Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm)

by Valerie Douglas

  “You are a part of my heart,” he said, in wonder, “as my people say a friend-of-my-heart.”

  It wasn’t a soul-bond, but it was a bond of a kind and a true one, something he’d thought unknown and possibly impossible with one of the race of men. Yet it was there, unmistakably there. It was far more than he’d had and with Delae, this woman of men who was a wonder and a joy to him, who knew Honor as his people did, who was a balm to his heart.

  As he was to hers.

  Impossible as it was, it was what it was and for all the difficulty of it, all the difficulty it would bring him, Dorovan couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry for it.

  Delae looked up at him, hearing in the tenderness in his voice all she needed to hear, all she could accept. It was enough and more than enough. Her heart filled, where it had been empty for so long.

  “Friend of the heart,” she said, softly, a smile curving her lips. “Yes, you are.”

  And he was.

  Chapter Three

  Outside the storm raged, rattling the shutters, sending blasts of cold through the gaps between them. Awakening with Delae’s soft, sweetly scented body against his was a delight. Dorovan found it wasn’t just her hair that glowed so warmly but her body, too. She was like a small banked fire that radiated heat. Gently drawing her against him - he nestled himself between her smooth thighs and sleepily stroked her, cupping the full globes of her breasts in his hands. She was delightful as she shivered to awareness - her body heating for him in quite another way, growing tantalizingly damp.

  Delae found herself aching to be filled and then Dorovan’s hand slid down her belly to comb through the tight curls between her thighs.

  It was breathtaking as he touched her - coaxed her body to fire and then to flame at the very moment he entered her. A soft cry burst from her as he drove deeply into her.

  Almost desperately, Delae pressed back - the heat inside her a demand which needed to be answered.

  She was so wet and so very warm and she’d so needed to be filled.

  Her soft cry fired Dorovan’s blood and he answered it, touching her lightly, caressing her until her body hummed, until she tightened around him again as he thrust inside her.

  He felt her body tremble and he was lost, exploding inside her, filling her in quite another way.

  Delae had never felt so sated, so thoroughly eased. She smiled and sighed.

  In all her years, in that moment she knew true happiness for the first time, a peace and a joy that had always been denied her.

  More than content, Dorovan drew her against him, still inside her and quite pleased to be there. He opened his eyes.

  Now there was time for details.

  Her bedchamber was like her, small, warm and welcoming. There were touches of Delae here, dried sweet herbs in a bowl on the mantel that lent their scent to the room. Simple but brightly dyed draperies the color of sunset covered the windows, a small tapestry hung from on a wall.

  There was a sword behind her door. A simple but serviceable enough weapon.

  Studying it, puzzled, he asked with a nod of his head toward it, “Why do you have a sword behind your door?”

  With a small shrug, she said, “We live far from aid and there’s no one else. So it’s there… in case.”

  Delae didn’t mention it was there for other reasons, that one was enough.

  Lifting one elegant eyebrow, he asked - not unkindly, “Do you know how to use it?”

  Bemused, she looked at him in question.

  “I’m Swordmaster for my Enclave,” he said, “among other things.”

  She took a breath and smiled. “Ah.” She eyed him. “Will you teach me to use it better then?”

  Dorovan smiled, pleased. There were much worse ways to spend a day in the storm.

  “Yes.”

  It suited him too, that she would know how to defend herself properly.

  “After breakfast,” she said, delighted and ran on light bare feet to the door to peek around it and call, “Petra?”

  “Yes, lady?” A distant voice answered.

  “Breakfast in the great hall, please?” Delae asked. “I would ask to have Dorovan join me.”

  She well knew it was best if no one remarked that Dorovan had spent the night in her bed, therefore the subterfuge. Elves didn’t lie with the women of men, or so it was said. Intensely aware of his presence behind her, she couldn’t deny the thrill that went through her to know he was indeed there.

  “Yes, Lady,” came the reply.

  She was naked and completely unconcerned with it to Dorovan’s delight. Her body was lovely to look upon unclothed. She only drew on her nightdress and robe to breakfast in, her thick bouncy red hair bound back with a tie.

  Reaching out, Dorovan pulled the tie free to plunge his hands into the thick mass of it.

  “I like it free,” he said.

  A little startled, she looked up at him. No one else ever had.

  Her throat inexplicably tight, she said, “All right.”

  On the issue of shoes though, she wouldn’t bend, refusing to put any on no matter how cold the floors might be.

  The day outside was as gloomy and forbidding as Dorovan had feared. The wind rattled at the shutters and guttered the fire.

  Within though - with candles and the firelight to chase away the darkness and the worst of the chill and Delae’s bright hair another spark of brilliance - it was almost cozy.

  Breakfast was simple but good as well, oatmeal with dried fruit and nuts, with more of the thick rough bread.

  “All right,” he said. “To begin, we’ll use the fireplace poker.”

  “Why?” she asked. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

  Very gently, he said, “Because you would be very unhappy to find my blood all over your floor. There is nothing as dangerous as a beginner. They do unexpected things.”

  Just at the idea, her face blanched. “I would be very unhappy. Perhaps it would be good if we barred the other doors, also?”

  He nodded.

  It was no sacrifice to Delae to bar the door to the west wing of the quadrangle. . Petra and Hallis were likely cozied up in their own little room beside the fire. Her new guests in the east were likely still recovering from the ordeal during the night. She'd never felt so well rested and so well, so alive, in all her memory.

  She went to get the poker.

  Coming to stand behind her, gently, kindly, Dorovan changed her hold on it.

  “You’re learning something as a grown woman that children in the Enclaves learn when they are just old enough to take such instruction,” Dorovan said. “They too start with blunt weapons.”

  He taught her very basic moves, stripping off his tunic as it became too warm in the room from their exertions. Delae, still in her nightdress, had already cast off the hampering robe.

  To his pleasure she was an apt student and he was more than quick enough when she did make a mistake to check the poker before it did him any harm. He was a good teacher, never making her feel foolish.

  “Very good,” he said, although he was having difficulty concentrating now and then for the distraction of the sway of her breasts beneath the thin, well-worn material of her nightdress, for the flash of her leg beneath the skirts and for the swirl of her fiery hair. “Now, pay attention.”

  Taking up his shortsword, he walked through the motions of the strike he wanted her to make.

  Watching him, Delae had to make an effort to keep her attention on him. It was difficult to concentrate sometimes, for the beauty of his body as he moved distracted her - the sight of his muscles flexing and tightening. Both of them were sweating with exertion and his skin gleamed with it - the scent of him was rich in the air.

  Her body heated and tightened.

  “I’m sorry, Dorovan,” she said, distracted and fighting it, “please show me again.”

  He caught both the gleam and diversion in her eyes, but he also saw her effort to concentrate.

  The thought
that his body sidetracked her had its pleasures.

  She took the position he wanted as he took up both swords and when he nodded she came at him, the ‘sword’ flashing in the correct sequence.

  It was maddening to watch, her lustrous hair swirled and bounced over her slender shoulders.

  With one swift move Dorovan sheathed his swords and ducked beneath the poker to catch her around the waist, driving her back against the wall.

  There was no effective move Delae could use to counter him that wouldn’t hurt him and then she found she didn’t want to. The poker clattered to the floor as he tugged the neck of her nightdress down to her waist to devour her breasts. His hands raced over her slick skin as her own skimmed up over his ribs.

  In an instant her hands were buried in the long, silky length of his hair as he feasted on her, each tug and pull of his mouth sending a rush of heat through her.

  To Dorovan she tasted of salt and Delae. She gasped, her hands in his hair as he devoured her, her nipple between his lips, against his tongue. It was hard in an instant. As was he.

  Desperate to have her he drew the nightdress up, slid his hand between her thighs to find her hot, damp and so tight. He slid his fingers inside her and she moaned.

  “Please, Dorovan,” she cried.

  Need was a bright flash of heat and passion.

  In one smooth motion he lowered her to the floor as her thighs opened to him and he took her there, plunging into her as her hips pumped to take him, soft cries of pleasure escaping her as she arched and writhed beneath him. Each motion only fired him more as she clung to him, pulsed around him. He came with a cry and his seed poured into her as she followed him into exaltation.

  Both of them were laughing as he looked down at her and she looked up at him, careful not to laugh so hard he left her.

  “The pommel of a sword here, here or here,” he said, softly, indicating the top of his head, the shoulders and then back of his neck, “will incapacitate anyone who tries such a move.”

  “Ah,” she said, her eyes lighting up as she wriggled a little underneath him.

  “That,” he said, clearing his throat, “will drive your instructor mad.”

  She was clearly delighted at the idea.

  It was as if she were a virgin and he was lessoning her not just in swordplay, but the pleasures of the body. Dorovan was more than glad to be her teacher in both. Though she didn’t know it, the joining of their friend of the heart bond had shown him much - what he didn’t see, he surmised. She might as well have been a widow for how she lived.

  Looking at the threadbare carpets, her simple and much patched clothing, he knew what she struggled with daily and railed against the fate that had set her there…and blessed it for what they could give each other.

  Supper was as simple as all the meals had been, a thick stew supplemented with cheese and wine.

  Afterward, he helped her fill the bath with water from the great oaken cask filled from the cistern on the roof over the kitchens and heated by the fire there.

  It seemed to Delae that she couldn’t get enough of him. She was like a child with a new toy. He was such a delight to play with and she was so grateful for it. She was fascinated with him – with touching him – her gaze going to his face and back again as she stroked and played with him.

  These moments alone were enough.

  Curled in the bath, they explored each other slowly.

  Dorovan couldn’t find it in himself to complain. If he taught her pleasure, she taught him delight. Until he couldn’t stand it and grasped her hands to still them, and she rose from the water to sink down on him, taking him deeply inside, riding him. Her tongue traced the sensitive curve of his ear and he moaned. Sucking, nibbling and biting, she drove him wild until he fastened his mouth on her breast. She came suddenly and fiercely, her hips bucking and he filled her, erupting into her as his hands dropped to her waist to keep her firmly impaled.

  Chapter Four

  Outside the storm showed no signs of abating, after several days it seemed only to have intensified. The wind rattled violently against the shutters, making the room seem all the more cozy, all the closer but not in an unpleasant way. Delae was like a travel stove, her small lush body radiating heat. Dorovan found himself content for the first time in years.

  Those of Talaena would think he’d stayed in the North, while those in the North thought he was safe in Talaena. No one would worry. With the weather what it was, it was likely he wouldn’t be needed. Even the Borderland creatures would be hampered by the thick slushy mud and little inclined to chance such weather.

  He couldn’t stay here forever, however much he wished it though - his Enclave called to him and he had his responsibilities there.

  With a sigh, in an eerie echo of his own thoughts, Delae said, “I should spend some little time with my other guests.”

  Shifting, Dorovan moved within her, making her smile.

  “You are most persuasive, my Lord Dorovan,” she said, amused, “but I have my duty.”

  He understood duty and smiled. “So you do, friend-of-my-heart. There is always later.”

  Until the storm abated… Such time was precious.

  Neither spoke of it.

  Delae wouldn’t think about it - instead she dropped a kiss to his beautiful mouth.

  He was such a wonder to her.

  If these days were all she could claim she would be grateful for them.

  “Put some shoes on,” he exclaimed as she rolled from the bed to pull on a simple dress, plain but serviceable, appropriate to visiting her guests.

  Laughing, she shook her head at him and darted out into the hall, shoeless as always despite the chill of the floors.

  “I’ll have Petra will fetch you breakfast,” she called.

  Shaking his head, he followed her instead, pulling on trews to stand in the shadows of the arch to the east hall to watch her as she made her way down the passage, peering into the open doorways.

  It was hardly the first time she’d visited with them and it was as if she were a magnet for the children, they poured out of the doorways at the sight of her, or clung to them to look out at her shyly.

  Bold or shy, she had a gift with them. She coaxed the timid ones out gently, laughing with the others - her flaming hair a bright beacon in the dim light.

  Leaning a shoulder against the doorway, keeping to the shadows, Dorovan watched.

  Few of his folk knew much of the ways of men, they kept apart from them. An Agreement had been finally been forged between Elves, Dwarves and Men, but agreements like it had been signed before and it was always men who’d broken faith with them. This one, though - brokered by Elon of Aerilann - seemed to be holding as those in the past had not, but it had been only twenty years or so as men measured such things. Longer than those other treaties, but only a fraction of time for his long-lived folk.

  Delae gave space to those who needed it but they watched her as she dandled the babies on her knee, inquiring after Forman, exclaiming over the splint on the arm of the girl who’d had it broken.

  When she settled on a bench the children swarmed over her and her delight in them was obvious. She answered each question as they crawled over her or hung on her, one little girl with her hands on Delae’s knee, her bright eyes staring up at her as another played with her bright hair.

  Dorovan watched from the shadows, his throat tight. His own folk had few children and so prized them for the precious lives they were. It was clear Delae longed for a child and that she would be a good mother to them. He would never understand this thing of men. How could a man choose dice and wine over such joy?

  A soft voice beside him said, “She’s good with them, ain’t she, my lord? She should have a dozen little ones around her knees.”

  Startled, a little alarmed, Dorovan looked down to see ancient Petra standing beside him. Few approached him - he and Delae had taken pains not to make it obvious he shared her bed.

  The old woman was more than tiny;
bent, her aging joints were twisted, her hands gnarled. No Elf ever showed such age, though they lived generations longer than men. For her sake he would’ve been happy to have the gift of Healing, if only to ease the pain he sensed in her.

  “Have no fear, my Lord Dorovan,” the old woman said, “and the title is because you deserve it for making my mistress laugh as is her nature to do.”

  Dorovan’s protest died on his lips. His folk cared little for titles and used only one - first among equals.

  “There’s none here that will speak of you, for her sake,” Petra said. “She could leave us. There’s a dozen households would take her for her skill with a needle alone and none fault her for going but then what would become of us?”

  Her fear was clear. And her shame.

  “And so she stays. For us. Whatever you can give her of joy; it’s our gift to her for staying. Poor wee girl. She should have a dozen little ones around her. And thank the gods for her, though it shames me to do it. None of us will betray you, sir.”

  It was a danger to him just being here so long and Dorovan had worried about it, as much as his folk did. There were many among men who would find a solitary Elf a target for their unreasoning hate. And Delae for offering it. His people traveled carefully, keeping to the back byways where they could. Nor could Dorovan ignore the risk Delae faced in giving him shelter either.

  There was more danger still in their relationship.

  Even among his folk such a thing was impermissible, while to the Dwarves it was nearly anathema. Among men…?

  Petra with her words offered him and his friend-of-the-heart some measure of protection. A sorely needed refuge. For both he and Delae.

  Taking a breath, Petra said, “What would you for breakfast, my lord? There’s oats and then there’s oats. Perhaps an egg or two?”

  With a small chuckle Dorovan said, “I think I’ll have the oats, then.”

  Tiny Petra smiled. “I’ll get bowls for you both. Do you like honey my lord? We have our own bees.”

  “I do,” Dorovan said.

  “Then you’ll have honey with your bread.”