He was fumbling with his clothes when he heard a whispering voice, low, vibrant and unearthly. Along with it came a cool breeze, gently ruffling the hair along his neck. Maelgwn looked up, sensing another presence in the cave. The lamplight cast strange shadows over the uneven rock walls, and the flames flickered wildly in the slight draft from the cave entrance, but there was nothing there.
He looked down at Rhiannon again. Her face had changed. Her eyes were half-closed and far away. He had a panicky thought that she was leaving him, and he leaned down to kiss her, hard. Her lips burned him. Something burned him below, too—an incessant need that blotted out all his other thoughts. He lowered his mouth to suckle Rhiannon's breasts. They were fuller than he remembered, and as he sucked the velvety nipples, they seemed to swell, filling his mouth with the sweetness of milk.
The Goddess, Maelgwn thought with hazy surprise. She who feeds and nourishes all life. He drank the milk eagerly, feeling it fill his belly and seep into his veins, making him warm and strong.
His hand moved down to Rhiannon's smooth stomach, and it also seemed to swell. It grew firm and rounded, and he caressed it in awe, feeling the young life growing beneath the taut skin. The Goddess—he thought again— She who gives birth to all things.
He jerked back, struggling to see by the flickering lamplight. It was only Rhiannon he held, her delicate body stretched out beneath him. She sighed slightly at his touch, and Maelgwn wondered if she felt the strange things he did.
Her eyelids fluttered and she reached for him, her fingers closing around his erection. Maelgwn gasped. The sensation was almost painful. He had never felt so aroused; he was near to bursting. He spread Rhiannon's legs and pushed his fingers inside her. Warm liquid soaked his fingers. He opened his eyes and stared at the glittering fluid. What was it—moonlight, sea water, some magic nectar? He bent to place his mouth on the moist, rosy opening between Rhiannon's legs for a taste. The stuff was sweet and filling, but like nothing he had ever experienced. The Goddess, his mind prompted him. She feeds all creatures with Her bounty.
He had no time to dwell on the wonder of it. Rhiannon touched him again, and he seemed to grow enormous in her delicate fingers. Maelgwn groaned with excitement. Never had he felt so virile and potent. His testicles were aching and swollen, bursting with his seed. He could wait no longer. With one swift movement, he entered Rhiannon, his body exploding with sensation as he sheathed himself inside her. He felt himself changing, his form altering, distorted by the ecstasy, the magic of their coupling. He was a stallion, thundering with his mare, her flanks heaving beneath him. Then a fox, his cock sharp and pointed, his teeth ripping into a vixen as she screamed her pleasure. Then a wildcat, all claws and liquid muscles, locked in passion with a lovely she-cat. Or a stag, his massive head held proudly as he mounted a trembling doe.
His body changed and swelled. He was every male, flushed with the savage heat of procreation, the terrible aching drive to beget life. And Rhiannon was every female thing, soft and wet and welcoming.
Only gradually did he become a man again. His explosive lust slipped away. He felt chilled and empty—and afraid. He saw himself from a distance, his naked body sheltered by the solidity of the cave. His flesh was nothing compared to the ancient walls of rock, enduring silently for a hundred generations, or the sea, pounding against the cliffs, eating them away grain by grain. He was frail, insignificant. Someday he would die, his body rot to slime, then dusty bones. Nothing would be left of him.
Fear choked his throat, and he pressed against Rhiannon desperately, seeking her warmth to chase away his cold, empty visions. She moaned beneath him, and his fiery passion returned. He turned her over and entered her from behind, cupping her swollen woman's flesh as he drove into her, rubbing his face in her long hair. He was joined with her, her body becoming one with his. He wanted to love her forever, to merge her soul with his own. He would bury himself in her dreams, as he buried his body within hers now.
He neared climax, and the cave walls began to twist and turn all around him. The rock floor trembled beneath them. There was a shower of stars illuminating the cave, far, far into the darkness. Then there was a bright light, so intense he squeezed his eyes shut in agony.
And then there was nothing.
Chapter 27
Rhiannon shuddered as she turned away from Maelgwn's unconscious form. He looked so pale and vulnerable lying there. She had bunched up his clothes to make a pillow for his head, and she had covered him with his cloak, but she still worried that he would wake up wretchedly cold and stiff.
With swift, silent movements, she quenched the sputtering lamp, then crept from the cave. Outside it was daylight, and she hastened down the beach, glancing behind occasionally to make sure no one saw her. At the far end of the beach, Ceinwen waited for her beside his boat. She rushed toward him, nearly falling into his arms in relief.
"Rhiannon, are you well?" Ceinwen asked harshly. "Did the king hurt you? It looks as if you are limping."
Rhiannon shook her head. She was sore and exhausted, but she would not tell Ceinwen that. He might mistake Maelgwn's strenuous lovemaking for abuse.
The fisherman helped her into the boat. When he had cast off and they were at sea, away from open beach, she spoke in a hesitant voice. "Maelgwn's still asleep in the cave. I left some of his clothes outside the cave, as a marker of sorts. Will they find him, do you think?"
Ceinwen gave her a startled look, then lowered his eyes. "You still worry about him, rather than yourself. Perhaps it is as Arianhrodd says, you are meant to return to the king, that the Goddess wills it."
Rhiannon shook her head. "Nay. I have obeyed the Goddess this time, but She cannot ask more of me."
Ceinwen watched her curiously. She pretended not to see his puzzled look. She could not explain her decision. Her whole being was still on fire with the magic of Maelgwn's lovemaking. Despite her fatigue and the tremors of cold and weakness that racked her body, she felt light, buoyant, whole. Lying with Maelgwn had been everything she remembered and more.
Perhaps that was what frightened her. It was too good, too wonderful. She had known that kind of happiness before, and it had not lasted. It was impossible to forget how swiftly Maelgwn's love turned to hate, how abruptly and cruelly her hopes had died. She would not make that mistake again; she would not return to Maelgwn as his wife. Even the Goddess could not demand that of her.
Maelgwn shifted in the bed, trying to relieve the cramping in his legs.
"He stirs! He's waking!" The familiar voice was resonant with joy. Maelgwn opened his eyes, curious to see what could make Balyn so delighted. He found himself in his bedchamber. Balyn stood beside the bed, watching him intently. The look of total exhaustion on his friend's face drew a startled gasp from Maelgwn's lips. "By the gods, what happened to you?"
"Me?" Balyn asked incredulously. "I find you naked and half-dead in a cave and you ask what happened to me?"
The pieces shifted and sought each other in Maelgwn's mind. He remembered taking the drug and going to the beach. After that came wild, startling images. His forced his attention back to Balyn. "You look exhausted. How long since you found me?"
"The day before yesterday."
Maelgwn grimaced. The drug was powerful. Had he really slept two full days?
"Well?" Balyn's voice was hesitant, tinged with dread. "Did you see her? Did you meet with Rhiannon's spirit?"
The memories came to Maelgwn from a long distance, a different time and place, almost a different world. It was like being a child and learning to speak again. The things he had experienced were so primitive and elemental they could scarcely be described.
As he shaped the images into coherent memories, violent emotions washed over him. He felt the wonder, the nearly unbearable awe of seeing Rhiannon again and holding her in his arms. Then came his strange, mindless passion, the blinding urge to mate with her, to fill her womb. He recalled taking her to the cave, lighting the lamp, kissing and caressing her. Such st
range loving it was. Not merely her body and his joining, but some confusion of senses that made him think they were a pair of rutting animals.
The remembered images jarred him, and he struggled to reduce them to something he could understand. He recalled Rhiannon beneath him, urging him on. She had reached for him, stroked his shaft, arched her body to receive him. But, nay! Was not it the Goddess Herself who cried and moaned Her divine pleasure and made the solid rock walls quiver and shimmer with motion and light?
He stiffened, shocked by the memory. Balyn met his eyes, clearly disturbed.
"Maelgwn, what is it?"
"I... I dreamed I mated with the Goddess Herself."
Balyn went dead white. He brought his hand up in an ancient sign of protection, completely forgetting in his dread that he was a Christian. "I warned you," he whispered. "I warned you what would come of this."
Maelgwn slowly shook his head. "Nay, it was not something to be feared. Nothing like that. Merely strange... and confusing."
"She's bewitched you," Balyn moaned. He ran his thick fingers over his sweaty face. "That woman, the priestess, she drugged you... stole your soul."
Maelgwn laughed abruptly. "I'd forgotten how much this sort of thing terrifies you. It was not awful, Balyn. Really. I would not like it to be like that every time, but, mind you, it was not awful. It was..." A caressing breeze seemed to lightly touch his neck. "For a time I felt a part of everything—the earth, the ocean, the sky. I suppose you could compare the Goddess's power to a flame or a great wave rushing through you. Afterwards, I felt empty, lifeless. But Rhiannon was there for me, so soft and sweet..." Maelgwn's body warmed at the memory, and he was suddenly astounded by the realization that Rhiannon was alive.
"It's true," he whispered. "I didn't dream that part." He met Balyn's alarmed gaze. "Rhiannon lives. I held her in my arms. I loved her."
"It was only a dream. You said so yourself."
"The Goddess—she was something in a dream, or a trance... But Rhiannon, nay, I did not dream her."
"Of course you did. Every man has wakened at one time or another to find his blankets damp with spew, his arms clutching the bedclothes like a lover. It was no more than that."
Maelgwn considered silently. The drug was powerful enough to make him sleep for days. Had it also given him visions of what he most wished for? He dismissed the thought. Even if his mind had been disordered, his body could not lie. Two days had passed, and still it hummed with the unmistakable warmth of pleasure deeply satisfied. No wet dream could make a man feel as he did now. The memory of Rhiannon's body was still on his fingertips. Her moans still echoed in his ears. Against all reason, he knew his wife was alive.
It was a mild day. The air seemed quiet and humid with a lethargy that was almost summerlike. By the time Maelgwn had ridden half the distance to Arianhrodd's hut, his face was damp with sweat and the heavy wool of his winter tunic stuck uncomfortably to his back and chest. He fought to ignore the fatigue that radiated through his limbs. The drug and the long hours in the cold cave had weakened him more than he wanted to admit. But he could not afford to rest; he had delayed too long already. Two days had passed since he had met Rhiannon on the beach. By now she might have disappeared again.
He urged Cynraith faster, goaded by a sense of panic. The serene feeling he experienced on first wakening was long gone. Even as he enjoyed the memory of holding Rhiannon in his arms and loving her, he confronted the fact that she had vanished again, leaving him with nothing, no proof that their coupling had been anything more than a vivid dream. The languorous satisfaction in his loins faded, leaving him empty and yearning, doubting his memories. There was only one person besides Rhiannon who could prove his memories were true. He intended to find her and speak with her, before she vanished as well.
Arianhrodd was drying fish in the sun when he rode up. She stood up as she saw him, her face expressionless. He dismounted and looked down on her. "So, Maelgwn the Great," she said, "did the Goddess send you your ladylove?"
Her voice was smooth and faintly mocking. Maelgwn felt his anger rising. How lightly this woman spoke of things which meant so much to him!
"Aye, Rhiannon came to me. Not her spirit, but the woman herself."
"You believe she is alive?"
Maelgwn's anger overflowed, and he approached Arianhrodd threateningly. "You lied. Rhiannon is not dead." He jerked his head toward the small hut not far from where they stood. "I have half a mind to tear this place apart piece by piece until I find her."
"You speak as if Rhiannon were a possession of yours that you have come to claim." Arianhrodd's voice was soft, but cool and warning. "In the eyes of the Goddess, Rhiannon is not your servant or slave, but a free woman who chooses her own destiny. She comes and goes as she pleases—and it seems she is not ready to return to you."
Maelgwn stepped back, abashed. Arianhrodd was right. He did often consider Rhiannon a possession. A beloved possession, but nevertheless, something he owned or had a claim upon.
"You've spoken to her?" he asked in a more reasonable tone. "She's told you she doesn't wish to return to Degannwy?"
Arianhrodd gave a slight shrug and gestured to the open beach. "Rhiannon is not being held against her will. If she wished to see you or return to Degannwy, she could do so at any time."
The harsh truth of Arianhrodd's words struck Maelgwn like a blow, igniting a terrible dread inside him. What if Rhiannon was alive, but he had lost her anyway? The thought so horrified him, he reacted with fierce, defensive anger. He took another menacing step toward Arianhrodd. "You tricked me, manipulated me!"
Arianhrodd stood her ground, gazing up at him with calm, intent eyes. "A trick, Maelgwn? Can you deny you felt the Goddess's power? Can you deny you experienced something extraordinary?"
"I have no desire to know the Goddess's mysteries. I only want Rhiannon back."
"Can you not guess the two things might be connected?"
A tremor of anxiety moved down Maelgwn's spine as he stared at the small, dark-featured woman before him. A part of him feared Arianhrodd and the power she represented. As he met her implacable gaze, he reminded himself that she was merely a woman, and a poor, insignificant one at that. Her jet-dark eyes bored into his, reaching inside him. For a moment he felt her power, a warm, peaceful energy that made his flesh tingle.
He forced the warmth away. Pushing past Arianhrodd, he headed directly for the small hut behind her. He crouched down to enter the low doorway. Inside, he blinked, struggling to see. Across the smoldering fire and clutter of the small dwelling, he saw Rhiannon. She stood at a loom, as if she had been weaving. Her wide, startled eyes met his. Maelgwn held his breath, afraid she would vanish if he tried to touch her.
She wore the short, coarsely woven gown he vaguely remembered her removing in the cave. Her hair was plaited into two long braids that fell across her shoulders. Otherwise, she looked the same—delicate, fragile, impossibly lovely.
He wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms, to feel the substance of her body, the heat of her flesh. Something held him back. Her eyes were cautious, wary. There was something different in her expression, a determination he had never seen before.
"Rhiannon... I..." He meant to say that he had come for her. The words died on his lips. "You're alive," he finally said. "I didn't dream it."
Rhiannon nodded almost imperceptibly. He had the sense she had prepared for this moment.
He swallowed, utterly at loss for words. "I... we... I thought you were dead. Drowned. What happened? Where did you go?"
"Ceinwen—a fisherman—found me on the beach and brought me here."
He nodded. Such a simple explanation, but still, somehow miraculous.
"The Goddess led Ceinwen to me, or I surely would have perished." Rhiannon's eyes seemed lit by a strange fire. "Perhaps now you will understand how much I owe Her."
Maelgwn shifted uncomfortably. The Goddess stood between him and Rhiannon. He resented Her interference; he wanted things
to be as they had been before this strange deity had involved Herself in their lives. "What does the Goddess...?" Maelgwn gestured awkwardly. "What does She have to do with me? With us?"
Rhiannon turned away; Maelgwn could feel her spirit leaving him. He tried to maneuver around the fire to reach her and he hit his head on a basket hanging from the ceiling. Feeling big and clumsy, he got down on his knees and half crawled the last few steps to Rhiannon's side. She would not look at him.
"Please, Rhiannon, tell me, what does the Goddess have to do with us?" He wanted to touch her, but some instinct held him back. If he reached for her, he was afraid she would flinch. He could not bear that.
At last, she looked at him. He felt himself captured in her mystical gaze like a fish in a net. "My place is here, Maelgwn. I can't return to Degannwy."
"Why not?"
"I don't belong there."
"Of course you do!" His heart began to pound. Was Arianhrodd right? Would Rhiannon really refuse to return to him?
Rhiannon shook her head. "If I went back, I would be called a witch, an enchantress. Your people believe I am dead. If I returned now, they would regard me with awe and dread."
Maelgwn exploded. "How can you imagine I care what they think of you? I would make them accept you!"
"You cannot bend men's hearts to your will, Maelgwn. You can make them follow you to their death in battle, but you cannot banish their fear of the other side." She shook her head again. "It would not work. Their fear of me might taint their faith in you. I would not have you lose the kingdom you have fought so hard for—because of me."
"My God, Rhiannon, don't you know that means nothing to me? If I can't have you, ruling Gwynedd is meaningless." A deep despair filled him. He meant his words. Even his dream of uniting the Cymry could not compare to the sense of completion and peace he had known with Rhiannon. He must make her understand. He grabbed Rhiannon's hips and jerked her to him. Before she could protest, he lifted the hem of her gown and placed his fingers on the angry red scar on her thigh.
Dragon's Dream Page 29
