Page 59 of Enchanted Warrior

ChapterTwenty-Three

Tamsin woke as the dawn chorus of birds raised their voices. There were birds in the city, but never so many or at such volume. She opened her eyes slowly, aware of the furs tickling her ears. The air in the room was cool, but the nest beneath the covers was toasty warm. She snuggled closer to Gawain, aware every muscle in her body had been worked hard the day before. He was still snoring lightly, for once completely relaxed. As Tamsin curled against him, his arm tightened around her waist. Even in sleep, he was aware of her.

She allowed herself a moment of cautious hope. Gawain had proved his attraction to her more than once last night. Perhaps he had come to her because he needed help to find his king, but releasing Arthur from his stone sleep did not have to mean the end of their story. Despite everything, hadn’t they come too far to pretend there was no bond between them?

Gawain came awake with a snuffle and an enormous yawn. Tamsin took advantage of the moment to straddle him, folding her arms on his thick chest. She lowered herself until they were nose to nose. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning, fair lady.” Unshaven and tousled, he looked utterly wicked. He gave her a roguish grin. “I trust you rested well.”

Tamsin reached under the covers. “I find at least part of you thoroughly rested and ready for more action.”

He reached up, lacing his fingers through her hair and drawing her down for a kiss. “I always sleep best in my own bed.”

Tamsin sank into the kiss, nibbling on his lower lip and teasing with her tongue. As she kept his mouth busy, she rocked forward and brushed against his jutting member. Gawain groaned, arching his head back. “Temptress.”

Tamsin broke the kiss and carefully sat back on her heels. The motion pushed the covers down, leaving Gawain bare. She ran her hands down his torso, touching all of him, possessing every beautiful, masculine plane and hollow. In the pale morning light, she could admire each detail, each flex as he moved. Tamsin tried to pretend it was medical interest—to ensure yesterday’s wound was still healed. In truth, her inspection was just greed. She enjoyed ogling him.

Now that she was out from under the blankets, she was conscious of the cool air. Gawain’s heat was like a beacon. She ran an encouraging hand up his member and then followed it with her lips, tasting salt and musk and man. His expletives spurred her on as she discovered just what he liked and where. Once she had him twisting on the feather bed, she scraped her teeth along his skin, drawing a shudder through him. “Shall I keep going?”

He caught her with lightning speed, pinning her on her stomach. It happened so fast, the room swam around her. He drew a deep breath, his lips grazing the skin of her shoulder. “You nearly made me beg for mercy,” he murmured, nibbling at her ear.

“Nearly?”

“That’s a hard admission for a man of the sword.”

“As long as it’s hard, I’m good with that.”

Gawain nipped her skin, a light pinch that sent a shock of pleasure-pain through her core. “Now it’s my turn.”

He was behind her, pulling her up to her hands and knees and positioning her hips to his liking. He was gentle, but there was no mistaking who was in charge. He parted her and leaned into his touch, letting the sensation fill her. Her wetness on his fingers was an eager invitation.

Then his weight shifted, and he pushed inside her from behind. She sucked in air, as if filling her lungs would somehow equalize the pressure. She seemed too full, too sensitized to possibly take all of him inside. His hands grasped her hips more firmly, adjusting the angle as he withdrew and plunged again. Tamsin’s muscles tightened, trying to hold him, trying to control the yearning that spiked through her with every twist and pull. Her aching breasts swung with each thrust, with every jerk of her hips as she braced to meet him. She had been cold, but now sweat trickled down her spine as their rhythm peaked. Air came in gasping cries. She couldn’t hold on to her sanity any longer.

Finally, Tamsin let go, allowing the maddening fullness to take her. She shuddered around him, hungry pulses of exquisite need. Gawain thrust deep with a triumphant moan, his pleasure frank and lusty. When they finally sank back beneath the covers, they stayed wound together long after the sun streamed through the high windows. Finally, they both fell back into the profound sleep of utter surrender.

When Gawainfinally convinced himself to rise, he left Tamsin sleeping and went to explore in daylight. His first stop was to tend to the stallion, the next a quick bath in the icy-cold pond outside. Once dressed in fresh clothes, he went to find breakfast. Now that it was daylight, he could see more precisely what the storerooms held. He gathered an armful of provisions and set to work on breakfast. His cooking skills were basic, but he knew how to make a pot of boiled oats.

Keeping busy helped Gawain think. As Tamsin said, they’d found the books. Now it was time to find Hector and Arthur and escape back to the real world—preferably before the demon found a way to cross the river. They’d been lucky to escape yesterday, but there was no reason to believe it would give up.

But if—when—they made it back safely? Gawain paused, a sack of oats in one hand. The black iron pot hung over the fire was bubbling, waiting for the grain. He dropped a few handfuls in, measuring by eye. He cooked like he did most things, by instinct. Most of the time it worked out.

But now, he had no idea how the future would unfold. He would be at Arthur’s side, living in a strange future. Their purpose was to fight a foe bereft of any compassion and to rally the rest of their brotherhood—who were all no doubt equally bewildered. Once, he would have said duty and companionship were enough to fill his life.

He desperately wanted to say they still were, but Gawain’s traitorous heart was reluctant to answer. Against all odds, against everything he’d experienced in his life, he was deeply attracted to a witch who stirred his own despised magic. Sooner or later, his blood would fully waken and then what? His mind shied away from the implications.

Decisions—when they really mattered—came slowly for Gawain. He was reluctant to trust because his loyalty once given was iron. He swore few oaths because they always bound him for life. His heart—well, beyond his brothers and his king, he’d never given it to anyone.

Tamsin had done everything to earn his faith, but believing in his own goodness was harder. He was afraid of what she might unleash in him. He was afraid of trusting himself.

Working by habit, he added a pinch of salt to the oats and set about slicing thick slabs of cured ham. If this had been his real castle, there would be dogs under his feet, a bustle of cooks and potboys and stablemen yelling in the courtyard. There would have been a large, bright life he knew and loved all around him. Now there was silence, the castle an empty tomb. He could feel the Forest Sauvage watching him, testing his resolve. Making sure he felt vulnerable.

“Bugger that,” he muttered under his breath. He could hear Tamsin’s feet on the stairs, and his spirits lifted. As long as she was there, he was anything but alone.

She came pattering into the kitchen, wearing the clothes Gawain had given her. She was a vision, her long golden hair combed and braided and her cheeks pink from the fresh air. “Is that food? I could eat a horse.”

“I wouldn’t advise it. We’ve only got one.” He motioned her to a stool at the big kitchen table and set a wooden bowl of porridge in front of her. There were honey, walnuts and dried apples to add to the breakfast, as well as the sliced ham. He kissed her ear. “This is plain fare, but?—”

“It’s delicious,” Tamsin said, waving away his apology. “Hot and filling is what I need right now.”

---