Gwenevere's Knights- The Complete Knights of Caerleon Trilogy

by Jesikah Sundin

“I admit,” Merlin said, clearing his throat, “since living at Tintagel in Cornwall and now Wales with Uther’s line, I have not presided over a wedding as found in the other Gaelic lands. But,” Merlin paused a heartbeat then continued, “I can think of nothing more fitting than a number such as this. Five is the sacred number of elements on this earth. Each of you brings something unique and powerful. When joined together, the elements create all manner of wonders. I see this in you five. In a way,” Merlin said with a humored smile, “we owe Morgana a debt of gratitude, for bringing Fionna into our lives.”

  Lancelot snorted at that.

  But it wasn’t untrue. Percival thought on all that had happened in the past months since Fionna had arrived so suddenly, besting every knight in the kingdom at the tourney. The Grail Quest. Seizing his Fisher King heritage. Defeating Morgana and drinking the blood of the land. Lancelot’s kisses and touch. . . Throwing off his vow of chastity—finally! Life would always be interesting with her.

  He longed to see what adventures unfolded next. And he longed to share them with her. His eyes flicked to Lancelot. And his brothers.

  LANCELOT COULDN'T TAKE his eyes off Fionna. Nor could he believe that in the next few moments she would be his. Truly his. He kept expecting another catastrophe to arrive. The roof to cave in, a stray spell to explode. But there was nothing but the perfect sweet smile on her face. The fresh herbal smell of the flowers in her hands and strung around the library. The brightness of Percival at his side, Galahad’s steady presence, Arthur’s beaming smile.

  Growing up on the Isle of Man, he swore that he would never marry a faerie. Lay with them, dally with them—sure. Use them as they used him. But never marry one. He had declared this vow again after the foolishness of Morgana.

  But here, today, he knew deep in his heart and soul that marrying the Gwenevere was the right decision. He had come home in Caerleon. He had come home in Arthur, and he had come home in Fionna. Here was a family who inspired him, who challenged him, who filled him with passion. He glanced sideways at Percival and then Fionna. A family who accepted him for who he was. He was meant to be here. And as Merlin began to speak, asking each of them for their vows, Lancelot couldn’t say the words fast enough to bind his life to these warriors at his side. This king, these knights, this goddess. They were who he wanted in his life. Forever and always.

  I STRUGGLED WITH the tears threatening to fall as each warrior in the circle said our promises to each other. I wanted to give each of my men a moment . . . to show my knights how much they each meant to me. They were my friends, my compatriots, my trusted allies, my equals. They were the sun and the moon and the stars above. Each man held a piece of my soul and my heart and, together, they lit me afire—a burning inferno that would never be quenched.

  After I had slept, eaten my fill, and bathed . . . I ached to celebrate our triumphs. We had seized upon the slimmest of chances and made it ours. Through our ingenuity and our hope and our trust in one another, we were victorious.

  I wanted nothing so much as my wedding night with these beautiful men, and my eternity after. I wanted no more worry over curses. I wanted no more talk of politics or faeries or goddesses. I only wanted skin and lips and the coiling desire within me sated by the men I loved.

  As I spoke my vows and sighed into each kiss, my body, mind, and soul trilled with the possibility of what the future would hold for me.

  THE HORSES’ HOOVES clopped softly through the swaying grass and over the moss-blanketed earth. The warm night wrapped around me as we journeyed toward the forest across the Usk River that held a pond Arthur oft visited. The same pool in which the Lady of the Lake had appeared—offering Arthur Excalibur and a new destiny.

  A cool breeze fluttered wisps of my hair across my eyes. I tucked them behind my ears and back beneath my hooded cloak. We were sneaking away from the keep and didn’t want to draw any attention. Only Merlin and a few of Arthur’s most trusted officers knew of our whereabouts this night.

  Our honeymoon night.

  I followed behind Arthur and Llamrei as his black mare plunged into the river. Water lapped at the toe of my boots in inky waves. Behind me, Galahad, Lancelot, and Percival splashed into the same shallow section of river atop their chargers. The energy between us swirled in comfortable silence, our hearts full of the promise of passion to come. The love we would share. A new consummation for each of us, since I had transformed into my fae form and become the Gwenevere. I was not only Arthur’s faerie bride, but my fellow knights’ as well.

  Zephyr nickered as we crossed the line between light and shadows and entered the forest. A few heartbeats later, the trees opened to reveal a circled patch of stars. Beneath the indigo sky, a small pond shimmered in dusted moonlight. A silver-misted waterfall hushed the leaves’ lullaby in the breeze as a creek spilled over an outcropping of large rocks covered in ferns and moss. But, as enchanting as this place was, the curse visibly lingered. Black fingers of death had left their marks on tree trunks. Brown, brittle ferns dotted between healthy, new growth. I dismounted and considered the swirls of yellow moss cutting through the green.

  Merlin speculated that, similar to the Blessed Grail, my magic would fully heal Caerleon and Briton as I joined with each man. Marrying the sovereign-blessed king—Arthur—to the land once more as his Gwenevere wouldn’t be enough, as Galahad, Lancelot, and Percival still carried a piece of Arthur’s sovereignty from being knighted with Excalibur. It was strangely fitting. Our magic and love were interlocked in an endlessly looping knot. In this Otherworldly place, we would know if our joining healed the land—this time truly.

  We busied with unpacking our bedrolls and supplies for the night. Percival scoured the underbrush for kindling and logs to burn and then began a fire. Lancelot placed jugs of wine and pewter chalices near a basket of cheeses, pear tarts, and other delicious samplings from the keep’s kitchens. Arthur removed Llamrei’s saddle as I unbuckled Zephyr’s.

  Galahad passed by me after gathering all our saddles and tack to lay across a log within a stone’s throw from our camp.

  I began untying my cloak when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist. Galahad nuzzled my neck with bearded kisses before spinning me around to face him. “Join me for a dip?”

  “Is the water safe?” I asked.

  “Aye, lass,” Percival said nearby. “We tested the pond earlier today.”

  Lancelot sidled up beside me with a chalice of honeyed wine. “The waters here are protected by The Lady of the Lake. But we weren’t sure if the curse had also destroyed Vivien’s magic.”

  Zephyr moved behind me and I turned to find Arthur leading the horses to a copse where they could graze. Our eyes touched as he lifted a soft smile before returning to his task. I enjoyed a long sip of mead and then re-focused on my knights. And frowned.

  Galahad’s glorious mane of hair was up in a messy knot, his typical style for weaponry practice or battle. Handing my now empty chalice back to Lancelot, I stood on tip-toes, reached above Galahad, and pulled the leather strip. Wavy strands fell around his face and shoulders in a rippling cascade of gold. I sighed in contentment at the sight. My fingers tangled in his silky hair as I tugged him closer, closer, closer still. Our bodies collided in a sensual dance of lips, arms, fingers, and hips. His kisses tasted better than bridal mead. Lifting his tunic up and over his head, my mouth explored the expanse of his muscled chest. Tasting the ambrosial saltiness of his skin while drowning myself in his honeyed scent of sweet hay, leather, and sex. And I wanted more.

  Lancelot pressed to my back as he gathered my waist-length, un-braided hair and draped all my tresses—glowing white under the moonlight—over my shoulder. His quickened breath pulsed hot on my neck as he finished untying my cloak, and my lids fluttered closed. The wool fell to the forest floor around my booted feet. Then his hands cradled my throat as he tipped my head back to nibble my earlobe and kiss my neck before his fingertips brushed down my chest to palm my breasts.

  I heard a soft splash and
opened my eyes. Percival waded into the dark waters, and I bit down on a forming smile. Moonlight touched the play of muscle and sinew on his back. And gods, his tight arse. I want to feel his soft flesh in my hands as he thrust into me. Memories of our time together came rushing back and I grew impatient with each remembered touch.

  Percival peered over his shoulder and winked at me before diving in, resurfacing in the middle of the pond with a shake of his head. Droplets sprinkled the water surface around his glistening body as he grinned.

  “Come in, dove,” he shouted. “I’m waiting for ye.”

  Galahad rolled his eyes with a quiet laugh. “The lad has the patience of a frolicking goat.”

  “Do you blame him?” Lancelot asked as his hands traveled farther down to the laces of my riding breeches. “Fionna, naked . . . and wet.”

  “Mmmm,” Galahad murmured in agreement.

  Both men made quick work of undressing me until I stood before them bare, heat coiling between my thighs in anticipation. Especially as Galahad slowly pulled off his breeches, providing me a feast of muscle and skin and sultry, knowing smiles. As Galahad undressed, Lancelot kissed my shoulder, the shell of my ear—even the sensitive point—while his calloused fingers played against my nipples. I knew his eyes were upon Galahad and enjoying the show as well. How could he not? Galahad was the most godlike man I had ever seen. And he was mine.

  Lancelot gently pushed me toward Galahad once the giant of a man stood before me naked. Then I heard my dark knight begin to undress.

  I placed my hands onto Galahad’s ribbed torso right as he scooped me up, one arm beneath my knees, the other beneath my arms. My plan to melt into his warmth quickly dissolved, however, when he ran for the pond. I shrieked, to my horror, and screamed again when he splashed in and tossed me toward the center of the pond. Galahad’s roar of laughter followed me through the air, the rumbling vibrations even traveling through the water to mock me when I submerged into the obsidian depths.

  I gasped for breath when I surfaced, a growl low in my throat. That man would pay. The infernal knight was still laughing. So much so, he didn’t notice me. My lips curled in vengeance before I dipped back into the water to swim toward where he stood. In a few strokes, I had reached him and pinched his calf—hard—until my nails dug into his skin. Caught off guard, he lifted his foot and I could hear him boom a swear word, providing me an opportunity to yank his other leg out from underneath him. The great knight fell into the shallow depths with a giant splash. Before he could surface, I pounced on him, our limbs tangling in a wrestling match. I could hear the garbled sounds of Arthur, Lancelot, and Percival cheering for me.

  Both Galahad and I shot up into the air, laughter streaming from us in rivulets. But I refused to give him quarter and shoved him back hard with a foot to his stomach. He fell again, to the boisterous humor of everyone, especially Arthur. Sprawled out in the pond, his knees and shoulders poking out as though in a bath, Galahad arched an eyebrow at me.

  “Surrender,” I mock-demanded.

  “A draw.” The man grinned at me in challenge. “You can’t best me, Fionna.”

  “Keep up these sweet nothings and I’ll make ye wait until morning,” I cooed, my hands firmly planted on my exposed hips. The men laughed again.

  “Make him kneel before you and beg,” Lancelot called out. “No mercy!”

  Arthur gifted me another soft smile as he and Lancelot waded into the water—in a location safe from Galahad and my antics.

  “You can’t resist me,” Galahad said, ignoring the others, while swimming toward where I stood. “You’ve never able to resist me.” Droplets raced down his body as he slowly rose from the water, and goddess help me. I couldn’t help the stab of jealousy I felt toward each rolling drop of water for knowing every divine part of him so intimately.

  “I think she’s resisting ye, ye big oaf,” Percival called out from near the waterfall. Galahad’s playful glare shot daggers over my shoulder at the younger man.

  Taking Percival’s lead, I pushed back into the water. My eyes remained fixed on Galahad while I treaded away from him, the we’re-not-finished smirk on his face matching mine. Percival came up from behind and tugged me through the waterfall as our limbs tangled together. The alcove was small. Just big enough for two, maybe three, bodies. Maidenhair ferns sprouted from crevices in the rocks and mist shrouded our forms.

  “Ye are so beautiful,” Percival said. “Especially when ye take down Norse giants.”

  A smile twitched my lips as I wrapped my legs around his waist and wiggled over his hardened cock. “Oh aye? Ye find that sexy do ye?”

  “Och, to fall to a goddess in battle . . .” He whispered, affected by my touch, his eyes blinking closed for a slow heartbeat of time.

  I brushed a wet strand of copper hair off his cheek. “Be my first tonight, husband,” I whispered back.

  A triumphant grin brightened his face. “Slay me, then, fair goddess-wife. But gentler than ye handled Galahad. I’m already weak for ye.”

  Laughter bubbled from my chest. “Ye fool man.”

  PERCIVAL FOUND FIONNA’S mouth with his. That first taste of her lips nearly did slay him. Her laughter had filled his heart to brimming until he overflowed with wondrous sensations. They remained locked in a slow, passionate kiss as they gradually floated back toward shore. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist and hovered just above his growing cock. From the corner of his eye, he could see the other men watch them.

  Cupping her arse, Percival emerged from the water and carried her toward where the fire now blazed in a hypnotic rhythm. Gently, he lay her on the spongy moss by his bedroll, remembering that she needed to remain connected to the earth to marry them each to the land. Light flickered across her damp skin and reflected in her silver eyes.

  “I love ye, Percy,” she whispered while studying his face.

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Ye own my heart, dove.” Then Percival slid into her waiting body in one smooth motion. A ragged breath left her mouth as he whispered across her swollen lips, “I am yers, always.”

  “Make me coo, pigeon,” she teased, and he released a low chuckle.

  Stealing a kiss first, Percival pushed up on his arms and then rolled his hips. He wanted his pelvis to dance across hers and grind to the rhythm of their drumming pulse. A satisfied moan filled his ears, rewarding his efforts. Encouraged, he increased his tempo while dipping down to take her breast into his mouth. Feeling her soft flesh and the hardened tip of her nipple bounce against his tongue elicited a moan of his own. How could one woman hold so many delights?

  Percival pulled away from her breasts and drew in an excited breath as he lowered before Fionna’s tumbling swirl of long, white hair. His prince. Firelight caressed the handsome planes of Lancelot’s face, turning his dampened black locks to dark bronze. Shadows outlined his muscled body and tattoos, and Percival was riveted. Ice-blue eyes, framed by long, black lashes, fastened to the sway of Percival’s hips as he arced into each thrust. Licking his lips, Lancelot lifted his gaze to Percival’s. Lust and longing and heat softened every beloved feature on the man’s face as he stroked up and down the length of his thick shaft. Percival bit his bottom lip as he slowed and emphasized his grinding motions for Lancelot’s viewing pleasure.

  Fionna reached out and gripped Percival’s arse as she turned her head toward Lancelot and flicked her tongue across the crown of his glorious cock. With a deep moan, Lancelot leaned into her touch until her parted lips slid down his shaft. Then Lancelot began rolling his hips, his cock moving in and out of her mouth as his heavy-lidded gaze locked onto Percival’s. Like a moth to flame, Percival stretched toward Lancelot until their mouths crashed in a burst of passion—his own length buried deep into Fionna’s core, Lancelot’s between her soft, warm lips.

  A flurry of pleasure overcame Percival in a blizzard of wild sensations. Lancelot bit down on Percival’s lower lip and every muscle in Percival’s body stiffened as a heady rush
cut through his, Fionna’s, and Lancelot sensual haze. His head grew light. His legs began to shake.

  Fionna’s nails dug into his arse and dragged him harder against her.

  Percival cried out as his body pulsed in hot, breathless waves into Fionna. And he swore he could feel the earth move beneath them as she cried out in release with him.

  LANCELOT PULLED OUT of Fionna’s mouth before he peaked. Percival still filled her, his head thrown back in a groan as his body shook. Around them, an invisible but palpable energy flit from rock to tree to the wild grass, graceful and whisper-soft like butterfly wings. The velvety moss beneath their bodies deepened in color and thickened as Lancelot stretched out beside Fionna, until his skin pressed to hers.

  She was ethereal under moonlight, silver dusting the hard lines and soft curves of her toned body. Lancelot knotted his fingers into her hair as he captured her wicked mouth with his. Gods, that mouth had the power to destroy him. Those plump, berry-red lips too. Her tongue teased his in a playful flick. And, for a quavering heartbeat, he could taste himself. Hungry for more, he deepened his kiss until their tongues twined in a seductive cadence of give and take.

  Percival rolled off Fionna to his back and lay beside her, one arm behind his head, his muscled chest rising and falling in deep, sated breaths. Lancelot pushed to a seat and pulled Fionna up with him. An impish smile flashed across her face as she straddled his hips, lowering—achingly slow—onto the heat of his throbbing cock.

  “Do ye want pretty words?” she whispered to him.

  His answering reply was sliding her up the long length of his shaft and pushing her back down until he was buried to the hilt.

  With a moan, she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I want yer passion,” she whispered into the crook of his shoulder as she kissed his tattoos. And then her hips began to writhe. A hard, up and down motion that sent his head spinning until he was dizzy.