This yearning would pass, she hoped. Once she was in her own home, with the fishermen needing her aid, and Francine holding the baby, the bond between her and Trystan would fray and break. She would be back to normal.
Biting her lip, she pressed her hand over her skirt where her legs met and wondered if she could ease the longing on her own.
She eased her skirt up, feeling ashamed for doing so but unable to sleep without relief. Trystan had told her he would not take her again unless she went to the island with him. He had said there were other means to ease their needs. She simply needed to teach herself.
Her fingers slid along the cleft that he had taught to ache for him. Desire rippled and intensified with the touch, but she did not feel the liquid flow of surrender or the driving urge to spread her legs. Perhaps she was not doing it properly.
She experimented with her fingers until she heard the snap of a twig beneath a heavy boot and shoved hastily at her skirts to sit up.
“For Aelynn’s sake, woman, do not call me like that again,” a rough voice said from the darkness. “I almost made a eunuch of myself falling from the damned horse.”
Not certain she was entirely awake, Mariel stared in amazement as Trystan strode toward her, stripping off coat and shirt and unfastening his breeches. His gloriously bare, bronzed chest rendered her speechless, breathless, and without any thought except that he was here. With her.
“Trystan?” She thought she said it aloud and not in a dream.
He glanced up, and he was close enough that she could see him in the moonlight. Annoyance fled his expression, replaced by concern and a hint of laughter.
“You look as if I’ve already tumbled you.” He sat down on the back of the cart to tug off his boots. “I wish my father had lived long enough to explain these things to me. My mother wasn’t his amacara, so perhaps even he did not understand.”
“I…I called you?” She shoved her hair from her face and watched with fascination the movement of powerful muscles in his bare back.
“I am so hard I could not sit the saddle,” he said. “But we are not doing this until we reach Aelynn. As punishment for crippling me like this, I’ll teach you how to satisfy me first.”
That did not sound like punishment to Mariel as she watched him strip off his breeches and tower over her—much as he had that day at the temple, except now, he was the one who was naked and fully aroused.
And she was ready for him.
Twenty-four
“Behold, what you have wrought,” Trystan said wryly as Mariel stared at his extremely aroused nudity. “I feel like a rutting bull, and I’m regretting this amacara responsibility right now. I don’t like having a woman control me.”
Heaving the sack containing the chalice into the seat of the cart, he climbed into the back and on top of her, closing her long, lovely legs and pinning her skirt to the cart bed. She seemed too stunned to reply, which suited his purposes. Propping himself up on his hands, he leaned down and kissed her until both their heads spun.
Not until she was gasping for air and clinging to his arms did he relent.
“I didn’t mean to call you,” she whispered, lifting her hips closer.
“Yes, you did. You just didn’t know for certain that you could,” he said with a laugh, covering her face with kisses.
“It is only fair,” she declared, capturing his mouth with hers and plying him with her tongue until he almost lost control and took her right then.
Straining to complete an act he’d fully intended to avoid tonight, Trystan cursed under his breath in his own language. When she frowned at his obscenities, he bent his forehead to touch hers and attempted to leash his raging lust.
“I apologize, mi ama. I’d forgotten that you seem to understand my words now. This is as new to me as it is to you, so we must blunder through it together.”
Her hands released his arms and fluttered across his chest, stroking, nipping, reducing his strength to dust. He nibbled her ear, then ripped open her bodice hooks so he could find her breasts. They would be too mindless to desist if he wasn’t careful. Perhaps he already was.
“I ached,” she murmured. “I tried to seek relief, but I did not know how. Will it be like this for the rest of our lives?”
Forever whispered through the tree leaves. Accepting the inevitable, he closed his hand over a warm, yielding curve with a pointed peak. “I can’t say for certain. I know no other amacaras well enough to ask. This is something Dylys would teach us. Until then…” He sighed in relief as he nuzzled between her breasts. “We must practice thinking of anything except this.”
She laughed breathily above his head as he swept her nipples with his tongue. “One and one are two. Two and two are four. Four and four are…” She gasped and writhed beneath him as he took the ripe fruit of her breast between his teeth. “I doubt thought has anything to do with this,” she said between whimpers of passion that tortured his lust even more.
“At this rate, we will be multiplying, not just adding.” He groaned as her hand stroked downward to reach his sex, and her fingers closed around him. “If you don’t want children, you had best stop what you’re doing now.”
“Show me what to do instead then,” she demanded.
“By all the gods, you are the most demanding, immodest, stubborn, unnatural female I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, and I’ll be delighted to grant your request,” he grumbled to her laughter, rolling to his side so he could divest her of her clothing.
“Did you think your precious Lissandra would come when called and murmur sweet nothings in your ear and stroke your masculine arrogance without complaint?” she mocked, eagerly helping him to push off her skirt.
She sat naked in the moonlight, her ebony hair curling down her back and over swollen pink buds accenting her ivory breasts. Her waist nipped in to fit his hands, then swelled out in glorious hips and tight buttocks unlike any he’d ever beheld. Her years of swimming the ocean’s currents had carved her legs into supple muscles that he could imagine wrapping around him. Trystan was almost too stunned by Mariel’s moon-kissed beauty to reply to her taunt. Almost.
“No, I expected nothing of the kind from Lissandra,” he admitted. “We were bred to keep Aelynn strong. I had hoped that we might find this softness…” He used his hands to indicate the way their bodies gravitated together. Her nipples puckered under his caress, and she swayed toward him without persuasion. “But I see now that it was unlikely. I do not understand the logic of the gods, unless you wish to murmur sweet nothings in my ear?” he added hopefully.
“Right now, I will do anything you ask, if only you will keep me from going up in flames,” she replied, and this time, there was no mockery in her tone.
He nodded, matching her seriousness. “You understand that I still intend to take you to Aelynn and plant my seed in your womb, and this is how the gods’ aid me in persuading you to do my bidding?”
Sorrow haunted her expression. “If you understand that you cannot keep me there.”
Trystan closed his eyes and fought the anguish of fearing his son would be deprived of the rough and tumble learning with other boys who had his skills and strengths and speed. “I understand,” he agreed. “That does not mean I accept it.”
He changed his mind about teaching her how to pleasure him first. He had a strong urge to prove her need for him. Before she could argue, he took her breast into his mouth and rocked the heel of his hand against the swollen bud between her legs. To his satisfaction, she cried out her desire and did not protest when he laid her down on the cart bed beneath him.
He used his tongue to pleasure her, and to teach her that he could offer far, far more once she agreed to take her vows.
In retaliation, she used her hands on him, and with his guidance, showed him the cruelty of release without true joining.
Hollow and unsatisfied, they rolled into each other’s arms and slept restlessly for the remaining hours until dawn.
***
“Stop thinking,” Mariel said crossly, feeling desire ripple through her womb as the cart rattled down the rutted road toward home. She had yet to unravel the thrill that a god had actually come for her.
Although she ought to be reassured by the solidness of the man beside her. He had doffed his silk coat in deference to the increasing warmth of the day, and looked as unrumpled and unruffled as a golden god should be. He was every inch the lofty aristocrat, despite the decidedly earthy things that had passed between them.
Trystan cast her a wry glance that almost stopped her heart. “It’s hard not to think of you when my arm rubs your breast every time I rein this animal around another hole. I should not have sent the horse back to its owner.”
“Horses are too valuable to steal. I hope it returns safely,” she said, frowning with worry.
“I would have left him in his stable if you hadn’t called,” Trystan replied. “Would you prefer walking?”
She rubbed her hands over the hollow in her middle and wished for the welcoming depths of the sea to wash away this urge for his arms around her again. “No, thank you. We must hurry. Francine could have her babe any day. ”
“First, we need to return the chalice to Aelynn. And you must take your vows. You promised.” His voice sounded sterner than she thought necessary.
“I know, and I will. But Francine comes first.” It wasn’t as if she could think of anything else except his damned island and that strange bed and what he would do to her there.
And the results thereof. He seemed quite confident a child would come of it. And curse him, she actually wanted the child. She had prayed that once he was gone, the feeling would go away. What would she do with herself if she couldn’t swim?
“I will see that Francine is provided for while you’re away,” Trystan said. “It’s imperative that we return the chalice before it has a chance to escape again.”
“And to satisfy your need to perpetuate the species,” she retorted. “I am not at all certain that I like the idea of being your breeding cow.”
“I’m quite positive I don’t like the idea of being your rutting bull,” he agreed in disgruntlement.
Unexpectedly, Trystan halted the pony, and Mariel’s heart flipped in excitement at the prospect of his kisses, but he merely shot her a burning amber look and resisted. Instead, he stood on the cart seat, and with the point of his rapier, cut down a ripening branch of cherries unreachable by any other means. His broad shoulders strained at the seams of his linen shirt, and without the cover of his coat, his trim, muscled waist and buttocks showed to advantage. She almost expired from lust just watching him move.
Heart melting at his generous action, Mariel plucked the ripest fruit from the branch and placed it between Trystan’s lips, before tasting one herself. Caught by surprise at her sharing of the treat, he accepted her offering, then bent to lick and kiss her cherry-sweetened lips.
This wasn’t a kiss of lust, but one of appreciation, and Mariel melted further.
Before she could forget their differences, she reached for their food pack and tore off a piece of bread to satisfy a craving that couldn’t really be satisfied with food.
Mariel moved to the far edge of the seat and attempted to dodge his arm when he lifted the reins, but just avoiding his touch induced images of what he’d done to her last night. And what she had done to him. And the cycle began again.
Trystan stiffened, sighed, and adjusted his tight breeches. Unable to stay angry with this ridiculous situation, Mariel giggled.
“How do your amacaras ever get out of bed?” she asked in curiosity.
“I daresay with time and satiation, the craving diminishes.” In thoughtful mode, his chiseled face lost some of its hardness, and intelligence lit his expression. “In England, they give newlyweds a week alone, or longer, and call it a honeymoon. After that, they are expected to act like normal married people. I’m not certain if this applies to amacaras, but I should think it would be much alike.”
“A week?” Mariel tried to imagine a week in a room with a bed and Trystan. “I think we’d starve.”
He chuckled. “I’ve not heard of anyone starving from too much lust. Dylys will be able to tell us more. And I suppose pregnancy would decrease the cravings. You don’t see your sister pining away from desire.”
“With Francine, it would be hard to tell.” Mariel thought of her complacent sister, rocking in her chair, constantly twisting delicate threads into intricate patterns. “Perhaps I should take up rocking and lace making. It must dull the senses.”
“Admittedly, you are more physical than most women. Even on Aelynn, the women are usually healers and nurturers and Seers, which do not require much athleticism. You, on the other hand, live inside your body as much as your head.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asked suspiciously.
Trystan shot her a wicked grin. “For my intentions, assuredly.”
If this were a game of chess, she would send all the pieces flying in a fit of frustration. No matter what she did, he had her in check.
“We cannot return to Aelynn immediately,” she reminded him. “Unless you wish to steal back your ship as you stole the chevalier’s horse?”
“Was it de Berrier’s?”
“He’d had it saddled and ready to ride after the chalice at his bride’s behest.”
“Well, I saved him the trouble, so he cannot complain.” Trystan urged the pony into a faster trot when it tried to snack on a particularly ripe clump of grass.
“You mean you did not buy back the chalice?”
“I exchanged the chalice for gold with the lady’s servant. I am down to my last silver coin. I assume the lady will have already bought a ruby ring for her bridegroom from some impoverished noble about to lose his land. Your country’s finances are very peculiar.”
“Eduard says the economy is a house of cards about to collapse. That is why Francine and I were left with almost nothing when Father died. It all went to pay his debts. And the price of everything is so dear, we cannot live on the little we earn.”
Trystan frowned. “I knew there was poverty and corruption here, but if the debt you describe is so pervasive, that is a very dangerous situation. If your brother-in-law is correct, it will take a radical change in your laws and many years to fix it.”
Mariel nodded wearily and closed her eyes. “A revolution,” she whispered. “That is what Eduard says. They all think they can be Americans.”
“Not without a war,” Trystan agreed. “And you want me to leave you in the midst of such strife?” he asked in astonishment.
She leaned her elbows on the back of the cart seat and absorbed the rays of the sun as they reached the edge of the orchard. “I have friends in low places,” she said with an unease she tried to hide with a jest. At his inquiring expression, she explained, “I have only to go to the sea, and no one can follow. You need not worry about me.”
The sun was nearly in their eyes as they rode west. They’d made good time. Mariel felt stronger already as she sought the first familiar glimpse of fields and farms. “You never answered my question,” she reminded him.
“What question?”
“Do you intend to steal back your ship? Or will you let me look for the sea’s treasures?”
He shook the reins to speed the pony’s progress. “I must return by the full of the moon, and that is but two days away. I don’t think it would be difficult to steal the ship. I could gather the funds to pay for it when we reached Aelynn.”
If she could learn to communicate better with dolphins, they could probably help her find riches, but how did one say “treasure” to an animal with no comprehension of currency?
“I hate for people to think my husband is a thief. It will be bad enough explaining your absence if I must grow fat with child.”
Trystan slanted her a lazy look, and prickles of desire crawled across Mariel’s breasts and inside her belly. She balled up her fist and punched Trystan’s hard upper arm. “Stop that.�
�
He laughed, obviously pleased with her reaction. “It’s torment, but I am learning how to use it. Given time, we should never have another argument.”
Mary, Mother of Jesus, help her! He would have her rolling beneath him every time she wanted to hit him for his thickheadedness.
Twenty-five
As the cart rolled into Pouchay, Trystan scanned the horizon for the sloop, but the cliffs were too high. Instinct called for him to head straight for the ship, heave Mariel and the chalice aboard, and abscond with his prizes before anything else could keep him from the island.
But honor required that he return Mariel to her sister and marry Mariel in her church so his child would not be scorned in her world.
With the power he’d been granted, it wasn’t easy to abide by her laws. Perhaps Murdoch had the right of it: do as one must and to hell with all else. France was obviously ripe for anarchy—the perfect country for a man like Murdoch who didn’t recognize any law but his own.
But unlike Murdoch, Trystan was a patient man who recognized the need for boundaries.
With reluctance, he guided the pony back to Francine’s cottage rather than to the sea. At least now he knew a bit about horses. They were not so difficult to control as he’d assumed.
“Francine is usually by that window,” Mariel said worriedly, biting her lip as he halted the pony in the street outside her gate.
“She cannot always be by the window.” Climbing down, Trystan waved to the neighbor who had loaned the cart. He had no right to become friendly with Outsiders, but Mariel would have to rely on these people when he was gone. “She could be napping or preparing a meal or any number of things. You are overanxious.”
He was overanxious. He started nervously when Mariel leaped down without his aid and raced toward the house. He didn’t want her out of his sight. But the neighbor was coming to fetch the pony, and he had to remove the chalice and their baggage so he might return the cart. He could not rudely abandon all to follow his impetuous mate.
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