Chapter Seven
It was a fine morning, hot and brilliant. Ariston glanced up, admiring the beauty of this new day. He stretched his arms and shoulders, soaking in the balmy heat of the rising sun. His bare chest warmed under its rays, tensing as he cast the net that would catch their breakfast.
As tired and hungry as he was, he was complete. Never had he known such happiness.
He pulled in the net, waded further into the sea and cast it out again. The net held the sunlight for only a moment, but the weave shifted, resembling honey strands of silken hair. His mind would not focus. Images of his lady wife would not be held at bay.
His hands tightened on the net.
Her mouth, her sigh, her hands upon him had shown him pleasure like no other. And yet they’d been awkward at best, hesitant and unschooled beneath one another’s touch. The freedom of their love was a new gift, one that would take time to grow accustomed to.
The hunger she stirred… He swallowed. His body throbbed in response to his memories. His need for her had been immediate, leaving little room for tenderness on their wedding night. He’d tried to go gently with her, to bring her pleasure. Instead he’d trembled with his need, held her tightly to him and lost control. The smell of her, her sighs, the quiver of her skin beneath him, the slight catch in her breath when she’d moaned softly against his throat… She had been his undoing.
She’d fallen asleep in his arms. And he’d watched her.
In the candle’s glow, her cheeks had been flushed, her skin dew-kissed from their lovemaking. His eyes had pored over every inch of her, etching her form into his mind.
Her hair twined about her, wrapping about her waist. He smoothed it back, letting the silken strands slip through his fingers. She sighed and rolled onto her stomach, one hand pillowed under her cheek. Her shoulder, bleached white in the moonlight, begged to be kissed. He leaned forward and did so, inhaling the smell of her sweet scent.
His fingers lightly traced the curve of her shoulder, sliding along the dip at the base of her spine. His fingers were a whisper on her skin, trailing down her back and the curve of her buttock.
She stirred. “Ariston?”
He kissed her shoulder again, whispering, “Sleep, love, sleep.”
She sighed, searched out his arm, and burrowed under it. It pleased him greatly that she sought him out. He pressed closer to her, draping his arm across her in return. Though he tried to sleep, his eyes would not close. She was too recently won to part with. So he watched her until the sun rose.
He would sleep later.
As the sun had woken he’d slipped from the cottage with his net, to fetch them breakfast.
He glanced back at the beach. It was early yet, she likely slept still.
But she sat, wrapped in his cloak on the shore, watching him. His heart thundered as he lifted a hand in greeting. The morning grew sweeter yet when she smiled and waved back. He dove into the water and swam to the shore, pulling the net behind him.
As he waded from the sea, Medusa met him. She stared up at him, her welcoming smile unguarded. Her eyes slid over his face, resting on his mouth. His wife blushed.
There is no sight lovelier. “My lady…” his voice was soft.
“Husband.” She stepped closer to him. Her hand hesitated before she placed it on his arm.
Ariston’s heart tightened in his chest, pleased that she would touch him. He closed his eyes as her hand slid from his wrist to his elbow. Her arms slid around his waist and her cheek rested upon his chest with a sigh.
He dropped the net, shivering at the feel of her. Even now, this simple touch captured him.
“How are you this fine morning?” her words were said against his chest.
The clouds shifted, hiding the sun. The wind stirred her cloak about them, sending a shiver along his spine.
It was a fleeting sensation, this fear that robbed him of his breath. He knew not where it came from, but a coldness gripped him so deeply he was frozen. Her hold on him seemed to lessen, as if she was moving away from him – beyond his reach and his help. The pain was blinding, and terrifying. Ariston’s arms came around her with a suddenness that surely startled her. But he feared she’d slip away if he let her go.
He shook his head.
Yet she still stood with her arms about him, calling him, “Husband?”
He could not relax his hold on her, for the feel of her chased away his terror. His anguish, which he knew was unfounded, was too real – too severe. So he held her to him until he grew calm, if not quite peaceful.
“Had I known this was a riddling question, I might have started with another.” Medusa leaned back in his arms. Her face was alight with a mischievous grin, one that soothed him almost instantly.
The clouds shifted once more, and the sun broke free, restoring the day’s glory and peace once more. ‘Twas fatigue that played upon him, nothing more.
“I’ve never seen a brighter morn. Nor felt as blessed by the Gods as I am this day.” His eyes met hers before he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Are you hungry, wife?” he whispered into her hair, soft and silken against his lips.
“I am, yes.”
Ariston stared down at her. She looked up at him, her smile dimming the morning sun. He sighed deeply, at ease once more.
His hands explored her face. He seemed unable to stop touching her. His thumbs caressed her brows, her lashes and cheekbones as his eyes traversed the plains of her face. She leaned into his touch, making it easy for him to tilt her face to his. Their kiss was soft, lingering and sweet as her mouth opened for him.
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Before her wedding night, she’d never had lips upon her own. But his fit against hers as if his mouth had been made to meld with her own…as her body had held his. They were made to be one.
Her hands covered his, holding them to her cheeks as she kissed him back. She leaned into him, pressing herself to him and absorbing his heat.
“There is food in the cabin. Elpis brought enough for your army,” she whispered against his mouth.
Ariston peered down at her. “I’ve fish as well.”
She nodded, her eyes resting on his mouth. His lovely lips turned up at the corners as beneath her gaze.
“Shall I start a fire?” she asked.
She saw him nod and tore her attention from his mouth. She held the hand that clasped hers and let him lead her back to the cabin, unsettled by how he affected her.
She busied herself with preparing their meal. He made quick work of the fish, while she stoked the fire. Figs and berries would join their fish, a hearty breakfast after such a vigorous evening. She blushed at such a thought.
“Is your father a soldier?” she asked.
He shook his head. “He, like most Greeks, has fought when called upon. But he is a statesman.”
She froze, surprised. “I know little of your family.”
“What would you know?” He smiled.
“Everything.” She shrugged. “If he is a statesman, you must have other brothers…”
“No, I’m his only son. I will inherit my family’s basileus and all the responsibilities that come with it.”
She was astounded, staring at him openly. “But why would you leave if you’re the eldest son?” Medusa watched as he pushed the rocks further from the fire, keeping the fish from charring.
“My father and I quarreled.” He stared into the fire, his face shuttered.
She moved closer, taking his hand in hers. His touch made her heart stumble, before its beat grew steady once more. “Was he unfair to you?” Her words were soft.
He looked at their joined hands, momentarily silent. “No. He was a fine father. I was a poor son.”
His words surprised her. “You? You are a man of duty and respect—”
“Because he sent me away.” His eyes moved over her face as he continued, “I was disrespectful to him and to the elders of our village. I scorned their need for ceremony and religion, calling their patient deliberations
and debate a useless waste of time. I baited them, tested him. I was not worthy to take on my family’s basileus, my father’s title and property. Father told me to leave.”
Medusa wrapped her arms about him, saddened. “Ariston,” she murmured as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.
His hand caught her cheek. “He was right, love. And I went. At first I had no purpose, no thought for anything but the wrong my father had done me. I sailed, riding the waves with no care where I’d come ashore. I hid from him and my duties for more than a year. And while I was away I began to see my crassness through the eyes of others. I was naught but a boy, privileged at that. I had no knowledge of the world beyond the peaceful boundaries of my island. The world…it is a different place when one has no home, no family.”
Medusa took his hand in hers. “You made amends with him?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “I went back, though I was hungry, beaten and bruised. And my anger was more fearsome than when I’d left. But my father took me in and asked nothing of me. I ate and slept, spent time with my mother and sisters.”
“They must have been pleased to have you home?”
“My mother and sisters? Yes. But my father… He went about his work, spoke at council, and worshipped Athena most loyally. He valued Athena’s altar most, wisdom and reason are noble aspirations for a man, you see. I watched him in wonder for, he did his duty tirelessly. And still he said nothing to me. The very things I’d shunned or ridiculed he did with pride. The longer he held himself from me while giving me everything I had need of, the more I wanted to hear him speak to me. The more I understood what it was to be a man and not a boy playing at being a man. Honor, duty, loyalty – I wanted those things. And I wanted to give those things to my father, my family.” He paused, pulling the stone from the fire and serving them both some fish.
“What happened?” Medusa couldn’t eat, she could only stare and wait.
“I asked him for forgiveness.” He shook his head. “I begged him for it.”
Her heart tightened as she said, “And he gave it.”
“He did. But it wasn’t enough for me. I needed to prove myself worthy. I needed to know I could be strong and capable enough to lead and defend. These are things that cannot just be said. They must be shown. When Athena called, I answered.”
“But what of your home? Who holds your family’s basileus and protects them in your stead?” Medusa was stunned.
“My father is hearty,” Ariston laughed. “It is likely I will not carry the family mantle until I am old and grey. Which is good, for you will have years to know and love them as I have.”
Medusa smiled, warmed by his words. “Will they mind that you’ve wed?”
Ariston’s hand slipped to her neck, pulling her towards him and pressing his lips to hers. “No. They will rejoice. And they will love you almost as dearly as I do.”
Medusa felt herself soften. Heat, warm and fluid, rushed through her.
Ariston set her away from him, but not before she felt his response. It pleased her to feel him tremble as she did.
His voice was gentle as he said, “Eat, wife. So I will not worry over you.”
Medusa ate the fish in five bites, swallowing it hot. She knew he watched her, heard him laugh as she swallowed the last of it. He handed her the water skin and she drank thirstily. Once he’d finished his breakfast, she stood and held her hand towards him.
“Swim with me?” she asked.
He took her hand, nodding.
They ran from the cabin to the water. Thea cooed to them, cackling briefly before she took flight. Medusa called out, “Good morning, little one. Hunt well.”
Once they reached the surf, Medusa took a deep breath and dove, kicking as she pushed herself under the water.
The water was warm and glorious. In its clear depths, tufts of sea grass swayed in the undulating rhythm of the waves above. She swam down, looking back to see Ariston behind her.
He smiled at her and pointed. Her eyes followed, making out the thin blackish grey snout of a great pipefish. It was but a shadow next to one of the large boulders that protected this small cove. She moved closer to the rock to investigate and brushed the sea grass, upsetting a sea horse from its hiding place. She kicked, aligning herself with the grass to find more of the animals. Their tails were wrapped tightly about the blades of grass, to keep them safely attached to their home in the shallows.
Ariston joined her watching the little creatures. His finger touched the animal’s small head and it recoiled, startling. He smiled.
Medusa could not tear her eyes from her husband. His curls danced in the water, moving as the sea grass. He was unlike any man she’d seen, and he was hers. He was her husband. Her heart full, she reached for him.
His jaw tightened as he regarded her. His arms caught her around the waist as he kicked, jetting them out of the water.
As they broke the surface, Medusa drew in breath and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him deeply. His lips, open and wet, clung to hers with gratifying urgency. His hands clasped her back, leaving no room between them.
She was mindless of their labored breathing or the waves that washed them back towards the beach. She wrapped herself around him and held tight, her legs encircling his waist and her arms anchored about his neck. She was vaguely aware of the sand beneath her, aware that the waves washed over them, but no longer moved them.
His mouth lifted from her lips and she opened her eyes.
He was staring at her, his curls dripping on her face and neck. His fingers came up to trace her lips. She watched him, mesmerized by his fascination. Her mouth parted beneath his fingers, making his breath catch. She reached for him, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling his head to her.
She shivered as his tongue caressed hers, stroking her and making her weak with need. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.
Her hands slid down the wet expanse of his chest. She smiled against his mouth, reveling in the subtle spasm of his stomach under her touch, the hot burst of his breath on her lips.
A soft moan slipped from her as his mouth moved down her throat, his hands lifting the soaking wrap of her peplos. His fingers traced her collarbone, his lips followed. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, as his hand cupped her breast.
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Ariston slipped the peplos from her.
Wet as it was, its sheerness served to provoke the fire in his blood. Removing the wrap bared all of her to him, golden in the sunlight. She was a feast for his senses. She was beauty. Her hair floated in the gentle lap of the waves about them, her eyes were closed and her chin tilted. Her face was tight, yearning. For him.
His gaze explored, and his hands followed.
Her skin was velvet, white as the richest cream. The swell of her rounded breast drew his hand, while his lips eagerly captured the puckered pink tip. She quivered under him, moaning softly and inflaming him all the more.
His hands continued, moving to her side, tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hip.
It was sudden, but he stilled, his breath catching as his awareness sharpened.
He felt a presence – someone watching them. He glanced up, searching the cliffs that sheltered their cove. They were alone. Or so it seemed.
Thea called overhead, a loud grating caw.
I feel it too, Thea.
The sun seemed to be prying, the water grasping, the open air exposing them. He grew chilled, wary, and drew Medusa close against him.
“Come with me, wife.” He continued to search their surroundings as he stood, drawing her up before him. He draped the sodden fabric of her peplos over her and took the hand she offered freely.
He glanced at her hand, softening to smile at her.
He led them from the beach, away from the prying eyes he could not find. Once inside the cool shadows of the cabin, he turned towards her and saw the question in her blue eyes.
“What is the matter?” she asked as he pulled her against him.
Ariston glanced outside. Once again he studied the brilliant sea and the sharp relief of the shoreline. He saw nothing to warrant his suspicion. And yet, he knew better than to question his instincts. Or Thea’s warning.
Here, in the cool of their cabin, his anxiety disappeared. It was likely a passing goat herder or farmer, mayhap even a scout – nothing more. He gazed down at her, stroking her face and smiling at her.
His eyes fell to her lips, stirring the hunger that was only momentarily dampened. He laughed softly, saying, “I would not share you with the rays of Apollo’s sun or gentle waves of Poseidon’s ocean. I would keep you for myself.”
His hand caught the base of her head, pulling her against him. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. He caught her to him, sweeping her off her feet to lay her back upon their mat.
He pulled the wet fabric from her, pressing her to him. As their skin touched, a hoarse gasp caught in her throat. The sound pleased him.
“I would hear you, wife, and know that I bring you pleasure.” He regarded her face as her eyes found his.
“There are no words…” her voice trembled, the faintest of whispers.
He clasped her face and kissed her, losing himself to the feel of her.
His hand grasped her hip while his body tightened. Her legs parted in invitation and he moved between them. She moaned as he joined her body, making them one. Once again, his attempt at a gentle union was lost.
He pushed into her, sliding deep. Her cry caused him a moment’s hesitation.
But the look on her face showed him the truth of it. Pleasure was teasing his lady. And he would help her find it.
Her hands clung to his back as he lifted her hips and fit her more firmly against him. He moved, watching her tremble and flush beneath him. Her breathing tore from her, her breasts shuddering as her chest rose and fell with her rampant breathing.
When her eyes opened and met his, a cry tore from her lips. Her body tightened and convulsed, and still she cried out.
Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) Page 12