by Piper Rayne
I pondered her words. All I knew was the enchantment from the old birch tree, which kept the forest alive, and the periphery magic, which kept the forest and the village separated for the protection of both places. I had no idea what lurked in the pond, whether it was good or evil, whether Rosaline should feel lucky that she had made it past the periphery spell or whether she should be cautious now, with some sort of magical entity after her.
But before I could say any of this, she shrugged. “Perhaps it was just a hallucination. I was nearly drowned, after all.” Her words slowed, and her breathing steadied. Her skin was no longer cold, but warm to the touch.
She was falling asleep, but I couldn’t resist asking one more slightly cantankerous question. “Now do you believe in the periphery spell?”
For a moment I thought she was already sleeping. Then came her answer. “No more than I believe in the Fair Forest beast.”
My laugh was gentle. “Perhaps you should.” Stubborn, stubborn girl.
“Perhaps,” she murmured, and then she was sleeping, her body slack against my own.
I tucked a tendril of her hair back from her face, then lay on the pillow beside her, breathing in her scent deeply through my nose.
My gods, she was beautiful. From this angle, the moon’s glow highlighted the grace and elegance of her neck, the demureness of her shoulder, the fullness of her cheek.
She was plenty warm now, and I could have left her alone in my bed under my furs, and she would have been fine come morning, but I was beginning to feel tired myself. I hadn’t planned on taking a dip in a cold pond and then running through the forest with precious cargo in my arms; my body was exhausted.
If she woke in the night and asked me to move, I decided, I would move. But for now, I would remain where I was, our two naked bodies spooning on my bed.
Something in the pond pulled her in… While Rosaline slept in my arms, I turned this over and over in my mind, the events of the night, the matters of the day.
Questions arose in my mind, each one more tangled than the next.
What was the source of the thing that had pulled her into the pond? Did it have anything to do with the periphery spells?
Why hadn’t Rosaline been affected by the periphery spells in the first place?
Why had her village been so willing to turn her over to the Fair Forest beast?
What did all of this have to do with the forest’s enchantment? I couldn’t forget the way the wolves were behaving, sneaking into the village to feast on chickens, prowling around a human tied to a tree, the mange of their fur, the way their ribs jutted from their bodies, the hunger with which they had pounced on the deer I’d given them.
Was there something going on with the enchantment? Was it wearing off?
And then, perhaps most puzzling of all, the mystic of Fairfront.
Rosaline had mentioned him a couple of times, always with a disdain bordering on hatred. Who was this man? Did he truly believe in the visions of the famine that he prophesied, or was it all for show?
And did he know something about Rosaline that she didn’t even know herself?
Chapter Seven
Rosaline
Gawen.
His name was on my lips.
I arched my back, feeling his hands on my breasts, and he trailed his touch all the way down my stomach.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered, and I could feel his scratchy beard on the insides of my thighs. “Let me see you.”
Gasping, I let my knees fall to either side and nuzzled my face into his pillow—it smelled like him, musky and pine-scented, the scent of a beast.
“Gawen,” I whispered in anticipation.
And his lips were on my—
With a moan, I thrashed myself awake.
It was morning.
My hands were gripping the fur that Gawen had placed on me, and I was in his bed. Alone.
Sunlight streamed in through the window beside his bed, and I could see that it was going to be a clear, sunny day. Blue skies, smooth, green leaves. Birdsong filled Gawen’s hut.
I had slept all night, then. All night in his bed. My hair was fully dried. I was warm. My body ached, but I was alive.
Gawen had saved me.
Many of the details were fuzzy. I remembered running for the village, the gleam of the lights through the trees, falling into the pond, then…
Then he saved me. Gawen charged into the pond and saved me.
He didn’t have to. From the sound of things, he’d already expected the periphery spells to make quick work of me and had probably been shocked when I’d survived.
But then he’d saved me.
I pushed myself up to sitting, glancing around. In the morning light, Gawen’s hut looked different—it was well-tidied, dusted. Yes, it was cluttered, the way you would expect of a hut occupied by a single adult man without a mother or a sister or a wife to keep house, but everything seemed to have a function. Everything had a place.
A few books were piled in the corner at the foot of his bed, their spines well-worn. Near the flickering fireplace, a basket of fabrics and scraps and smaller pelts sat next to a couple of whittled figurines, a deer and a wolf and what looked to be a bird in progress.
And outside, hanging on the line just beyond the pane of the window, was my dress, hanging on a line.
“Oh. You’re awake. Good morning.” Gawen appeared in the doorway, and I realized that while he had put on fresh clean clothes, I was still utterly naked.
“Yes, uh, morning.” I spread the fur across my breasts, but they still spilled out over the side of my body, substantial though they were.
Gawen forcibly made himself look away, though I could tell he was interested in seeing my chest. He caught a glimpse of it last night, I recalled, and the idea of him staring at my virginal body made me flush with warmth. “There’s, uh, a clean tunic and leggings you can wear,” he said, nodding to a folded stack of clothing at the foot of the bed. “I’ve got breakfast cooking outside. I hope you like rabbit.”
“I can honestly say I’ve never had it,” I told him. “But it smells delicious.”
“Yes, well.” Gawen met my eyes, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “I’ll see you in a minute.” He pulled the door closed as he went back outside, giving me my privacy, and I tracked him over to a small fire where he was working a pit, rotating meat, roasting potatoes, sprinkling them with herbs as they cooked.
I dressed quickly, pulling on his oversized tunic and rolling up his leggings so they would fit. A bit of rope I tied around my waist helped me feel more like myself. I also ran my fingers through my hair, which was still a bit crunchy from the dried pond water, and I braided it down my left shoulder.
There.
Not as visually stunning as my virgin sacrifice gown had been, but it would have to do.
I opened the door and left the hut; Gawen was still near his fire, tending to our breakfast. He lifted a bladder of water to his mouth, drinking it, then let it pour over his face, rubbing it into his skin, then he wiped it clean with his sleeve.
He had seen me last night, but I had also seen him. I knew what was beneath his clothing. He was built like an ox, his chest and shoulders thick, the muscles rolling down his back to a trim, taut abdomen. And beyond that…
Well, I hadn’t seen his bottom half. I’d turned away so he didn’t feel ogled in his own house, but I knew, by the feel of it pressed against me all night, that his manhood was large.
Huge, by what I could tell.
I knew nothing of such things, of course—only what we farm girls whispered to each other in the fields. My best friend had lost her virginity to the boy who worked in the tannery, and I’d made her describe the act to me in great detail.
Still, it was certainly not the same thing as feeling such an organ on a man, touching it, tasting it, experiencing a cock sliding into your…
“Tea?” Gawen noticed me hovering near his fire and passed me a hom
emade ceramic mug full of hot water and leaves. “It’s not the best-tasting thing in the world, but it might help with the soreness.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What soreness?”
“Your body.” Gawen gave me a once-over, eyes trailing from head to toe, and my skin responded with goose pimples and blushing. “You were shaking so hard last night, I can’t imagine your muscles aren’t groaning.”
Don’t mention groaning, I commanded silently, and rolled my shoulders back. “I am a little sore, yes. Thank you.” One sip of the tea and I was coughing and sputtering; it did taste like dirt.
“Careful there,” Gawen said with a wry smile, “you swallowed a whole pond last night.”
“And you brought some of it home for me to drink again.” I lifted the mug of the hateful tea in cheers, then sipped it again. Disgusting as it was, it did soothe the parts of me that were aching; most of them, anyway.
“So. About last night,” Gawen said so casually, but my pulse immediately spiked.
“Yes?” I managed to stammer out. Which part about last night?
The part where we shared a bed without clothing?
The part where you victoriously dove into a pond to save me from some unknown entity?
The part where I caught you staring at my nipples? The part where you caught me looking at your torso?
Before Gawen could bring up the subject of any of these things, I rushed ahead. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it,” I told him. “Of whatever pulled me into the pond. I still don’t have any answers. But I definitely didn’t slip and fall in. Something wanted me under the water. Something pulled me down.”
Gawen flipped the meat on the stick, frowning in deep thought.
“But there’s something else I should tell you.” My insides twisted; was I really going to say it? Out loud? I had no other choice. “I’m not sure … I can go back to my village.”
Gawen’s expression was intense as he studied my face, searching for meaning. “But you made it past the periphery—”
“Yes, I know,” I cut in. “I told you that I saw a light under the pond, right? Well, I also heard a voice. It told me … that this was my home.” I lowered my head, my gaze going to the dirt outside Gawen’s hut. I thought again about how my father let Mortas and his men take me out of our farmhouse, dress me in that skimpy dress, tie me to a tree, and leave me to die in the Fair Forest. “I don’t think I can go back,” I told Gawen. “I can’t face the village. Not after they gave me up to die. But… I don’t know what else to do.”
“Stay here,” Gawen blurted with such force and meaning, then instantly looked ashamed of his candor.
But his words made my heart twitter, and I suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. Not without my cheeks burning red and my chest brimming with butterflies.
“Thank you,” I said shyly as he handed me a tin plate of food. “And thank you. For last night. You saved my life.”
Gawen took a bite of his rabbit, a bit of grease dribbling down his chin. He caught it with his sleeve, then gestured for me to sit on the chopping block; he’d removed the ax from its wedge, I noticed.
The weapon was now leaning against the frame of the hut’s door.
“Nothing happened,” he managed to say with a mouthful of rabbit. “Just so you know.”
I took a bite of my own food—it was perfectly seasoned, gamey and moist. A total surprise here in the midst of this wild forest. “I thought we had a pretty busy night, didn’t we?”
I knew exactly what he meant—nothing happened between us. He didn’t take advantage of the fact that an unclothed virgin was lying in his bed last night. He didn’t touch me, other than to carry me back from the pond, take off my sopping wet dress, and tuck me in.
Now it was Gawen’s turn to speak, and he revealed more than he intended.
“Not as busy as I might have liked.” This seemed to fall out of Gawen’s mouth by accident; he looked at me over his shoulder, gauging my response.
I raised my eyebrows, attempting to look cool even though, inside my chest, my heart was pummeling against my rib cage. “What if I wanted something to happen?”
This was me, shamelessly flirting.
I had never really done it before. There were few men in the village who had caught my eye, and those who had were quickly scooped up by other, worthier women. In the past, my noble flirtation endeavors had felt awkward, humiliating, forced. Almost like I was going through the motions of a rite of passage simply because I was supposed to, and not because I genuinely hoped to take any of those men to bed.
But I didn’t feel awkward. I didn’t cringe over the growing heat between us. I didn’t immediately regret my words.
In fact, I was having fun.
I leveled Gawen with my eyes; his chewing had slowed as he stared at me in wonder. Once he’d swallowed his food, he said, somewhat timidly, “Are you—that is, Rosaline… How old are you?”
Ah, yes. The age difference. Or, at least, the perceived age difference. I actually hadn’t asked Gawen how old he was exactly—I was a young, virginal woman, but I had also never left Fairfront. I was naive in more ways than one. Yes, I had spent many days in the sun, hefting hay bales and reaping Father’s crops, so while I may not have been as muscular and rugged as Gawen was, I was not a spring daisy.
But still, there was a sense that the years between us may be … vast.
“Nineteen,” I said, somewhat defensively, waiting for him to reject me for being too young.
Instead, he snorted out a sigh, which might have been mere relief, but I mistook it for derision.
“How old are you?” I asked, not even sure what I would guess. He could be ageless, for all I knew, and I would likely believe it.
I could believe many things today that I had not believed yesterday.
“Twenty-eight,” he answered, and then added, “Why is that shocking?”
My mouth had opened, and I closed it. “I’m not sure,” I admitted with a rueful giggle. “I’m not sure whether I was expecting you to be older or younger than that.”
“Twenty-eight,” Gawen repeated thoughtfully, and took a step toward me, his unfinished plate of breakfast still on the ledge of the fire pit behind him. “That’s only nine years between us.”
“Less than a decade.” My feet brought me forward, my hands hanging helplessly at my side.
Gawen’s lips pressed into a thin line—I couldn’t tell if he was sad or worried. “Do you remember last night? By the pond? Do you remember what you did?”
So many details were lost to the hypothermia last night, but I did know what he was referring to.
My lips on his.
My arms around his shoulders.
My tongue darting into his mouth.
“I kissed you,” I told him.
My feet took me right in front of him. I paused, less than a foot away. I was close enough to see that his eyes had a little hazel in them, and that his pulse was hammering away in his throat.
Was I truly going to do this? I wasn’t afraid of the beast—who was not a beast at all, but a man, a man who on one hand snarled at wolves and lived in a hut in the middle of the wild forest, a man who carried a loneliness with him that made me curious.
On the other hand, I was still very much a virgin. I had no idea what I was doing.
And so I led with this innocence, confident my instincts would take over, and I kissed him.
He tilted his head into mine, a grunt emerging from his throat, and the sound unleashed something within me, something animalistic.
My own beast.
“I kissed you,” I broke to whisper, “and then you kissed me.”
But Gawen was already leaning in for more.
His beard was not as scratchy as I thought it would be; I rather liked the way it tickled my neck and chin, almost like evidence that I was tangled with Gawen, mouth to mouth.
I wrapped my hands around his head and pulled him down to me, kissing him harder, and he responded by li
nking his thick arms around my waist and tugging me closer.
Close enough that I could feel that hard cock of his, pressing out of his pants.
And his kisses became ravenous, his tongue flicking in and out of my mouth, his teeth finding my bottom lip.
“Rosaline,” Gawen muttered, longing in his voice, “stay with me. Don’t go back to the village. Stay.”
I had already told him that I wasn’t going back, and he’d already asked me to stay. I hadn’t answered yet.
“If I stay,” I spoke between kisses, “you would take care of me.”
“I would,” Gawen responded.
“And you would be good to me.”
“Yes, yes, I would.” His breath was enmeshed with mine as he moved his hands up my waist, closer and closer to my breasts; my body was on fire.
No, not just my body. I spotted the movement from the corner of my eyes.
The forest brush closest to the yard was on fire. Leaves burning, white smoke billowing.
Gawen and I pushed apart, searching to find the source of the flames.
“Your plate!” I called as I saw the culprit through the smoke. “It rolled into the leaves!” Gawen had left his plate of food balancing on the edge of the fire pit while we locked lips; it must have gotten too hot, then fell off into the dirt and rolled to the leaves, sparking the flames.
“I’m getting water!” Gawen shouted, running around the hut toward the well.
I spun around, trying to find a way to make myself useful, wondering if I could kick dirt at the flames, which were growing larger by the second, devouring the tree.
Pain exploded in my chest.
It spread to every nerve in my body—my limbs, my fingers, my toes, even my hair was practically standing on end.
“Oh!” I cried out, a weird sound leaving my mouth as I fell to my knees. Every part of me was on fire.
Raging like the fire in front of me.
