As Eastra followed Rhiannon and the children along the worn pathway to the forest, she could not help musing on the different natures of Rhun’s half siblings. The red-haired twins seemed to take after Maelgwn and were quick and passionate as fire. They had the sort of competitive natures that made it easy to imagine them as warriors someday. Sixteen-year-old Elen had near black hair, but appeared as cool and ethereal as the mist, very much like her mother. Her younger sister Anwyl had reddish tresses and a fiery temperament to match her coloring. And then there were Beli and Bridei—one red-haired, one dark; one dutiful and sweet, the other rebellious and cynical.
Eastra decided Rhun must have taken after his mother, Morganna. Not only was his coloring much different than the rest of his family, but he was not hot-tempered and excitable like Maelgwn, but more like the earth, solid, real, dependable. A fierce ache shot through her at the thought. How she needed him, his big, strong arms around her, the tender glow in his beautiful blue eyes warming her, his smell, so alive and male and intoxicating. She thought of his babe growing inside her. When would she have a chance to tell Rhun about the baby? When would she ever see him again? Rhiannon had said he was on his way, but days had passed and there was no sign of him. Sighing, Eastra turned to glance back toward the fortress.
Rhiannon gave her a sympathetic look. “I thought if you went berrying with us, it would lift your spirits.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be in such a melancholy temper.”
“Of course not. But if you are unhappy, perhaps it would be best if you returned to the fortress.”
Eastra nodded. She didn’t really want to leave, but neither did she want her mood to ruin things for the others.
“Why don’t you take the path along the river?” Rhiannon suggested. “The cranesbill and foxglove are especially pretty right now. And you might find some early raspberries there if you decide to do some berrying after all.”
Eastra turned and took the path to where the trackway ran along the river. She could feel her despondency increasing, like a terrible weight inside her. Rhun wasn’t coming. Now that she was safe at Gwynedd, he had no interest in her. She’d never meant anything to him. A few hours of pleasure, that was all she’d been to him.
Even as she wallowed in her bitter thoughts, a voice inside her screamed “no!” She did believe he didn’t care for her. It was only that his sense of duty was stronger than his feelings for her. That must be why he didn’t come. Arthur needed him. Another wave of anxiety swept over her. Was the truce broken? Would there be war again, the endless fighting that had destroyed everything she ever cared about?
Tears filled her eyes. Tears for herself, for the loneliness she felt even surrounded by Rhun’s family. Tears for the babe she carried that it might never know its father. Tears for her own dead kin, for the child she had been, that playful, innocent girl whose life had been altered forever. And tears for Rhun, the man she loved more than her own life. She would give up everything if only he would be safe.
As she neared the river, the way grew slippery. Eastra swiped away her tears so she could focus on where she placed her feet. When she finally glanced up, her heart did a sudden lurch. She could see two figures leading horses, approaching Deganwy from downriver. She stared. They looked so familiar, so... She gasped. It was Rhun and Bridei!
She wanted to run to him and throw herself into his arms. Instead, she forced herself to walk toward him at a steady, sedate pace. Rhun saw her and handed the reins of his mount to Bridei. He started toward her. When he’d almost reached her, he stopped. Eastra also came to a halt and faced him uncertainly. He stared at her. “I’d forgotten,” he said. “Forgotten how beautiful you were.”
Eastra closed the distance between them. Then she was in his arms, eyes closed, reveling in the feel of him, the wild, earthy male scent she remembered so well. He stroked her face. “Eastra, my darling. Everything was worth it for this. Everything.”
His voice, the rumbling, warm sound of it, filled her soul until she thought she would burst. His arms tightened around her and she felt him rub his stubbled jaw against her hair. Then he began to kiss her. He kissed the side of her head, then her face. Tender kisses, although his whiskers were rough against her skin.
Their mouths mated, merged. Their bodies entwined, desperate to be close. Their essences combined. The magic rose between them, warm and alive, swirling around them like a glowing light. The rest of the world fell away, and there were only the two of them. Finally, Rhun pulled away. He looked at her, his expression so tender, his face so beautiful. Now, she thought, now is the time to tell him about the baby.
“Sorry to interrupt, but as soon as I’m gone you’ll have the whole place to yourselves.” Bridei spoke from behind them. “I left your horse over there, Rhun, tied to that thorn bush. Give my regards to my mother.”
Rhun slowly disengaged himself and turned to face his brother. Eastra could feel the magic that had surrounded them fading away like mist in the sun. “You’re leaving?” Rhun said. “You come this far and then run off without seeing anyone?”
Bridei shrugged. “I would have liked to have seen my sisters. And the twins. They were barely born when I left.”
“They’re in the woods.” Eastra pointed. “At the berry patch. Even if you won’t go into the fortress, at least see your mother and your brothers and sisters.”
Bridei hesitated. Eastra could see the longing in his face. For once he didn’t look cynical and distant. Then his mouth quirked into a grim smile. “Like as not, I’ll be dead in a month. Or so my brother predicts. Under the circumstances, it would be kinder for me not to see them. They’ll mourn me less if I’m but a vague memory.”
Dead in a month. She turned to Rhun. “What does he mean? What’s happened?”
“Nothing’s happened yet. But...” He shook his head. “Cerdic is said to have allied himself with the Picts, and possibly even the Irish.”
Eastra felt ill. He was coming to say good-bye before he went off to war. She could sense it. She turned away, unable to face the expression on her lover’s face. A part of her wanted to rage at him, to strike him with her fists, to demand to know how he could leave her, how he could leave his child growing inside her. She thought briefly of telling him about the babe, wondering if it would make a difference.
A wave of hopelessness gripped her. She knew Rhun, and he would do his duty no matter what. A child could not hold him back from fighting for his people, any more than she could. If she told him now, it would change things. And she wanted whatever little time they had together to be shared only between the two of them, without worrying about the complication of the babe.
“You think Cerdic will break the truce?” she asked.
Rhun nodded. “I don’t think he ever meant to honor it. It was merely an excuse, a distraction, so he would have time to seek allies among Arthur’s enemies.”
“What about me?”
Bridei spoke. “Arthur will take no action against you while his own hostage is safe. And it serves no purpose for Cerdic to harm Mordred.”
“But there will still be war?”
Rhun nodded solemnly. Eastra turned away again. She didn’t know if she could bear to lose Rhun all over again, to have him leave her, knowing she might never see him again.
“Well.” Bridei cleared his throat. “I’ll set off. I’ll see you, brother, on the battlefield, if not before. Princess Eastra, fare you well.”
She faced Bridei. He’d kept her company through many trying times. She couldn’t let him leave without saying good-bye. Embracing him fiercely, she whispered, “Fare you well.” She drew away. The lump in her throat was agony. But she would not let herself cry. If she started weeping, she feared she would never stop.
She watched Bridei leave, thinking what a waste it was. He was so handsome, so witty, with a voice that could charm the very stars from the heavens. And all that might well be destroyed by one swift swordblow, that silver tongue silenced, the sparkle in his dazzling blue eyes q
uenched forever.
She inhaled sharply, blinking back tears. Then she faced Rhun resolutely. “You’ve come to say good-bye, haven’t you?”
He nodded, looking almost as miserable as she felt.
“How long? How much time can you spare away from the high king?” She spat out the last words. Her anger was rising once again. It was better to be angry than to weep.
“Only a day or two. I want you to know I... I lied to Arthur. I told him Rhiannon was ailing and that was why I must come here.”
“You lied to your commander? I’m amazed. I must stand very high in your favor to cause you to go against your noble principles of duty and honor.”
“I had to see you.” Rhun’s voice was an anguished whisper. She wanted to close her ears to it. “I have been able to think of nothing else for weeks. I’m half mad with loving you.”
She moaned, feeling all her bitterness melt away. She could not be angry with him. He was too dear to her, too precious. Her gaze drank in his compelling, handsome face. How she loved him, this magnificent, golden warrior, this man who had haunted her dreams since she could remember. “Show me,” she said. “Show me how you love me.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath. Then he nodded. “I will show you. I know the very place—a hidden glen where no one will disturb us. An enchanted place, where nothing will matter but you and me.” He reached for her hand. “Come. It will be faster to take my horse, and I have all the things we need in my saddle pack.”
He led her to his stallion and lifted her up on the animal’s broad back. He didn’t climb up behind her, but instead untied the reins and began to lead the horse. He guided the stallion back toward the forest. After following the edge of the woods for a while, he drew the horse into the trees. The sweet scent of growing things enveloped them, and the sound of water running filled their ears. The ground was mossy and damp, and hazel and rowan bushes crowded the pathway. Delicate fronds of fern and bracken were crushed beneath the horse’s hooves, giving up a scent of earth and shadow. Eastra saw a little runnel off to their left, at first no more than a little ribbon of glistening water tumbling over the rocks, then getting bigger and bigger until it was a good-sized stream. The air grew more moist, dense and thick, the foliage an even brighter, more vivid green.
Rhun stopped, then came back to help her off the horse. “I can’t take Cadal any further.” He tethered the horse and dragged down his bulging saddle pack. Turning to her, he said, “It’s only a little way now.”
She followed as he pushed his way through the dense underbrush. The gnarled branches of hazel curled around them like beckoning hands and the ground sloped downward, slippery with moisture. Eastra quickly grew tired of trying to maintain her footing. Sweating and panting, she wondered if this arduous journey would be worth it.
The sound of running water grew louder. They climbed down into a small ravine. After catching her breath, Eastra gave a cry of delight. They were in a kind of hollow in the heavily wooded hills. On one side was a small waterfall, tumbling down the rocky slope to form a foaming pool. On the other side, a pile of rocks had dammed up the stream and there was a little sheltered space nearby, a mossy nook edged with white dewdrops and tiny purple orchids. Rhun went to the mossy patch and, opening the pack, began to arrange things. Eastra watched him spread out his oiled leather cape, then a blanket. He gestured for her to join him.
When she reached him, she expected him to kiss her, but instead, he began to undress. She watched as each fascinating detail of his body was revealed. His broad shoulders, the sleek expanse of his chest with its soft swirls of dark gold hair. His flat, narrow belly. He sat on a rock as he took off his boots, then turned sideways as he drew down his trousers. Eastra suppressed a gasp. His erection jutted out, massive from this angle. As he bent over to pull his trousers the rest of the way off, she admired the erotic, muscular shape of his buttocks. He turned to face her, grinning. “Enjoy it now,” he said, nodding to his upthrust shaft. “For even my passion for you cannot maintain it through this.”
Tossing his trousers aside, he made his way to the edge of the pool and began to gingerly lower himself in. When the water reached waist high, he turned to look at her. “Cold,” he said.
He splashed himself, then rapidly ducked his head under water. In another second, he was out and shaking himself like a wet dog. “Jesu, that’s freezing.” He stumbled over to the blanket and, grabbing another blanket from the pack, rapidly dried himself. Then he knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms. She squealed at the coldness of his body. “Warm me up,” he whispered. “Fill me with fire.”
She kissed him in answer, feeling his flesh heat even as they embraced. Her fingers stroked the smooth skin of his back, up to his neck and his still wet hair. The heat radiated out from where their lips were joined, hot, wet mouth against hot, wet mouth. She pressed herself against him, feeling his shaft grow hard against her. The provocative sensation made her wriggle her hips in longing. Her breasts were aching, her nipples hard. Fire danced along her body.
She drew back, breathless, wanting to be naked herself. He leaned back on the blanket, his proud, deep pink erection gleaming between his thighs. She began to undress for him. Slipping off her sandals, she untied the girdle around her waist, then drew up her skirts and pulled her gunna over her head. With her fingers grasping the hem of her shift, she hesitated. She’d never been fully naked in front of him before, not in daylight. But the heat building inside her body made her feel reckless and wanton. It was such a wild, primitive place. She wanted everything between them to be just as raw and primal and pure.
She dragged the shift over her head and stood before him, intensely aware of her own body, soft and curved and female, her breasts heavy and abundant, like flowers blooming. The swollen pink of her areolas. The rounded shape of her hips. Her maidenhair, like golden moss curling near the hidden, mysterious pool of her womanhood.
She watched him looking at her with an expression of almost worship. He made her feel like a goddess, as powerful and richly beautiful as the earth mother herself. She felt free and weightless and alive.
“Your braids.” He gestured, and she realized she wasn’t as unencumbered and free as she could be. She undid her plaits and raked her fingers through her hair, feeling it soft and light against her body.
“Your hair is like sunlight,” he said. “Or moonlight. I want to hold it in my hands and feel the cool silkiness of it against my body. Come to me.” He motioned. “Come to me, my queen of light.”
She shook her head. There was one more thing she wanted to do. She went to the edge of the rocks and lowered herself into the pool. The deep, dark chill of the water seemed to suck the life from her. She stayed in only a few gasping seconds, then climbed out shivering. Rhun opened his arms to her. “Why did you do that?” he asked, laughing. “Didn’t you believe me when I told you how cold it was?”
She snuggled against him. “I wanted to be clean for you,” she said.
He stopped rubbing her arms as he had been doing. “Why?” His voice was a husky murmur. “Do you want me to taste you everywhere like I did last time?”
She nodded suddenly too aroused to speak.
“Ah, that is my dream as well.” He released her so she could lie back on the blanket. She closed her eyes, embarrassed at her own boldness. Once before she had urged him to do this, but then she had been bewitched, caught up in Morguese’s spell. Now nothing but her own pure desire made her stretch out her body, offering it to her lover like a banquet.
She felt his warmth as he leaned over her, then the soft pressure of his lips against her neck. He nuzzled her, then licked his way up her neck and made her moan with the soft, wet warmth of his tongue inside the whorl of her ear. She shivered at the deliciousness of the sensation, melting as he kissed his way down to one of her nipples. He sucked it deep into his mouth and she moaned again. Her breasts were more sensitive than ever, primed to be suckled by a babe. But this was a man, teasing, mouthing, u
sing his teeth to graze the exquisitely tender skin of her nipple. She arched her hips, wondering if she could bear any more. An urgent need filled her insides, making her want their joining with a fierceness that took her breath away.
She cried out as he mouthed her other breast. Then he kissed a pathway down her belly. She spread her thighs for him, no longer caring if she appeared too eager, no longer thinking of anything but the hunger building inside her, the need that blotted out everything else.
His mouth caressed her most intimate parts. Sublime pressure. The tantalizing roughness of his whiskers rasping exquisitely against wet, sensitive flesh. The world twisted and bucked. Her body shimmered and writhed with pleasure.
* * *
He was drowning, surrounded by a fabulous mist of femininity. Intoxicated. Bewitched. Overwhelmed. She tasted so good, scented with the rarest essence. Her body was silky, liquid perfection, lush and bountiful. He wanted to merge himself with her. To fill her softness with his hardness.
He felt her peak. Tasted the hot moisture of her release. Felt the shuddering rapture grip her body. But there was more. So much more he could give her.
He raised himself, still stroking her tenderly with his fingers, then fitted himself against her throbbing wet opening and thrust in deep. He heard a low, harsh moan that he vaguely realized had come from his own throat. How perfectly he fit inside her, as if they had been made for each other. Open and welcoming, her body embraced his. As he began to move, he felt her own answering rhythm. A kind of dance, their bodies moving as one. Together they were divine, magical, a thing of fire. The flames rose higher, raging, consuming both of them. He gasped and lunged, stroking deep, feeling her womb, feeling her body convulse around him, tight and desperate as she peaked again. She forced him to the edge. Another deep stroke and they plunged over the precipice together.
Intense and rapid, his senses overwhelmed. And the aftermath was heaven. The woman in his arms, as soft and yielding as a dream. He lay upon her, hoping he wasn’t crushing her. But he didn’t want to lose this delicious closeness, this sense of peace. He wanted to carry this moment with him forever, a talisman against any darkness, any suffering.
The Dragon Prince Page 25