelyn laughed in delight, and flexed her muscles tight around him. He smiled then, loving her joy, and started a gentle rhythm that she matched. They danced then, on the edge of light, a gentle giving and taking, until they both fell, together, over the edge of forever.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  HE woke to find her head on his shoulder, her hands running over his chest. He closed his eyes, enjoying her touch, content until he felt something wet on his skin.

  Evelyn was crying.

  He shifted then, careful to keep the bedding over them, and looked into her face. Her eyes were filled with pain and tears, her hands still moving, as if to try to memorize the feel of his skin.

  She was trying to do just that.

  His throat clenched tight, he leaned close to kiss her, the salt of her tears in his mouth. “I’m always hurting you, Evie.”

  She shook her head, denying his words, but he knew the truth. “I can take the consequences of my actions,” he said, reaching out to cup her face, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “But I can’t bear your sorrow. I’m so sorry, love. Perhaps it’s best that I—”

  Evelyn’s fingers stilled his mouth, her face filled with pain and anger. She kissed him, an act of comfort. He responded gently, not surprised when the heat began to build between them again.

  Evelyn moved, rising above him, letting the blanket fall off them.

  His body responded swiftly, rising to meet her as she impaled herself on him. She leaned down, the tips of her hair brushing his face.

  He reached then, holding her hips, meeting her sharp movements as she rode him, denying his words, expressing her love. Evelyn was watching his face, waiting, and he willingly surrendered control to her. Just as he climaxed, she bore down on him and bit his shoulder, her teeth piercing the skin, claiming him as he pulsed with pleasure.

  His eyes half-open, he felt her shudder with her own release before melting back into his arms. He arranged them on the bed, cuddled together, her warm breath on his neck. As he reached for the comforter to cover them, he saw her expression, a mixture of satisfaction and shame. She reached out, her fingers tracing the bite mark.

  He brushed her temple with his lips. “You didn’t hurt me. Close your eyes, Evelyn. I just want to lie here and hold you while I can.”

  She nodded, and drifted off to sleep, her hand on his chest. Orrin lay awake for a long time, listening to her breathe.

  A knock at the door brought Evelyn bolt upright in bed. Orrin dived from under the blankets, and grabbed for his sword.

&nbs
p; “Lady High Priestess, it’s Esie.” An older woman spoke at the door. “The Archbishop wants to see you after the morning Council session. I’ll be back in a bit with your breakfast and hot water for bathing.”

  Orrin tossed her shift to her, and grabbed for his trous. Evelyn scrambled from the bed, pulling the comforter up to cover the evidence of their loving.

  Orrin was on the floor, pulling on his boots. “An entire church filled with early risers,” he grumbled as he yanked them on. “There’s a real drawback to worshipping a sun god.”

  Ignoring him, Evelyn went to the window and opened the shutters carefully. There was no one in the yard.

  Orrin stood, pulling on his tunic and gathering up his belt. “Evie, beloved, I—”

  She pulled off her ring and silently offered it to him.

  He shook his head, and wrapped her in his arms. “No, love. Too many people would ask how I got it, or ask you where you lost it.”

  He paused, listening, then grabbed her hand. “Listen to me. When we kidnapped you that first time, remember? Evelyn, Elanore told us where you’d be and when. She told me the information came from the Archbishop.”

  Her eyes went wide, but then they narrowed. It made sense. How else—

  Orrin glanced at the door. “Please, Evelyn, don’t trust him.”

  She kissed him desperately then, wanting forever but having only these last few precious minutes. She pulled him to the window, still kissing him, as the sounds increased outside her door.

  Orrin broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Evie, there is a way. A way we could be together.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  He looked at her, then looked away. “I could use my boon to ask for your hand.”

  Hope flared in her heart for a moment, but then reality crashed in. She grabbed his arm, shaking her head.

  “I know,” he said, looking at her with both defiance and shame. “I promised my men, all my men, that I’d seek their pardons.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Honor demands that I fulfill that promise, but honor be damned. I—”

  A rattle of the door handle, and Orrin was out the window, with barely a rustle of leaves to mark his passing. Evelyn quietly closed the shutters, and latched them tight. With a heavy heart she smoothed her hair back, and checked the room before turning calmly toward the door.

  ORRIN took care to keep as silent as he could as he climbed down the tower. The dying leaves trembled and rustled with every move.

  It was still dark when he reached the top of the privy. He waited a bit, hanging from the vines until he was certain it was empty. He stepped onto the roof, and grabbed the parcel of armor and gear he’d left there. He swung off the slate tiles, dangled by one hand, then lightly fell to the cobblestones.

  “Took you long enough,” a voice said from the shadows. Cenwulf limped out of the darkness. “It was more than just talk you were doing.”

  Orrin frowned. “You’ve been in there all night?”

  Cenwulf nodded. “Told everyone I had the gripe. Must have been something I ate.”

  “Thank you,” Orrin said.

  “Come”—Cenwulf started to limp across the yard—“I’ll let you out the gate. No one back there this time of morning.”

  Orrin followed, keeping an eye out for watchers. Cenwulf went to the gate, and pulled the bolt.

  “Cenwulf, thank you. Watch over her for me, will you?”

  “I’ll do that,” Cenwulf said. “But just who am I protecting her from? You, maybe?”

  “Don’t trust the Archbishop any more than you trust me,” Orrin said.

  “That’s a given.” Cenwulf pulled the gate open. “Actually, I might be willing to trust you a bit more.” He looked at Orrin as he scanned the alley. “Where are you off to now?”

  “My men are outside the city, waiting,” Orrin said. “I’ve an audience with the Queen this morning.”

  “Have a care, until then,” Cenwulf said softly. “There’s those who would kill you on sight and beg forgiveness later.”

  “I’ll see to my own hide,” Orrin said grimly. “I’ve a pardon to claim, and a choice to make.” He slipped through the gate, looking both ways.

  “A choice?” Cenwulf asked, but the alley was empty. Orrin was gone.

  Cenwulf shook his head, and closed the gate, throwing the bolt firmly in place.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  ORRIN Blackhart had to grit his teeth as he handed his sword and dagger to the guard outside the throne room. His back itched at the idea, but none save her personal guard carried weapons in the Queen’s presence.

  He strode through the double doors, stalking through the crowd, which melted out of his path. This day’s Court was for public petitions and requests, and the hallway was filled with people seeking audiences with the Queen or her advisers. The stares and whispers told him that word had spread of his appearance.

  He’d taken care to wear his best this day, everything black, as suited his mood. Except for the old red cloak that flared out behind as he moved. Evie’s cloak. He wore it to remind himself of her love and her belief in his redemption.

  Well he might be redeemed in her eyes, but that didn’t mean he was going to crawl and beg. He’d come to claim three things, and he’d leave here with two of them.

  But he did try to erase the scowl from his face and replace it with something a bit more pleasant.

  The Queen’s Herald had indicated that his was the first petition that would be called. Orrin suspected they weren’t pleased to see him, and wanted him gone as quickly as possible. Certainly that Lady Warder would not want the Scourge of Palins to linger anywhere close to her charge. Orrin had to give her credit for that. And truth be known, he didn’t want to tarry any longer than necessary.

  He walked into the throne room, and admired its size. The last time he’d been there, he’d been more mindful of his chains than of his surroundings. It was impressive, to say the least.

  The young Queen had made some changes. Light streamed through high windows. The throne was still in place, with a small table beside it where a pair of red gloves still lay. But they’d added chairs below the throne, apparently for her advisers. They probably appreciated it, especially when some windbag was presenting his case.

  If those chairs were also between the Queen and a potential attacker, well so much the better. The Lady Warder Bethral had some sense, it seemed.

  The sides of the room were lined with tables, crowded with scribes. Orrin raised an eyebrow over that one. Apparently Queen Gloriana actually thought she’d get some work done in these sessions. He wished her well in that regard.

  The Herald and his assistants were circulating through the crowd. Orrin caught the eye of one, and was hustled into position as the guards started to enter the room.

  The Herald tapped his staff on the floor three times. “All hail Her Majesty, Gloriana, by the grace of the Lord of Light and the Lady of Laughter, Queen and Chosen of Palins.”

  Everyone sank to one knee.

  The advisers came in procession first, to stand in front of their chairs. Orrin recognized a few of them, including Ezren Silvertongue, Lord Fael of Summerford, and two others whose names he didn’t know.

  A fat man, clad in gaudy silken robes and leaning on a walking stick, appeared before one of the chairs. He stood there calmly, but Orrin could have sworn he hadn’t walked in with the others. He wasn’t the Archbishop, that was certain. This man had some intelligence behind his eyes. Besides, something about him reminded Orrin of Evelyn.

  As if conscious of his gaze, the man turned his head, and his eyes narrowed as he met Orrin’s gaze. A mage . . . with rank . . . Was that Evelyn’s father?

  The Lady Warder also had a chair, the one closest to the throne. The tall blonde wore a sword and a dagger, and he caught her scanning the room for the placement of her guards.

  Orrin stiffened at the sight of the Archbishop walking in, puffed with his own importance, two acolytes behind him.

  Then ca
me the Queen, with Vembar. The young girl had his arm, and walked him to his chair, smiling at something he’d whispered to her. Vembar seemed well, for a man of his age, although Orrin could see that the Queen’s arm wasn’t linked with his for show.

  The Queen settled Vembar in his chair, then mounted the dais and stood before her throne. With easy grace she sat down, her advisers settling down a moment later.

  With a great rustle of cloth, the entire room rose to its feet.

  “Good morning,” Queen Gloriana said. “My Lord Archbishop?”

  The fat man struggled out of his chair and rose to address the crowd. “Let us give thanks. Lord of Light, give us the benefit of your wisdom and guidance this day. Let justice be served on the wicked and the righteous be rewarded for their honor. Let any falsehoods be seen for what they are, and truth be our only guide. Lord of Light, bless our Queen and our Kingdom with your holy light. Praise be given.”

  “Praise be given,” the crowd responded.

  “Lord Herald.” The Queen turned to him with a smile. “What is the first order of business?”

  The Herald stepped forward. “Orrin Blackhart, late of the Black Hills, step forward and be heard.”

  That drew a response from the crowd. A swell of talk rose behind him as Orrin stepped before the throne. His back itched fiercely, but he ignored it, and bowed to the Queen.

  “Blackhart”—the young girl spoke, a frown on her face—“I never thought to see you again.”

  “Certainly not alive,” Vembar added, his eyes bright with curiosity. The man was leaning forward in his chair. “What brings you here?”

  “My Lord Vembar, you challenged me to rid the Black Hills of the odium.” Orrin let his voice ring out over the room. “I have done so, with the aid of the warriors of the Black Hills. I have come to claim my boon, as was promised.”

  “Pah,” The Archbishop scowled. “How do we know that what you say is true, scum?”