The Dragon Prince

by Mary Gillgannon

  He was leaning over her, his face near hers. She could smell the musky scent of herself mingling with his maleness. “I’ve wanted to love you like that since I first saw you in Cerdic’s household.” he whispered. “A woman. A radiant bloom that has fulfilled every promise of that lovely child I rescued.”

  “I want more,” she whispered breathlessly. “I want you inside me.” She reached out, feeling for the raw proof of his desire. Her fingers closed around the warm, rigid flesh of his phallus. So big. It amazed her to think of such an impressive, substantial thing inside her. Yet it had fit before, and now she was even more ready.

  She wondered if he breathed, he held himself so still as she caressed him. At first she felt clumsy, uncertain how she supposed to touch him. Then gradually she let her fingers do whatever they wanted. Explore. Squeeze. Fondle the amazingly soft, tender tip. He gasped. Her hand glided along the long, stiff length to reach the coarse hair, the heavy, rounded shapes beneath. His ballocks. Full of his seed. Seed he would put inside her, deep into her womb.

  Suddenly, she could wait no longer. “Please,” she whispered, knowing he would understand, knowing he waited only for a sign from her.

  She helped guide him to her opening. He thrust in. Deep. More than she expected... she was not prepared. She fought for control, to catch her breath. Harsh, solid flesh stretching her, impaling her. He shifted position, stroking slowly, as if he meant to get her used to him. Her body relaxed and yielded. And then she was caught up in the maelstrom, the raging storm inside her, the strong, even tempo of his thrusts.

  She felt her womb contract like a frenzied beast. She arched her hips. Spread her legs wider, offering him access. Offering him everything.

  His body jerked. He groaned. And it was over.

  She wanted to weep. She did not know why. A gasping sob escaped her.

  “Eastra, my love.” His arms were around her. Tender. Protective. He kissed her cheek, reassuring her. “My sweetness. My darling.” She fought back tears, wondering what was wrong with her. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He sounded anxious, upset. She shook her head. What he had done to her body was one thing. What he had done to her soul was another.

  “Oh, love. You are so innocent. I should not have let you push me so close to the edge. For a moment there, I lost control. I should have been more careful.”

  “It was what I wished,” she choked out. “It was exactly what I wanted.” That was true. She had wanted him to lose control. To spill his seed inside her, a great gush of life. Or maybe the Goddess had driven her to do this thing.

  A strange feeling afflicted her as she slid from his arms and sat up. Was Morguese still waiting at the entrance of the prison, a few feet above their heads, bathed in the soft light of the moon? Did she know what they had done? Had she even planned it?

  Eastra turned to look at her lover, sprawled naked on the blanket. The spot of moonlight illuminated the coarse gold hair on his chest, but she could not see his face. She leaned over him, finding his mouth and kissing him. “I love you, Rhun ap Maelgwn.”

  He exhaled a sigh. “And I love you... but that does not mean...”

  “Hush.” She pressed her hand to his mouth. “Don’t say it. I can’t bear to hear those words.”

  He sighed again. She lay her head down on his chest. Tears squeezed from under her closed eyelids. She waited a moment, then sat up again. “I must get back,” she said. “I might be missed.”

  “Of course.” His voice was toneless, sad. As she dressed, she wondered what she had done to both of them.

  She went out the door of the chamber and closed it behind her. It latched with a dull thud. She heard him try it from the inside and knew it was locked. Climbing the stairs, she pushed through the entrance at the top and climbed out into the moonlit night. Morguese was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 12

  He was going mad, Rhun thought as he lay back on the blanket-covered straw. It was as if some other man had invaded his body and controlled his actions. A man like Bridei, who gave no thought to duty and responsibility but only to the pleasure he could seize in the moment. Why else had he just done what he’d done—wasted his only opportunity to escape making love to Eastra? Even now, he felt drugged, his senses so suffused with the bliss of their coupling that he could not think clearly.

  Sweet heaven, it had been good! Better than he’d imagined sex could be. The woman he desired most in the world, willing and eager, hungry for everything he could offer. She had bewitched him, disordered his senses. He’d heard of the technique of kissing a woman’s most intimate parts, but never tried it. Yet at the time, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world. He’d known she would taste sweet and delectable. Known she would reach her peak. And once she’d peaked, she’d be able to take all of him. He would not have to hold back, to worry about hurting her.

  But the other—her touching him—that had been a revelation. He recalled her delicate fingers teasing and caressing, displaying a boldness he had not dreamed she possessed. What had happened to the demure maid in Cerdic’s longhouse, her eyes downcast, her manner so discreet and shy? With her rare coloring, Eastra had always seemed untouchable, pure and chaste. But she had shown herself to be almost lusty in her appetites. Not the child he had rescued all those years ago, but a woman in her prime, rich and earthy, and remarkably satisfying.

  Rhun got to his feet, his mind reeling. Every day, his life grew more complicated, his feelings more tangled and difficult to sort out. The thought of leaving Eastra, even for a short while, aroused a gnawing ache inside him. Yet he knew he had no choice. Duty called to him. His oath to Arthur allowed no room for love, no matter how transcendent his feelings. And love with a Saxon princess was even more forbidden and hopeless.

  He thought of Eastra telling him not to speak of the future. She must know things between them were doomed. Those fleeting glimpses of ecstasy were all they would ever have. Perhaps that was why she’d offered herself so blatantly, because she’d understood the impossibility of their circumstances. He’d felt tears on her face afterward, as if she grieved for the brevity of their time together. Now he wanted to weep as well, to lie down on the straw floor of his prison and sob like a child. But he was a man, a man with responsibilities, people who depended upon him, men who might end up dying if he failed them.

  A sobering thought, and one that weighed heavily against the magic of what he’d just experienced. He had a duty not only to Arthur but to all the Companions and all the other men who followed Arthur, believing in his dream.

  He went to the door of his prison and again tried the lock. It was as secure as ever. He gave a groan. For a bare candlehour in heaven, he’d failed himself and his cause. But it would not happen again.

  * * *

  Eastra hurried among the outbuildings of the fortress. She needed to find Morguese and speak to her. The wetness of Rhun’s seed trickled down her thighs as she ran. It was uncomfortable, but also exhilarating. A tangible reminder of what they had shared.

  When she reached the corridor leading to Morguese’s chamber, she saw someone leaving the queen’s apartments. She pressed herself back against the wall and waited for them to pass by, drawing in her breath in surprise when she saw it was Bridei. “What do you here?” she whispered.

  Bridei didn’t answer, but pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. The glimmer of a smile lit his handsome features. He moved past Eastra and out into the night. She stared after him, then continued on to Morguese’s room. Knocking on the door, she waited. There was no answer. She tried again. When there was no response, she considered going in and seeing if Morguese was asleep. But then she realized how rude that would be.

  She went down the hall to her own chamber. There was no sign of Nevyn. After washing her hands and face and reluctantly wiping away the stickiness between her thighs, Eastra lay down on her pallet. She went over the events of the night in her mind. Why would Morguese promise to stand guard, then disappear? Why would she say sh
e was going to help and then insist that Rhun could not leave his prison? And most of all, Eastra wondered, why had she listened to Morguese? Why hadn’t she freed Rhun and tried to escape? But she had not. Instead she had enticed him to make love to her, to couple wildly on the straw-covered floor of his prison.

  It was almost as if Morguese had put a spell upon her, Eastra thought. A shiver ran down her spine. What if Morguese never meant to help free Rhun? What if the queen had some other sort of plan in mind? And Bridei—what part did he play in all this? The way he’d looked when she met him the hallway, like a man leaving his lover. But who was his lover?

  Her thoughts seemed to tumble over and over and she could not sleep. Even when she finally put her doubts about Morguese aside, the heated memories of what she had shared with Rhun kept her awake. Had she truly done those things? Touched him so daringly? Allowed him, nay urged him, to kiss her so boldly?

  The memory was vivid and clear. Her body felt odd, both relaxed and intensely alive at the same time. It was a dream, a wonderful dream, and yet it was real. She smiled into the darkness. She and Rhun were bound together now. He would not be able to forget her.

  She got up and poured herself a drink of water. Where was Nevyn? she wondered, glancing at the empty pallet in the corner. Never before had Morguese’s apprentice been gone all night.

  There was one tiny window in the room, very high up. Eastra climbed on the chest beneath it and tried to see out. All that was visible was the full moon. Morguese had said when the moon was near dark, she would help Rhun escape.

  Eastra awoke to the rustle of clothing and the soft sounds of someone washing. Nevyn was leaning over the bronze bowl, splashing water on her face. Where she had been all night? With Bridei? Nevyn didn’t seem like the sort of woman who would appeal to him, but then, from what Rhun said, his brother was not very picky about his bed partners.

  Nevyn’s freckled face was inscrutable, as always. Eastra, dressing, asked her, “Do you know what Morguese has planned for us today?”

  Nevyn shook her head. “The queen is still sleeping. If you are wise, you will not disturb her, but make yourself useful in the weaving shed.”

  Despite her surprise—Morguese had never slept this late before—Eastra dutifully went to the weaving shed. About midday, Morguese came to find her. Eastra followed her out. “The time has come to make preparations for Rhun’s escape,” Morguese said when they were alone. “I told my husband I visited the prisoner and he is growing weak and sickly due to lack of sunlight. I will insist that from now on, he must be brought out in the yard for fresh air and exercise each day. On the day when the Mead Moon has half waned I will arrange for the door to his prison to be left open.”

  “And the men at the gate?” Eastra asked. “How will we get past them?”

  “I will make certain they are otherwise occupied.”

  Eastra nodded, tense with impatience. In only a few days, they would be free. “What about Bridei?” she asked. “Will he be coming with us?”

  Morguese shook her head. “His job will be to distract my husband’s warriors with songs and stories. He will stay in the hall and keep them content.”

  Eastra returned her attention to the piece of fabric she was weaving. She didn’t care about any of the hardships that might be ahead of them—finding food, having to travel on foot, the dangers of the forest. All she cared was that she and Rhun would be together.

  The next few days passed tediously. Although she caught glimpses of Rhun when he was allowed out in the yard, Eastra tried not let on she was aware of his presence. She must be patient, she told herself.

  At last the day of the half moon arrived. Eastra could scarce concentrate on the tasks Morguese had assigned to her. She moved through her duties with growing restlessness. That night, there was another feast; one of the hunting parties had brought back a young boar. The men drank heavily and gorged themselves. As usual, Eastra helped serve.

  After the meal, Urien announced that Bridei ap Maelgwn, “the great King Arthur’s bard”—there was derision in his voice as he spoke the title—would entertain them. Bridei went to sit in the place of honor beside Urien. He drew his hand across the strings of his harp and a ripple of silvery notes brought quiet to the hall. Eastra stood in the corner of the room, watching with the other servants. Her body felt taut with anticipation. At any moment, Morguese would rise from where she sat on the other side of Urien, cross the hall, and whisper in Eastra’s ear that it was time to meet Rhun.

  But nothing happened. Bridei sang a long song about a battle, then a more cheerful song about a boy and his falcon. As he began a playful, rather obscene ditty about a pair of lovers, Eastra started toward the door. Perhaps she was mistaken, and Morguese was not going to signal it was time to go. The queen might be worried Urien would observe her actions and grow suspicious.

  Eastra went out into the darkness. Nothing seemed amiss. She heard a dog bark in the distance. Then she began to run toward Rhun’s underground prison. When she reached it, she glanced around to make certain she wasn’t seen, then jerked open the wooden door and let herself down into the passageway.

  Reaching the door to the prison chamber, she called out for Rhun. There was no answer.

  She pulled on the door and it opened with a creaking sound. “Rhun?” Still hearing no response, she grew uneasy. What was wrong? Why didn’t he answer?

  She entered the chamber. The little patch of moonlight revealed only a pile of straw. She searched the rest of the chamber, dreading to find Rhun injured or otherwise incapacitated. She found nothing but a chamber pot. Even the blanket they’d coupled on was gone.

  She straightened, knowing she was too late. But if she had been supposed to meet him near the gate, why hadn’t Morguese told her? She scrambled out of the passageway, then hurried back after remembering she’d forgotten to close the door to Rhun’s prison. Let Urien’s men think all was well until they came to release him for his daily exercise. By then, she and Rhun would be far away. Or would they? As she ran toward the gate, the sinking feeling inside her grew.

  She searched the area around the gate, thinking Rhun must be waiting in the shadows. Above her in the watchtower, she heard two men talking. When one of them started down the ladder, she pressed herself flat against the wooden palisade wall. The man walked past and continued on toward the hall. Eastra let out her breath in a sigh. Where was Rhun? Had he been discovered by the guards and taken somewhere more secure than the underground chamber?

  She waited for what seemed like a long while, then gave up and returned to the hall. Bridei was still strumming his harp and singing when she entered. Morguese sat next to Urien, looking as content and unruffled as ever. Eastra tried to catch the queen’s eye, but Morguese’s attention, like everyone else’s, was focused on Bridei. At last, Eastra saw Nevyn heading toward the door. She followed her out. As soon as they reached the yard, she grabbed the maidservant’s arm. “Nevyn, what’s happened? Tell me!”

  Nevyn stared, her pale eyes expressionless.

  “Where’s Rhun?” Eastra demanded once again. “Did they recapture him?”

  Nevyn still said nothing.

  Eastra fought the urge to shake her. “What went wrong? Where are they holding him?”

  “Rhun is gone,” Nevyn answered slowly. “Although no one must know until morning.”

  “Gone? You mean his escape was successful? But where am I supposed to meet him? Should I bring anything, or has Morguese taken care of our supplies?”

  “By now he should be far away. He left at dusk.”

  Eastra felt as if she had been struck in the stomach. Rhun had left without her. Something must have happened that made it impossible for him to wait for her. But what? Then another dark fear assailed her. What if he’d never intended to take her with him? What if their coupling had been his way of saying good-bye?

  She returned to the hall. It seemed very bright and warm, overwhelming. Near the door, one of Urien’s warriors—Grimlyn, who was forev
er teasing her—called out, “What’s wrong, little bird? You don’t look well.”

  “It was... something I ate,” she mumbled. The misery broke over her. She half staggered over to one of the benches and sank down. Somehow she had to pull herself together, to act as if nothing was amiss, as if she had not been duped and betrayed by the man she loved. Not to mention Morguese. The queen must have known Rhun was going to leave her behind. Did she pity Eastra for being such a fool?

  By Freya, she could not bear it! Morguese had promised to help her. Instead she had pretending to share Rhun’s plan with her, all the while knowing he would be leaving Caer Louarn alone.

  Eastra stood and walked across the hall to where Morguese sat. She must have looked very grim and determined for Urien gave her a startled look. “Morguese,” Eastra said. “If I might have a word with you.”

  Morguese nodded and rose, her face a serene mask. They left the hall. Eastra strode briskly toward the queen’s apartments. She wanted privacy for this confrontation. When they reached Morguese’s chamber, they went inside. Eastra turned to face the older woman. “You lied to me. You let me believe that when you helped Rhun escape, I would go with him.”

  Morguese shrugged. “There was no lie. I merely didn’t tell you everything.”

  Eastra exhaled in a gasp of fury. “How could you? Why tell me anything, if this is what you had planned? Why get my hopes up, let me believe he cared for me...” She took a deep breath, too overcome to continue.

  “He does care for you,” Morguese said. “But he cares more for his duty to Arthur.” She shrugged again. “It’s the way of men to put matters of politics and war before the desperate yearnings of their own hearts. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He may eventually realize his folly and come back for you. You must be patient.”

  “Patient! I have waited half my life for this man! I can’t bear to wait any longer!”

  “It’s a woman’s burden to wait. For the seasons to turn, for her belly to ripen with a child, then all the long years as the child grows. You will learn patience, for, verily, you have no choice.”