Then she stopped so suddenly that he slammed into her, wrapping his arms around her to keep from knocking her over.
"Welcome to Sanctuary," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. "And if that's your saddlebags I can feel digging into my shoulder, I think you've just squashed the bread."
Grieve realised he still held her, and reluctantly relinquished the woman he only wanted to pull closer. He mumbled an apology.
"This is Rum Island's stronghold. None have ever taken it, and none shall while Islanders hold it," Rhona said.
Grieve could see why. The place was like one of the legendary ancient fortresses – in fact, it probably was one. The cavern was huge – his father's great hall would fit in here twice over, with space to spare. Why, you could fit most of Myroy Island's people in here. A stream ran along one side of the cavern, presumably an offshoot of the river that fed the waterfall at the door.
In the light of the flames of the firepit, which was already lit, though Rhona could not have been here long enough to light such a fire, Grieve could just discern steps at the opposite end of the cavern, spiralling upwards.
"Is there a watchtower atop here, too?" he asked.
She nodded. "Two, actually, though they are not so much towers as higher caverns through which the river used to flow. The island is riddled with caves, but these are the highest and the biggest. From the east spire, you can see clear to the sea, and with men in both east and west, two men can keep watch over the whole island, while our people live comfortably in the cavern below. There are smaller caverns, branching off. Some are store rooms, while others belong to particular families who have lived on Rum Isle for generations. There used to be a cavern where we kept our horses, but the roof collapsed and no one has yet shifted the rubble. The main cavern is a meeting place, an underground village square, where the cook fire is kept burning while anyone resides here."
"Ah, so that's why the fire is lit! Here I thought you must have some magical means of making a blaze so quickly, but the watchmen here must keep the fire burning instead." Grieve grinned at his own joke.
Rhona didn't seem to find it funny. Instead, she seemed lost for words.
"Are you going to introduce me to the watchmen of Sanctuary? Which spire first, east or west?" he prompted.
"There is no one here but us. The watchmen of the cliff towers retreat to Sanctuary when their families are here, but in summer it is empty but for the harvest, stored for when we need it in winter." She blinked, then seemed to regain a little of her earlier enthusiasm. "Would you like to see my family's cavern? It's called the Lady's Chamber, because it's usually the Lady of Rum Isle who leads her people here, while the lord and his men defend the island long enough for their families to reach safety."
She led the way along the stream, then crossed a set of stepping stones to the far bank. Behind a rock pillar was a third set of steps Grieve hadn't seen before, and light glimmered at the top.
"Do the men of the isles make it to Sanctuary, or is it a fight to the death?" Grieve asked. Not that any Islander would run from a fight – they were not cowards. But Alba had many more men than the Islanders could muster, and anything Grieve could do to make sure the Islanders lived to fight another day, he must.
"Sometimes," Rhona said. "The cliffs are a natural defence, and every man on Rum Isle must keep a bow with a number of arrows. They are supposed to practice archery every day, too, but I fear they have been lax of late. It has been a long time since Albans last raided our shores. Most of the heroic tales of this place are about the courage of ladies, not men, though. And some include commanding the army of archers, when our men are away."
She reached the top of the steps, and edged to the side so that Grieve might enter the cavern beside her.
Light streaked down from a hole in the roof, sparkling through the waterfall that splashed down into a pool which overflowed into a second cascade that undoubtedly fed the stream below.
Grieve laughed. "Are you sure it's not called the Lady's Chamber because it has a bath in it?"
Rhona smiled. "It's not a bath I'd enter by choice. The water is icy cold, so it's better to take a bucket of it and set it by the fire to warm before you wash." She cupped some in her hands and drank. "Freezing, but as pure as anything you'll find on Rum Isle. Taste it yourself."
Grieve knelt beside the pool and cupped his hands.
Rhona made a sound between a squeak and a scream.
Grieve jumped to his feet, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.
But there was no enemy to fight, or at least none that would take damage from a sword.
Rhona stood in the middle of a puddle of water that must have come from the roof, which had soaked her to the skin on its way down. "Can you get me some dry clothes, please?" she asked.
"Of course." Grieve hurried down to the main cavern, grabbed her saddle bags and raced back up the steps.
When he reached the chamber, the bags dropped from his hands and he lost the ability to speak.
Twenty-Six
The moment Grieve left, Rhona stripped off her wet clothes and used the dry parts to mop the water from her skin. After the long day's ride, she needed a wash, though this wasn't how she'd imagined it.
What was taking Grieve so long? Could he not find her bags? Rhona scanned the cavern, looking for the chests her family kept here. The clothes and blankets would certainly be in need of an airing, but a musty tunic was better than nothing.
Ah, there they were – stacked by the sleeping alcoves. She pried open the catch on the topmost one and lifted out blanket after blanket, looking for the clothing she knew had to be here somewhere. It wasn't until she reached the bottom of the chest that she encountered what felt like a sleeping fur, but when she pulled it out, it turned out to be a winter cloak made of sealskin. She rubbed the velvety fur against her cheek, remembering when this cloak had belonged to her grandmother and she used to bury her face in it.
Something fell to the floor behind her.
Rhona swung the cloak around her shoulders, holding it closed with one hand as she whirled to face the intruder.
"By all that's holy…" She marched up to Grieve. "You're making a habit of catching me with my clothes off. A vainer lady than I might think you like what you see so much, you wish to see it again."
"I do." The words had no sooner left his lips than he turned as pale as mist. "I mean – "
Rhona held her cloak open. "There, then. Look your fill, and may your eyes burn out of your head after the devil is done with you, for – "
"My God, you're beautiful."
Now Rhona was the one lost for words. Grieve stepped forward and kissed her, drawing her body against his warmth, and cocooning the rest of her in the cloak. This man could kiss her forever, if he wished, but Rhona became increasingly aware of something hard pressed against her hip. She glanced down, and forced herself to break that irresistible kiss.
"Stop poking me with your sword," she said.
Grieve turned red as he glanced down, too. "I'm sorry, my lady, but like I said, you're beautiful…"
"No, not that sword. Take it off!" Before she could think the idea through, she unbuckled his belt and let it drop to the floor, sword and all. "Better. Now, kiss me again."
"I think it would be best if I obeyed your earlier order, my lady. The one where you asked me to get your clothes. Because if I kiss you again, while you are like this…" Grieve gestured at her body, the longing clear in his eyes as he looked at her. "I fear I will forget all thoughts of chivalry and honour, as though the devil himself sat on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. I will already pay a painful penance for the thoughts in my head right now."
But Rhona's blood was afire, and so was his. She was certain of it. "It is me you owe penance to, staring at my body so. It seems only right that I should get to do the same." She reached for the hem of his tunic, and tugged it up over his head.
"Lady Rhona, I think if I were naked, too, it would only make things all
the harder."
Her breathing came fast now. "Then you should take off your hose, so we can do something about that."
Despite his half-hearted protests, Grieve soon stood naked before her, wearing nothing but his cloak. Now it was Rhona's turn to look her fill, at the lean, muscled man before her. Yes, oh yes. He was everything she could want in a man. In a lover.
She threw herself at him, twining her arms around his neck as she kissed him deeply. As her breasts met his hard chest, her body seemed to flame to life, just as she knew it should. She reached around to cup his butt cheeks, which were every bit as firm as they'd looked. But that only pressed other parts of him harder, more insistently into her belly, demanding more.
More that she wanted to give.
Rhona drew him down to the pile of blankets, letting out a contented sigh as his weight settled atop her. Then his lips descended to her breasts, kissing, sucking, setting off currents deep inside.
"Yes, oh yes…" She scarcely recognised her own voice, so breathless with need.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, wanting to feel him everywhere. She reached down to stroke him, guiding him to where she wanted him.
She cried out as she felt something hot slide inside of her, but it was too small to be what she wanted. His fingers, she realised. "I want you, Grieve. All of you."
"I'm your first. I can feel it. I don’t want to hurt you."
Yet his fingers stroked her, driving her mad with desire for what she really wanted. Taunting, tempting, tantalising…tipping her over a cliff she'd never seen, into bliss. For the first time in her life, she soared in a man's hands. This was better than her dreams.
"Grieve, I need you. Please." It came out as a joyful sob in a voice Rhona still didn't recognise as her own.
His eyes darkened with desire as he lifted his head to meet her eyes. "Rhona, are you sure?"
She'd never been so sure of anything in her life. "Make love to me, Grieve."
He grasped her hips, the hard heat of him replacing where his fingers had stroked her only moments before. He thrust what felt like a burning brand inside her, searing her insides until he filled her completely. And it felt so good.
Breathlessly, she urged him on, moaning as the molten heat that was him moved inside her. Again and again and again. Until she could no longer control the bliss she felt, and screamed his name.
Dimly, she heard her own name on his lips, before he leaned forward to kiss her.
She looked up, lost in his eyes, as she clenched around the part of him still inside her. This was what she wanted. "Marry me, Grieve," she said.
He stared at her, then began to laugh. As he sat up, he withdrew from her, leaving her emptier than she'd ever felt before. He headed for the pool to clean himself up. Only when he was done splashing, did he stop laughing.
Rhona wrapped herself in her cloak, wanting to relive the memory of his touch, branding it into her skin for every moment they were apart. "What's funny?" she asked.
"I thought a lady expected a marriage proposal before she shared her bed, not after," he said.
Rhona shrugged. "I can't imagine why any woman would agree to marry a man before knowing what sort of lover he was. When I agree to share my bed with one man for the rest of my life, it will not be a stranger who I have not touched."
He brought a dripping cloth to where she lay, and held it out. "I fear I am a messy lover. I scarcely know what possessed me, just that I wanted to possess you. I hope I did not hurt you. There is a little blood…" He pressed the cloth to her thigh, and steam rose up into the air. The cold water was chilly against her burning skin, but Rhona relished it, even more as Grieve stroked her thighs with the wet cloth in an intimate caress that promised she would know no better lover than him.
She covered his hand with hers. "You didn't hurt me. That was…wonderful. I want you to share my bed again tonight."
He swallowed. "For warmth, like last night? For I give you fair warning, my lady. I will do my best to honour you as you deserve while I am awake, but I fear my dreams. After knowing the joy of your beautiful body, I know my dreams will be filled with you. And if my hands stray onto your body as I sleep, it is because I long to make love to you all over again."
Again? Twice in one night? Never had she heard of a man visiting his wife's bed more than once in a night. The thought was thrilling…tantalising…too much for her to resist.
"Then I insist we sleep naked. I long to feel you inside me again."
"As my lady commands."
Twenty-Seven
Three times he'd made love to her, each time more delightful than the last. If he'd had the stamina, Grieve would have loved her all night, until the dawn light kissed her cheeks, for he'd never met a girl so eager, or so angelic when she cried out his name for the joy he'd brought her.
But would it be enough? Doubt gnawed at him, after what she'd said last night. That she wouldn't marry a man unless he was the sort of lover she wanted in her bed for the rest of her life.
He slipped out of the bed they'd made of the blankets on the floor, and headed for the pool to wash himself once more. He dressed, then headed to the cavern to see to breakfast. Perhaps he could bring it to her, so that she might break her fast in bed.
He found the bread he'd squashed last night, along with some hard cheese. If she still slept, then he could offer her a hot breakfast. Grieve set about coaxing the fire into life from the embers. When he had a decent blaze going, he set about melting the cheese and toasting the bread.
"Grieve?"
He'd taken so long, Rhona was not only awake, but dressed for the day, her fingers working to braid her hair so quickly it seemed to require no thought on her part at all.
"I'm making breakfast." He waved at the toast, which had started to burn. Hastily, he pulled the bread out of the fire and blew the flames out. "I was going to bring it to you."
"It was cold without you." Her eyes said so much more.
Grieve's mouth grew drier than the toast in his hands. He set the cheese on it and held it out. "Careful, it's hot."
She took the offering with both hands, smiling. "I like things hot." She lifted her lips for a kiss.
Grieve wiped the worst of the crumbs off his hands, then carefully cupped her face. So beautiful, and that fire in her eyes… He touched his lips to hers, and for that moment, they shared the passion of their night together. He wanted to unlace her gown and do it all over again, but he wasn't sure how long it would take to return to her father's house. Where Grieve fully intended to ask Lord Ronin for her hand, and every other bit connected to it, too.
"You must be a witch, for you have cast a spell over me," he said.
Rhona stiffened in his arms. "I have done no such thing." She pulled away, putting several yards between them before sitting down to break her fast.
Curse his clumsy tongue. Grieve concentrated on making his own breakfast, while he tried to work out what to say to make things right.
Finally, he settled for: "Lady Rhona, if anything I have done has offended you, then I am deeply sorry. I only meant that I am so in love I cannot think straight any more, for all my thoughts are of you. If you are willing…" He turned, hoping to meet her eyes before he dropped to his knees, as custom demanded.
But Rhona was gone. She hadn't heard a word.
Grieve swore, then bit into his bread and cheese, burned his tongue, and swore some more.
He fell silent when the scrape of booted feet at the entrance alerted him that he was not alone any more.
"Rhona?" he asked tentatively, hoping she had returned.
Instead, a child emerged from the passage, followed by another, then an older woman holding the hand of a third. "Good thing you have the fire going, young man, for we'll need it. The Albans picked a cold, clear day to attack, thinking we'd be huddled around our fires and not watching for them. More fool them, I say."
"Albans? Where?" Rhona appeared on the stepping stones, concern wrinkling her forehead. "Canda
ce, where is my father?"
The woman looked grim. "He set off yesterday for Isla. Something about a declaration of war from Alba. This is the start of it, I'm sure."
Rhona nodded, watching more people enter the cave – some of them the women Grieve had met in her father's kitchens. The whole household was here.
"Where is Lady Doireann?" Candace asked.
The cook shook her head. "She threw a mighty fit, saying she would not leave a scrap for the Albans to steal. We left her trying to put more things in a cart than it could carry. When one of the men told her so, she ordered him away, saying she would drive the cart here herself."
Rhona swore, using words Grieve had rarely heard from a lady. "Then she's even more of a fool than I thought, for she does not even know the way. I'll go fetch her."
The cook seized her arm. "Lady Rhona, don't. If the Albans capture you, your father will never forgive us."
"He will also not forgive us if we leave Doireann to die, or worse," Rhona said grimly. "Stay here. I shall go alone."
Grieve jumped to his feet. "No you shall not! I should be the one to go."
Rhona glared at him, then subsided. "Fine. You may come with me." She trotted up the steps and returned with her cloak around her shoulders, and a bundle of cloth that she shoved into Grieve's arms. "Put this on. You'll need it."
The sweet girl who'd shared his bed was gone. In her place stood a cold-hearted warrior, like the Vikens she resembled. Grieve had never been frightened of a woman before, but right now, Rhona was terrifying.
He buckled on his sword belt, but decided to wait until they got outside to don his cloak. He wished he'd brought armour with him, but what he had was back at Lord Ronin's house, along with his other weapons. The sooner they got there, the better.
Twenty-Eight
Rhona only glanced behind her once to make sure Grieve was following her before she set off at a gallop for home. She'd be there by noon – she only hoped it would be soon enough to get Doireann to safety. Doireann had lost everything to raiders once – it would be needlessly cruel to allow it to happen again. Rhona might not like the woman, but she couldn't bring herself to hate her that much.
Return- Hansel and Gretel Retold Page 7
