He’d very nearly lost her to the mine that had swallowed up his parents years ago. Emich might have scolded her for going, but he blamed himself for taking her. The memories of his father and mother collecting ore together had led him to bring her. Although it should have been their ghosts that reminded him of the toll loneliness could take on a fragile heart.
Time passed as he stared into the darkness, unable to think of anything but her and the way she’d felt in his arms. He gave up on sleep and was just considering getting up to find busywork when he heard the click. He lifted his head, wondering if he’d imagined it.
The curtains that enclosed his bed weren’t sheer enough to see through, so he couldn’t be sure if his door had opened. He held his breath, listening intently. Then he reached for the edge of his mattress. A hidden blade was tucked just beneath. He was far from defenseless.
If the floors had been covered with boards instead of patterned stones, he might have heard the footsteps that moved across the room, but the only thing filling his ears was his rhythmic heartbeat. With a dagger clutched in his hand, he propelled himself out between the curtains of his bed.
And collided straight into Morgen.
She stumbled backward with a startled gasp. He was quick to wrap his arm around her waist to keep her from falling. The weapon he’d been prepared to use against an intruder was dropped aside on the fur rug.
“Morgen—” He couldn’t find the words to continue. But it didn’t seem to matter.
Her ragged breathing matched his own. Without hesitation, she lifted herself up to press her lips to his. Emich’s hands shook, but that didn’t stop him from pulling her closer. Her thin linen kirtle was the only thing preventing him from touching her bare skin. His palms were sweaty and hot as his hands drifted down her back and buttocks.
He’d lain awake too long thinking of her to be strong enough to walk away a second time. Emich’s chest hurt, and he knew she was the cure.
Morgen’s fingers traced from his shoulders down to his bare waist. She clung to him in such a way he felt needed—no, wanted.
Breathlessly she whispered, “I have never been with a man before. You say it is not right, but why then are you the only thing in my thoughts when I go to sleep at night?”
Just hearing those words made the muscles in his chest tighten. He’d longed for the kind of love his parents had. The loyalty and friendship. He’d never wanted to be alone. He’d accepted it as his fate. But maybe fate had other plans for him.
“I never imagined I would find a woman who would think me anything but a monster,” he answered, placing his hand on her cheek. Emich took a deep breath before continuing, “Your father entrusted you to me, and I would not be accused of taking advantage of you.”
“You are mine just as much as I am yours—so long as you wish it.”
He did not hesitate to answer, “I have wished it from the moment I saw you, though I could not admit it.”
She didn’t respond. Just enough light from the moon filtered in through the small window so he could see Morgen untie the threads of her kirtle and watch it fall to the floor. She stood before him without a stitch of clothes, and he felt his excitement grow. She pressed her fingers into his chest, pushing him back. He stumbled against the base of his bed, forgetting it was there, and fell onto his feather mattress in surprise.
Emich looked up at her faint silhouette, his breath caught in his throat. She crawled over him, pressing her lips to his, and lowered herself onto his lap. The moment they joined as one, all thoughts escaped his mind.
Every noise and movement she made drove him farther away from his worries and concerns. Being intertwined with the only woman he’d ever lain with brought him the closest he’d ever been to experiencing pure ecstasy. He caught her up in his arms and rolled on top of her, driving the rhythm and pace until they reached a fever pitch.
When he collapsed in ecstasy, sweaty and exhausted, he rolled off, wrapped his arms around her and muttered, “I can die a happy man now.”
“I will not permit it,” she answered very seriously. “Death must pass through me to get to you.”
Morgen clung to his arms and snuggled into the crook of his body. Though it was an endearing sentiment, it brought Emich hurtling back to reality. He kissed her shoulder blade, and soon after heard her slow breathing. She found sleep, while he could not. He held her close, feeling the enchanting curse of love burn into his heart. He had another life to protect—something he took seriously. But that thought made it hard to breathe.
When the first rays of light poured into the room, illuminating the dragon stitched into the linen panel hanging at the foot of his bed, he was already awake to meet the day.
Morgen stirred in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open only to discover him gazing at her. She smiled and sighed, “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Ja.” He lied. “Did you?”
He felt her body tense against his as she stretched. “Nothing could have kept me awake except you. Please tell me we do not have a mountain to climb today.”
A snicker slipped past Emich’s stoicism, and he shook his head. “I must smelt the ore, which will take all day if we get to it right away.”
She yawned and began to get up. He watched her every move, finding her mesmerizing.
Morgen slipped out of bed and pulled on her kirtle. He noticed her move gingerly on her foot. He propped himself on his elbow to ask, “How is your ankle? If you are not well, you can stay here.”
She lifted the hem of her skirts to look at it and sighed. “It is sore, but it will not stop me from helping. I would like to learn more about the smelting process.”
“Then you can ride there. We will need the horse to carry the tools and iron back anyhow.”
Now that she was up and moving, he leapt from the feather mattress to get dressed. There was no time to waste. His breeches were still in a wet pile on the floor, so he went in search for another pair. While he rummaged through the wardrobe, he noticed he was being watched. Just the sight of her grinning at him made him long for her.
With clothes in hand, Emich walked to her side. Ever so slowly, he leaned in to place a soft kiss on her lips. Her hand settled at the low of his back and drifted lower to his buttocks. He pinched his eyes shut and breathed out shakily. “Do not do that or we will never make it to the forge.”
He felt her lips touch his again. His body reacted, but his mind won out. Emich placed his hands on her shoulders, held her an arm’s distance away and reminded her, “We must stay on schedule. Rubrecht will be back before long, and it would not be wise to make him wait for his armor.”
She gave a disappointed nod and sighed. “Well, I suppose I will pack some food and drink. What else will we need?”
“Charcoal, lots of charcoal. And water.”
Emich didn’t hesitate to finish getting dressed, then hurried into the byre where the horses were milling about. The distance to the smelting forge wasn’t far, but trees littered the way. The forest was too dense to take both animals hitched to the wagon. That was why he loaded the two-wheeled cart to his best steed. In the cart he placed sacks of charcoal and a bucket of water along with a pair of tongs and a hammer. Everything else was waiting for them at the site.
By the time he was done preparing for their departure, Morgen appeared wearing his mother’s maroon dress and holding a filled sack. He helped her onto the horse’s back and led them through the forest. Clouds rushed through the sky, and Emich eyed them warily. Today was not ideal timing for a summer rain.
Part of the morning had slipped past before they arrived where he’d left the enormous leather bag filled with raw ore. It lay in the clearing on the bluff beside the curved stone wall of the forge. Morgen climbed off the horse and turned to face the wind, letting it sweep her loose blond hair back in a flurry.
He unloaded the charcoal from the cart and set it beside the forge. Then he opened up the sack of ore and handed Morgen the hammer. “Leave no stones big
ger than the ladle of a spoon.”
She nodded at him before squatting down and getting to work, pounding apart the chunks of ore into smaller pieces. Emich wasted no time making a clay door to fill the small bottom opening of the forge. Then he put charcoal and kindling in the mouth of the forge and lit it with his flint and steel. He crouched on the ground, blowing gently until the flame took root.
Once the fire was going strong, he slid the temporary clay door into place, sealing up the bottom opening of the forge. He hurried around the wall to the opposite, west-facing side. It had been his father who’d witnessed a curious practice on his travels. Some used water, others, the force of wind to eliminate the need for man-powered bellows to keep the temperatures hot for smelting. He cleared debris from the clay pipe that led into the stone wall and the base of the forge. To it he affixed a cloth funnel held open by a large wooden frame.
The brisk winds that rushed across the Alps blew against his body as he worked, and as soon as the cloth funnel was put in place, it plumped with the breeze that collected. The air blasted into the base of the forge. Sparks rose up above the wall, putting a smile on Emich’s lips.
It was ready.
Throughout the day, they continued to fill the forge with equal amounts of charcoal and ore. While Emich worked, he worried. He knew he was using the best material he could to make Rubrecht’s armor, although he was unsure of the best design. Range of motion was important to man or beast. Yet when it came to dragons, flight was paramount. How could he forge something that would protect Rubrecht from attacks and allow him to take to the skies?
Morgen’s voice drew him from his thoughts. “You have been wearing that frown all day. What is the matter?”
Her face was smudged with dirt, and she’d paused with the hammer in her hand to look at him. Emich sighed and shook his head. “I have never forged armor for a dragon before. If I cannot please Rubrecht, I hate to think what he might do.”
She smashed a particularly large chunk of ore and reached for another piece. “Well, I would not imagine plate armor would do. Though it can be forged to be thin and strong, without Rubrecht here to shape it to, it may not fit him right.”
“Plus, plate does not move well, and Rubrecht wishes to wear it in flight. Scale armor is more flexible, though it is heavier.” Emich felt his frown deepen.
Morgen paused again and rubbed her cheek. “That is a thought.”
“What?” he asked, ready to listen to anything.
“I have traveled throughout the land with my father and have seen many things. I recall it was Vienna where I saw a merchant who had something that caught my eye. He said it was oriental armor. Called lamellar, or something like it.”
The suggestion of a new style of armor piqued Emich’s curiosity. “Describe it?”
“It was like scale armor, but it had larger panels that were fastened together with leather.” She held up her fingers to form a rectangular shape. “They appeared to overlap very little, and the trader said it was lighter than scale.”
“Was it affixed to leather backing?” he asked.
She nodded and got back to work crushing rocks. He watched her for a few moments as he considered what she’d said.
“Lamellar,” he muttered aloud. “We can try it. Though I am still no closer to a design that Rubrecht can secure to his body without assistance.”
Morgen sniffed and looked at him askance.
“What?” he asked. “Is there something more I have not thought of?”
“It is just—” She sighed. “I know Rubrecht is frightful, but do you ever think about what it means to armor such an evil beast to be infallible?”
“It is not the job of a smith to question such things.”
He avoided her bitter expression and tried to ignore the unsettled feeling that grew in his chest. Emich did not tell her he had turned down armoring other men in the past because he didn’t think them worthy. But at no point had he considered telling Rubrecht no. It would have been suicide.
When the sun hung low in the sky and they’d run out of ore to feed to the forge, Emich used the hammer to break apart the temporary clay door, opening up the base of the forge. Orange light glowed from within. and liquid iron funneled into the dirt.
Using the tongs, he grabbed hold of a bright, chunky mass nearest him and dragged it out. Its core smoldered white. Emich reached inside again to pull out more lumps from the base of the hot furnace. When he’d emptied it, he used the hammer to tap on the masses. Slag broke free from their exteriors, breaking off into blackened, brittle pieces. What remained were the superheated iron cores.
Morgen edged closer to watch him work. He felt her curious eyes study his every movement. One at a time, he lowered each bloom of metal into the bucket of water he’d gone to refill at the lake. Steam billowed into the air, warming and covering his face with moisture.
“Is it steel?” she asked.
“No telling until I put it to the grinder.”
He laid them out on the ground to finish cooling while they cleaned up the forge and took down the cloth wind funnel. The last rays of sunlight were smothered by the mountain peaks and by the clouds, which had condensed into a dark blanket overhead. A deep rumble echoed across the ridge, followed by drops slapping against the ground.
They heaved the still-warm iron blooms onto the back of the cart, along with the tools and the empty sacks. Emich helped Morgen onto the horse’s back before leading them into the cover of the forest.
Morgen was relieved when she walked into the shadowy hall. Rainwater dripped from her clothes and hair, and her body was chilled to the bone. A hearth fire would fix that.
She felt her way across the room to remedy the lack of light and warmth. Soon a flame licked at the coals, and she fed it more wood. Morgen held her hands out to bring back the feeling in her fingers while Emich walked in from the byre. He left wet footprints on the stones as he went.
She pulled at the fastenings of her dress to loosen it around her breast and waist and lifted the hem of her skirts. It wasn’t long before she was locked within the wet fabric’s hold, unable to see a thing. A groan escaped her lips, and she thought she heard a muffled laugh from nearby.
Still bitter about his response to her questioning if it was right to armor Rubrecht, she wriggled about, trying to wrench free.
“You could help me, you bothersome man,” she said in annoyance.
After a few moments, warm fingers traced up her ankles to her thighs, carrying with them her soaked kirtle. She sucked in a quick breath in surprise, and goose pimples rose on her skin. His hands were warmer than her flesh, and they seemed to get hotter still the farther they moved.
Up her waist and ribcage they went, dragging her wet clothing with them. As she stood anticipating him freeing her from the trappings of her clothing, he stopped. The chill air met every damp pore of her body. The soft radiance from the nearby fire bathed only her breasts and abdomen in warmth.
It was then she felt his lips touch the center of her chest and she forgot what she’d been upset about. From there he left a trail of kisses to her nipples and down to her waist. She could barely breathe. Not from the fabric that wrapped her head, but from the excitement of the moment. She wished her arms were unrestrained to find him and pleaded in a whisper, “I wish to see you as you can see me.”
Emich’s hands answered her request and pulled her dress and kirtle from her arms and head. Firelight danced on the walls while he dropped her clothing to the floor. Within his blue eyes was a hunger, a hunger that made her his prey. She wasn’t frightened, but aroused.
“You are,” he whispered, “breathtaking.”
Morgen stepped closer to him, but he backed away.
“What is it?” she asked, confused.
He shook his head and choked on his words. “You do not have anything to look forward to with a life with me. I am a beast. A beast who will bring you danger.”
Her chest ached to see him move away from her just a
s it had last night when he’d stopped their kiss. She knew what her heart wanted. She might have fought against her own stubbornness until she saw it for herself, but now that she did, she knew she loved him liked she’d never thought she could. Fate had placed Emich in her path. She was sure of it. As sure as Tybalt had been. Morgen could begin to see from her dear father’s perspective.
“But,” she whispered, “I love you.”
When he heard her words, he frowned. She took advantage of his disorientation to catch him off guard like she had last night in his room. Morgen stepped closer to him and rested her hands on his chest. Beside them the fire cracked and snapped, beginning to fill the room with its warmth and smoke.
“Do you care for me at all?” she asked. A trace of doubt filtered into her soul, and she waited for his response.
His face pinched as if he was in pain, and he gasped for air. The bewildered look in his eye almost made him appear mad. Emich clutched his head, then threw his arms in the air. “I want you to go as far from me as possible so you will remain safe, yet the thought of you leaving makes me wish I were buried in the mine with my parents.”
“You make no sense.” She shook her head, trying to understand.
He groaned and rushed toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “That is what you do to me. No one ever tells you how love drives you mad. All I do is worry about keeping you safe.”
Morgen’s eyes misted over, and she lifted herself up to kiss him on the lips. Her fingers fumbled with unfastening his doublet, then pulling off his wet shirt. His muscular, rippled abdomen flexed as she traced her fingers down to his breeches. His ragged breaths echoed in her ears while she untied his waistband and curled her fingers underneath. A moan escaped his lips.
Naked, without an article of clothing, they admired each other until Emich swept her up in his arms. She squealed in surprise and kicked her feet as he carried her into the bedroom. The sound of his laughter filled her ears—a sound she’d never thought she’d hear. Nothing could have made her so happy.
Sirens and Scales Page 155
