Page 198 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Seren,” he said, the timbre of his voice low and husky, and once again, it spoke to some secret part of her she had never even known existed.
“Fie on you, Wilhelm! I’d not hear you speak my name ever again,” she said irrationally.
He grumbled, then asked, “What would you have me call you?”
In truth, Seren didn’t know. She might be daughter to a long-dead king, but she was no more high-born than Wilhelm was, even despite having been appointed a title. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him to address her as a lady, because she most certainly wasn’t a lady. And regardless, her true kinsmen had no need for such formalities. She was Seren to those who knew her best, and Seren to those who knew her least. And even so, she did not wish to hear Wilhelm speak that name again so intimately… as though in itself the word could be a caress.
Fie on him.
Fie on Giles.
Fie on her mother.
Fie on Rose, too!Though why Rosalynde, Seren didn’t precisely know. Her poor sister had had naught at all to do with any of this. If Rosalynde was guilty of anything at all it was only that she hadn’t insisted this stiff-necked behemoth reveal the entire truth to her the minute he met her.
And nevertheless, knowing Rosalynde, her sister would never have suggested he lie—she would no more have done so than she would have… what?
Lain with another woman’s betrothed?
Ye gods, Seren was so confused.
“I am sorry,” he offered again, and then he left her to ruminate in silence and rage.
Sensingher witchy wind rise again, Wilhelm fell silent.
God’s truth, when most women got in a temper, they roused an altogether different sort of tempest. When Seren Pendragon grew angry, she bestirred a wind that shook the very tree-tops. It was unsettling to say the least.
And still, he couldn’t say for certes whether she even realized what it was she was doing. Watching her expression as she surveyed the shivering woods, he could easily believe she was as startled by the revelation as he.
She peered at him through long, thick lashes, lowering her gaze so that her lashes fanned her rosy cheeks, but not before he spotted the torment stirring in those beautiful, stormy eyes. It made him long to put his arms about her and offer solace, though it was quite clear to him she would never accept it—leastways, not right now.
Thereafter, three things occurred to Wilhelm all at once: the first, no matter how vexed Seren might be with him, she was somehow more embarrassed by her tantrum and the tempest it roused—which gave rise to the second revelation; two, she wasn’t particularly savvy aboutmagik, because it seemed to him that she was as clueless as he was about the power she wielded; and three, she was sorely affronted by him and the choices he’d made. If he dared speak another word to her in her present mood, she would raise a storm that would rip out the trees by their roots. Therefore, he fell silent, giving her all the time and space she needed. But, in truth, he felt sick to his gut over the mood his actions engendered, and even so, if her anger gave her the strength to endure, he would endeavor to take comfort in that, because, even now, he felt a persistent sense of danger… aknowingin his gut that had little to do with her mood, nor even the threat of her witchy wind.
It was more like a shadow of doom.
Bones of the saints, not even her sister could tug at his heartstrings the way Seren did. Whereas Rosalynde was as fierce as a lion, Seren’s demeanor was gentler. He could see she was disarmed by her own anger—no doubt for more reasons than for its physical manifestation. She was a kind soul, not unlike LadyAyleth, but unlike Lady Ayleth, he sensed in her a spirit and devotion that rivaled her sister’s.
She hid her passions well; he would give her that—which only made him wonder…would she be equally passionate between the sheets?
To his utter disgust, his cock hardened over that thought, and he let fly a string of oaths. In her presence, he was naught but a beardless youth, with so little mastery over his manhood that a good, stiff wind could rouse him hard as stone. And it didn’t help matters very much that after spying her at her bath, he now had a vision of her to burn over—skin so pale and perfect it appeared translucent, hair so rich and coppery it illumined her skin like the soft glow of a warm fire, eyes as silver and sparkling as the water she lay in.
Admittedly, he hadn’t seen very much of her, but he’d seen quite enough—those pale, perfect moons rising above the glittering water, the darker tips of her areolas tempting him just beneath the surface, like a siren singing her song beneath the waves.
For certes, Seren was a Siren, and his physical response to her was instantaneous and incontrovertible. He’d fled her presence before he could unman himself.
God have mercy, even now, he was wholly undone by the memory, and despite that they remained in danger, he wished to God she were his wife so he could coax her down from that mount and find some secluded spot to rut together like mindless beasts.
Perhaps he could rouse in her a different sort of passion…
He might not be a rich man, nor even entirely couth, but he was born with a talent for pleasing women. For all that he’d pined for the untouchable Lady Ayleth, he’d never actually burned for her in his bed. He hadn’t had much need to burn. No matter how wide a berth he gave temptation, there were manya morn he’d awakened to a sweet mouth pulling his cock, or a warm, wet flower opening to greet him.
And yet… with Seren—he looked at her now, tugging at her reins with a vengeance—it was different.
It wasn’t a rutting he yearned for… he wanted to show her what mysteries her body concealed. He wanted to know the taste of her mouth, and drink of her sweet flower until he was drunk with desire… until his cock throbbed so hard that his eyes rolled back in his head.
He could well imagine her nipples pebbling beneath his palm, and he longed to slip his tongue between her ripe lips, and elicit moans from her that would silence the world.
Even now, as he watched her hips sway in time with the horse’s canter, he could imagine her nude and riding him with abandon—her lithe body undulating and her glorious mane unbound and tickling her soft, beautiful breasts.
