Page 212 of The Daughters of Avalon
“You have as much to give me as I have to give you,” she argued, “and I willingly give all I have.”
“Seren,” he protested, only once more, but this time the certainty was gone from his voice. Seren felt his heart pounding so fiercely beneath her fingertips. After an audible swallow, he freed her hand, giving her leave to do as she pleased.
“My heart is mine to give,” she said. “But I have no need to give it to you, Wilhelm. You have already stolen it.”
His brows twitched with confusion, and Seren pressed instinctively closer, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his male flesh—a combination of leather, horse, sun, sweat… and something else… something that teased her in places she dared not confess.
Women were born with a certain intuition. She might not know precisely what should happen next, but she listened to the whisper in her heart… that voice from the Goddess that told her to tempt him a little more. “Speak no more,” she said, brushing a finger over his lips, pressing the pad of her thumb gently against the curve of his mouth.
Wilhelm rewarded her with a lap of his tongue over her thumb and a low, throaty growl, and her heart tripped a few beats. At long last, he bent to kiss her, slowly, tentatively, as though he feared she would flee, and Seren’s heart tumbled with joy as his tongue swept over her hot lips, tasting her, then dipping hungrily within to steal the nectar from her mouth. She moaned with desire, her body responding with a will not entirely her own. He answered in kind, and it was as though some baser instinct took over, their bodies entwining and writhing in a dance as old as time. Unbidden words came to her… from where, she hadn’t any clue.
Freely choose, or choose to be free
“Yay,” she said, as he slid down her body to suckle at her breast even through the fabric of her gown.
“Yay,” she said again as the skimming of his lips and teeth nearly drove her to madness.
Eager for more, she reached down to lift up her gown. “I freely give myself to you,” she said to him, and then she was lost, because he growled again, deep in the back of his throat, like an animal possessed. He shifted to unfasten his trews, his movements deft, never taking his lips from her body… down, down, he slid, until he could press his tongue against the flower of her womanhood. And then, gone was the sweet man she had come to know, replaced with the beast he claimedto be—ravenous and formidable. Shrugging free of his trews, he covered her, and Seren abandoned herself to the moment. Somewhere amidst the chiming and tinkling of the leaves, she heard that voice again, ancient as time:
Bound by destiny, to destiny bound,
Another to one, one to another.
Throwing her head back and crying out in pleasure, Seren wrapped her legs about his waist, drawing him closer.
This is what she was made for.
Come daylight, she might think differently, but here and now, there was no greater purpose in life than this… to love Wilhelm Fitz Richard.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Amessenger arrived from Aldergh during the wee hours of the morn, shouting as he approached.
“The babe,” he screamed, leaping down from his mount and hurling himself at the iron-spiked oak, pounding furiously at the gate. “M’lady,” he shouted. “The babe! Admit me! M’lady, the babe!”
“God’s bones, man! What the devil are ye wailing over?” inquired a guard from the ramparts. Peering up, the messenger stumbled to his knees, clasping together his hands, beseeching.
“Please,” he begged. “I must see M’lady of Aldergh, please!” And then buried his face into his hand and wept inconsolably.
The guard hadn’t the first inkling what the man was babbling over, but, clearly, he’d come a long way, looking worse for the wear, and sensing the exigency, he ordered the portcullis raised, and then sent a guard to wake the lady. Within moments, Lady Rosalynde emerged from her marquee in robes, along with her sister, and recognizing the man, the Lady of Aldergh cried out in distress, and bolted into a run, falling to her knees beside the weeping man.
“Alwin,” she cried. “Please! Speak!”
“Forgive me, m’lady,” he said, tears shining in his eyes. “’Tis Broc,” he said. “We thought it was you.”
“Who?” Elspeth demanded. “Who! Please, tell me who!”
“You,” the man cried. “It wasyou, m’lady! It was you!”
A blackbird sangin the treetop.
A damselfly whizzed past her nose.
Not that Seren wasn’t already awake, or thrilled by the prospect of seeing her sister—perhaps even today—but she was loathed to end the moment. So far as she was concerned, the night should have lasted an eternity. Her lover’s breath was warm on her nape, and there was a delicious ache between her legs—not one for which she had a true complaint.
Sheltered within Wilhelm’s embrace, she daren’t even stretch, for fear of waking him. She leaned back against him, and smiled joyfully when he nuzzled her sleepily.
