Eastra felt him against her, big and hot and alive, and she urged him nearer, on fire with her own raging, violent need. With splayed thighs and upthrust hips, she welcomed him. Then came sharp stabbing pain and her eagerness faded. She felt him go still, aware of her discomfort.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But the worst is over. Will you let me... finish?” His voice was choked, harsh, and she was aware only the slimmest thread of control held him back.
She nodded. “Finish, then next time it will be better.”
A storm unleashed, or the waves of the sea, pounding her. Her insides seemed split, stretched, shattered. But beneath the dull ache, another sensation. A hint of pleasure, of swelling need and a reawakening of that sharp, urgent craving. She moved her hips, searching for the something that eluded her.
Then, suddenly, he gave a great cry and went still, his weight upon her. The waves of pain and pleasure receded and she felt sore and squashed and uncomfortable. Rhun shifted to lie beside her, and suddenly she was cold. She sat up and adjusted her clothing to cover herself. He pulled her down next to him, then raised up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss her. “Eastra,” he murmured.
His eyes were dazed, unfocused, his whole face so soft and relaxed that he reminded her of a little boy. He smiled at her, a wondering, wide-eyed smile. “What you do to me... I vow I feel as if I have fallen through one of the fairy mounds and awakened in another world. But...” He glanced around them and said ruefully, “I am still in this world after all.” After a moment, he asked “Are you all right? I mean, did I hurt you?”
She shook her head.
“And what about your ankle? I swear, I didn’t even think of it. Does it pain you greatly?”
Eastra hesitated, then said, “It still throbs, I guess, although I forgot it while we were...” Abruptly, she was embarrassed. She could hardly believe they’d done what they’d done. It was what she’d wanted, but... there was so much unfinished between them. What did he truly feel for her, besides desire? Did he love her, or was what they shared merely lust? It had not felt like that. It had been awe inspiring and magical for her. What about for him?
“By the Light!” He sat up, shaking his head. She could see he was also discomfited. “I never meant to...” He looked around them. “Anyone could have come upon us. I can’t believe I was so foolish, so inconsiderate...” He looked at her, and there was a kind of despair in his eyes.
As she moved to sit beside him, warm liquid dripped down her thighs. His seed. They might well have made a babe. The thought shocked her, but even so, she knew she must put aside her own unease and reassure him. After all, she was the one who had enticed him, deliberately schemed to get him alone, to arouse his sympathy and concern and, ultimately, his passion. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It was... wonderful.” She could feel herself blushing.
“But to take you like this... in this place...” He looked around again, as if disbelieving what he had done, deflowering a woman under an oak tree in the middle of a rainstorm.
But it was not raining now. Indeed, from what she could see of the sky through the tree branches, it was clearing rapidly. “It’s all right,” she told him. “The truth is, I wanted it as much as you did. And this is not such a bad place. The Saxons believe trees, especially great oaks like this one, are full of power. Perhaps we were both touched by some sort of magic, the hand of the gods.”
She could see that didn’t reassure him. He frowned. A twinge of warning sounded through her. What if he regretted what they had done so much he never wanted to do it again? What if she had tricked him into something that would cause him grief, the memory of it make him miserable?
“You liked it, didn’t you?” she asked anxiously. “You were not disappointed, were you?”
He took a deep breath and stared at her, his blue-gray eyes deep and intent. “It was miraculous. Astounding. Have no doubt of that.”
She held her breath waiting.
He shook his head. “Where do we go from here? By rights, I should wed you, but that cannot happen because of who you are. Don’t you see? We’re trapped. Things are hopeless between us, and yet now we know how extraordinary it might have been.” He touched her face gently, and his eyes were sorrowful.
She wanted to shout at him, to demand to know why it was so hopeless, exactly why they could not wed. But that seemed too forward, too presumptuous. Maybe he really did not want to wed her. As much as he desired her, he might still want his heirs to be British, not half-Saxon mongrels. Taking pleasure in lying with a woman was much different than wanting to make her his wife. She thought of her uncle and the several concubines he’d kept since she came back to his household. He would never marry any of them. They were not of high enough status to make appropriate consorts for a powerful chieftain. Rhun might well feel the same about her. She had contrived to obtain her heart’s desire, and now she found it was not enough.
Rhun’s heart twisted in his chest. She looked so sad, so forlorn. How could he have done this, become so caught up in his body’s needs that he completely lost his head? But it had not felt crude and carnal. It had been sublime, even spiritual, as if their souls had been joined as well as their bodies.
He took a deep breath. There was no going back, no unmaking this thing. He must figure out what to do next. For one thing, he must get her back so she could change into some dry garments. He motioned. “Let me look at your ankle.”
She nodded and pulled up her skirts so her legs were exposed. Ridiculously, he felt awkward. He had just made love to this woman, but somehow there was still something terribly intimate about examining her bare ankle. He touched the cool, smooth skin gingerly. “It doesn’t seem swollen. Can you put weight on it?”
She looked at him, distress evident in her pale, expressive eyes. “Nay, I don’t think so.”
He repressed a sigh, dreading the continued closeness her injury forced upon them.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” He managed a smile. “I’ll carry you.” He put on the oilskin cape, then picked her up.
She adjusted herself so her arms were around his neck, her head against his shoulder. “I hope I’m not too heavy,” she breathed.
“Of course not. I’ve carried roe deer that were a good three stones heavier than you.”
She was light enough, her body fine-boned and delicate, but with such delicious soft contours. He thought of the liquid weight of her breast in his hand, the plush curve of her buttocks. She felt precious and delightful in his arms, as if there was something so right, so perfect in the way their bodies fit together.
A wave of anguish swept over him as he strode forward. He wanted to forget all about Bridei and the others, forget about Arthur and the war with the Saxons, carry her away and never go back. He remembered another moment like this, over ten years ago. He’d felt much the same then, wanting to stay with the wide-eyed Saxon child he’d rescued, to protect her and see her to safety. Now the urge was even fiercer and more compelling. This was a woman he held in his arms, a woman he’d just loved with the fullness and depth of his being. She affected him, drew him in ways no child could.
But his dilemma had not changed. Duty called to him, his responsibilities as one of Arthur’s captains, his oath to his liege lord and to their cause. How could he forsake that oath? It was a part of him. How could he defy everything that he was—a warrior, a soldier? Turn his back on his whole existence? And yet in the deep, secret part of himself, he wanted to do exactly that. To be a different man, a man like Bridei, who thought of nothing but his own needs and longings.
The thought of his brother decided him, and he paused, getting his bearings. The way Bridei lived his life was sad and futile. It would lead to self-loathing and contempt and ultimately to despair. Rhun put one foot in front of the other, walking steadily. And with every step, the pain in his heart grew sharper and more unbearable.
* * *
; She’d been wrong, Eastra thought. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the grim, determined look on his face, not wanting to accept that their idyll was over and nothing had changed. Nothing. She’d believed once he’d made love to her, Rhun would finally see they were meant to be together. But, obviously, that hadn’t happened. He intended to continue on their journey, to take her to his father’s fortress and fulfill his duty to Arthur. He’d spoken no words of love, and his refusal to marry her was a clear enough indication of his feelings. She’d gambled and lost.
A lump swelled in her throat, but she fought it back. She wouldn’t cry and let him see her humiliation. No one else must know of it either. She would tell Bridei that by the time Rhun found her, they were both too wet and cold to worry about anything except getting back. She hoped he believed her; Rhun’s brother was too clever by half.
She felt a sudden hitch in Rhun’s stride. Then he came to a halt. She opened her eyes and glanced at his face, hoping for one brief second he had changed his mind and wanted to be alone with her a little longer. His expression dashed all her hopes and aroused her dread. She jerked her head around to see what had caused him to appear so stricken. Through the trees, she saw a group of armed warriors, Britons by the looks of them. She heard Rhun suck in his breath, then slowly, carefully, turn around and begin to walk back the way he had come. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she realized what had happened. Bridei and the other men had been captured. If they did not get away quickly, they would also fall into the hands of the enemy soldiers.
There was a hissing sound near her ear. Then an arrow struck a tree ahead of them, lodging in the bark, quivering menacingly. Rhun went instantly still. She felt his body tense. They’d been spotted.
Rhun turned around slowly. A heavily bearded, dark-haired man stood on the ridge above them. “That’s a wise fellow,” the warrior said derisively. “It would be all too easy for that arrow to have struck a little further to the left.”
“Take me.” Rhun spoke in a clear, strong voice. “And let the others go. I’m the one you want.”
“Are you?” The man cocked his head. “We’ll have to ask Urien about that.”
“Urien? Doesn’t the king of Rheged have anything better to do than molest travelers passing through his lands?”
“Apparently not.” The man spoke in dry, ironic tones. Then he motioned with his head to indicate Rhun should approach.
“If you see an opening, make a run for it,” Rhun whispered as he started toward their captor. Then, with a hiss of exasperation, he added “Damn, I forgot about your ankle. Well, forget that notion. We’ll have to throw them off the trail some other way. Keep to the story that you’re my concubine, a Saxon slave I purchased in Londinium. They may know who you are anyway, but it’s worth a try.”
Eastra nodded. She felt so bad for him. Because of her, he was in this predicament. If she had not wandered off and then enticed him, they would have been with the others and he would have remained on his guard. He might have spotted the enemy troop before they could be captured. She repressed a sigh. If she’d brought danger to him, she’d never forgive herself.
They reached the others. There were about twenty foreign warriors gathered around them. Their captors were dressed similarly to the other Britons, although some wore feathers and animal skins as a kind of badge or personal symbol. Their swords were drawn as they surrounded Rhun’s men. Eastra looked around for Bridei. He was standing off to the side, appearing utterly calm and unruffled.
The man who had spoken earlier said, “These two.” He gestured to Rhun and Bridei. “They’ll be going with us to Caer Louarn. And the woman. As for the rest of them, take their horses.”
The warriors sprang into action, herding Rhun’s men into a group, then gathering up the horses and tying the animals’ leads to their own mounts.
“Will we be allowed to ride?” Rhun asked. He was glowering. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Aye,” the enemy leader answered. ‘The woman can travel with you.”
“Why not leave her here?” Rhun said. “I can’t think Urien would be interested in a Saxon slave girl I purchased in Londinium.”
The man regarded Eastra carefully. Her face grew hot as his eyes roved over her. “Oh, he might well be interested in her.” He grinned.
“And what of Morguese?” Rhun demanded. “I can’t think she would tolerate her husband keeping a foreign concubine in her household.”
The man shrugged. “That is for the two of them to decide. If nothing else, the Saxon would fetch a good price as a bedslave.”
“She’s not for sale!” Rhun spoke sharply. He took a step toward the man.
The man laughed. “I wasn’t proposing to purchase her. She’s Urien’s captive, just as you are.” His smile widened. “I wonder how much your father, the great Dragon, would be willing to pay to ransom his sons?”
“Not much.” Bridei stepped forward. “I’m sure he believes he is well rid of us. He has never reconciled himself to the fact that my brother went off to fight for Arthur’s cause. As for me...” He shrugged. “He sent me away from his fortress some years ago. I suspect he’d just as soon not have us back.”
“We shall see,” was all the man said. “It’s up to Urien to decide anyway.”
Rhun and Bridei were ordered to mount up, although not on the horses they usually rode. Rhun helped Eastra into the saddle of a roan mare, then climbed up behind her. They started off. The enemy leader—whom Eastra had heard one man refer to as “Caw”—rode in front. Then came another warrior, then she and Rhun, and then several more warriors. Some distance back, Bridei was accompanied by the rest of the force.
“Who’s Urien?’ Eastra whispered after they’d gone a short distance.
“A typical British chieftain,” Rhun said. It sounded as if he were gritting his teeth. “Answers to no man and claims total authority over his own domain.”
“Is he Arthur’s enemy?”
“I don’t know. I’m not certain what he wants with us. Perhaps only to gloat over the fact he captured us so easily.” He swore.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “If I hadn’t gotten lost, none of this would have happened.”
“It would have changed nothing. They’d simply have waited for another opportunity to come upon us unawares. They have been following us since yesterday.”
“How do you know?”
Rhun shook his head. “I felt them. But I couldn’t see them, so I couldn’t act on my fears.”
“But why did they follow us? What do they want?”
He shook his head grimly. “We’ll have to wait until we arrive at Urien’s fortress to find that out.”
She sighed and shifted on the horse. Her crotch felt damp and sore, and without the loincloth to protect her privates, every step the horse took seemed to aggravate her discomfort. If her experience with Rhun was near to perfect bliss, this was the very opposite.
The forest grew denser, more impenetrable, the trail narrower. They finally had to ride single file. The air was thick and heavy, filled with moisture from all the growing things. Eastra thought of the tales of the forest in her people’s homeland across the sea. Stories of people lost in the woods forever, eaten by wolves or dragged underground by malevolent spirits. She shivered. This place seemed gloomy and uninhabitable. What did the people who lived here do for food? There was no cleared land to grow crops. Did they survive by hunting deer and boar and gathering berries and nuts in season?
Then, abruptly, the forest thinned, and she could see animals had been grazing under the trees, keeping the brush down. The trees grew sparser still, and they were in a region of mixed forest and grassland. She saw black and brown cattle grazing and some pigs rooting at the edges of the pasture. They reached cleared land, planted with strips of rye and barley, but no wheat. Further on were outbuildings and small, round wooden dwellings. At last, they came in sight of the fortress. It was
built on a hilltop and protected by a ditch and a high palisade that was partly timber and partly stone.
“Urien’s fortress?” she asked.
Rhun nodded. Eastra felt another wave of foreboding. The place looked well-defended and secure; it would not be easy for them to escape.
They followed a trackway up the hill, and the leader of the captors, Caw, shouted up something to the man in the tower guarding the gate. The big timber gate creaked open, and they rode in.
In the muddy yard, which seemed crammed to bursting with people, dogs, and livestock, Caw’s men began to dismount and hand their horses off to servants. As Rhun climbed down and reached up to help her off their horse, Eastra saw Caw approach. He motioned curtly. “Come with me.”
He led them toward a huge round timber structure. Thinking of her disheveled appearance, Eastra quickly ran her hands over her hair and tried to smooth her gunna.
Rhun glanced back at her. “Remember,” he whispered, “you’re supposed to be a slave.” Eastra jerked her hands away from her hair. She must do her best to uphold Rhun’s story, not merely for her own safety, but to please him. She still felt guilty they had been captured because of her selfish actions.
The structure they entered had one huge room with a hearth in the center. Furs and bright weavings hung from the walls, and the several supporting columns had been ornately carved and then painted with the images of strange faces and wild beasts. Around the hearth, several stools and low tables were arranged, and at the far end sat a man in a tall wooden chair. Numerous fox pelts, the heads still attached, hung from the chair. The man had long dark hair and a full beard growing gray, and his face was craggy and weathered.
Observing this impressive chieftain and the barbaric splendor of his dwelling, Eastra’s spirits sank. Urien reminded her of Cerdic. The same shrewd, ruthless aura of power surrounded both men.
“Rhun ap Maelgwn!” The man’s voice rumbled through the room. “I have not seen you since you were but a stripling. You’ve grown up fine and tall like your father. And Bridei.” The man’s dark eyes fixed on Rhun’s brother with fierce cunning. “I was surprised to hear you had joined the great Arthur’s cause.” His lip curled in contempt. “I thought you had more sense than that.”
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