Goddess of Legend gs-7

by P. C. Cast

  He held his arms up, and she pulled it over his head and off, tossing it aside.

  “And next would be what I can only consider a turtleneck, but I am certain you have another name for it.”

  “I am certain I do, however, for the life of me, Isabel, I could not name it if you placed a dagger to my throat.”

  “No chance of that.”

  She removed his undergarment, leaving him naked from the waist up.

  “Oh, Arthur,” she breathed, tracing the scars across his body.

  “I am so sorry,” he said.

  “No! Do not apologize. The beauty of these is that you fought and won.”

  “Or merely survived,” he breathed.

  Her lips moved over his body, and he knew not how to stop her. He did not want to stop her. Yet he was dying to get his turn on hers. “You are killing me, Isabel,” he said.

  “So I am actually killing a king? There must be a terrible punishment for that.”

  “I cannot begin to tell you how severe if you do not let me touch you,” Arthur managed to say.

  “I am quaking in my knickers,” she said. “Now, please tell me how to make you naked from the waist down.”

  “If I admit the secret, may I please, please touch you?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is something called a belt. It is a manly way of saying laces of sorts.”

  Isabel giggled. “Found your belt, King Arthur.”

  “’Tis way beyond time you did, Countess.”

  He felt the belt give way, and his leggings loosen around his hips. Isabel slipped lower, as did the material around his legs.

  She forced one leg up and his clothing off. Then drove him near to mad as she kissed her way up his naked ankle to his calf to his thigh. Her soft hand followed, but inside his thigh. She stopped afore his privates. Unfortunately.

  “Take off the other half, please, Arthur.”

  “I am taking off everything, yet you are not allowing me to help you do the same.”

  “I have learned the tricks of your clothing. Once again, I wager it will take you more than mere moments to figure the workings of mine.”

  Arthur kicked aside his clothing and had no trouble making Isabel naked in seconds. She did not look displeased at losing the wager as he once again picked her up and set her on the bed.

  “I have needed this, needed you, from our first moment, Isabel. Had I my druthers, I would have attempted to seduce you that first moment in the woods.”

  “Please just allow me to explore you.”

  Arthur laughed, even as he pulled her up and into his arms. “How much more exploration do you want?”

  “Years.”

  “That sounds wonderful. However, ’tis my turn.”

  His fingers trailed up and down, from the side of her breast to her hip and up again. “You are so soft. I wish my hands were not so rough.”

  “I love your hands, Arthur.”

  He leaned over and took her breast in his mouth, suckling and licking her oh-so-sensitive nipple. Isabel cried out, arching upward. The sensation radiated all the way down and nearly exploded between her legs.

  His tongue ran slowly one more time over her breast, and then his mouth returned to hers, kissing her as his hand traveled down over her belly, and then lower. Those rough fingers explored her, spreading her lower lips apart, and gently caressing her.

  “Oh, dear gods,” she said as an orgasm shook through her. Her entire body shuddered. He held her close, still stroking her until he’d managed to wring every ounce of shattering ecstasy out of her.

  He raised his head and smiled down at her, his green eyes heavy but sparkling. “Oh, lady, the gods created you for loving. You are so sweet and wet and beautiful in your . . . your ...”

  “Happiness,” she finished for him.

  She grabbed his arm, pulled him over and down onto his back. “I very much want to give you happiness,” she said.

  “I am already . . . oh, gods, Isabel,” he said as she slipped lower and took him into her mouth. “Please, I do not want to be anywhere but inside you, part of you, when I find this . . . oh . . . this happiness. Please.”

  Isabel lifted her head but continued to stroke his penis. “I want your happiness any way you want it.”

  He choked with laughter. “Hey, you, please do this,” he said, then rolled her to her back.

  “Do what, my lord?” she asked.

  “Spread yourself for me. Allow me entrance.”

  “You had but to ask.”

  He kneeled between her legs, again stroking her into a near frenzy. “I will not hurt you?” he asked.

  “You will if you stop.”

  He laid overtop her and kissed her. Then slowly, way too slowly, he entered her.

  She took his face in her hands. “Arthur, it feels so good. Please, it does not hurt. Do not hesitate.”

  His eyes squeezed shut, then he began to move inside her. Still slowly, but so steady, and Isabel realized in her fog of frenzy he was trying to prolong the exquisite agony.

  But she was going to come again, and soon. She grabbed his hips, pushing against his body, needing to feel it all over again, although in a totally different way. “Please, Arthur. I need this.”

  The floodgates opened. He pushed into her harder and faster. She felt his body tense beneath her fingers before he looked at her and said, “I am so in love with you, Isabel.” His orgasm hit the inside of her like an internal bomb. As she felt his semen hit the innermost parts of her, she, too, came.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ’TWAS almost dawn afore Arthur reluctantly left Isabel. He did so only after she had demanded he had need to go do “you, do this, and, you, do that,” kingly stuff.

  He was still smiling as he entered the outer quarters of the royal chambers where he had laid his head for days now.

  He stopped short when he saw Gwen, perched upon his furs.

  “Late night, Arthur?”

  “It appears that you are feeling much better, Gwen. I am very glad.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Why in the world would it matter to you?”

  “You are my husband. I am entitled to know where my husband has been.”

  He stepped farther into the room, finding himself angry that she would ruin his exhilaration over the night he’d just had. He had so hoped to climb into bed and relive the memories over and over until slumber overtook him.

  “I believe that you have lost the right to even inquire, Gwen. But since you ask, I fell asleep elsewhere.”

  ’Twas the truth. In between lovemaking, both he and Isabel had dozed, only to have one or the other awake to have the other kissing and fondling, until they would make love again.

  “You were with another,” Gwen said.

  “Gwen, your hypocrisy astounds me.”

  “I am still your wife, Arthur. And still the queen.”

  “By my grace only, if you need that reminder.”

  She stood, and Arthur looked at her, trying to remember the last time he had wanted her. It was a sad fact that he could not. She was a beautiful woman to be sure, small of stature with a slight frame. She had a flirtatious smile that he one time found enchanting.

  Yet right now she appeared pale, and her eyes so accusing, almost mean.

  “It is your precious countess, is it not?”

  “First of all, she is not mine, unfortunately, but precious works. And second, you lost all rights to ask questions of me many moons ago. Go back to your own bed, Gwen. This is mine, and I desperately want an hour of sleep afore I wake to start the day.”

  She stepped forward. “Arthur, I am so sorry. I made a grave error. But now I am ready and willing for the two of us to renew what we had.”

  “You will toss Lance aside so easily?”

  “You, my husband, are my first priority.”

  Arthur could not believe the disgust that had him almost heaving.

  “Do you not understand,” he asked her, “how mu
ch Lance loves you? We found him at your trysting cabin, tearing and shredding those mushrooms that made you ill. He was torn apart. Has he been just a toy to you? Do you not care at all?”

  She looked defeated. “Yea, Arthur, I care very much.”

  “Then why this pretense? I have already promised you I will not expose your love for him. I still care enough for you to protect you.”

  She shook her head. “I trusted, Arthur, that you would also stay true to me, no matter. I was always certain of your fidelity.”

  Arthur nearly gaped at her. “Do you hear yourself? Do you even listen to yourself? I am protecting your infidelity, even allowing it for your happiness and Lance’s, and yet you accuse me of wrongdoing should I happen to . . . consider another?”

  “You are my husband!” she said.

  He honestly could not believe this conversation. He wished, so much, to puzzle through it with Isabel. She would have a wise answer. Or maybe, as he had come to learn, a smart-ass one. It did not matter. He just already ached for Isabel’s advice, her laughter and, heaven help him, her lovemaking. Even as she had already depleted whate’er he had in him, he felt it already filling again.

  “Gwen, you are making little sense. Perhaps you would be better off in your own bed.”

  “Come with me.”

  The thought of that repulsed him. “You would lie with me not long after your time with Lance?”

  “I ask only that you hold me, Arthur.”

  “Perhaps, my wife, we have a failure of communication.” He stopped, wondering where he had heard that afore. He shook his head. “Should you need holding, I will have a man bring Lance to your bed. I have no desire to do so. However, I am very happy that you are looking and feeling better.”

  “Your countess hurt me!” she said, as he was heading out the door.

  That stopped him. “Once again, she is not my countess. How, pray tell, did she hurt you?”

  “My chest and midsection hurt. I am told that she was pounding on me. I believe she should at least be punished for assaulting me.”

  Arthur stared, wondering who the hell this woman was. “Thank the gods Isabel pounded on you, Gwen. She did that saving your life. Were it not for her ‘pounding’ as you call it, we would be holding services as we dropped you into the ground.”

  “I am your wife,” she said as she stalked from the room.

  “So you have said,” he retorted. “Over and over and over again. It means nothing any longer.”

  * * *

  ISABEL was having the most glorious dream. One where Arthur slipped into bed beside her and snuggled up against her.

  Then she felt a hand cover her breast and she shot straight up.

  “Get your hands off me and away from me before I neuter you, you—”

  “’Tis me, Isabel,” she heard. “And trust that I would have to fight off that neutering thing.”

  She shoved her hair out of her eyes. “Arthur?”

  “Yes, Countess.”

  The dim light from the smoldering embers in the fireplace gave her too little illumination. It sounded like Arthur, but to be certain, she asked, “What kind of kingly thing are you performing now?”

  “Saying, ‘Hey, you, do this. Lie back down with me without any neutering.’ ”

  She tried to shake off the fog. “Why are you being kingly at this hour, Arthur?”

  “I needed to catch you in between your countessing.”

  She laughed, then slipped back down into the bed. “Seriously, what are you doing back here?”

  He scooped her body, his arm draped over her waist. “I had a desperate need to be with you.”

  “Arthur, I cannot even imagine more lovemaking. I’ll be lucky if I can walk tomorrow.”

  “No lovemaking. I swear. I will be lucky if I can hold up a sword. Just loving. I needed the feel of you.”

  She heard the catch in his voice and wiggled her way around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  He pushed her hair from her face, then kissed her brow. “Who is to say that something is wrong? Can a man not just want to be with the woman he loves?”

  She frowned, although she doubted he’d be able to see it. “Remember that conversation we had earlier about honesty? Truth?”

  She felt his chest heave slightly. “Yea, I do. You would have to invoke that at this time.”

  “I invoke it, King Arthur, every single time.”

  “And should I, perhaps, invoke an ‘I care not to talk about it right now’?”

  “It would be so unkingly.”

  His chest rumbled with laughter. “How so, Countess?”

  “Because kings face troubles head-on. They do not avoid them by slipping in bed with countesses, who are busy not doing countess things.”

  “What were you busy doing?”

  “Dreaming about kingly things.”

  “Good dreams?”

  “You are avoiding the question, and that is so very unkingly.”

  “You are not naked enough, and that is so uncountessy.”

  She pulled away from his embrace and sat up. “Arthur. What is it?”

  He sat up as well, brushing his hands through his hair. Al least she thought so. The lighting was a little iffy.

  “When I returned to my bedchamber, Gwen was waiting for me.”

  “Oh, good! She’s feeling better.”

  “I suppose that depends on your perspective.”

  “Oh, bad. That sounds bad,” Isabel said, reaching over to the cup of mint by her bed and grabbing a fingerful.

  “She believes I am having an affair.”

  Isabel sighed. “Yo, Arthur, you are in my bed.”

  “She wants us to reunite.”

  Isabel didn’t know how a truly broken heart felt until that very moment. “Oh, I see.” She tried to gather her senses, which had scattered to the winds. “Well, then, I guess that’s that. I wish you well. Now get the hell out of my bed.”

  Arthur leaned over and scratched something over something and suddenly the candle beside her bed came to life.

  It wasn’t University of Oklahoma stadium-light illumination, but they were able to see each other.

  “Please, Arthur, go back to your wife.”

  “Do you honestly believe I would be here if that had been my choice?”

  “I’m guessing that you came to tell me the news.”

  “I climbed into your bed to say good-bye?”

  “Well, that was kind of weird, but I can believe it. You have a sweet heart.”

  “Oh, Isabel, do you truly think that of me?”

  “Arthur, I no longer know what to think of anything. You have been in love with Gwen for so long.”

  He stood up. “I came to tell you, nay, show you how I feel. You did not even give me the chance to finish. You wrote the ending to this story afore I could fully explain.”

  “Arthur.”

  He shook his head as he moved to the door. “No, Isabel. I came here for help and guidance and comfort. Instead you handed me judgment. I am so sick of this.” He turned and looked at her. “I was here because you were my choice. There was no question or doubt. Minutes ago I would have given my life for you. I am such a fool. Not very kingly, is it?”

  “Arthur.”

  “Sleep well, Countess.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “WE must do something,” Mary whispered to James. “There is something terribly wrong with my lady. She is teaching us this CPR thing and demanding we be allowed to have what she calls recess each day, but she is very much not herself.”

  “And my lord,” James said. “He is working us harder than e’er, and his temper is short. We are mostly afraid to utter a word, when afore he asked us to speak up at all times. I have ne’er seen him slice through anything set before him as he does now.”

  “We must formulate a plan,” Mary said.

  “Yes. Yet I cannot think of one.”

  “Leave it to me, James. But I will need your assistance to put it in play.”
>
  James smiled at his bride-to-be. “I love you so much, Mary. I cannot wait to make you my bride.”

  She grinned back at him. “And I cannot wait to call you husband. But if our vows are to be perfect, we must needs fix this rift between the king and the countess. They are standing up for us.”

  “Yes.”

  Mary suddenly jumped up and James caught her. “What?”

  “Our vows! Our vows! The king is an honorable man and the countess is such a priceless lady. Our vows!”

  “I am sorry if I am not quite following your logic, Mary.”

  “No need. I will let you know what needs be done when I have it all in place.”

  “I trust that you will.” He held her close, but not too hard. He had once hugged her so tightly that she had cried out. ’Twould never, ever happen again. “We will be happy together. This I do vow.”

  She laid her head into his neck. “We have a very long lifetime for you to continue to prove it true.”

  “I very much look forward to it.”

  As the days passed, there was progress, although, it seemed, not with Gwen. She laid abed and had continuous complaints.

  But her seamstresses had finished many breeches, and Isabel had coaxed the women into taking possession and actually wearing them. At least for that hour when they were set free to play.

  This morning Isabel had decided to teach them how to play a primitive form of putt-putt golf. The women were happily whacking away when Mary came running to her, tears streaming down her face.

  “What is it, Mary?” she asked.

  “I am afraid my vows with James are off.”

  “What? Why?”

  Mary looked around. “May we go elsewhere? Some privacy?”

  Jenny, Gwen’s chambermaid, walked over and asked, “May I help?”

  As diplomatically as she could, Isabel said, “Yes, please. If you would oversee the rest of recess?”

  Mary sniffled. “I need Countess Isabel.”

  Jenny nodded. “Of course. I will be happy to take over for the rest of the hour, Countess.”

  “Teach them to get the freakin’ stones in the holes. That’s the goal. Stones in the holes.”

  “Yes, Countess.”