Page 211 of The Daughters of Avalon
The night was black, with barely a star in the sky.
For days now there’d been no sign of her mother’s ravens. It was all too easy to believe they were alone in this world—no one about for miles and miles. No one to see her weakness…
But she was a Daughter of Avalon; no matter what came of this night, she had nothing to be ashamed of.
Whatever happened was meant to be.
Exhaling, Seren let go of doubts, rising from her pallet. “Thank you,” she said, and gathered up her blanket, then tiptoed over to where he lay.
With bated breath,Wilhelm watched her steal over to his side of the fire. He’d been lying there for so long, trying in vain to sleep, acutely aware of every toss and turn she made, every huff, every sigh, and finally, when she began to hum so softly, so sweetly, his heart shattered.
Reveling in the thought of her lying close, he wasted no time peeling back the blanket, scooting over to allow her plenty of room. He’d folded his wool so that half lay on the bracken,the other half lay folded over him. Now, as he scooted over, shortening the half that covered him, he didn’t care. He would sleep with a scrap to cover him so long as Seren lay here beside him. Vowing to hold her, naught more, he would carve this memory into his heart—her scent, her warmth, the silky softness of her skin—and take it with him to his grave.
Settling beside him, she threw her own wool over them both, and said again, “Thank you.” And then she reached over to make certain his legs were covered before settling into the crook of his arm. The gesture was sweeter than he could bear. Not since his mother—God rest her soul—had any woman cared whether he would stay warm through the night. Wilhelm didn’t know what to say. His throat grew tight, and it felt as though someone had shoved a wad of cloth down his gullet, and there it remained.
He should give her more of the blanket, no doubt. That was the reason she’d come over in the first place, but, the feel of her lying beside him fed his starved soul like a thirsty man stumbling from a desert. He couldn’t think to respond. He couldn’t in all his life remember a moment so bitterly sweet… nor any woman whose body fit so neatly against his own.
His heart thumped painfully, and his blood simmered like molten fire through his veins. She turned her bottom just a bit, so that it snuggled against the heat of his loins, and God save his rotten soul, he daren’t move, nor speak—not even to warn her she was playing with fire… a fire that once ignited, would never again be put out.
It was more than he could bear. He put a hand plaintively to her hip, pushing her gently away. “Seren,” he said.
“Nay,” she protested, and then she turned to look him directly in the eyes, leaning so near to his mouth that, for a moment, they shared the same breath.
He could see her pale eyes shining through the darkness, brilliant and surreal.
“Seren?”
Whereas most girlsdreamt of having a husband and babes, Seren had always feared this would never be her destiny. She and her sisters each had dowries, but no advocates for their futures. They were subject to the whims of a king who bore them little love, and if aught at all, he was daunted by their blood—if not because of their father, then certainly because of their mother. Because of this, she had long feared that she and her sisters were destined to grow old together. Not for one instant had she had any affection from her father, nor any from her mother. Her grandmamau was long dead by the time she was born, her uncle Emrys, as well. Isolde had been kind to them, but despite that she was present when Seren was born, at this point, she was only a distant shadow from the past, a sweet old woman whose folk tales had kept them awake at night. As for Matilda and her sons, well, they shared a blood bond, no doubt, and clearly she had a hundred more kinsmen through her father alone. But Wilhelm was the first person aside from her sisters that she had ever felt close to.
Tomorrow their moment might be lost.
“Kiss me,” she begged.
“Nay,” he refused, but then he reached for her. “I dare not,” he confessed, even as he placed two trembling fingers to her temple, sweeping hair from her face.
Auras were so tricky to read; so often Seren could see them as they existed for others, but for the first time in her life, she could read her own, in the arc of their auras combined. It glowed as bright as a flame… natural born, golden-hued and genuine. In that moment, frozen in time, she had a sense of something timeless… something… lasting… something pure.
There were times between times… times when the world itself ceased to breathe… only waiting for a new time to unfold. These were tween times, when the veil between worlds was at its thinnest and thehudwas at its strongest. These were the golden hours from whence were born all possibilities and came all promises.
Moved to do so, Seren lifted her hand to Wilhelm’s cheek, and even as she touched him, the trees sang, with leaves tinkling like bells. The cool wind kissed her warm skin, raising the small hairs of her flesh. It was, she believed, a whispered blessing from the Goddess.
“Kiss me,” she dared again, and Wilhelm brushed another curl from her face. The feel of his warm hands gave her a shiver. “Art lovely,” he whispered. “Too lovely for the likes of me… you were born for better things.”
Seren shook her head adamantly. “I am not.”
He smiled wistfully, his big fingers tentatively exploring her face. “You are beautiful,” he argued. “Body and soul. I am a beast. Look at me, Seren. I am scarred inside and out.”
“I see you,” she said, and she did. And she wished he could see what she saw… the beauty and goodness in his eyes.
She could feel his hand trembling in the length of her hair, and she knew he struggled with desire. She had seen that look far too oft in men’s eyes, but never before had she wondered how she could assuage it. She whispered, “You are beautiful to me, Wilhelm.” And she reached up to brush a finger over the scar at his brow, tracing it across his lid, then down to his cheek. To her utter amazement it vanished beneath her fingertips. Amazed by the transformation, she peered at her hand, golden against the firelight, and then, encouraged, she took his whiskered face in both hands, and moved to kiss his brow, taking it as another sign from the Goddess. She was born to love this man.
He was her savior, but she might be his as well, and she sensed he was as alone in the world as she was. Wilhelm needed her as much as she needed him.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she dared to slide her fingers down to his breast, exploring the tightness of his leathers, stretched thin by the breadth of his chest. His hand covered hers at once, preventing any further exploration. “Seren,” he said. “You must stop. I have naught to give you.”
Their amalgamated auras burned brighter, until Seren could feel the heat of her own yearning slide though her like liquid flame, calling to her pagan self. Inhaling a shuddering breath, she tilted her woman’s flower closer to the object of her desire, sensing instinctively that if he would only fill her, she could be complete. “Will you deny me?” she whispered breathlessly.
“As God as my witness, I would deny you naught I had the power to give it,” he said, and once again, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, so gently that it might have been naught but a breath, and Seren shivered again, only this time not because she was cold. Nor was she tired. She was wide-awake, heart pounding in her ears.
