The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  “Do you see what your nearness does to me?” His smile had faded now, leaving intensity in its place. “I’m sick with longing for you. Food and drink have lost their taste. When you stand close to me I cannot breathe.”

  Merwenna stared at him, shocked into silence by the prince’s admission.

  “I thought I could ignore it,” Dylan continued. “I thought being back here would make me focus on other matters – but all I can think of is you. Merwenna, you are slowly driving me mad.”

  “Don’t say that,” she whispered, her fingers curling into a fist against his chest. “You shouldn’t… we shouldn’t…”

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” The bitterness in Dylan’s voice made her draw back slightly. “I never thought I’d be jealous of a dead man – but I am. Will he have your heart forever?"

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Want

  “I love Beorn,” Merwenna whispered, “and time will not change that.”

  She saw disappointment flare in Dylan’s eyes, but pressed on nonetheless.

  “He died only a few weeks ago. All of this has happened too soon.”

  “I didn’t plan this either,” he replied with a wry smile. “But keeping away from me isn’t going to bring him back.”

  “I know that,” she replied, holding his gaze. “Beorn and I were bonded by promises and dreams, but what I feel for you is different.”

  “And what is that?” Dylan asked. The bitterness had disappeared. He reached out and stroked her cheek. The sensation caused a shiver to ripple down her spine.

  If only she had the courage to tell Dylan how she burned for him. Yet, she had never lain with a man, what did she know of such things?

  “I…,” she began, staring at him helplessly, struggling for the words that eluded her. “I want…”

  She did not have the chance to say anything more, for Dylan pulled her into his arms.

  His mouth claimed hers.

  She let out a groan and surrendered to him. The smell of him, the taste of him, unlocked something deep within her. Merwenna lost all sense of where she was. She was conscious only of his tongue, which slid between her lips and explored her mouth, and his hands that tangled in her hair.

  This was what she had been afraid of. This lack of control; this need that once surrendered to, was all-consuming.

  Merwenna’s limbs grew weak, her body molten. Instinctively, she reached up and tangled her fingers in his curly, dark hair. Dylan groaned and pulled her onto his lap. His hands ran down her back. He then clasped each buttock tightly, pulling her firmly against him. She felt the hard column of his arousal against her belly and gasped. She had always imagined this moment would frighten her – yet, instead, she ached to reach out and touch him there.

  She angled her hips even further toward him and slowly ground herself against him.

  “Merwenna,” he groaned into her mouth. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  Not awaiting a response, he pulled her with him so that they lay stretched out on the fur mat. Then he rolled over so that she was under him, and kissed her again, his tongue teasing hers, and his hands cupping her face.

  Merwenna went limp and pliable in his arms. She could not have resisted him, even if she had wanted to. Her mind was nothing more than a whirlpool of need. Her senses ached for him; she could think of nothing else except having his naked skin against hers.

  Dylan eventually ended the kiss. He propped himself up on his elbows, breathing heavily, as if he had been running. He stared down at her face – his eyes dark and luminous in the firelight.

  “The gods help me, I won’t be able to stop myself soon,” he told her, his voice rough. “Go now, if you don’t want me to touch you. But if you stay, you’re mine.”

  Merwenna gazed up at him, her pulse throbbing through her body. She would surely die if he stopped touching her.

  “I’m yours,” she whispered.

  That was all he needed. He kissed her again, all restraint gone. His hands were everywhere, hiking up her skirts and stroking the skin of her thighs. Merwenna clutched at him, desperate to touch his skin.

  Realizing her frustration, Dylan released her, climbed lithely to his feet and began to take his clothes off – his gaze never leaving hers. Merwenna watched him, entranced. There was something incredibly sensual about watching him undress for her. His wool tunic dropped to the ground and Dylan unlaced his breeches. Merwenna’s mouth went dry as he stripped them off. He stood before her, naked, clad only in the gold and silver arm rings he wore on his right bicep. His desire for her was evident.

  Seeing the direction of her gaze, Dylan smiled.

  “It is your turn, cariad.”

  Trembling, Merwenna climbed to her feet to face him. She stood there as he reached out and undid the girdle around her waist. Knowing what he was about to do next, Merwenna lifted her arms, and allowed him to pull her wealca and tunic over her head so that, she too stood naked.

  The cool night air brushed against her heated skin, and prickled as his gaze raked her, from head to toe. Finally his gaze rested upon her breasts, and she heard him give a low groan. Then, he was on his knees before her. He drew her left nipple deep into his mouth as he suckled her.

  Merwenna arched her back and stifled a cry. The pleasure was so intense she felt her knees buckle beneath her. Together, they sank onto the ground. Underneath his lean, finely muscled body, her own hands roamed at will. She wanted to touch every inch of him.

  He started to suckle her other breast, while he parted her thighs. When he stroked her gently between them, Merwenna gasped his name. A few moments later, he inserted a finger deep inside her, and the trembling grew violent; she whimpered against his shoulder.

  Dylan pulled her up against him so their bodies were pressed together from chest to hip. His mouth devoured hers. Merwenna grew bolder. As they kissed, she gently bit his lower lip; her hands traveling down the hard planes of his chest, across his belly, to his shaft. Her finger tips lightly traced it, exploring.

  Dylan groaned as her explorations grew bolder. She ran her fingers up the long, hard length of it to the swollen head. When she stroked him there, Dylan gasped something in his own tongue. Then, he parted her thighs wide.

  Despite that she was a maid, and knew what was to follow would bring her pain, Merwenna welcomed the touch of him. He slid into her, slowly. His body trembled with the effort he was making to control himself. Merwenna arched herself up against him, impatient to have him inside her.

  When Dylan was half-way inside her, a sharp, tearing pain knifed through Merwenna, causing her to whimper, her nails biting into his back. However, Dylan was too far inside to stop now. With a groan, he thrust deep, seating himself fully.

  She remained rigid, slowly releasing the breath she had been holding. The pain faded, replaced with a glorious, aching fullness.

  Dylan began to move inside her in slow, deep thrusts.

  Merwenna was lost.

  She had no idea that it could be like this between a man and a woman. All that mattered was this hunger for him, this deep ache inside her, and this fire he was slowly stoking. Dylan reached down between them, and stroked her as he thrust. Merwenna gasped his name once more, her body quivering – and her reaction drove him over the edge.

  With a hoarse cry he thrust hard into her and found his release.

  In the aftermath, they clung together, sweat-soaked and breathing hard. Merwenna lay against Dylan’s chest, listening to the thunder of his heart – and wished that she could stop time.

  There could be no more perfect moment than this one. She did not want it to slip away.

  ***

  Merwenna traced her fingertips across Dylan’s chest, following the whorls of crisp, dark hair. She inhaled the warm, musky scent of his skin and propped herself up on one elbow, so she could look at him. He was dozing – in that dreamless state between sleeping and wakefulness – and she was loath to disturb him.

  “Dylan,” she said softly, t
racing the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “I should go.”

  Dylan’s eyes opened and their gazes met. Merwenna felt the same fire as earlier kindle in the pit of her belly. This man had cast a powerful spell over her. She could not look at him without being stripped of reason and will.

  “Why?” he murmured. “Stay here with me tonight.”

  “But folk will notice my absence – they will talk.”

  “Let them, I care not.”

  Merwenna gazed at him, taking in the chiseled lines of his face. “You don’t?”

  “No,” he gave her that slow smile that made her tingle all over, and reached up to stroke her face. “What good is it being the ruler of Powys, if you cannot do as you wish under your own roof? This hurts no one.”

  “I’m not sure your kin see it that way.”

  “They will see it as I tell them to,” Dylan’s smile turned cocky and he ran the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “Your mouth is like a rosebud,” he murmured, making it clear he wished to focus on other matters.

  Merwenna smiled, aware of the heat rising between them again. She was not difficult to convince. There was no place she would rather be than lying naked on the furs with this man. Their limbs were still entwined, and she felt his manhood stiffen against her belly. The sensitive flesh between her thighs began to ache in anticipation of what was to come.

  Dylan answered her smile with a kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her down to him. Moments later, all thoughts of leaving the prince’s bower, and returning to her bed outside Heledd’s bower, were a distant memory.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Tainted

  Cynddylan, Prince of Powys, greeted the day with a spring in his stride. He had slept little, and would pay the price later for it. Yet, right at this moment, he had never felt so alive. He strode across the hall, to where a great wheel of cheese, fresh bread and an earthen pitcher of milk sat awaiting him. He helped himself to a hearty portion.

  A night bedding the beautiful Merwenna had given him an appetite.

  He caught sight of his brother, who also approached the table to break his fast, and greeted him with a grin.

  “Morning, Morfael.”

  His brother gave him a sidelong glance and poured himself a cup of milk. “You’re in high spirits.”

  “I’m back under my own roof, in the company of my friends and kin. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Morfael took a sip from his cup. “You told uncle that girl wasn’t your whore – why did you lie to him?”

  Dylan swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese and gave his brother a measured look. It had taken less time than he had thought for news of Merwenna spending the night in his bower to circulate the hall. Tongues were, indeed, flapping.

  “I didn’t,” he replied. “Until last night, we had never lain together.”

  “Why did you bring her here, Dylan?”

  “I told you, she saved my life. I swore an oath to her father that I would take her with me, and protect her.”

  “That is a strange oath,” Morfael was frowning now. “There must be more to it than that.”

  “I admit, her loveliness made it easy to agree to it. Merwenna and I formed a bond in the time we have traveled together. I first met her in Tamworth. She had gone there, looking for her betrothed – a warrior who died at Maes Cogwy.”

  “So you’ve taken her as your consort?”

  “I have – what of it?”

  “You are about to receive the crown of Powys; the same that graced the heads of our forebears, our father. You need to start looking for a high born wife of Cymry blood – not a Mercian peasant. What if she breeds your bastard?”

  The brothers’ gazes locked and Dylan felt his sunny mood dim slightly. Morfael had crossed the line.

  “Who I bed, and who I wed, are my business – and mine alone.” Dylan growled. “And, I’d warn you against continuing along this vein.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan caught a flutter of movement.

  He turned from Morfael, to see Heledd marching toward him across the rushes. Her pretty face was creased in a murderous scowl.

  Dylan let out a slow breath. Not Heledd as well – Merwenna had warned him of this.

  Merwenna.

  He had left her, bathing in a cast-iron tub he’d had brought into his quarters at first light. The memory of her naked, supple body, beaded with moisture as she bathed, made him wish he had not ventured outside to break his fast. It was too early in the day for arguments. However, seeing the fury in his sister’s eyes, he realized that he would have to nip these rumblings of discontent in the bud.

  “Heledd,” he greeted her. “You’re up early this morning.”

  “I could not lie abed,” she replied crisply. “Not when there is your coronation and victory feast to organize.”

  “And I appreciate your efforts,” Dylan smiled.

  Heledd’s gaze narrowed. They both knew she had not approached him to speak of such matters.

  “Is that girl still in your bed?”

  “She is.”

  The princess’s face paled and her mouth thinned. “I do not want her to attend me.”

  “Why not,” Dylan replied, feigning a lack of understanding. “She will serve you well, and will make a gracious hand-maid.”

  “But she is your…,” Heledd’s voice trailed off, and her face flamed.

  “She is my lover,” Dylan finished his sister’s sentence, “but that does not make her tainted.”

  “She was already tainted,” Heledd pointed out, lifting her chin haughtily. “She’s Mercian. She doesn’t belong here.”

  “I decide that, Heledd,” Dylan replied, ensnaring her gaze with his, “and I also decide who serves you as your hand-maid. You will accept her assistance, and you will gentle your manner toward her from this day forward. She is your maid, not a kitchen skivvy. Is that clear?”

  The princess’s eyes glistened with tears, and her mouth had set in a stubborn line, but she nodded, nonetheless.

  “You will pick out one of your old tunics for her this morning, and you will kindly take her through her new duties,” Dylan continued. He kept his tone gentle but he knew his sister could hear the iron just beneath. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Milord,” she whispered.

  Dylan watched his sister give a brief curtsey before she turned on her heel and fled across the hall back to her bower. Her back was stiff with outrage, but she would obey him.

  The prince turned back to his meal, to find Morfael still standing beside him. Dylan cast aside the bread and cheese he had been enjoying. His siblings had both succeeded in ruining his appetite.

  “Not another word, brother,” Dylan ground out. “I warn you.”

  Morfael nodded, minding him this time. He moved away, and left Dylan alone at the table.

  ***

  Merwenna squeezed out the cloth and inhaled the scent of rose, lavender and rosemary. To bathe in a tub, in complete privacy, was a delight. The water was cooling now, but she was loath to leave it. She had washed her hair, using an herb-scented lotion, and it now hung over one shoulder in a damp curtain. Afterwards, she had lain back against the smooth edge of the cast iron tub, enjoying the heat that flooded through her limbs.

  Is this what it’s like to be high born?

  Outside, she could hear the rumble of voices, clang of pots and the thump of wood, as the Great Hall awoke. Merwenna stirred restlessly, sloshing water over the side of the tub. She should join them, for Dylan had told her that she would continue to serve his sister today. She would win no friends here by lying around when there was work to be done.

  Yet, it was difficult to leave this bath. Such moments of pleasure were rare enough to be cherished.

  Like last night.

  Even now, the memory of what had passed between her and Dylan, made Merwenna’s toes curl and heat flush across her body. She may well come to regret it soon enough, but at this moment, the magic of their coupling still t
hrilled her. Merwenna closed her eyes, letting sensual images from last night, play before her.

  “You’ll turn into a fish, if you stay in there any longer.”

  Her eyes flew open to see that Dylan had returned. He let the fur hanging fall behind him and stood there for a moment, his gaze making a frank appraisal of her.

  “Although, I’d say you were siren already,” he advanced on her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “whose beauty would lure a man into treacherous waters.”

  “Is that what I’ve done?” Merwenna asked. Her heart had started to race at the sight of him, and her nakedness suddenly made her feel vulnerable.

  “You have,” he replied, “although, there’s no other place I’d rather drown.”

  With that, he took hold of her hands and pulled her to her feet in the tub. More water sloshed over the side, wetting the rushes beneath, but neither of them paid it any mind.

  Dylan’s mouth came down fiercely over Merwenna’s, and he pulled her hard against him. Merwenna gave an answering groan. She reached up, entwined her arms around his neck and pressed her slick breasts against his chest, wetting his thin linen tunic through.

  Last night’s fire returned, with a sharper hunger for them both. Now they had both been given a taste, they wanted more. With an animal growl, Dylan picked Merwenna up and carried her across to the furs. He then threw her down upon them, and tore off his wet clothes.

  Suddenly, all thoughts of the day’s chores, or what the future held for her, dissolved from Merwenna’s mind. This man, magnificent in his nakedness, was all that mattered.

  With a smile full of heat and promise, she held out her arms to him.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Different Worlds

  “Thank you for the dress – it’s beautiful.”

  “It’s old and drab, but it’ll suit you.”

  Despite herself, Merwenna flinched under Heledd’s spite. She did not reply, instead smoothing out the butter-soft wool tunic beneath her fingers. Heledd had only said that to hurt her, for they both knew it was a lovely dress, made of soft, fine wool and dyed grey-blue. Merwenna had never worn a garment like this before; it made her old wealca and the homespun tunics she had grown up in look like mere rags. She was used to wearing sleeveless garments, even in winter, but this dress had long, bell-like sleeves.