by Cleo Cordell
Tensing a little she waited for him to push his fingers into her, anticipating resistance and soreness. But he only used the pad of his thumb to press against the place that throbbed and burned. She felt it as a small swelling, a sensitive bump under his touch. As he rubbed gently she grew wetter and more swollen. The most exquisite feelings radiated outwards. She tossed her head from side to side, moaning wantonly. Lifting his head Karolan looked down at her and smiled tenderly. She sensed that he was holding himself back, wanting her to enjoy the experience in full measure.
‘What . . . is that you’re doing to me?’ she asked.
‘Something I learned from a woman who was practised in the art of giving pleasure. It was very long ago.’
She felt a surge of jealousy, hating the unknown woman who had taught him about women’s bodies. Then she forgot to think as he changed position so that he was lying half on top of her, his cock hard and heavy against her inner thigh. The swollen tip of his glans rubbed bluntly against her wet folds. In a single stroke he was inside her. She felt a crimson gash of sensation. There was no time to feel pain, if pain there was. She could no longer tell where pleasure ended or began. As he moved inside her, she drew up her legs, drawing him in deeper, ever deeper.
He filled her completely, utterly. Why did it feel so right? She held him tenderly when his whole frame began to shudder and she knew that he was weeping. She felt the tenderness of a mother towards him then. It was something beautiful that such a man could weep for need of her. His tears fell onto her lips. She tasted the spiced salt of them as he thrust into her, pulling almost all the way out of her before slamming back in.
Digging her fingers into his lean, hard buttocks, she urged him to move faster and deeper. Tipping up her hips, she matched him stroke for stroke, never wondering where she had gained the knowledge to do more than lie quiescent beneath him. No one had prepared her for this. No one had ever told her that it was such a glory, such gorgeous sport to give in to the bewitchments of the flesh. She would gladly do penance for the sin of it later.
It ought not to be like this. Mating was but a duty, something painful and abhorrent which women endured. This was something else. This was hunger, beauty, the joining of more than the body. She felt swamped by pleasure. Karolan held her tight, his mouth clamped to hers as he spilt himself into her. His seed was hot, bathing her womb, drawing down an answering response. She cried out as she crested a wave and was held for a second on the brink before it broke. As he rocked within her, she spasmed strongly, milking him of the final drops.
For a long time they lay entwined, too exhausted to move, then Karolan stroked her shorn head and traced her small features with a gentle hand. ‘You have no discomfort?’ he asked, his brow furrowed by concern.
Garnetta stretched voluptuously, feeling the warm slipperiness of their mixed fluids between her thighs. The smell of him was all over her. She could smell her own warm musk too. ‘You were not gentle,’ she said with a grin. ‘But I did not wish you to be.’ He smiled tenderly. She had the feeling that he had meant something else. ‘The cart bearers took my virgin blood,’ she said. ‘Do you not care that I have been dishonoured?’
‘The sin was not yours. Forget dishonour, forget everything but this moment. Nothing went before it. Did you not feel it, Garnetta? Something happened. We have been forged anew. We belong together, you and I. For always.’
She felt the truth of it, but marvelled that he could give voice to what was in her heart. What kind of man was he who was not afraid to speak of such things? ‘And you scoffed so at courtly love, my lord!’
Karolan flashed her a wicked smile. ‘There is nothing courtly about this love of ours.’ Moving down the bed, he parted her thighs gently, separated the folds with his fingertips and put his mouth to her coynte.
‘What are you doing? Oh no . . . do not! I am not clean . . .’ She tried to move away, to close her thighs, but he held them in place. When he tasted her, she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes. Her breathing became ragged as he sucked and licked. The evidence of her pleasure oozed into his mouth. After she had crested for the second time, he came up to lay beside her, putting his mouth over hers and bringing her taste to her. Seed and sap clung to his lips like pollen. Their mingled musk slid on her tongue.
‘We belong together. Never forget it,’ he whispered.
Holding him close to her chest as they finally slept, Garnetta fancied that in the aftermath of their joining she could recall the moment of her own birth.
CHAPTER SIX
The days passed in a welter of pleasure and sexual indulgence. Karolan felt renewed, made whole, humbled by love. Feelings he had thought long buried surfaced to plague him. It was an uncomfortable experience to feel himself responsible for another person. And yet, it cost him no effort to make Garnetta happy. Her delight was its own reward.
Two mornings after their first joining, he lay on his side, his chin propped on the heel of his hand, looking down at Garnetta as she slept. The curve of her cheek was clear-cut against the silken pillows, her mouth soft, as relaxed as a child’s. The short, spiked hair, now dark at the roots, revealed the exquisite shape of her skull, the delicacy of her neck and shoulders. She had been lovely with her fair hair tumbling around her shoulders, but now, with the glamour of transmutation suffusing her every fibre, she was something finer and rarer.
Conflicting emotions roiled within him. There were truths of which she must be made aware for her own protection, but he was reluctant to break the spell of their happiness. Surely it would not matter if they spent a few more days indulging their senses, getting to know each other. They had been lovers for such a short time. This fabulous intimacy of the flesh and spirit was a wonder to him. He felt consumed by the power of attraction, a humble worshipper before the altar of her flesh. It was clear now that his body fluids could not harm her. During the process of change, her internal chemistry had become the same as his. Might they not found a dynasty of their own? It was something he hardly dared to consider.
Almost hourly, it seemed, Garnetta grew more confident, more poised. He could sense her mind expanding, questioning. Each tiny detail of her persona was enchanting. How fascinating it was to observe the changes in her. She now had a measure of control over the enhancement of all her senses. Her capacity for sexual pleasure was remarkable. Before long she would be moved to test her burgeoning intellect. Then what might she discover?
He had heard her praying, giving thanks to the Virgin and St Catherine, the patron saint of unmarried women, for her deliverance. Her belief in God and all His saints was the matrix of her life. Hardly an hour passed when she did not say a Miserere for the souls of her dead family. No doubt now she would recite countless Ave Marias as penance for her imagined human frailty in lying with him.
He grinned wryly and with a trace of sadness. Soon enough she would question her religious beliefs, as he had done, for her – his – very existence was an affront to God. But he could not bear to wound her with that knowledge at present, she was still so new to his world. He thought of her as a fledgling who was not yet equipped to leave the nest. A surge of fierce protectiveness swept through him. She was more than a lover, she was his salvation, his child. In his arrogance he had never imagined that he could be fearful. His powers set him apart, armoured him against the travails of common men. But no more. Love had made him afraid – for Garnetta and for himself.
Garnetta awoke, but concealed the fact from Karolan. She smiled inwardly, watching him through half-closed lashes. His face was luminous in the light streaming in through the open shutters, his expression soft and unguarded. Her heart turned over with emotion. What an impossible, wonderful situation this was. Out of pain and suffering had come this joy of the body, this lightness of the spirit. Surely this splendour could not be damned as lust, this desire to appear beautiful in Karolan’s eyes could not be vainglory.
There seemed to be a wavering, a trembling
in the air to one side of Karolan. She focused on the disturbance, unconsciously utilizing her newly acute sight. The movement in the air became more pronounced. Fascinated she watched as a pattern of striations formed a rib-like web behind Karolan’s shoulder, then melted into nothing. Had she imagined it? No. There was a ripple behind his other shoulder now. This time it was barely a flicker, a silver line that shifted in and out of focus. She followed the movements with her half-closed eyes, keeping her head still. It was like watching the swirling eddies on fast-running water.
As she was about to speak Karolan stiffened and muttered something under his breath. The disturbance in the air ceased at once.
‘What was that?’ she asked sleepily, pushing herself up on her elbows.
Karolan grinned. ‘So you are awake. I thought as much. It was nothing. Some trickery I have been practising in the hope that it will amuse you.’
His long black hair spilled over his broad shoulders. The neck of his linen tunic was wide and the muscles showed under his pale skin as he moved. She reached up and took hold of a lock of his hair, pulling him down and fitting her mouth to his. ‘God give you good day, my lord,’ she murmured against his lips. She loved the taste of him, so sweet and fresh – like rain. Never had she imagined that a man could smell so good, that his skin would feel like silk against her own.
The desire bloomed swiftly within her. It seemed that she could not get a surfeit of this pleasure. It was as if, having discovered that her senses could thrum to the dark, heady notes, they continued to resonate like harp strings, needing only the touch of his hands to give out more of their sweet music. Just being in the same room with him was enough to make her hungry for his touch. Her blood seemed to cry out for him. She found that she wanted to touch him in lewd ways, to engage in forbidden, devilish pleasures. Elation bubbled up in her, for nothing was forbidden between them.
Pushing him backwards laughingly, she straddled him, her thighs pressing against his hard-muscled legs. Swooping down, she bit at his tight male nipples, lashing them with her tongue until he winced in pleasure-pain.
‘Witch-woman,’ he grunted through bared teeth. ‘You are a natural wanton!’
She giggled huskily, revelling in her power to arouse him. He stirred under her, his hands moving bonelessly over her back and buttocks. She avoided his embrace and slid down to lie between his thighs. There was the object of so much pleasure. How potent it looked just now, standing up rigidly, the darkly flushed skin soft as velvet over the engorged centre. And yet how foolish and amusing it was too, with the two stones in their hairy sac, the flaring tip that crested the shaft looking just like a moist, ripe plum.
Reverently she bent close and took the cock in her mouth, feeling the hot beating of his flesh against her tongue. Karolan swore softly and arched his back, surging against her. His response urged her on to greater experimentation. As she sucked and licked at him, she slipped her hand between his legs, stroking gently at the firm pad behind his ballocks. She tasted the salty dew of his pre-emission and exulted in the fact that she could give him such forbidden delights.
When he whispered hoarsely for her to stop, she lifted her head to grin at him before resuming her ministrations. Using her lips to collar the swollen glans she worked up and down the shaft, one hand pressed to his flat belly to hold him down. Karolan uttered a series of sharp cries as she drew him more deeply into the wet cavern of her throat and spilled his seed into her mouth. Amazed at her own capacity for shamelessness she swallowed the hot, slippery fluid, then moved to cover Karolan’s lips with her own. The kiss tasted of salt and heat and something earthy, faintly metallic. When Karolan broke from her embrace, he looked at her with wonder in his eyes.
‘By Hermes, woman, but you learn fast!’
She preened and said playfully. ‘I have the best teacher, do I not, my lord? I can see by your face that you are glad of my skill. And who is this Hermes you are always calling on? Is he a saint?’
Settling her into the crook of his arm, he drew her close. ‘Nay, love, no saint. I was introduced to Greek texts attributed to him whilst in the Holy Land. In time I shall show you these works and many other things besides. Hermes is the mythic patron of the art which has been my life’s work.’
‘What art is that? Already you have told me that you possess the priestly skills of a physician, taught to you by an Arab – for which I have cause to be grateful. Now you admit to being familiar with many teachings of infidels? Should I not fear for your immortal soul?’
There was a hesitation before Karolan replied. Then he said teasingly, ‘You fear for me? I would rather that, than you had fear of me.’
‘Should I fear you, my lord?’
He kissed her lightly. ‘Many have and will again, with good cause. But, you? Never. Remember that, whatever happens. Mark this well. You and I are one.’
She would have asked him to explain, but he began speaking and the moment passed.
‘You know of astronomy – the study of the heavens?’
She nodded, pleased to be able to answer with conviction. ‘I have read of it. The monk engaged by my father to teach me my letters had a great love of learning. He spoke of many things. He said that the study of the heavens is the noblest science.’
‘Ah, then you know also of astrology?’
She nodded again. ‘After God it is the power of the stars and planets which governs the affairs of men. Does not our king, the third Edward, have such an adviser at his court?’
‘Just so. No doubt he consulted him before he set out to do battle with France. You are well informed, Garnetta. It will be a pleasure to tell you of all that I have studied. I have long been a seeker of the truth, fascinated by science, both natural and occult.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Listen to me, Garnetta. You might come to believe that I am a warrior who has stepped into a forbidden country. When you know all you may think badly of me.’
Garnetta kissed his cheek, amused by the seriousness of his expression. She would not allow the curling of unease in her belly to colour her sense of well-being. ‘I know all I need to know of you. You looked into the stars and saw my fate written there. You petitioned God for His help in saving me, asking for His divine mercy and intervention. For how else except with His grace would your skills have had the desired result? I have so much to thank you for, my lord. And I give thanks daily in prayer.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘One thing puzzles me still. You have not told me why you decided to save me. I am no one special. I have not position or lands.’
That was true, she knew. Karolan had told her that he had made enquiries about the shop in Mercer’s Yard. The bearers had stripped the shelves clear of every roll of cloth before setting a torch to the place. Briefly she mourned for splendour lost. There had been thick worsted and fustians, percale cambrics, maroon samites and raw silks and rare, light shalloon for cloak linings. Latterly her father had invested the last of their money in bolts of dowlas linen from Britanny. She had nothing now, not even the means to buy her way into a nunnery.
Karolan touched her cheek. His smile held pride and tenderness. ‘But you are special, Garnetta. The will to survive was strong within you. Even on the brink of death, you fought so hard to live. Now you are whole, stronger, better than before. Soon you will know just how different you are. You are precious to me, do you realize that? Together we shall achieve such wonders as are only dreamt of.’
His passionate words stole her breath. The doubts which had surfaced briefly evaporated. She would forever give thanks to the Mother of the Lord for bringing her to the attention of this man. Perhaps it was tempting the Devil to think herself so blessed, but she could not help it.
Karolan sat up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Now, no more talk. The morn is advanced. It is time you left this tower and came down to meet the house staff. I’ve told Romane to expect us and to choose a horse for you. I shall teach you to ride. A lady must be on horseback to look over her lord’s demesne.’
She gave a cry of delight, imagi
ning how wonderful it would be to ride beside him. ‘Will you help me dress?’ she asked, indicating the fine woollen tunic which fastened with lacing all the way down the back.
Karolan tightened the laces deftly, then held up a furlined super-tunic for her to slip on. Garnetta raised her hand to her head and smiled ruefully. ‘I must look so ugly. Wait. I will cover my head with a veil.’
He gripped her shoulders and bent to kiss the exposed nape of her neck. ‘You look beautiful as you are. If it were summer I would weave you a chaplet of meadow flowers. Since it is but the fifth week of Lent I will search out some greenery. With a circlet of ivy leaves you’ll look as grand as any May queen!’
The laughter bubbled up inside Garnetta as she laid her hand on Karolan’s arm. Even the ache of losing those she loved had lessened somewhat. The terrible experiences of the sickness and her violation might have been but a bad dream – now was the only reality. Inside the tower, with Karolan at her side, she could forget that people were still dying in the town, that the dead must be piled in the streets. The spectre of the pestilence held no power to harm her here. Oh, but it was a mortal sin to enjoy being closeted in luxury while the world suffered. She was possessed of uncontrollable lusts, dishonoured, damned for catching the guilty thread of pleasure and weaving it into a golden tapestry.
What was the word for the soulless hunger of the flesh? Ah, yes. Concupiscence. There ought to be a better word for the dream-flush brought on by Karolan’s touch. If she was so bad, why was it that she felt such elation – such a bone-deep sense of rightness and well-being? She did not recognize herself as the girl who had been dutiful, self-effacing, obedient to her male betters. Suffering had given her the courage to lay claim to happiness. When the time came to pay, as she knew it surely would, she would face it gladly.