Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  For an instant, only a fraction of a second, Morgan hesitated, looking down at Kyri, the Queen of the Fairy, in his arms, the soft weight of her in his lap and then his mouth covered hers, catching her gasp in his mouth even as he did.

  Her lips lifted to meet his.

  She quivered.

  His own lips curved as he sank into the kiss.

  Strong slender arms circled around his neck as her fingers slid deep into his hair to draw his mouth down to hers. Her lips were warm against his, hungry, seeking what they’d both long denied.

  At last, was all he thought and, finally, taking in the taste of her…sweet and fresh, and the intense pleasure of finding her in his arms.

  Wrapping his arms around her, Morgan surrendered.

  To her, to his need…

  It was as if all thought had been burned out of Kyri’s mind. All she could think, all she could feel, all she could taste, was Morgan. Heat poured through her, turning her skin to fire, it seemed.

  Morgan.

  Who had who indeed…?

  The sense of him filled her and Kyri laughed with delight, tangling her tongue around his, tasting him…and needing more.

  Morgan wanted to devour her. He drove his hand up into those bright, spiraling curls, gathered them into his hand tightly to draw her mouth harder against his, feeling the springy crush of them, before sliding his hand down to curl around her slender throat. Her pulse beat rapidly beneath his palm.

  He skimmed his hand down her arm, then slipped it to her waist. He ran it up her ribs slowly, going still as he found one firm breast and cupped it. His thumb brushed across the hardness beneath the silk. There was nothing between him and her skin but that thin garment.

  That breast seemed to swell beneath his hand, filling it. A burst of heat rushed through him, need, desire…..

  Her firm slender body pressed against his was maddening. He needed to see, to touch what had always been and was now so tantalizingly close. It wasn’t enough to run his hand over her, for the silk to shift and slide over her skin, the ripe curves of her give beneath it as it did. It was glorious to feel the firmness of her, but he needed more. She quivered to his touch, her mouth avid on his, but he needed more.

  He needed to touch her skin.

  Grasping that thin shift in both hands, such a fragile piece of cloth, Morgan tore it in two, ripping it from her body, exposing her to him.

  He went rigid and groaned…

  Hunger blinded him to everything except the glory of her body…

  Slender as a reed, with skin as white as fine ivory, her breasts were as full and firm as those peaches he’d compared them to in thought. The areoles were dusted with rosy color, her nipples already taut, hard. Her ribs arched to offer herself to him, her abdomen was firm, and a small thatch of golden curls was snared between her slender, muscled thighs.

  In a flash need flared, want and control were gone.

  Morgan was so hungry for her he devoured her, burying his hand in her glorious hair to wrench her head back and open her to him, supporting her and binding her at the same time. His mouth descended on her lovely breasts. He savored her, sucked and suckled on them as her hands speared into his hair. Kyri cried out her need as she clung to him. His free hand stroked up her ribs, along the line of her back between her wings as they folded around it, the feathers downy soft, and then down again, over the smooth curves of hip and thigh. Smooth, soft, firm. He couldn’t get enough of touching her. Driving his hand between her thighs, he cupped her and she arched with a soft moan.

  Morgan swung a leg over his horse to slide off, cradling her in his arms to carry her to a patch of soft green moss and lower her there.

  Gods, she was beautiful. Her brilliant hair spilled like sunshine across the deep green moss, her wings were spread beneath her, glistening. Her slender white body arched, her breasts were round, perfect…

  Morgan wanted to touch her everywhere and anywhere, to stroke his hands over her satiny skin, to have her tremble at every brush of his fingers, to watch her eyes go blind to anything except him. It was their own private magic and, all unknowing of what it was he did, he used it to bind her to him as his mouth and hands molded her, caressed her, and she quivered.

  To his joy and pleasure, she did the same. Her hands danced over him, stripping off his shirt to trace the muscles of his chest, his back, with delight and clear joy, her mouth curving into a brilliant smile.

  Kyri couldn’t get enough of him. Her hands mapped Morgan’s skin, tracing the broad curves of the hard muscles of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders, the long strong muscles of his back, all the glorious strength of him there beneath her hands.

  She looked up at him and his blue eyes go hot as he looked at her. A like fire kindled inside her.

  He was maddening. Delightful. Glorious. All she wanted to do was touch him, to feel his body against hers. Between them, they cast his trews away.

  Then his mouth lowered to her breast again, tasted her nipple lightly.

  Kyri’s breath caught in her throat. Pleasure speared through her. All thought fled as she surrendered to him.

  Heat poured through her, Kyri’s heart, soul and spirit sang….wanting….

  Morgan made love to her reverently, his mouth brushing over her breasts until he and she were aching. He cupped her sex, sliding his over the places that were heated and damp, teasing until she moaned with need.

  She cried out his name.

  “What do you want, Kyri?” Morgan demanded, his hands stroking over her, over her soft skin, firm breasts and down to the springy curls between her thighs.

  He needed to know, needed to hear it.

  A sob in her throat, the truth came out.

  “You, Morgan,” she cried. “Always and ever you.”

  Shifting her, cupping her hips like a chalice in his hands, raising her to his lips like an offering, Morgan offered a benediction and lowered his mouth to her most sacred places and feasted…

  How long had he waited for this, dreamed of it?

  Since that first time he’d seen her, dropping to the parapet, so lovely, her skirt fluttering.

  She cried out, trembling, quivering, as he found the delicate folds between her thighs. He tormented her deliberately, pleasurably, so those firm thighs opened to him, her hips pumped, begging… Delicately, softly, he savored her until she yielded, her hands falling away as her body shook.

  Moaning, nearly weeping, Kyri was beyond surrender as Morgan’s mouth moved on her. His fingers drove deep inside her until she shuddered and fell back helplessly.

  Her body was his as her heart and soul already were.

  “Kyri,” Morgan said.

  She was so beautiful, her lovely head tossing as he pleasured her.

  He wanted her so badly. He’d waited for this, wanted it, dreamed of it of a night.

  Morgan raised himself over her and at the sound of her name her eyes lifted to meet his, but also to find him thick and hard at the entrance to her.

  Kyri gazed up at him, anticipation rushing through her.

  The strong muscles of his chest and arms were taut, his blue eyes were as brilliant as the hottest fire. He looked magnificent, rampant and glorious, every muscle limned in sunlight and shadow.

  Desire exploded through her.

  In answer to his call of her name Kyri smiled gloriously and Morgan drove deep, burying himself in her. Her eyes widened and her smile warmed as she arched to take him.

  Her thighs opened wider, her legs wrapped loosely around his as her hips rose to meet his. He plunged deeper, more deeply than he had into any other, as she closed around him. She was so hot, so tight, so wet and so deep. All Morgan could do was drive into her, wallowing in the incredible pleasure of her, so tight around him.

  That smile…

  Deliberately he drove hard and deep, shifted his hips to go deeper, searching for more, for the depths of her. She gave it to him, opening as he drove deeper… She met him as she arched upward.

 
Kyri’s control was gone, shattered by the beauty of it, by her pleasure in having him inside her as she opened to take him and he pounded into her.

  Pleasure exploded and Kyri cried out, shuddering in his arms as her hips pumped, her inner muscles pulsed around him.

  Morgan drove deep one last time, her release driving his. It raced through him, erupted, emptied, as he poured into her.

  Elated, content at last, they sank into each other’s arms.

  Morgan wrapped her close. She still trembled. If he’d known it would have brought him such pleasure and such peace, he would’ve made love to her sooner.

  And Kyri?

  He had only to look at her stunned expression, her ecstatic smile as she curled into him, to know she was as satisfied and gratified as he.

  Eyes closed, deeply relaxed but curious, he explored her slowly, softly, stroking his hand over her shoulders and down over her back, there to find her wings.

  Curiously, wonderingly, he touched them carefully, gliding his fingers over the long, surprisingly downy feathers, softer and warmer than silk. He traced the strong arch of a wing where one folded tightly over the other.

  Kyri shivered a little with pleasure at the touch. She made a sound in her throat that was very like purring as her hand brushed over his chest, at the crisp hairs there, her cheek nestling against it.

  He laughed a little to hear it as he played lightly with her feathers.

  The wing twitched a little, resettling the ones he’d touched automatically.

  For some reason that made him smile.

  “Would you like to see it?” Kyri asked, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

  “Yes,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her face.

  He ran a finger down her silken cheek.

  Her wing opened… Slowly, it arched over them.

  In wonder he watched it pivot, unfold and unbend, stretching out over and above them. The long feathers spread to catch the light of a sunbeam, glistening brilliantly, rainbow shimmers caught in the feathers.

  His throat locked.

  It was amazing to see up close, her great wing curved over them like a fragile canopy, each feather transparent, shimmering, iridescent, delicate feather laid over delicate feather.

  Morgan reached up to touch the arc of that incredible wing in awe. He caressed the curve of it, the muscles there strong beneath his hand. He shook his head as he traced those fragile feathers with his fingers yet again. Amazing. So beautiful. Light filtered through them, sparkling, ephemeral. Gossamer wings.

  It was astonishing.

  The touch of his hand on her this way, a way no other had touched her he knew, was somehow incredibly intimate.

  There was simple wonder in his expression, in his clear blue eyes…and Kyri’s heart caught anew…

  For the first time since she’d known him, she saw Morgan’s face at peace, truly at peace. The strong lines softened a little, his eyes lost some of their sharpness.

  With a smile, she sighed, feeling much the same as she stroked her hand over his strong shoulders, his broad muscular chest – more solidly so even than Fairy – and relished the simple contact of skin to skin. He wasn’t the only one who’d needed this. As her hand drifted over him, his skin was like smooth sun-warmed satin, the curve and ripple of muscle beneath her palm was firm, solid.

  He was beautiful.

  It was amazing to her.

  He was amazing to her.

  Morgan looked at her, seeing an odd, sweet wistfulness in her eyes.

  “What?” he said, touching her cheek and lifting her chin.

  “It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me,” she said, her eyelashes lowered, with a wry smile. “And never like this.”

  That simple statement touched him to the core, his heart twisting. He brushed her hair back from her face, the soft, tight curls rippling through his fingers. His throat tightened as the realization dawned.

  “Then I’m honored.”

  Her gaze lifted to meet his and her mouth twitched.

  Not lessening the sentiment any, she said, “As you should be, but Morgan, next time,” reaching with one hand to her shoulder to point, arching a brow, “there are ties…”

  He saw them then, thin silk ribbons.

  Laughing, he said, “Sorry,” going warm at the thought of a next time. “Next time, I’ll remember.”

  And there would be a next time. And another after that. Both of them knew it.

  With a sigh, the same thought occurred…

  To lighten the moment, Kyri said, “It seems unlikely this is what you called me for…”

  “No,” Morgan shook his head. He hadn’t dared even think it, consider it. And already he wanted to make love to her again. “I have a plan to free Philip. We need to meet with Oryan.”

  Before that, though...

  Morgan rolled her gently onto her back, looking down at her in stunned amazement, stroking the backs of his fingers along one smooth alabaster cheek. Shaking his head, as astounded by the wonder in her eyes as she looked up at him as by the wonder he knew was in his own, he lowered his mouth to hers for one more kiss.

  Kyri sighed gratefully, twining her arms around him, and drew him down to her again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Morgan spread out the drawing of the castle gates, the two platforms, the buildings around it and the open area of the square itself, flattening it across Oryan’s table. He, Oryan, Kyri, Galan, Detrick, Corvin of Dorset and young Jordan were all standing close to study it.

  “They couldn’t do this in the castle proper, there wouldn’t be enough room for the numbers Haerold wants to attend,” Morgan said, his eyes on Jordan in concern – the boy had gone slightly pale. “But he wanted it close, with the walls and his archers looking over it. There’s enough room between the castle itself and the buildings beyond to fit a good number of people. He’s built another platform, with seating, to watch from.”

  Gesturing, Galan said worriedly, “What can’t be seen from the ground, was clear from the air. Here, here and here are good places for archers.”

  With the archers on the curtain wall surrounding the castle, they had the entire square covered.

  “They’ll be there, too. Have no doubt about that. Basically,” Morgan said. “It’s a killing field.”

  How Galan had spotted them from so high in the sky, Morgan didn’t know. He’d asked the Fairy Healer to keep out of sight and he had, as Morgan didn’t want Haerold even thinking of the Fairy more than he did. That was the one view, though, that they couldn’t get from the ground – the rooftops, the places where Haerold might hide his people. Kyri would have done it but she had been practicing a far harder task to see if it could even be done. She’d done it, if not easily.

  Without Galan it would have taken a lot more time and opened them up to the threat of exposure far more quickly than asking Jacob to scout them physically.

  Oryan looked to Kyri and Galan. “Thank you for the loan of Galan, by the way, Kyri. Galan, we appreciate what you’ve done.”

  “The good thing is that, now that we know about them, we can do something about them,” Morgan said.

  Quickly and silently, but he kept that to himself.

  “I suspect they’ll be manned early, perhaps even the evening before,” he continued.

  Oryan nodded. “Haerold will take no chances. And he’ll believe we won’t know about them not knowing we have eyes in the sky.”

  The truth was dawning on young Jordan, a small spark of hope. “You think it can be done?”

  Giving him a cautioning look, Morgan said. “It’s risky but possible. It will depend on a lot of factors. And, we’ll need a diversion, as smoke screen.”

  He had something in mind for that. Caleb was seeing if what he needed could be done by a nearby blacksmith.

  “If it works,” Morgan said, “it will look like magic. However, we don’t yet know how the Hunters will be deployed. Or where Haerold’s wizards will be positioned…”


  “And we have yet to gain wizards of our own,” Oryan said.

  Kyri and Galan glanced at each other.

  She took a breath. “We may be able to help with some of that, although our magic is more Fairy magic than wizardry, but we do have some magic beyond Healing. We can create more of the talismans such as Morgan wears, but each one is keyed to the person who made it, as well as the one who wears it.”

  “Is that how you find me when I call?” Morgan asked, curious.

  Kyri answered with a smile, her eyes flickering to him, warmth in them.

  “No, the call itself helps, we can home in on it, but as we’ve grown to know you better, you become like one of us and we can simply sense you. Cold iron and earth are the only things that might get in our way of finding you now.”

  It was an oddly comforting thing to know.

  “So,” Morgan said, “here’s the plan…”

  “Knowing,” Oryan interjected, “that every battle plan is only good until you meet the enemy.”

  Morgan nodded in agreement. “So, we try to plan around every contingency that we can. And we’ll still find that there’s one we missed.”

  He gave everyone a dry look.

  “Some of the rebels from Dorset have agreed to help us,” he said, giving a nod to Corvin. “And Detrick from the south. His people are the best trained.”

  Detrick grinned, but nodded sharply. “Training is what keeps you alive.”

  Actually, the Dorset rebels had been planning their own rescue of their liege lord, but Morgan had managed to convince them to agree to aid his plan instead.

  “They’ll provide the diversion we’ll need,” he said, “drawing off some of the Guard and Hunters, even perhaps some of the wizards. Their only aim is to do that, hit and run, pulling those forces away and causing a disruption. Drawing attention away from the Square, making them believe there’s a concerted effort to penetrate the city.”

  He gave both men a steady stare. “No heroics. Get in, get out, provide protection, cover and distraction as needed once we have Philip out.”

  Corvin, a barrel-chested man with thinning blonde hair nodded.

  “No heroics,” Detrick promised.