Gazing determinedly at the bath into which the salt had been emptied, Trystan surrendered his freedom and began murmuring the prayers that would bind him permanently to Mariel St. Just.
He would deal with her regret when the time came.
Seventeen
Mariel floated on a submerged log, her hair drifting behind her. Bubbles murmured in her ears, filling her with contentment. Confusion nagged at the back of her mind, but she lost all sense of self in the sea. She became one with all living things, just another creature in a primordial soup surviving on instinct.
The log moved, and she reached back to grab it, enjoying the floating sensation.
Instead of sliding through water, her knuckles hit a metal boundary, jarring her from her unconscious state.
The log jerked beneath her fingers, and before she could quite grasp what was happening, she was abruptly hauled from the water, choking and spluttering.
“Aelynn be praised,” a male voice whispered above her head. “You’re alive!”
And naked, Mariel realized. Not that it mattered in the sea, except she had the distinct impression that she wasn’t riding a submerged log but a man’s sinewy arm.
An instant later, she was clasped against a broad, furred chest and lifted from her watery world into the chilly air. Water ran in rivulets from her hair down the hard bare arms holding her. Cold air chilled her backside, but her front rested against heated, muscular flesh. She closed her eyes so she didn’t have to ponder these complexities, but that only heightened her awareness.
Had she been captured and pulled from the sea? The hands held her tenderly, and the whispering voice seemed familiar. She tried to fight recognition, preferring to hide her embarrassment in ignorance, but her breasts were aching and aroused from contact with firm muscle, and the familiar scent of male musk woke her to what her body already knew.
She was naked, and Trystan held her.
He lay her gently on linen sheets so fine they felt like silk. She vaguely remembered smoothing them across a mattress, reveling in their luxury. She almost protested parting from the heat of him, but Trystan climbed in beside her to keep her warm.
He was as naked as she was.
He was so broad, his size overwhelmed her. And reassured her. He was an extraordinary man unafraid of her unusual skill, patient with her impulsiveness, willing to listen to her ideas even when he didn’t want to. She’d never met a man quite like him, and that didn’t count his strange swiftness and the fascinating world from which he came. It seemed very odd to appreciate a man’s mind and character while confronted with his blatant physicality.
“I know you’re awake. Your fingers are digging into my arms.” He chuckled from somewhere above her head since she’d buried her face against his shoulder rather than release him. “Are you feeling better?”
“What happened? Why aren’t we wearing clothes?” She hastily released her grip and lay back against the pillows so that he could turn to his side and tug the covers up.
She was definitely awake now, and feeling more than better when Trystan’s big hand came to rest on her belly, and his heat warmed her side. Parts of her, whose existence she’d ignored for years, were protesting loudly for an action she’d never thought to desire. Tentatively, she turned sideways to face him, and her knee rubbed against his leg. She thrilled at feeling the light hairs and taut muscle of a masculine limb, but was glad the darkness hid her discomfiture.
He slid his hand downward to the curve of her hip. “You were unconscious when I brought your cousin to you. Have you never been far from the sea before?”
She wasn’t certain what one had to do with the other, and his touch wasn’t helping her confused state. She clung to the question foremost in her mind. “You saw my cousin? Did you buy back the chalice?”
“She will bring it to us in the morning.”
“We can have the chalice?” With this wondrous news, Mariel forgot her nakedness. She pushed up from her comfortable position to study his face in the glow of a lantern outside the bedcurtains. “Then we must hurry and leave.”
He shook his head. “We were most concerned about you. You were very ill. I had to make a salt water bath to bring you back to me.”
To him? Mariel pulled the sheet up to cover herself when his gaze dropped to her breasts. Rather than recognize the ache his words created, she looked over his shoulder to the tub she could see through the partially open curtains, and her cheeks flushed. He’d given her a bath?
“It is after midnight,” he replied, gently tugging the sheet until she dropped down beside him again.
She was aware of his size and heat although the only place they touched was through his hand on her hip. When she lay still, the hand began to slowly stroke her.
“I don’t think the baroness would appreciate having her beauty sleep interrupted,” he continued. “And I wish to be certain you are well enough to travel. We can wait until morning—unless you need the sea more than a salt water bath.”
Attempting to ignore the way Trystan’s hand roamed, Mariel absorbed what he said. She lived by the sea and had never thought of it as necessary to her life, but she supposed, in some way, it was. Even in winter, she often felt compelled to dip in her toes and splash her face. Mostly, she breathed the salt air and was invigorated by the sun.
She tested her toes and fingers, but the strange lethargy had left her. “I am fine.” She didn’t try to leave the bed while Trystan’s hand roamed to her breasts. She still wasn’t thinking straight, because she did not retreat, but basked in the sensations he created. “I think we should go.”
“No, tonight, if you are well, we have better things to do.” His wide hand slid upward to cup the back of her head and draw her toward him, so their mouths met and her breasts pressed into his chest.
The heat of his breath surprised her. She hadn’t realized how cold she was, inside and out, until Trystan warmed her. Her fingers skimmed across the wide expanse of his chest, curling in the fine hairs she found there, clinging while his tongue swept past her lips and teeth and set her on fire. Her nipples became hard points demanding satisfaction.
The realization popped into her head: She’d almost died. Deprived of the sea she craved as others craved water, she’d weakened and become ill. Trystan had bathed her in the liquid of life. And now she burned with sensation, hungered for new experiences, desired the touch of the man who had saved her. A man who understood the needs of her soul as well as her body.
And Trystan obliged. As if he knew what she needed, he lay flat against the bed and hauled her upward so he could more easily suckle her breast. Delight mixed with driving need. Unable to bear the torment any longer, Mariel swung her leg over his, settling across his thighs and rubbing to satisfy the itch that demanded attention.
She discovered the appendage that made him male and daringly ran her hand from his chest downward to satisfy her curiosity. Trystan groaned at her stroke, and captured her fingers.
“Not this time,” he whispered. “I want you too much, and I want this first time to be perfect. For the rest of our lives, you will remember this bonding. Let us take it slowly.”
For the rest of their lives sounded permanent and terrifying. She ought to think twice about what they did. She knew he was right. If they continued on this path, it would bind them in ways that could be very permanent. She was doing something so reckless she ought to be horrified. But she didn’t want to die ignorant of one of life’s few pleasures.
And somehow, she knew that it would be pleasurable with this man.
Mariel let Trystan maneuver her back to the mattress. He leaned over her, and his kiss deepened, intensified, until her body sang with need. She dug her fingers into his biceps on either side of her head and raised her hips, indicating her desire. Only this time there was no intoxicating perfume other than his male scent; no erotic shackles to hold her captive beyond their own needs. She did this of her own accord. She wanted to be mated to this intriguing man who had re
turned her to life.
She had not realized how alone she was in the world until Trystan worshipped her with his hands and mouth, making her believe there was just the two of them in this enchanting cocoon. She cried out her longing when his kisses captured her breasts. And she gasped in surprise when his hand slid between her thighs to stroke her there.
She did not pull away.
“I worship thee with my body,” Trystan murmured, lowering his knee between hers to spread her legs wider. “I take thee for amacara, keeper of my future. With these vows, I do promise to cherish you in sickness and health, from now until Aelynn calls.”
Trystan knew she did not understand. His opal ring glowed in acceptance of the vows, but he could not place his ring on Mariel’s finger until she gave her promise. Mating for life, creating a new generation to shield Aelynn, was not a process as easily accomplished as taking a wife in a simple civil ceremony. Even he had his doubts that he was doing this properly.
But his faith was strong. If this woman had been chosen as his amacara, mother of future Guardians, there must be a reason, even if he couldn’t see it. He refused to leave so valuable a resource behind.
His vow would allow her to safely enter his world. Once he brought her there, she would have to repeat the vow for Dylys to let her live. That was taking away Mariel’s choices, he understood. He trusted in her intelligence to accept the inevitable.
As if to concur, she circled his neck and tugged at his hair, urging him on. Trystan smiled at her haste. Many women had pursued him. Not all were so honest in their demands. The women of his home desired his wealth and position. The women of her world simply wanted base physical release, without understanding who or what he was. None of them knew him in both his worlds. Mariel did.
“This is forever,” he told her, trying to explain the commitment they made. “Once we are mated, we share a bond, and there can be no denying each other. When I call, you will come. And when you call, I will come.” Or so he’d heard.
Mariel laughed heedlessly. “Even if a sea separates us?” She ran her hands up his arms and raised her hips tauntingly to brush against his sex.
“I do not know the distance involved. I just know that I will have you now and tomorrow and whenever I wish.” Out of fairness, he had to remind her of what she’d said she didn’t want, before he committed her to a connection she did not understand. He’d sworn never to be involved with an Outsider, to never do what he was about to do, but circumstances changed. Only she could stop him now.
Trystan captured Mariel’s wrists and held them pinned above her head so she must listen to his warning. “Ultimately, there will be children of our coupling. Without the approval of Aelynn, they may not be gifted, which would be a sin. We would make talented, strong children together. But whichever your choice, I will take care of them and you for as long as I live.”
The panicked “no” had barely passed her lips before he leaned over and suckled her breast with the instinct Aelynn granted a mate.
That was unfair of him, he knew, since she had yet to take the vow and lacked his knowledge. Her hips rose of their own volition, while her head tossed in dissent. She might attempt to fight him, but the knot binding them was too strong. He could feel it deep in his gut, a hook and thread that tightened and drew them together.
A less faithful man might simply call it lust, but Trystan felt Aelynn’s power every time he called upon the mists to shield the island, and he recognized it now. Mariel was his, given by the gods, and it was his sworn responsibility to protect her. He had the freedom to choose how he obeyed the commands of his gods, and this was how he chose to do so.
She writhed her protest beneath his grasp, and he held her still with the weight of his thigh across hers. With one hand holding her to the bed, he penetrated her sex with his finger. Still shaking her head in denial, Mariel cried out in renewed anger, frustration, and hungry desire at his physical command. Ignoring her objection, he rubbed her swollen sex, and she rose to admit him, even while she twisted away in rejection.
“I need the words, Mariel. Tell me you accept this. I cannot enter you until you give me permission.”
Trystan wished the altar was available now. Its shackles had more than one purpose. For a loving couple, they were symbolic of the ties they willingly joined. For a couple long mated and desiring children, the binding was erotic. But sometimes, when the gods decreed that a couple unite, the bonds forced submission. The reluctant one writhed in an agony of desire while the willing one waited for acceptance. He needed the altar’s persuasive abilities now.
“There can’t be children,” she cried, unable to wrench from his hold. “There are ways to prevent children.”
“There are. I have used them. I will not use them with you. That is what this union means. With this act, we agree to share responsibility for the new life that comes of it. Just as your grandfather provided your mother’s support, I will look after you and our children. Because I know this is not what you would choose right now, I offer you the choice of whether we raise them here or on Aelynn.” He introduced a second finger, stretching her, sliding rhythmically back and forth until her hips danced with the need pounding through him. “Let me hear the words, Mariel.”
“Never.” Her hair whipped back and forth, and she strained upward, as if that would break his hold.
Mostly, it brought her ripe breasts closer to his mouth. She was slender, too slender. He could see her ribs beneath skin taut with muscle from her swimming. But her breasts were soft plump fruits that tempted with their sweetness. With the need to mate thrumming primitively through his blood, Trystan could not stop had his life depended on it.
He had not fully understood how the vow would affect him. His flesh swelled strong and ready, and somehow, he had to persuade her to his will or burst from the effort. The vows tied him to this deed as firmly as he held her to the bed. He was not a man to use force, but he now had an understanding of the desperation that could drive a man to do what he shouldn’t.
He was a prince of his country, and he was reduced to begging. They tortured each other equally, for no good reason other than her stubbornness.
Leaning on one elbow, Trystan bent over and licked an aroused nipple. Mariel screamed her outrage and twisted away. He could not hold her legs imprisoned, just her wrists, but he kneeled over her, blocking her escape.
“We are both ready now. There is no sense in denying the pleasure we can derive from our bodies. Tell me yes, Mariel. Give me permission.”
“No children,” she said furiously. “Let me go.”
“Too late.” He didn’t say it with sorrow. He knew this was for the best, even if she did not. The law couldn’t be broken. She must take the vow and wear the ring of silence. They’d spent a week fighting the inevitable, and he, for one, was tired of wasting his energy. It would be simpler to persuade her once they were mated. “Your body wants what I have to offer. The gods have decreed it. I have said an irrevocable vow. We must hasten back to the sea to keep you well. So let’s not quibble over what is done and unchangeable. With me as mate, you need not take care of the village all on your own. Children are no longer an argument.”
“No children,” she whispered again, but he could tell that even she knew it was too late. In the light of the lamp, she watched in wide-eyed alarm as he loosened the sheet and tied her wrists together over her head.
“We must leave soon. I don’t want you ill again. This one time, I will prevent children. Do not ask it of me again.” He knotted the sheet through the carved headboard, freeing his hands to reach over the side to retrieve his coat and pull a sheath from an inner pocket.
Following his every movement, Mariel gulped nervously as he kneeled over her and sheathed himself.
“I await your permission, my dear,” he murmured in her ear, lowering himself to cover her entirely with his body.
His mouth closed over one breast and his sheathed sex swelled larger against her thigh.
Eight
een
Mariel feared she would be consumed by the heat of Trystan’s body as his bulk pressed her into the soft mattress, and the hot iron of his sex seared her flesh. Hands bound to the bed, she couldn’t fight him, even if she had a will to do so. The sensual lethargy she’d learned in his temple was overtaking her again.
Leisurely, Trystan aroused her traitorous body with his wicked kisses.
She cried out in surprise when Trystan circled her waist with his big hands and held her hips still. He moved lower, trailing his lips between her breasts and down her belly, taking away the dangerous sword of his manhood with which he threatened her, replacing it with the seductive softness of his mouth. He had both his knees between her thighs, opening her, before she realized it. The vulnerability of this position aroused as much as terrified. He’d rendered her helpless to push him away.
Before she could protest in fear, his tongue swept her sex, and she was lost.
“No-o-o-oo,” she cried, when she meant yes.
His tongue understood and dipped deeper.
“Please,” she called in surrender, desperate to tangle her hands in his hair but unable to touch him. She writhed, tossing her head back and forth, frantically lifting her hips to take his tongue deeper. “Please,” she whimpered.
He obliged, stroking and teasing until a knot coiled and tightened inside her, and she felt as if she would fly to pieces if he did not release it. She would accept anything he wished, if only he would save her from this pleasurable torture.
She wept with the wonder of the sensations to which he introduced her. Her womb cried with emptiness, and she opened wider to accept the coupling that would fill it. She wanted what a man—this man—could do so much that she willingly raised up so Trystan could lift her to his mouth and drink of the elixir there. His knowing fingers cupped her bottom and spread her cheeks at the same time he dipped his tongue.
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