Chapter Seven

 

The king’s London palace was bright with banners and crowded with guests. “I know not why we were invited to an event of this sort,” Gorlois muttered, as they made her way down the grand staircase and into the great hall to join the other guests.

Igraine, who was clad in an ivory gown with an embroidered over-mantle in pale blue, her hair hanging loose with a circlet of flowers on her head, cast a quick glance around at the clothing of the other ladies. She gave a sigh of relief. She need not fear for the reputation of Cornwall. Her gown might not be the grandest, but she would not disgrace Gorlois by appearing underdressed or plain.

The king was seated on his throne at one end of the great hall, and many of his guests clustered close by. She would get to see the great Uther Pendragon at last. The thought made Igraine smile as she recalled her girlish fantasies about the heroic warrior.

As they approached, she gained an impression of a strikingly handsome, clean-shaven man with dark-gold hair, tanned skin, and hazel eyes. Not the ogre Gorlois had once described to her. Uther spoke to an old man who stood at his side, a man who wore the robes of a Druid.

How odd, I could almost swear they were discussing me!

“Gorlois of Cornwall, it pleases me that you could come.” Although the king spoke to her husband, his amber eyes remained fixed on Igraine’s face.

“Majesty, the honor is all mine. May I present my wife, the Lady Igraine?”

Igraine bent her knee before the throne. To her surprise, the king rose to his feet. Coming forward, he took her hands and lifted her to her feet, kissing her first on one cheek, then the other. “Welcome to my home, my lady.”

Igraine raised her eyes to his, and everything except Uther faded away. She looked into the face of the man she had always loved. How can this be? This is my girlish foolishness taking over. I don’t know this man. How can I love him?

And yet she knew, with a certainty as strong as that which told her the sun would rise on the morrow, she loved Uther Pendragon. From the way he looked at her, it was obvious that the king felt the same way.

Gorlois cleared his throat in a warning sound, and Igraine became aware of curious stares all around them. It was obvious what people were thinking. The king has taken a liking to the Lady Igraine.

“Gorlois, you will sit on my left at dinner.” The king recovered his composure.

“It will be my honor, my liege.” Gorlois bowed stiffly.

The king offered his arm to Igraine. “And you, my lady, will occupy the seat on my right.”

There was a faint gasp from those around them when they heard the words. It was the highest of distinctions, the place reserved for the queen. Igraine caught a glimpse of Gorlois’ face and flinched. He had threatened to kill any man who looked at her. What would he do now that the man who lusted after his wife was the king?

Conscious that everyone’s attention was upon her and Uther as they took their seats at the table, Igraine kept her eyes downcast. All she had to do was get through this meal, and then she could reassure Gorlois that she had done nothing to encourage the king’s attentions. Not an easy task when every fiber of her being cried out for her to touch the man next to her.

Thankfully, Uther did not seem to be interested in her now. He talked to Gorlois, ate his meal, and watched the mummers and dancers who entertained them. Igraine allowed herself to exhale.

The tables were set in a U-shape around the great hall, and theirs was at the end of the U. Each table was covered with an embroidered cloth that fell all the way to the floor on both sides, which was just as well for, without warning, a hand came to rest upon her knee. Glancing to her side, she saw that Uther continued to eat his food with his left hand, while his right was below the table.

“Please, Your Majesty…” she murmured.

He ignored her. Gritting her teeth, she continued to eat her meal. What else can I do? He is the king. I dare not make a scene.

After several minutes, he began to slowly raise the hem of her skirts. She cast a nervous glance around. The other guests were engrossed in their food, wine, and the entertainment. The heavy cloth kept what was going on hidden from view. Uther continued chatting to Gorlois as though nothing was happening. Igraine tried to stop him by gripping his wrist, but he was too strong for her. Even though his head was half turned away, she noticed one corner of his mouth lift in a slight smile as he easily resisted her attempts to still his hand.

Before long, her skirts were pulled up to her thighs and Uther’s warm hand came to rest on her bare flesh. He turned his head to look directly at her, and Igraine’s heart jumped as she looked into his hazel eyes. She was half terrified, half aroused.

His grip tightened on her leg, and he held her gaze.

Am I some serving wench to be treated thus? I should get up from this table, walk away, slap his face, tell Gorlois…

She did none of those things. Gazing into his eyes, she opened her legs wider, inviting him to probe further if he chose. A slight smile touched Uther’s lips, and his fingers moved higher, getting closer and closer to the apex of her thighs, blazing a trail of fire in their wake.

Igraine took a quick look around to make sure nobody had noticed anything before spreading her legs wider, silently begging for him to touch her more intimately. She almost came there and then as his fingers finally encountered her soft curls and lingered a moment, tugging gently. Her heart pounded wildly as he slid his finger casually up and down as if he had all the time in the world and her husband wasn’t sitting on his other side.

Slowly, he held her labia apart, spreading the slick evidence of her arousal over her clitoris. All the while, he kept his eyes on the dancers, ignoring Igraine. His arrogance was monumental, as if this was a game, and he was daring her to see how long it would be before she moved away from his questing fingers.

Or before I scream out loud.

His finger slid lower and started teasing her opening. Igraine shuddered. She wanted that finger in her cunt, fucking her, but she might lose control if he penetrated her. Too late. Before she could grab his wrist and stop him, he slipped one finger into her wet channel, making her shudder wildly and gasp. Uther glanced her way again, a half smile curving his lips upward.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my lady?”

He sat very still, with his finger half an inch inside her, not moving a muscle, as he studied her face.

“Very much, Your Majesty.” She was surprised she could speak, let alone coherently.

“Is there anything I can do to enhance your enjoyment?” He moved his finger slightly, his meaning clear.

“Your Majesty has done quite enough already.”

Uther’s smile told her there was more to come, and she tensed, waiting for him to continue. He waited just long enough so that she was ready to scream at him to get on with it—fuck me, for God’s sake, just fuck me!—before he pressed his finger in deeper.

The thought of him inside her with all these unsuspecting people around them drove her wild. She wanted him to take his finger out and replace it with his cock right there and then. She wanted him to bend her over the table, lift her dress, and take her from behind while everyone, including Gorlois, watched them.

Igraine held her breath as Uther inserted a second finger. They slid in and out easily, lubricated by the liquid warmth of her wild excitement. Currents of pleasure raced through her as his two fingers serviced her. Writhing in her seat, she eased herself onto his plunging fingers.

“Keep still.” His voice was an amused whisper.

“I can’t. I’m going to come.” Her own voice was a desperate murmur.

“That’s the plan.”

A surreal cloud seemed to descend on her. Here in this crowded hall, with every eye upon their table, she was going to climax while the King of Britain pumped his fingers in and out of her throbbing cunt. As if in response to her thoughts, Uther shoved his fingers as far as they would go and then hooked them forward, finding the exact spot that would tip her over the edge.

The room swam out of focus as, trembling and gripping the table with both hands, Igraine publicly succumbed to the most powerful orgasm of her life. Uther continued to drive in and out of her, gradually slowing the rhythm, until he finally withdrew his fingers.

Igraine risked a glance around. Astonishingly, no one seemed to have noticed. She shifted position so that her skirts slid back into place.

Uther leaned close so that he could murmur in her ear and not be overheard. “Your face when you came was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He raised his fingers to his lips and sucked her juices from them. “I long to feel you come around my cock.”

“Your Majesty, we cannot…” she was conscious of Gorlois looking their way. “My husband is watching us.”

A frown descended on Uther’s face. “Ah, yes. Your husband. We must do something about that, must we not?”

* * *

When Igraine woke at dawn the next morning, Gorlois stood before the fire, fully dressed. She sat up in bed, a troubled feeling striking fear into her heart. It was unlike him to wake so early, and his expression resembled a thundercloud.

“Get ready, we are leaving before the palace stirs.”

“Gorlois, we dare not depart before the celebrations are over.” Igraine felt her face pale. “To do so would be to insult the king.”

His fury was so intense it frightened her. “Do you think I have not noticed the way he looks at you? The lust in his eyes when they rest on you? The whole palace is talking of it. How long will it be, they are saying, before the king takes the Lady Igraine to his bed?”

He threw her clothes onto the bed. “I’ll not be made a laughingstock. Or wait around to become a cuckold. I told you… never again. Be ready to leave this place within the hour.”

With trembling hands, Igraine folded her clothing. What would become of her family if Gorlois enraged Uther by publicly humiliating him in this way? Her son, Cador, should be the next Duke of Cornwall, but if the king decided to take the duchy away from Gorlois, what would become of her children?

Alongside her fears for her family, the thought of never seeing Uther again was like a knife being plunged into her heart. How had she fallen so hard and so fast? But hadn’t she always loved this man? Even long before she knew him? And he felt the same. She knew it with a fierce certainty. Her king was in love with her. But theirs was a love that could never be.

Their horses waited in the courtyard and Igraine wrapped her cloak tight around her as she made her way down the great staircase in preparation to join Gorlois. To her chagrin, the king mounted the stairs as she descended.

“My lady.” His face registered his delight at the encounter. “This is an unlooked for pleasure.”

“Majesty.” She bowed her head, her heart racing wildly.

His eyes took in her cloak. “Where do you go? I will accompany you.”

“My wife goes with me, sire. Back to Cornwall.” Gorlois voice was strident as he crossed the hall toward them. “Come, Igraine, we must tarry here no longer.”

The king turned to face Gorlois, anger flaring in the golden depths of his eyes. His thoughts were clear. His hospitality was being flouted. “You are leaving?”

Gorlois nodded curtly. “As I said.”

“You sought no audience with me. You have made no request to depart before the allotted time.”

Igraine held her breath. If Gorlois would bend his knee now, make an excuse, allow Uther to be magnanimous… Her husband did none of those things. Standing tall and proud, Gorlois looked the king in the eye and said nothing.

Uther descended the stairs and the two men faced each other. They were of a similar height. Gorlois was broader through the shoulders and heavier. Uther’s build was leaner, and he looked to have a swift, sinewy strength beneath his rich doublet and hose. Gorlois’ dark, strong features were in complete contrast to Uther’s golden, leonine beauty.

“It is my command that you remain until the end of the celebrations.” When Uther spoke thus, he was every inch the king.

Igraine gripped the oak balustrade tightly. Surely even Gorlois would not refuse such an order? She was wrong.

“Your pardon, my liege, but we leave now.”

Uther’s eyes narrowed, making him look even more like a mighty cat. “My friends do not speak thus to me, Gorlois.”

Gorlois stood his ground, merely inclining his head. Uther’s eyes flickered to where Igraine stood like a statue a few stairs above them. There was regret and something more in their golden depths. She thought there was a promise.

“If you are not my friend, Gorlois of Cornwall, I must call you my enemy.”

“So be it, Uther Pendragon.”

Igraine closed her eyes. Gorlois had thrown down the gauntlet to the most powerful man in the land. Her husband was now at war with the king.

“Igraine, the horses are waiting.” Gorlois turned on his heel and walked out.

Igraine made her way down to the foot of the staircase. When she drew level with Uther, she paused, looking up into his face. What she saw in his eyes took her breath away.

Uther raised her hand to his lips. “This is not over. If I have to fight a thousand armies for a dozen lifetimes, I will win you from him.”