The Midsummer Wife (The Heirs to Camelot Book 1)

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  Ron sprinted past her, reaching the car first.

  Flames licked the rear wheel-well. “Hurry!”

  He yanked open the door and struggled with the seat belt.

  “Oy! What’s going on!” cried a man in a yellow rain slicker as he trotted across the street. Other people followed from a small refugee camp by the side of the road.

  “Have you a knife?”

  He patted his pockets. “Yes! Me gutting knife!” He pulled out a wicked-looking filleting knife.

  “Give it to Ron so he can cut the belt! Hurry, before the car blows up!”

  The man rushed over to Ron. The two cut and pulled until the belt abruptly came free, and the woman tumbled onto the upside-down dash. Others helped to haul her out and away from the car. Her aura was a strange mottled black and purple.

  The people got her twenty feet away when the car made a strange hwuff! and erupted into flames. It hissed a few moments before exploding with an earthshaking BA-WOOM!

  Several of the refugees fell to the wet pavement, shrieking. Others tried to help them, but they were crying and shaking, themselves.

  The air was filled with the fierce smells of burnt metal, plastic, and rubber. The heat made Ava feel as if she was being cooked on one side.

  She blinked away the bright after-image of the explosion. Ron gave CPR to the woman. Her gray hair was matted into long strings on the rain-soaked asphalt. She looked as if she hadn’t eaten in a month. Sunken, heavily wrinkled cheeks made her face look like a spider web-covered skull. Her aura turned all black, faded, disappeared.

  The man in the rain slicker bent over Ron and the woman. After a few moments, he said, “I think she’s dead, mate. It was a good try, though.”

  Ron straightened up and placed his fingers on the woman’s carotid artery. “I thought she was still breathing when we pulled her out.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand.

  Most of the refugees straggled back to camp, many crying. A few stayed nearby.

  The dead woman’s left hand lay in a puddle. The sleeve of her black blouse was ripped from her arm. Just below her elbow was a tattoo of a woman’s face that was divided in half: one side beautiful, the other a skull. And somehow, it looked like it was moving. Curious, Ava leaned over and touched it. There was a bright flash in her brain, the smell of rotting flesh, a furious howling, and hatehatehate boiled out of it.

  Ava staggered back.

  “What is it?” Ron asked.

  “I don’t know.” She blinked rapidly, trying to force the other thoughts out of her mind. The tattoo faded, then vanished.

  Ron stood up and took Ava in his arms.

  Until that moment, she hadn’t realized she was soaked-through and shivering. She was cold and freaked out from touching the tattoo. But being in Ron’s arms kept the inevitable panic attack from swallowing her whole.

  Ava said to the mind-journal: Sisters, who was that woman and why did she want to hurt us? She described the tattoo and what she saw. What sort of spell was on the old woman’s arm? And why did I feel threatened and hated so personally when I touched it? She turned her attention back to Ron.

  He was saying, “Will you tell the constable I’m Ron Steadbye, and he can find me up at Steadbye Place?”

  “Will do, m’lord,” said the man who lent the knife. “Why don’t you take the lady home and get dry. We’ll take care of this poor old girl.”

  “Thank you,” Ron said. “And you are…?”

  “Davey McCourt.”

  Ron and he shook hands. “Thanks, Mr. McCourt. I appreciate your help.”

  The circle of strangers drew back to let Ava and Ron leave. Yet they stayed in a tight circle, staring at the dead woman, as if they couldn’t quite let her go.

  Ron led Ava back to the car and helped her in. He walked all around the battered car, looking at it before he got in and started it. “I think we can limp back home.” He put the Jag into gear and backed up, then headed down the dark, rainy road. Soon, the fire disappeared from view behind them.

  Ron’s beautiful vintage Jaguar emitted strange rhythmic thumpings from the engine. There was an odd humming from the right front.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Ava was wishing the heat coming from the vent was a lot warmer. “Yes. There was just something…I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Would you try?” he asked. “I could see something happened when you touched her arm.”

  “There was a tattoo on her forearm that disappeared after I touched it. I think it was the symbol of Hela.”

  “Who’s Hela?”

  “The Norse Goddess of Death, Lady of the Underworld. She lived at the base of the Tree of the World and collected the spirits of the dead who didn’t die in battle.”

  “Hm,” Ron said, obviously uncomfortable. “And you’re saying that’s who that woman was?”

  “No, no. Someone is using Hela as a symbol, a center-point of worship, I think. The thing that was unsettling is that I thought I saw that tattoo move. And when I touched it, I had this terrible flash of hatred directed at me, as if someone, somewhere, saw me through that touch connection and wished me ill.” The thought made her shiver again. Anxiety stole all the moisture from her mouth, and her skin was covered with goose-pimples. It felt as if there was ice water running down her spine.

  Ava was winding up to a serious panic attack.

  She could see by the light of the dash that Ron’s brows were bunched together. “You seem to inhabit a world somewhat different than what I think I’m used to.”

  Ava laughed mirthlessly. “Yes. And I understand you find it disconcerting. Right at the moment, I’m finding it a little more peculiar than I’d like, too.”

  He said nothing, but took her hand and didn’t let it go, even when he shifted. The touch calmed her enough that she could focus on her breathing and get into a meditative state.

  The car bumped, and she opened her eyes. They had turned into Steadbye Places’s drive.

  “Oh, damn!” he said.

  “What?”

  “Here I’ve gone and driven straight home. You’d probably like to go back to your aunt’s.”

  “Not necessarily.” Ava couldn’t imagine being alone. There was no telling how bad the panic attack she felt coming on would be. If she gave in to that, she was not sure she would be able to leave her aunt’s house tomorrow. Or for the next several days. She didn’t want him to stop touching her. It was the only thing that seemed to be anchoring her at the moment.

  The car rolled down the drive.

  He said, “I’d like you to spend the night. I’d like to make love to you.”

  “I’d like that, too. And several brandies.”

  He chuckled and kissed her fingers. “Any particular order you want those in?”

  “All at once?”

  They drove up to the house and went in. Ron led her to his office and poured a pair of brandies into cut-glass snifters. He took a huge swallow from his.

  “Thirsty, were we?”

  Ron coughed and sputtered. Huskily, he said, “Needed to wash out the taste,” he wheezed, “of dead old woman!” His eyes watered, but he indicated they should start upstairs.

  Ava went into the hallway, wondering about the look in his eyes. Despite his jokey demeanor, his emotional state was just short of panicked. In fact, she could feel that he was even more upset than she was. What’s going on here?

  Ron stopped to pick up a small kerosene lamp on the table beside the great oak stairs and then led the way up. He kissed her and motioned her into his room. It was a large bedroom with tasteful, masculine furnishings in dark blues and grays. He placed the lantern on a beautiful walnut dresser.

  Ava noticed the bathroom and asked to use it, went in and closed the door. She needed to stop shaking and steady herself before she went back out. She did some breathing exercises, then did what she went in for. Steadbye Place had hot water, and she availed herself of a quick sponge bath. Touching the d
ead woman had made her feel strangely dirty, and she was decidedly stinky from fighting off waves of panic.

  She turned off her mental journal.

  Ava had decided to sleep with Ron Steadbye, the Sisterhood be damned. She wanted the way he made her feel. How could it be wrong if he could keep a panic attack at bay just by holding her hand? How could it be forbidden, when kissing him felt so wholly and completely right?

  Goddess, if You are intent on disallowing this, You had better stop me now, because I mean to have him.

  The Goddess said nothing.

  Ron was kneeling on the hearth stoking the fire when she came out. She could sense that his heart rate was back to normal and his emotions were calm. “It’s a little cold in here.” He looked up. “That’s a lovely outfit,” he said with a wolfish grin.

  Ava tucked the towel into position. “Seemed silly to keep that wet dress on.” She leaned over and kissed him. There was that intense electrical sensation as their tongues meet.

  He kissed her for a long time, his tongue thrusting deeply. When he stopped, he said, “I don’t think I’ve wanted any woman as much as I want you this minute.”

  Ava let the towel slip off. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”

  He moaned as he looked at her body, and that was almost as exciting as the kiss. He ran one hand up her leg to her behind, the other down her arm. “You’re even more beautiful than I’d imagined,” he said softly.

  “Come to bed.”

  They went to the large old maple four-poster, with a headboard carved in an elaborate vine pattern. Ava sat on the edge of the bed and helped him out of his damp sweater and shirt. He was well-muscled, showing his love of sports, but not so much a “hardbody” as Helmut had been. She ran her hands over Ron’s arms, then his chest. There was a sword tattoo—about the length of her hand—on his left pec. “Is that Excalibur?”

  “Yes. I had it done when I was in the service. All the guys were getting ink, and I thought, well, let’s have that, then.”

  “I bet that goes over well with the broadsword people.”

  He chuckled. “To be sure... the few that’ve seen it.”

  Ava played with his chest hair and kissed down the hairline of his torso. She unbuckled his pants, letting them slip down to the floor. She pushed off his black boxers and let his stiff manhood come free. “Hello there,” She whispered. He tasted salty, and also of sandalwood.

  He moaned quietly.

  If someone had taken the perfect man from Ava’s head and made him real, Ron would be it. He was everything she wanted in a male lover.

  “Ava,” he whispered.

  He was almost too aroused, and she stopped. She pulled back the bedding and slid into the middle of the big bed. He shrugged out of the pile of clothes on the floor and socks and swung onto the bed. He kissed her chin, cheeks, nose, and brows slowly, as if introducing himself to her face. Kissing her ear, he ran his tongue down the line of it, then made his way down the length of her neck. His tongue traced down the slope of her shoulder. She felt like a human Popsicle, and she liked it!

  Slowly, he kissed his way to her nipple. It was so hard and ached already with her need, when he took it into his hot mouth it was all she could do not to cry out. The feeling of being attached to an electrical wire was intense. She felt the shock of his tongue spread like lightning down her body.

  She ran her hands along his neck and strong shoulders. Reaching down, she took his throbbing rod, and it surged into her fingers.

  His hand trailed down her stomach and reached her intimate folds. Gently, he explored them, spreading her and feeling her wetness. There could be no doubt in his mind how much she wanted him. His thumb stroked her nub while his fingers entered her, slowly at first, then deeper and harder as she moaned with pleasure. He moved over to her other nipple, muttering, “Equal time.”

  She slid her fingers slowly up and down his member, and with her other hand caressed his still-damp hair. Pulses of electrical sensation were traveling up her spine with each thrust of his fingers. “Ron,” she whispered.

  He looked up, and she felt pierced by his deep blue eyes. She pressed her pussy up into his hand. He kissed his way back up her neck, her mouth. Slowly, he entered her, as if afraid she was going to reject him, or stop him.

  Ava had never felt desire like this before. The feeling of him inside her was almost too much.

  Almost.

  She gasped and arched against him.

  His tongue slid along hers as he pushed harder into her.

  Yes! She wrapped her legs around his hips.

  He chuckled and settled into a rhythm that was almost a dance—fast-fast-slow.

  It was as if Ava’s nerves were on fire. Her arms were wrapped around his strong back, and she could feel the play of muscles beneath his skin. Everything about him excited her.

  Deeper he went, and faster.

  Their rhythm reached a crescendo. Ava’s desire was white-hot, and she knew he felt the same. And then they came, and it was as if she was tied to him as they went spiraling up into the sky like a Roman candle.

  Afterwards, they spent a long time touching, kissing, stroking, exploring each other in silence.

  After a while, Ron said, “What I was trying to say to you in the restaurant, Ava, is that I know it’s you I’ve been waiting for. You’re the Midsummer wife.” He kissed her eyes, nose, lips.

  Ava’s heart felt as if it was being squeezed. Goddess, I want him so! But she was not so besotted she forgot what she was in Britain for. “And what I was trying to tell you is that, as king you may need to take a wife who helps you politically. I will not—cannot—stand in the way of the needs of your reign.”

  “No!” he said in a voice that sounded not at all like his. His eyes flashed with an unusual blue fire. “I have waited too long! I shall not share you again! I will not put you away for mere politics. This time you are mine and mine alone!” Ron shivered. His eyes went back to their usual dark blue. “I don’t want anyone else but you, Ava.”

  Ava traced her fingers through his brow. What was that? It’s almost as if he were another person. Yet, it felt so familiar.

  As if…

  And then it hit her, fully, who he was.

  Who she was.

  Dear Goddess! Is that what You’ve done here?

  “Say you’ll stay with me,” he whispered. His eyes flashed blue.

  Ava let it happen, let the mask fall off. “Yes, beloved. Now and forever.”

  And she knew he saw her eyes, so different; her voice, with an accent not her own.

  Chapter Eight

  Ava was in climbing gear, on Eiger’s face. There was the terrifying sound of a rope snapping.

  Helmut turned and stared at Ava, his eyes wide with the knowledge of his doom. As the rope let go, and he began to fall, he yelled, “Do something with your powers! Save me!”

  “It doesn’t work like that! I’m not a magician!”

  “You could have saved me if you tried!” he shouted as he spun down the side of the mountain. “But you didn’t even attempt it! You let me go because you didn’t care. You don’t care for anyone!”

  And then his body slammed into the rock ledge with a horrible, sickening crunch.

  NO!

  Ava woke up with a jerk.

  She felt her stomach boiling. Stumbling through the unfamiliar room, she dashed to the bathroom, closed the door, flung herself at the commode, and vomited, body heaving. After a while, the spasms stopped.

  She lay down, pressing her cheek into the cool black and white marble tile floor. Her skin was covered in icy-hot sweat. She was shaking so hard, her eyeballs felt as if they were jiggling in their sockets. A mammoth headache beat on her brow and around her ears. It felt as if an elephant of fear was crushing her. At the same time, she was afraid the ceiling would rip off and she would be sucked into space, spinning and alone.

  Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.

  Ava took ragged, slow breaths: in, hold it for a two-count,
then out for a two-count.

  She gagged, over and over. There was nothing in her stomach to bring up. She was strangling on her own saliva.

  Ava wasn’t all that surprised to find Helmut, her boyfriend of eighteen months who had died in a climbing accident last year, waiting for her to acknowledge him, after making love to Ron.

  Helmut and she had met on one of her forays into town just two years after she was made the High Priestess. He was a few years older than Ava and worked as a drone operator for the Swedish Military. He’d been in Viborg on holiday. There was something about his short-cropped white-blond hair, his brown eyes, and his bulging muscles that captivated Ava when he asked to take the unoccupied chair from her table. “Yes, you can take it away, or you can sit down and get to know me.”

  “Aren’t you a bold one!” he said with a laugh. But he’d sat down and ignored his friends at the next table.

  Ava had found Helmut to be so unlike the spiritual types she met on a daily basis; it was as if he was from a different planet. He loved the outdoors and talked her into adventures hiking, snowshoeing, mountain climbing, skiing, parasailing, kayaking...anything, as long as it was outside. Ava had felt hemmed in since becoming the chief executive of a large organization at such a young age, so she’d enjoyed the escapes.

  Whose idea was it to climb the Eiger? Sometimes she thought it was hers. Then other times, Ava thought she recalled Helmut suggesting they really test themselves on one of Europe’s toughest ascents. They’d climbed dozens of other mountains, but nothing as challenging as the Alp’s “Ogre.” The Sisterhood went into an uproar when they heard about her weekend plans, but she was the High Priestess, and in the end, she got her way.

  Ava had regretted her willfulness ever since.

  They decided to do the Mittellegi Ridge, as that was considered difficult, but not as insanely hard—and frequently fatal—as the North Face. Also, they could stay overnight in the hut at the top of the climb, which meant they wouldn’t have to sleep in a tent attached to a rock-face.

  Ava could recall that day and the climb up the Eiger in almost granular detail: the deep blue sky and streaks of white clouds, the smell of the glacial snow on the wind. They started the climb easily enough, getting off the cog-railway at the Eismeer Station on the South Face. They had a simple hike and then a traverse of the Challifirn Glacier.