I smile.
Erec tells me that a message has arrived. Sir Helians is less than an hour away.
The men outside at the gates had awoken from their sleep, terrified, unsure what happened to them. They’d fled their post, riding off into the forest. I watched their retreat with relief. Now I’m filled with joy and I hurry to the kitchen to check on the preparations for the evening meal. All seems ready, so I retire to my bedchamber for the most important preparations.
My lover is coming for what promises to be a fulfilling sojourn. It is important that he crave me. Want me. Even more important, he must be proud of himself once his desires are satisfied. That pride will ensure his continued protection of my home. I have a great knowledge of chymistry, an understanding of the natural world, but I do not possess an army of soldiers. And sometimes men with swords are needed.
“Draw a bath,” I tell my maid, “and sprinkle in rose petals. I’ll also need the cream I prepared earlier, for after the bath.”
My trip into the rain proved productive. I found the plants I was seeking. While the men slept outside the gates I had prepared the salve. Made special for my inner thighs, under my breasts, and behind my ears. All places Helians would surely explore.
He will like the effects.
As will I.
* * *
Helians arrives at the castle with a wound to his shin from an unexpected skirmish on the journey. I lead him to my workshop where I clean the flesh, then apply a healing salve. He winces at its properties, which burn, but that only means it’s working. I apply a bandage and he grabs me around the waist, sitting me on his lap. I inhale his scent of fire and smoke mixed with the waft of apples and pine.
He laughs. “I do love how you always take a sniff of me when first we meet again.”
“So many men stink.” I point to his chest. “You do not.”
“It’s the potion you made. I spread it on my skin, under my arms, and it keeps all the bad odors away. Only attracts the good ones.”
I smile. “Just the way I like it.”
He nuzzles close to my neck and breathes in my scent, laced with the fragrant cream I applied after my bath. “You smell of secrets and velvet and the sea. And roses. Always roses.”
He kisses my lips and I kiss him back, glad the long month of missing him is over. His fingertips are a little rough and, as he runs them down my neck, I shiver at the excitement from the sensation. Of all the men I’ve known, this one knows the art of touch the best.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
He opens the laces at the front of my gown, parting the folds, not taking quite as much time as I would have liked. But I share his haste. I want to feel his arms across my bare back, my breasts pressed against him. I want to rake my fingers through the hair on his chest.
I want him.
He bends and gifts kisses down my neck. His tongue paints a trail of want to the pale skin of my belly. My excitement makes me smile. He lifts his head from my breast and I stare deep at his winsome face, smiling back. Oh, how he pleases me. As a priestess I’m betrothed to no man. I possess the freedom to take pleasure with anyone.
And I have chosen Helians.
I run my fingers through his rough and tumble hair, down his forehead, across his jutting cheekbones and along the bump in his nose. His eyes are heavy with passion and something else. Something troubling. I see his pain. Pictures form in my mind, but I push them away.
Not now.
I stand from his lap and remove his shirt, then bend over and kiss his cheek, burying my face in his skin and savoring more of his scent. Of all my lovers, Helians has lasted the longest. Some of that is from simple attraction. Some is from herbs and oils that strengthen his desire. Aphrodisiacs have proven worthwhile additions to my pharmacy.
“What say we move to your bed.” His voice is hoarse with need. “I’ve been traveling for many days and nights and lying down would be welcome.”
I take him by the hand and lead him to my bedchamber. No servants are around. All have been told to stay away unless summoned. My bed awaits us both, a gift from Arturius when we were still on the best of terms. I undress him and he lies down naked. I love the time between wanting and taking. To see how much I’m desired, while feeling my own desires build. He watches me, his mouth slightly open, his body tense and taut. I bend over him and run a finger from his shoulder, down the center of his chest, past his navel, then across one thigh to a knee to a calf to ankle to foot, then up from the other foot following the same exact path in reverse until I reach his lips. He opens his mouth, grips my finger between his teeth, and gives me a playful bite.
I withdraw my finger.
“I’ll bite harder if you don’t let me take the rest of those clothes off of you. I can’t bear much more of this waiting.”
I slowly finish undressing. He reaches out to pull me closer, but I step back, out of reach, playing our game. Desire, at its best, must be painful for both. The greater the pain, the more powerful the pleasure will be.
“Enough. Come here now,” he finally says.
He pulls me on top of him, wrapping his arms around me, kissing me hard on the lips. I want to dissolve into him with no more waiting.
His entrance comes with ease.
I meet each of his thrusts with one of my own, a familiar dance we’ve enjoyed before. Failed efforts to slow down, and spread it out, reveal the time we’ve been apart.
But we both try.
“Not yet,” I beg, murmuring into his ear.
I keep riding him without any pretense of maidenly modesty. I no longer care how much he knows I want him. We are beyond that now. His life as a warrior is fraught with danger. Every time he leaves my bed I’m never sure if I will see him again.
And that fear fuels our passion.
“I’m trying to hold on, woman, but you’re an evil temptress.”
It never bothers me when he calls me that. I trust him and know he does not fear my power. Instead, he savors it, craves it, wants it.
He reaches the end.
Deep inside of me his final thrusts silence all thought and fill me with a pleasure so intense it is only a feather’s distance away from pain. He lets out a long moan that lingers and I savor the sound of his release as he bucks up and plunges deeper to my center, where molten fires burn and sparks escape into my blood, causing every piece of me to feel like a burst of flames. We lie there, spent, breathing heavy, wet with each other’s perspiration, exhausted, luxuriating in the magic we’ve made. I do not say a word and do not expect him to speak either.
But he does.
“Arturius is determined to have this fortress back.”
I am about to reply, but he places a finger to my lips.
“I know. He gave it to you. But his wife has made him hate you. Her jealousy over your giving him a son, and her not being able to give him a child at all, has turned her against you with a fury that knows no bounds. She demands that you be banished. He has refused. But, to appease her, he has promised to send his best men to reclaim this site.”
“Men came today.”
“I met them on the way here. It is they who I fought.”
My heart fills with gratitude.
“But they will not be the last who come,” he says. “Morgan le Fay, you are a marked woman.”
I do not like those words. But they’re true.
“Even worse, the man placed in charge of the effort to evict you is one of your former lovers.”
I grimace and know who it must be. “Your brother?”
He nods. “Whom I must oppose.”
The cruelty of Arturius is clear, the irony not lost.
Kaz of Gormet versus Helians of Gormet.
One brother to attack my home, the other to defend it.