Queen's Heart: An Arthurian Paranormal Romance (Arthurian Hearts Book 2)

by Sullivan, Phoenix

  Anger at that thought hardened him. I pressed the advantage. My other hand snaked up from the thigh it had been holding and cupped itself low around the twin bulges betwixt his thighs. My fingers played along the linen-covered crease between.

  He shuddered.

  “Let me tell you what I think they’re doing. Right now, Drustan is kissing Yseult, deeply, one hand on her lovely upturned breast, naked under his touch. His other hand trails… lower. And now he’s lying atop her.” I splayed my hand across the front of Des’ breeches. “She’s staring into his eyes, drunk on the honey from his lips. And now she tells him what she’s told no man before. ‘Yes.’ She breathes the word into his mouth.”

  In rage, Des was glorious and terrifying to behold. He swung his head, his shoulders in denial while he hung on my every word.

  “A virgin?” The agony in his voice was profound, cutting through my soul like an axe. But to heal I had to cut us both deeper still.

  “Drustan is the first to open her there as he lifts above her. Then…” I wrapped my hand back around him, squeezing rhythmically.

  Des groaned his grief like a wild thing.

  “It is done, Des. And what is done can never be undone. I know your pain. Let me help lessen it.” Emboldened, I turned my head and nipped his linened length. He trembled between my hands. I traced the lacings of his leggings to their knot. Few skills I might have as a simple handmaid, but the unmaking of knots was high among them. Des went still as I spread the cloth and his gaze was far away.

  “Whore.” He choked on the whispered word.

  Did he mean me or Yseult? “No. Drustan and Yseult are together now forever. Just as we shall be, you and I. No man can resist Isolde’s spell.”

  “I am not as other men,” Des growled. “Men’s iron, men’s food cannot harm me. Did you think a man’s spell could? Isolde is as a gnat compared to the one who cursed me. My heart is Yseult’s.” He dragged me roughly to my feet. Grabbing a handful of fabric he tugged my shift over my head, leaving me bare in the starlight. Boots still on, he kicked his open breeches down.

  My heart cried with joy. He meant to bed me here under sight of the tender moon. Whatever curse he meant had surely passed. Isolde’s spell flowered now in his heart at last. I bent to remove his boots.

  An arm like a steel band wrapped around my waist. He pushed me forward. Two strides and we were at the deck rail. He bent me over it and suddenly I knew what he intended. I wanted him—God knew how much. But like this? No preamble? No kindness? Not even the pleasure of his eyes on mine? Taken like a dog in rut. This was no act of love. It was revenge for Yseult’s betrayal.

  Whether I would have struggled, I don’t know. Des plunged into me and my whole world stopped. Whatever else, I was naked in Des’ arms. His hips banging mine was my dream made real. His other arm slammed into the railing by my ear, bracing him as bent over me, his strangled panting slowing as his strokes increased.

  If he should take his pleasure before me… Concentrating on him, on us, I now met each thrust with eager anticipation. I was close. So close.

  He erupted inside me, his precious seed a gift, as intimate a part of him that any woman could ever know. I struggled to reach my own peak of pleasure—to gift him with my cries and with the ultimate worship of love.

  I squeezed shut my eyes, needing only a moment more. And between one ragged breath and another he was gone, leaving me dangling on the precipice.

  I held breath, desperately trying to recapture lost pleasure, but my body had already surrendered. I opened tear-filled eyes on the black sea below. “Do you love me?” I asked, watching the waves churn in the wake.

  “No.” What rage his voice still held was not directed at me. I couldn’t even elicit that from him.

  “Could you ever love me?” Even hesitation would have given me hope.

  There was none. “No.”

  Doom clamored at my thoughts. “I drank for love of you.” A dreadful calm descended. “Now I can love no other.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.” It wasn’t an apology. There was no remorse. Not in his voice at least. I refused to turn to see his cruel eyes.

  “No.”

  “Who was Isolde’s spell meant for?”

  “Yseult.” My voice was numb. “And King Mark.”

  I heard his sigh—frustration, despair, hurt—I wondered how one human sound could encompass so many complex emotions. “You have doomed them. Me. All of us.”

  “Yes.” For a moment I could wish I had Des’ strength. “Tell them I’m sorry.”

  A part of me heard Des’ boots sprint the few paces toward me. But fast as he was, he was far, far too late to save me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  PALOMIDES

  “Brangien!” I stretched to catch her. And might have, had she wanted to be caught. As it was, my hands passed only through the air behind her as she fell. She didn’t surface. There was no frantic splashing to mark her location.

  “Boatswain!” Hastily, I stripped off the boots I had refused to remove before. The swarthy captain minding the tiller who had ducked away once supper was brought up by the others reappeared just as I clambered over the rail.

  “The handmaid’s overboard! Stop the boat and rouse the others.”

  With no real hope of rescuing her, I arrowed into the dark waters. Already we’d traveled several boatlengths from the spot I’d marked and not removed eyes from save when I dove. That small lapse, though, was enough to make me unsure exactly where she’d fallen. I swam out strongly then kicked down for the bottom of the sea. Looking to run out of air before reaching the bottom, I circled my way to the unscarred surface where the boat was drifting away, only then realizing how futile my efforts were in the nighted waters.

  One of the two swains stood at the rail, holding to a rope attached I presumed to an anchor he’d just dropped. “Did you see her?” I shouted.

  “Nay. She hasn’t come up.”

  Trusting to nothing more than luck, I dove again. The water chilled through me. I was blind in its depths. When I felt myself suffocating and kicked back to the surface, I recognized I’d twice run out of breath below.

  Nearby, the second swain bobbed in the swells. Gulping air he prepared to dive. The boat was close now, and I realized I’d drifted toward it. How far? Looking at the swell-upon-swell sameness of that sea that spread everywhere, I could no longer be sure. I was a creature of the woods not the water. The lore of it escaped me.

  “Des!”

  The anguish of the cry tore at my heart. At the rail, her undertunic loose about her, both hands clutching the side, Yseult stood. At her side, hip to hip, one arm circling her waist, the other hand resting atop hers, Drustan leaned against the rail, the sweat on his bare chest glistening in the moonlight.

  I groaned. “Damn you, Brangien,” I cursed at the waves. Then I dove again, not because I expected to find the hapless handmaid who’d taken the coward’s way out of this mess she’d caused, but because I was too unready to face my own rejection. I knew only too well how Brangien must have felt. Never could I forgive her, but I could understand her. Had I had the power in my hands to make Yseult love only me, I would likely have wielded it too, without thought or regard to any other.

  But it was me she’d disregarded. Me whose heart beat helplessly for Yseult who’d now abandoned me. My devastation was only too familiar. It was Brinn abandoning me all over again. I choked back the tears the sea would only wash away.

  What possible lesson is there in all this, Father?

  If only I could be done with this curse and return to my pack. The only lesson I was learning for a second time was that love must always end for me in pain and betrayal.

  The pressure in my lungs tortured me for breath. Already I’d stayed under too long, gone too deep. I kicked out… and up.

  Cursed I still was and Yseult-who-would-be-queen the one who must break it. Yet Isolde’s spell now ensured she could never love another while Drustan still lived. No matter w
hich way I turned it, Fate had driven me again to an inescapable conclusion.

  Surfacing, I gasped in great long draughts of breath and life.

  To be again with Yseult at my side meant Drustan would have to die.

  The swain in the water with me, wiser than I in the sea ways, swam to where I was already being carried downcurrent. His second dive, it seemed, as fruitless as my third.

  “My Lord,” he sputtered as water streamed down his hair and beard, “if she hasn’t drawn breath by now…”

  I nodded. Coward through I’d named her for choosing to not face the consequences of her actions, it took courage to drown.

  We swam to the boat and climbed the anchor rope to the deck. Bu the time I swung over the rail, Yseult knew she’d not see her Brangien again.

  Drustan held her half-collapsed in sobs against him. Above her head, his eyes met mine, hard and accusing. “What happened? We left her drinking with you.”

  “No. He wouldn’t.” Yseult’s voice, muffled, rose from Drustan’ chest.

  “You think I—?”

  “You weren’t alone up here. The captain heard you arguing. Heard you—” Drustan tilted his chin pointedly at Brangien’s shift heaped upon the deck.

  “I didn’t drive her into the sea, if that’s your meaning.”

  Drustan looked genuinely shocked. “You were at the rail. She was drunk. An accident, I assume. Just… how?”

  How? How much easier all would be if Drustan had been quick to accuse me. Guile rose like bile in my throat. Drustan had been a friend to me. In other circumstances, he could have been even more. Before tonight, in truth, I would have welcomed him heartily into my bed. Had there been no curse, no Yseult, I could well have welcomed him into my heart, my life.

  How could love of Yseult madden me so? And how could I love her so and even think to cause her one moment of pain by taking away the thing she loved most? I could barely stand to see her in such grief over Brangien now.

  As for Brangien, they deserved the truth.

  “It was not an accident,” I said at last.

  Yseult’s sobs quieted and she pushed away from Drustan. It pained me to see the red of her eyes when she looked directly at me and said, “I know you would never—”

  “I didn’t,” I assured her, grateful for her trust in me, misplaced as it almost was.

  “She loved you.”

  “She told me. Only…”

  “You couldn’t love her back.”

  I shook my head. “There’s….another.”

  “I know.” Her voice was gentle, her expression kind but laced with great sorrow.

  “I could have lied to her.” Under Yseult’s gentle grief my guilt blossomed. Could I have prevented this tragedy?

  “No, you couldn’t have. She would have known it wasn’t truth.”

  “She… jumped is so harsh a word.”

  Yseult choked back a sob at hearing it spoken, though she knew it would be said. Then she gathered her wits and quite calmly said, “She was showing off—a game—and lost her balance.”

  “Yseult—” Drustan began and she shushed him with a finger to his lips.

  “The truth is between her and God. Her family and friends will be grieved enough. Let them remember her in kindness, not shame.” She removed a ring and handed it to the captain. “You and your men will also remember her in kindness, yes?”

  He bowed over the gift. “In great kindness indeed, my Lady.”

  “How much longer to Tintagel?” Drustan asked.

  “Another five hours, perhaps. We’ll arrive on the morning tide.”

  “We should try to get some rest, then. There’ll be much in the way of introductions and feasting for Yseult’s first day in Cornwall.”

  Yseult nodded, already wearied from grief.

  My gut went cold when Drustan guided Yseult to the hatchway. As he swung down to catch the ladder, he turned his face to me and crooked a half-smile in triumph. Then, deliberately placing his hands on either hip to help her down, he marked Yseult for his own. Together, they disappeared below.

  I would, it appeared, be sleeping in my cabin alone.

  Picking up Isolde’s emptied flagon, I heaved it far—far—out to sea.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  TRISTAN

  Waking just after dawn with Yseult in my arms was joy beyond compare. The rope bed threw us together at its center, creating a natural opportunity for intimacy—if I hadn’t been in my breeches and she in her shift. I curled around her nevertheless, a linened breast nestled in each hand, thumbs stroking their peaks.

  Considering the day’s alternative, spending the rest of eternity in this cramped and ill-lit cabin wrapped in Yseult’s splendor would have been my desire. Here, we could forget all grief and jealousies, sad farewellings and whatever dark secrets went still unspoken.

  Des hid his well, but the mysteries around him only grew the longer I knew him. As for my own… I thought it would be easier to confess my name and title to Yseult once away from Whitehaven. But to bring it up during song in the afternoon hadn’t seemed fitting, nor while we were drinking, and certainly not any time beyond that. Perhaps now, when Yseult woke.

  As if she’d heard my thoughts, she stirred against me. “That’s lovely,” she whispered, my hands still filled with her.

  “You should try it from my side.” Sweeping her hair aside, I kissed her neck, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She turned her head and, lips to hers, I kissed her fully awake. “We only have a couple of hours before landfall. Our last to be together. Share them with me,” I invited. My secret had waited this long. It needn’t compromise the last few minutes I had to know true happiness. “Forget the world for just a little. All will still be as it is now when we’re done.”

  “Yes,” she breathed into me. “Let’s forget together.”

  I rolled from bed to deck to remove my breeches. Yseult pulled her shift over her head, and in the stray bit of morning light that peeped its way in through the tiny porthole, I ogled her resplendent body.

  Had we more room, more time, I could think of a hundred ways to pleasure her. As it was, I rolled back into our awkward bed and pulled her atop me. With a smile and a firm hand, she caught me and guided me in.

  “I’m not too heavy, am I?”

  I laughed gently at the concern in her voice. “No, my Lady. You are perfection itself.”

  I savored every moment, every touch, every thrust. We swallowed each other’s cries of ecstasy, then I rolled her beneath me and we did it all again.

  After, I clung to her, making that moment and the others that had come before ours alone.

  “Whatever else may come,” I whispered, my voice urgent in her ear, “remember this is truth. I will never stop loving you.”

  “Whatever else may come,” Yseult echoed, “God will know my heart always lies with you.”

  Holding to the bliss of that moment, I refused to think of Des or Mark or Brangien. Yseult was mine. Would be mine forever.

  Whatever else may come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  YSEULT

  Clouds hung low and threatening when Drustan and I made our way to the deck at last. With each step up the ladder, my soul went a little more numb. To have found Drustan only to lose him to the duty of the crown. To have lost my dearest friend to tragedy. To be about to lose myself to a king I’d never seen.

  Is this what it meant to be a queen? Losing that which I most loved?

  Brangien had found her way to peace. But I knew her path could never be mine. For now, for whatever more might come, I could endure.

  Des was finishing his breakfast when Drustan and I stepped on deck. The pinch in my stomach reminded me none of us had eaten last night.

  “Boatswain!” Des bellowed. “They’re up.”

  He turned sullen eyes on us and by the open keg at his side, it was clear he wished to be drunk. He arched a brow at me. “My Lady disapproves?” He nodded toward the keg. “It has no more effect on me than
your mother’s potions. But come, indulge yourselves. We all deserve to be drunk this day.”

  One of the boatswains dropped a laden trencher by Des, then hurried off. I picked up a bit of beef and a piece of flatbread before asking, “What did you mean by ‘mother’s potions’?”

  Des scowled. “Playing innocent no longer becomes you, my Lady.”

  The backhanded remark stung. I didn’t love Des, as a friend, any less. I knew it was jealousy speaking in Des’ voice, and for that I forgave his behavior. “You mistake, Sir, if you believe I knew anything of my mother’s gift. What has it to do with any of this?”

  “What has—?” His eyes narrowed and he looked sharply, first at me then at Drustan who was raiding the trencher yet all the while acutely aware of Des and me. “You truly didn’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Your mother’s gift was a love potion.”

  “A lo—” My knees went weak as understanding crashed over me. I struggled for breath as I sagged to the deck. Then Des on one side and Drustan on the other were bearing me up, leading me to a seat by the rail and forcing me to sit. I clenched at Drustan’s arm. His face looked as ashen as mine felt. “Was last night—? This morning—?” I heard Des’ anguished groan.

  “No!” Drustan cupped my chin with a hard hand. “There was no need of any witchery. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw the storm in your eyes.” Only then did he falter, and I saw the edge of fear in his face. “But maybe it was you who never loved me.”

  The dread in his eyes at the thought tore at my heart. “I loved you, too, before. I swear. Only…” I swallowed. Why did truth always hurt so much? “Between you and Des—I couldn’t choose.” I felt tears gather in my throat, but this went beyond tears. In the quiet that fell between us, I waited for the man to catch up.