Curse of the Lost Isle Special Edition

by Vijaya Schartz

  Her body tensed, and her fingers tightened in his hair. Her breast hardened to the point of aching. Elinas nibbled and suckled on the sensitive tip, the sensation stirring wondrous desires in the warmth growing between her thighs. Cries escaped her in ragged breaths while her body undulated of its own volition, seeking contact.

  Elinas retreated, leaving her wet breast exposed to the cool draft, then looked into her eyes with an intensity Pressine had never seen in a man. She shuddered at the thought of so much passion.

  "I love you," he said hoarsely. "You are mine forever, and I shall never let anything come between us. I could not stand losing you...ever. I love you too much."

  "And I love you, my lord," she replied, savoring the strange words that sounded so right.

  The recollections of two nights ago, when she had tried to imagine what Elinas would feel like, rekindled her yearning for the contact of his skin. Her hand furrowed through the opening of his tunic, into his white linen shirt, to feel the hard muscles tightening on his broad, hairy chest. A male scent assailed her senses, making her nostrils flare like those of the mare in heat.

  Elinas’ large hand running up her leg crumpled the golden fabric of the gown. Heat suffused her thighs. Lost in a maelstrom of overwhelming sensations, as light kisses rained on her bare throat and shoulders, Pressine hardly noticed the deft fingers unlacing the ties of her dress. Soon, having stripped her to the thin chemise, Elinas half rose to pull shirt and tunic over his head.

  Pressine admired the perfect line of his shoulders, the strong muscles of his arms. She could not help but compare him to Bodvar, the only other man she had seen naked. Where the dazed Viking had been hard and cold as stone, pale as death itself, and forbidding in his trembling delirium, her king’s darker body looked deliciously warm, alive, caring and welcoming.

  The trews came off.

  "Mighty Goddess!" Her hand flew to her mouth as Pressine gasped at the sight of his erect manhood. It was huge. How could this thing possibly fit in her and not damage anything?

  "I promise to be gentle," he said in a reassuring whisper, lowering himself beside her on the bed.

  "Hold me tight," she pleaded, unsure whether she could stand the certain pain that must come, but determined to perform her duty to the man she loved and to the Goddess who ordered their union.

  His hands caressed her thighs as he pulled up her thin chemise. Pressine trembled slightly, feeling exposed and vulnerable. She had not experience shyness while bathing nude at the spring. So why now?

  "Bel be praised." Elinas stared at her as if she were a rare jewel. "I have missed this wondrous sight."

  "So you did spy on me on that first day." She found the strength to tease him. "I always suspected it but never dared ask." That was a white lie. She had known all along.

  His eyes fixed on her, he pressed his warm skin against hers. Pressine felt an immediate connection, as if she could read his mind. His yearning, his concern for her, his genuine love lay bare for her to see.

  Relishing the insistent roaming of his hands, she closed her eyes and surrendered to his caress, losing herself in the pleasure of his demanding touch. Every inch of her body he fondled with fingers or tongue, exacting sighs and cries. When his head lowered to the junction of her thighs, however, Pressine stopped breathing and looked up in surprise to discover that she wanted him there. His expert tongue opened the delicate petals of her virginal flower, teasing, making her hunger for a stronger contact.

  "Please," she whispered, not caring what kind of release she was asking for, knowing only that she wanted more than these delicious ministrations.

  Her heart skipped a beat when she felt him move up. As he loomed above her and their eyes met, he stopped suddenly, as if unsure, a puzzled look on his face.

  "Please," Pressine asked again, her breathing fast and short. "Make me yours, my lord. I am ready to feel the brunt of your passion."

  "Yes! I can see it in your eyes." His face relaxed. With infinite tenderness, his arms encircled her in a tight embrace.

  Trapped against his chest, lost in a turmoil of bewildering sensations, committed to let it happen, Pressine closed her eyes in surrender. She had a short intake at his insistent push against her secret gate, but she met him half way, opening up to receive him, her soft flesh yielding around the hardness of him. Nothing, however had prepared her for what followed.

  She gasped, then cried. Deep into her very core something broke, releasing a hot viscous wave. Elinas paused, but she urged him on. The exquisite, intimate contact enhanced the glimpse of mind reading she had experienced at the feel of his warm skin. She could feel what he felt.

  At her urging, Elinas rode her hard. Anticipating his need, Pressine moved with him, enjoying his delight as well as her own. Warm blissful sensations drowned the memory of discomfort. Pressine lost herself in the sweet smell of him, the contact of his drenched skin, the sheer weight of his body.

  Under the power of his ramming thrust, the pleasure fed her ravenous hunger. She heard loud moans and cries, then realized they came from her very core. At last, she felt the tremors of his release flooding her.

  She held him tight for a long time, eyes closed, not wanting to let him go. When she finally loosened her embrace, with a deep sigh and a smile, Elinas eased himself off to lie beside her.

  Pressine kissed the tip of his shoulder. "I have never felt more complete and serene."

  His mouth found her lips, and she responded wholeheartedly, arching under his caress.

  When he let go of her, she could not stand the void. "How could I possibly sleep now? I still want you."

  He emitted a soft laugh. "By the fires of Bel, woman, I shall gladly keep you company as long as it takes."

  She pulled herself up on the skins covering the bed. "Would it be much of a bother to do it again?"

  "Delighted to oblige, my lady." His hand played with a strand of her hair. "But this time, let us take our time about it and pleasure each other in different ways."

  "You mean there is more to this wondrous act?"

  His rich laugh resounded through the bedchamber. "Much more, believe me. And I shall not rest before I have taught you everything I know."

  "Then we had better start," she whispered.

  For a brief moment, in the back of her mind, a warning voice told her that Mattacks would never stop hounding her, the Vikings might return anytime, and she should, more than ever, beware of the curse...

  But on this particular night, she pushed away the troubling thoughts. When Elinas nibbled her ear, Pressine immersed herself into a world of reeling sensations from which she never wanted to return. Duty and the Goddess could wait. For now she would forget the harsh world and enjoy this newfound happiness with the man she loved.

  The End

  PAGAN QUEEN

  Curse of the Lost Isle Book 2

  Chapter One

  Alba (ancient Scotland) 810 AD

  Awakened by a vision of bloody carnage, Pressine jumped out of bed. The Goddess wanted her to stop the bloodshed. No one else could. She pulled on trews and a tunic, threw a pelisse over her shoulders, and tiptoed around the servants with her boots in her hands. She grabbed a lantern on her way out.

  Shivering in the wintry night, she slipped on her boots and ambled awkwardly across the snowy castle grounds, headed for the stable. Upon entering the building, the pungent smell of horse manure and sweet hay choked her senses. She hung the lantern on a cross beam hook then shook the snow off the hood of her fur-lined pelisse. Peering through the gloom, she held her swollen belly. Where was the stable lad?

  From outside the castle walls, a baleful howling split the frigid night. The wolves prepared to attack! She had to stop them... no matter the cost to her health, or to her unborn child. Her duty demanded that she protect the villagers.

  She found the lad sleeping in the straw and shook him. “Saddle my mare.”

  The boy threw aside the blanket and blinked at her with sleepy eyes, then glanced aro
und. “But, my lady, it’s the middle of the night.”

  “I know.” Pressine made her tone commanding. “And in the king’s absence, I rule the castle. Obey your queen, quickly.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The lad dipped a quick bow and ran along the row of stalls to fetch Pressine’s mare.

  He returned leading Beauty. The white mare snorted and Pressine caressed her nose in greeting. The lad yanked one of the saddles set astride the smooth timber of a felled oak.

  “Not a woman’s saddle. A regular one.”

  “With all that snow on the ground, it is not safe to ride,” the boy mumbled as he picked another saddle then walked back to the mare.

  Pressine hid her misgivings about her delicate condition. “Do not fret. I have ridden at night in the snow before. I will be fine.”

  Elinas had forbidden her to ride, but duty came first. No one else could end the suffering, and Pressine could not concern herself with the discomfort of being with child. Many innocents had died already. Since the Goddess wanted this done, the Great One would protect her unborn baby.

  The lad suddenly stopped fastening the leather straps around the mare’s girth and lifted a pale face toward Pressine. His eyes widened. “What about the wolves, my lady? They came down from the hills. Our hunters can’t kill them fast enough. The beasts slaughtered many villagers!”

  A lugubrious howl pierced the night air, echoing the boy’s fears. Other wolves answered the mournful call.

  “I am not going near the wolves,” Pressine lied. “Now, be quick about it, and don’t tell anyone I left. Is that clear?”

  “As you wish, my lady.” The boy’s jaw tightened as he fetched the step stool for her to mount the horse. “You need help getting on it?”

  “I can manage,” Pressine said crisply. She took the reins from him. “Go back to sleep.”

  The lad bowed. “My lady.”

  Although she could use a push, Pressine did not want anyone to see the trews and tunic she wore under the long pelisse. Men’s clothes would make it easier to straddle the horse, and safer than riding side-saddle.

  Making sure the boy had returned to his straw pallet, Pressine heaved herself onto the saddle. The supreme effort made her head swirl. Then she rode Beauty out of the stable. A quick glance revealed the castle yard to be empty.

  Dear Goddess, please protect my unborn child. Male babies always complicated childbirth for the Ladies of the Isle. Even Morgane had suffered greatly with Bodvar’s boy, and he was born with six toes on each foot.

  Caressing the stiff mane and patting the wide neck of the mare, Pressine cooed, “We are going for a ride, Beauty. Are you pleased?”

  The mare snorted in appreciation, blowing white plumes of breath.

  Pressine spread her long pelisse to cover the horse’s rump and flanks, then she rode toward the side gate. Scattered flakes fell lightly to the ground where packed snow muffled the hoofbeats as she crossed the sleepy castle yard. On the ramparts, soldiers gathered around small fires, their raucous laughter muffled by the thick white blanket.

  The sentinel might call undue attention to her by questioning the late hour, or her lack of escort. Pressine would have to use her gifts, although if caught it could cost her greatly. More Christians than Pagans inhabited the castle these days. Shrugging away the thought, Pressine reminded herself of the urgency of the errand.

  “Who is leaving at this hour?” The soldier’s hoarse voice held more surprise than challenge.

  Pressine used the flat tone of voice learned on the Lost Isle. “Your queen orders you to lift the gate!” The mind-controlling command woven into the words made it impossible to resist. “You will close the gate behind me and forget that you saw me leave,” she added with the same supernatural authority.

  Without bowing, talking, or acknowledging that he had heard, the guard worked the creaking levers controlling the mechanism of heavy chains that lifted the iron-clad gate. Pressine also sent a sleepy thought to the other guards on the walls, worried they might question the clanking sound.

  The hair on her nape rose as if to warn her of some hidden danger, but Pressine had no time to ponder. She ducked under the rising gate. The portcullis groaned as the thick sheet of oak and metal lowered slowly behind her. She heard the heavy thump when it hit the ground. The fortress was safely locked for the night.

  A full moon glowed behind silvery clouds, softly lighting the snow-covered hills. Pressing the mare along the slippery path, Pressine attempted to calm herself by thinking of all the things she was grateful for.

  The Vikings had not attacked in three years. The Goddess had blessed the land with three summers of heavy crops and successful military campaigns against rebel tribes, followed by bountiful falls and snowy winters, spent in the warm safety of Dumfries castle with her beloved Elinas. And after each spring planting, her king gathered his men to ride again and unify the country.

  Mattacks, Elinas’ eldest son from his departed first wife, had proven himself a shrewd warrior and reaped glory on the battlefield, gaining his father’s trust. But of late, the Edling’s demeanor had grown smug. Something brewed in his fanatic Christian mind. Pressine knew he still despised her, although he never displayed his hatred in public anymore. But he dare not try anything untoward while Elinas watched after her so closely.

  Unfortunately, sad news had taken elinas away from Dumfries. His old friend Dewain was dying in his domain of Ayre, and Elinas wanted to see him one last time. Pressine understood the necessity to stay behind. Heavy with child, she would only be a burden on dangerous winter roads.

  Despite Pressine’s protests, Elinas had left her in Mattacks’ care. Would the Edling take advantage of the king’s absence to harm her and her unborn child?

  Persistent howling in the distance reminded Pressine of the matter at hand. Why had new hordes of hungry wolves descended from the northern highlands to terrorize her towns? They viciously attacked whoever stood between them and the food they coveted. Mattacks’ bloody hunting raids had not deterred the predators, and Pressine could not allow the carnage to continue... on either side.

  When the hair on her nape rose again, she stopped the mare and, with difficulty, turned in the saddle to search for the cause of her apprehension. It could not be the wolves. Pressine had nothing to fear from them. Something else lurked in the shadows, but she could see no movement other than the lazy wisps of smoke above the thatch roofs of some farm houses.

  * * *

  Behind the corner of a barn, Mattacks stopped his black stallion, patiently waiting for Pressine to face the road ahead. He smelled the smoke from the neighboring roofs and heard the muted bellow of a stabled bovine. After the queen resumed her ride and disappeared around the bend in the road, he set his mount at a slow pace and followed her tracks at a safe distance.

  Mattacks shivered, wishing he wore a fur over his hunting wool and leather.

  Would the blasted wolves ever stop howling?

  When Ceinwyn had knocked at his door saying that the queen had gone out and she had a free night to spend with him, Mattacks had sent the little upstart back to her own bed. This might be just the right opportunity. Quickly saddling the stallion, he had followed Pressine’s fresh tracks in the snow from the stable to the side gate and onto the road.

  What could she be doing out at night in the heart of winter, endangering her unborn child by riding a horse? Certainly nothing legitimate. His father would hear about this.

  The heathen bitch probably spied for the sorceress of the Lost Isle. Or worse, she had a lover. Perhaps she carried a bastard. God only knew what devilry the woman practiced in her chambers while king and loyal soldiers fought her battles.

  Pressine constituted a dangerous unknown, a threat to civilized society, to any righteous man, and to the authority of the church. She was an abomination, an anathema. Mattacks felt dark forces at work. How else could she have negotiated a truce with the ungodly Vikings? Not only did the barbarians leave Strathclyde and Galloway alone, but
they raided the enemy coasts, forcing Scots, Picts and Angles to consider the alliance offered by Elinas.

  Not that Mattacks minded his father’s ambitions to become High King. Soon enough, that charge would reverse to Mattacks, with all the power attached to it. Then he could impose Christianity upon the whole of Alba.

  As he followed the queen’s tracks on the river bank along the forest line, Mattacks shuddered with foreboding. Only a devil-spawn would willingly approach the wolf-infested woods at night. One hand gripping his hunting spear, the other tightening on the reins, he glanced right and left, peering warily into the moon shadows.

  The howling of the wolves sounded dangerously near. Under him, the stallion pranced and snorted in fearful protest.

  * * *

  Pressine encouraged Beauty in soft tones and patted her neck, but her hold on the mare would not last long. The animal’s flaring nostrils trembled at the scent of the wolves, and the small ears pointed anxiously in the direction of the howling. Pressine could smell acid fear in her mount’s cold sweat. Soon, she would have to let the mare go and continue on foot.

  An owl hooted, taking flight overhead, and snow tumbled down from a bough, frightening the mare. Shying in panic, Beauty whinnied and beat the air with her front hooves.

  Unsettled by the sudden rise, Pressine lost her balance. The reins slipped from her gloved hands. Reaching for the mane, she found no hold and fell slowly backward through the great distance to the virgin snow of the path. The rough landing on her back knocked the wind out of her. Her voice faltered when she called the mare. Beauty snorted then galloped away.

  Great Goddess, please keep my child safe!

  Picking herself up with difficulty, Pressine hurried on foot the remaining two hundred yards to the village. Hearing the screams of the villagers, as the howls of the beasts intensified, she broke into an awkward run. The confrontation had begun.