Lady of the Mountain

by Lyn Armstrong

  Returning to her body in the mountain with the sound of his growl made her stumble over to the bed and collapse with laughter. Oh, the look on his face.

  Chapter Eight

  Tightening his grip on the reins, Braen lowered his head, shielding it against the falling snow. He was still fuming over last eve’s humiliation. Though he had extra clothes in his saddlebags in the stables, he still had to walk downstairs and through the main inn room in a woman’s pink contraption. Just his cursed-luck, Callum and Tremayne sat at a table, eating as he passed by. The roar of laughter followed him all the way outside and into the stables.

  Callum rode up beside him on the moorlands slushy path. “Pray your pardon, milady, is the weather too cold for you?”

  Callum and Tremayne laughed while Braen seethed with fury. The sorceress would rue her actions.

  “I must admit,” Tremayne chuckled, “Mother must have acquired a sense of humor since I saw her last.”

  Callum added, “Aye, and a wicked imagination.”

  “Good fashion sense, too,” Tremayne laughed and Callum followed.

  “Enough!” Braen glared at them. “The next man who jests will do so at the tip of my sword.”

  The men covered the laughter from their mouths and coughed.

  Irritation settled in the muscles of his face, the cold seeping into his bones.

  After a long silence, Callum asked, “What powers does a wizard claim?”

  Braen cast his gaze at the warlock. “As an apprentice to my father, I was taught the magical lore of Merlin. I have the same powers, but without his staff, they are weakened to small gestures.” He ducked beneath a low branch heavy with snow, and continued, “A wizard can touch anything solid and read the events of… the sorceress!”

  Braen jerked on the reins at the sight of the sorceress imperially standing on the path. The hood of her green velvet gown covered her head, but he knew it was she.

  “You fools. Return and you will not be harmed,” she said, her voice steady and ominous.

  Braen went to dismount when Callum put his hand out. “Do not approach her. She is dangerous.”

  He pushed the warlock’s hand out of the way and swung off his mount. He pulled out a small glass box from his saddlebag. This time he came prepared for her. He slowly walked toward her. “If you think a change of clothes will persuade me…”

  She waved her hands and the horses bucked on their rear legs, throwing the other two men from their saddles. All three mounts raced back the way they came.

  “Dammit Sorceress, that’s my horse!”

  A ghost of a smile flittered across her lips; her green eyes sparkled then turned serious. “It will only get worse from here. You have been warned.”

  She vanished.

  Pocketing the glass box inside his cloak, Braen ran back to the men on the ground. Callum rose to his feet, brushing the mud off his breeches while Tremayne remained on the ground, face pale and strained.

  “What is amiss?” Braen asked the sorcerer.

  “My ankle feels like a battle ax has sliced through it.”

  Callum sat on his hunches and went to twist the ankle when Tremayne yelled in pain.

  Gritting his teeth, Tremayne growled, “Do not do that!”

  Callum sighed and pulled off his gloves. “I suppose I have to save you again.”

  “I do not need…”

  “Cease your prattling and prepare to be healed,” Callum admonished. Placing his hand on the injured ankle, his voice rose;

  I call upon my Celtic ancestors to help me heal,

  Upon this remote moorland, restore this sorcerer’s leg

  He has a cranky disposition, of this I do feel,

  But, we’d be here forever, if we wait for him to beg.

  “Oh, what wondrous wit,” Tremayne said with sarcasm. After a moment, he pushed a laughing warlock aside. Rising up he twisted his ankle freely around and muttered something close to thanks and turned away from them.

  “How are we going to get our horses?” Braen asked, scanning the deserted hillside.

  Tremayne placed his hand on Braen’s shoulder. “Just don’t let the sorceress steal my clothes.”

  Within a blink, he transformed his body into a kestrel falcon. Brown and black feathered wings expanded in rapid beat as he hovered over them, the sorcerer’s garments remained in a pile on the ground. The bird flew beyond the hill in the direction of the horses.

  Braen sat on the damp ground and Callum soon followed. The warlock went to open his mouth to speak and then closed it, bafflement on his face.

  “What is it?” Braen asked.

  “I was thinking. Why does the sorceress use these tricks?”

  “She does not want us to arrive at the cursed mountain.”

  “That is the intrigue, my friend. Why does she not just kill us rather than put obstacles in our way. One would think she wants us to remain on the path with willful resolution,” Callum said, his blond brows slanted into a frown.

  “Nae, the sorceress pleaded most convincingly for me to turn back.”

  “In sooth, Lady Torella can be manipulative, but that does not sound like the sorceress I know.”

  From behind them, the sound of horses floated on the breeze. Braen stood and gave his hand to Callum. “Whatever she is devising for us, it is unimportant. The next time she appears, I will capture her.”

  “How?” Callum grasped his hand and rose. “No binds can hold her, she is too powerful.”

  Patting his side pocket, he felt the reassurance of the box. “You will find out.”

  They traveled for the rest of the day without seeing the sorceress again. It had finally stopped snowing when the sun slipped beneath the gray clouds and they made camp for the eve. An overhanging hill gave them cover while a fire breathed warmth into the human burrow.

  The men fell into a deep slumber after a simple meal of bread, dried meat and ale. But Braen could not sleep. He leaned against the dirt wall and wrapped a fur coverlet around his shoulders. In a hypnotic state, he stared unfocused into the reddish-orange flames. His thoughts went to the sorceress again. He wondered if she had given up. Much to his chagrin, he was a little disappointed. The look of lust in her dark eyes when he stood naked in front of her haunted him all day, making it damn uncomfortable to ride a horse.

  What would her warm mouth have felt like if she had opened up her lips and taken his member inside? Would she run her sweet tongue up the length of him, or gather all his cock in her mouth?

  He smothered a groan and closed his eyes. Stop thinking about her.

  Suddenly the cavern became stifling. He needed to cool down. Throwing off the coverlet, he shot to his feet and stormed away. He could not let a woman dissuade him from his quest. Not even one as beautiful as the sorceress. Had his father held the same conviction he would not be out here in this rotten land of snow, mud and bogs?

  He climbed the steep hill and stood on top. Moonlight shimmered through the break in clouds, illuminating the barren moorlands with a blanket of snow. A sharp, crisp breeze whistled passed him, and he breathed deeply of the damp grassy scent.

  Suddenly, he had a feeling of someone watching him. He turned to the side and found the sorceress staring at him with an air of isolation. A thick ruby cloak trimmed in black fur covered her body; its hood cast a shadow over her face. She raised her hand and uncovered her head, her black hair gleaming in the moonlight, the whites of her eyes sparkling.

  He remained motionless, unable to do or say anything; the vision of her was so perfect.

  Her spirit glided across the moors, and he closed the distance between them. He tapped the side of his clock pocket—the box was still there.

  “You are a stubborn warthog,” she said in a soft, low voice. The innocence of her green eyes contrasted against the high, exotic cheekbones and thick red lips of a sensual woman.

  God’s wounds! He just wanted to kiss her, to show what it was like to be made love to by a wizard. She tilted her head at him,
as if she were curious with his lack of words.

  He finally spoke. “Perhaps, I continue onwards so I could see you again.”

  Even under the moonlight, he saw the becoming blush creep into her ivory cheeks.

  “However, I beg your forgiveness.” He palmed the box within his pocket.

  “What for?” she asked.

  He crouched down at her dainty slippers. “For this.”

  Gently, he placed the glass box between them. A hissing sound erupted from the box along with a strong scent of steel. Mirrored walls instantly grew around them, shaping into a small chamber. Everywhere he looked, images of the sorceress and himself reflected off the walls.

  Her spirit was trapped.

  The sorceress’ eyes widened with shock. She pressed her hand over her mouth and twirled in a tight circle. Her eyes narrowed with fury, and she ran over to a mirror and beat against it, then went to the other side of the chamber and tried to smash her way out. But the walls remained solid.

  “Let me out, or I’ll—”

  “Your powers will not work in here. Only a wizard’s whisper can summon magick.”

  She paced backward and forward, glaring at him with malice.

  “I should probably warn you that your spirit has solidified. Wherever you left your body, it will feel everything you feel in this chamber.”

  She stopped and then raced up to him and slapped him across the face. The sting of her hand print burned on his cheek.

  “Let me out!”

  She went to slap him again when he caught her hand and pulled her body against his. The color of her eyes went from emerald to red while anger fueled her heavy breathing. He held her stare, the curves of her body melded against him, hardening him into an erection. He knew he was not supposed to touch the sorceress, but he could not help himself. His wizard’s powers infused his mind with images of her lying on a bed thinking about him, desiring him.

  Raising his hand, he cupped the side of her smooth cheek.

  She blinked, the color of her eyes changed back to green. Swiftly, she reached up and roughly kissed him. Lightning shot though his being and he returned the passionate kiss, opening his lips to taste her tongue as it plunged inside his mouth. A sense of urgent need drove him closer, to touch her, smell, taste and love her.

  Crushing her body in a frenzy of passion, he felt her hand grapple at his cloak, trying to push it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, and she pulled his tunic over his head. No sooner had he dropped his shirt to the floor then she unlaced his breeches and crouched to pull off his boots. He chuckled at her eagerness, and she smiled up in return. This was a woman who knew what she wanted, and he liked it. No coy seduction, just heated passion melding between two bodies. Pure and unashamed.

  Drucilla burned with an aching need to feel the masculine body she saw at the inn. She wanted him naked—now.

  Hurriedly, he whipped off her ruby cloak and it floated to the floor. With deft fingers, he undid the laces of her blue gown and pulled it over her shoulders along with her white chemise, the garments surrounding her feet.

  He pulled his breeches down and kicked them to the side. They stood before each other, naked and aroused. The sexual tension between them was thick and intoxicating. His appreciative gaze devoured her body, assuring her she was beautiful, desirable.

  She took a deep breath, suddenly anxious. This was her first time, and although she wanted to leap into his arms and have him plunge into her, she was unsure of herself. The books did not prepare her for the emotions she experienced with the nearness of a naked man.

  He lifted her hand to his lips. His eyes seemed to read her thoughts as he touched her skin. “Let your instincts guide you,” he said and led her over to his cloak to lie down.

  The mirrors above reflected her image, fiery cheeks and lips reddened from his kisses. She looked completely different—a woman anticipating a promise of pleasure.

  He lay beside her, propping up on his elbow.

  Her body screamed for his touch, for his kiss. But, she allowed him to set the pace, even if it was agonizingly slow. He ran his fingertips over her stomach and down her legs, then back up to her chin, blazing a trail of heat and prickling her skin.

  With his index finger, he tilted her face to him and smiled at her. “I will be gentle.”

  Leaning over her, he kissed her again, his lips coaxing her tongue to dance with his while she arched toward him, pressing her sensitive breasts against his solid chest.

  He shifted his weight above her and she opened her knees. His hardness nudged against her satin flesh, and an aching fire shot through her body while the heavy beat of her heart pounded in her ears. Her mouth went dry when nervously she reached down to touch his shaft.

  She clasped her hand around the width and slowly pushed and pulled as she saw Silas do. She studied his face as it changed from simple lust to restrained passion, his eyes boring into hers as if she held the key to his body, his soul.

  Such power she held; it was forbidding and pleasurable at the same time.

  The veins on his neck stood out as his breathing feathered over her face. He lowered his head and plundered her mouth while she shifted her hand in perfect rhythm. She wanted him to find his peak, in her hands, under her control.

  He went to move, but she held him tight. “I want to watch your face as you release your seed.”

  “As you wish.”

  Tilting his hips, he rubbed himself between her hot, wet sheath. She regained his full length in her hands, this time it was slippery with her essence, arousing her. Her hands slipped over the tip and back. He made no sound, except for the heavy breathing escaping his perfect lips.

  She tipped her chin up and kissed him, drowning in the manly taste of his mouth.

  Suddenly, his whole body stiffened and he pulled away from her kiss. In the throes of passion, he roared and it vibrated through her being while hot fluid glided passed her hand, onto her flat abdomen. She rubbed it against her skin and then onto her breasts. It excited her, tantalizing her further.

  The sharp scent was erotic, and she wanted to douse herself in its powerful essence.

  He lowered his head and licked her breasts. She giggled low in her throat and stretched her arms above her head, giving him full access.

  “Hmm, take it all,” she whispered breathlessly.

  He grabbed her breasts and ran his tongue around the orbs, then sucked the nipples, one at a time. Oh, she had never felt so free, so vulnerable and excited. She could lie here all day and allow him to do anything he wished with her as long as these feelings never ended.

  Brazenly, his tongue lapped lower as if he could not get enough of her skin mingled with his seed. She shook her head.

  Oh, such a wicked boy.

  She watched his naked round backside in the mirrors above as he climbed down her body and settled between her legs. Two hands pushed her legs further apart, exposing her to his perusal. Heat infused her cheeks with his intimate study of her most private place, yet the dampness between her legs increased under his scrutiny.

  She jolted when a finger glided down her cleft, parting her lips. It was joined by a hot tongue that circled her receptive bud, lapping up and down her tender flesh. A fiery energy scorched beneath her skin as his skillful tongue swept in and out of her.

  She arched her back and grinded herself against his mouth in a frenzy of uninhibited desires.

  He rose on his knees and lifted her ankles to rest on his shoulders. A sinful smile formed on his lips, and he turned his head to kiss the skin on her calf.

  “I love your slick insides pulsating on my tongue,” he said with a deep and husky voice.

  His shaft rested on the outside of her core, and she wiggled closer to him, her body begging him to enter her. The wizard’s eyes glimmered with a sinful glee. Taking his member, he guided it to her entrance, watching her face intently.

  She cupped her breasts and turned her face, waiting for the first time a man would enter her body.r />
  Bit by bit, he nudged inside her until he came to her maidenhead. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction to her sexual naivety. He paused but then continued past the barrier. It felt dry with friction for a moment then her muscles relaxed and accommodated his size. Tipping her hips, she set the tempo while he matched her movement, grinding hot flesh to flesh. She turned her head back to see the mirror reflection above her. He held her ankles while thrusting into her, wild and abandoned. She was so wet, so open and could not get enough of him.

  His body glistened with sweat, and her hair stuck to her face while they panted and writhed together. Physical fervor taking her beyond thought, heightening her senses until she screamed. Glorious waves of pleasure washed through her.

  He then shook violently, thrusting and jarring, he poured himself into her while a trickle of sweat dripped off his temples. He looked raw and exposed, young and alive.

  His brown eyes stared at her with unadulterated worship. She smothered a giggle. In the position they were in, they looked somewhat silly. She allowed her legs to fall, and he lay next to her, his breathing still labored.

  She took a deep sigh, a certain peace settling over her spirit. She had no idea intimacy would make her feel so—complete.

  Braen licked his lips, wishing for a tankard of ale to wet his dry mouth. He looked at the sorceress. Her black hair fell over the side of her face, framing her delicate ear. She was sensational. If only circumstances were different.

  “I do not even know your name.”

  “Drucilla,” she replied and smiled.

  “Drucilla,” he said her name, enjoying the way it rolled off his tongue.

  He kissed her cheek and then rose to a sitting position. The weight of her stare on his back warmed his insides as he grabbed his breeches and pulled them up to his waist, then shoved his feet into his boots. He twisted around and ran his hand through his hair. What was he going to do with her?

  If he had a choice, he would stay in the balmy comfort of the glass box and make love to her again. But, he would not let her beauty command or distract him from his quest. His family relied on him obtaining Merlin’s staff. Until it was in his hands, they were cursed with ill fortune.