She cocked her head, glad that the conversation gave her an excuse to look at him. The hair curled in little tendrils at the nape of his neck, and suddenly she wondered how soft those curls would be. “That’s an odd answer.”
“My country”—he shook his head a little and gave a little grimace that might have been a smile—“you would find it an—an odd place.”
“No odder than any other, surely. Odder than Khardroon? Stranger than Eld?”
“How many places have you seen, my lady?” He smiled at her this time, and in the firelight, the golden flecks within his eyes reflected the fire’s warmth.
“Not that many,” she admitted. “Until—until Lindos, I had never been outside of Sylyria.”
He nodded. “That’s the way things are done, aren’t they? I imagine you never thought—” He broke off, as though aware he might be treading on dangerous ground.
“No,” she replied, with a smile of her own to show she took no offense, “I never thought to go so far or see so much.”
They lapsed into silence. The fire flared and snapped, and outside the storm screamed louder. Gusts of wind blew into the cave, and involuntarily Juilene shivered and moved closer to Cariad’s warmth. His arm closed around her, and her body melded itself to his. The rough wool suddenly seemed very thick.
She raised her eyes to his. Her head fell back against his shoulder as he lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss was gentle at first, just the barest pressure of his lips on hers. She turned to him, wrapping her arm around his neck, and the kiss deepened as his tongue flicked over her parted lips. Eagerly, they strained into each other. He lowered her gently to the sandy floor, his arm beneath her head, and she twined her hands in his hair, even as their tongues twined together.
When he finally raised his head, her breathing was ragged, and the blanket had almost completely slipped away. She took his hand and guided it to her breast. His palm closed over the smooth mound of rounded flesh, and she raised her face to his once more.
“Stop me now, lady, if you wish,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
For answer, she clasped him closer and pressed her lips to his once more. He shifted, so that she was lying flat beneath him.
“Juilene,” he murmured against her ear, “do you want this?”
She pulled away, stared into his eyes. In the dim light, the blue was nearly black, but the gold flecks within the irises reflected the light of the fire. Pleasure coursed through her, and desire and need and want, and her hands trembled as she caressed his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath the soft, scarred skin. Her breath caught in her throat when she tried to answer. “You’ve no idea how much.”
He bent his head and brought her close, and then nothing mattered at all for a very long time.
Juilene opened her eyes. The fire had died down, but the wind no longer howled at the opening of the cave. The woolen blanket beneath her itched, but Cariad’s face was buried in her hair, and his arm encircled her and held her close against his chest. She was loath to move.
She must have made some sound, some gesture, for he stirred behind her and nuzzled her neck. She drew a deep breath and gave a little sigh of contentment She brought his hand up to cup her breast.
“Mm,” he murmured.
She arched back against him, and lay, staring at the rough rock walls on the other side of the fire, unable to put into words what she felt. Unexpectedly, her thoughts turned to Arimond. This was deeper, truer, in some way than anything she had felt for Arimond. What would he have done, she wondered, in the last days? Intuitively, she knew he would not have had the patience or the skill to take them through the swamps and fens of the wilderness. Lying in the circle of Cariad’s arms, she knew that the memory of Arimond would always be dear to her, but that she had changed. She was no longer the girl he had loved. Would Arimond have approved of the way she had thrown the dagger? She doubted it. Arimond would have been horrified to learn that she carried a dagger, let alone that she had practiced how to use it. She could just imagine what he would have said if she had whipped out a dagger in his presence. He probably would have insisted she hand it over to him, before she cut herself with it. A soft giggle escaped.
Cariad stirred once more. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” she said.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his lips soft against her ear.
She sighed a little. “Just thinking about—” She broke off. She didn’t want to mention Arimond to Cariad, lest it in some way upset him. She had no reason to think that it would, but she hesitated. “About before,” she finished lamely.
“Before? Ah—and now it seems funny?”
She shrugged a little. “In some ways it does. All the things I couldn’t do—all the things I was supposed to do—all the things I shouldn’t do—”
“Like what?” His fingers kneaded the flesh of her breast.
“Oh—like lying naked in a cave next to a fire beside my lover.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She flushed. Would Cariad mind that she had called him her lover?
“Ah—but what would it matter? If no one knew—”
“Someone always knew,” she said, her body responding to his touch.
He made a little sound, which might have been a laugh, but when he spoke, he didn’t sound amused. “Yes, I know. There was always someone to find out.”
She turned to face him. “Cariad, I don’t mean to pry, but—why did you come here? Where is your country and why are you here?”
A shadow crossed his face, but he picked up her hand and kissed it. “Juilene, can you bear with me, a little while longer? I want to tell you my story—I need to tell you my story. You’ve made me feel things I thought I would never feel again—better things than I have ever felt before. I never knew I could care about a woman the way I have come to care about you. But—” He hesitated, and she caressed his rough cheek.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. Her fingers twined in the little curls at the nape of his neck. “It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Not without me, anyway.” He smiled down at her, and gathered her close. Her eyes closed as he lowered his mouth to hers once more.
But before their lips could touch, a gust of wind hurtled through the cave, not from the front, but from the back, and the fire leaped and swirled in a blaze. Cariad half rose, gathering the blanket around himself, reaching for the dagger he had placed on the rock above their heads. The wind blew again over and around them, and sand swirled, choking Juilene in a cloud that seemed to sparkle in the light of the fire.
They both coughed, and Cariad covered his mouth and nose with a corner of the blanket, holding his dagger clenched in his right hand. “By the goddess,” he muttered as the errant wind came again, this time blowing their hair over their heads.
Juilene seized a corner of her own blanket and sat up, gathering the folds around herself. Only the wind seemed to blow capriciously. In the flickering light of the fire, nothing else moved.
Then a voice boomed from the back of the cave, and Cariad caught her and held her close. “All hail the non-born knight! All hail the ’sayer who holds the harp! Hail the knight and hail the ’sayer! Welcome to my humble home!”
Juilene clung to Cariad, who glared suspiciously into the depths of the cavern. A light shone, a thin bright beacon, which seemed to beckon, and the wind blew around them, a gentle, beguiling breeze.
“What is it?”
“Who is it, is the question,” Cariad answered, his face set and grim. “I don’t like being spied upon—here, lady, dress yourself.”
He ripped her clothes off the rocks where she had spread them and handed them to her. They were nearly dry. She crouched down and dressed as quickly as possible, while beside her, Cariad did the same. He straightened to his full height and unsheathed his sword. “Come.” He held out his hand.
Unsteadily she rose, reminding herself that together, they had faced grimmen and the dangers of the
wilderness. The words the voice had spoken reverberated in her mind. The non-born knight. Was it possible that Cariad was the non-born knight? Could it be true? She clutched at his hand, and followed as he led them back into the depths of the cavern.
The rocks rose on either side, and the sand beneath their feet gleamed whitely, leading them on like a ribbon. At their feet, cool air swirled and flowed about their ankles, and Juilene had the unnerving impression that the air was somehow sensate, somehow aware of what and who they were, and urged them on.
The rock tunnel led back quite a distance. The passage was narrow, but the walls were high, and when Juilene looked up, she could not see the top. Cariad said nothing.
At last the tunnel ended, and they stepped into a room brightly lit, carved out of the rocks. A fire burned in a deep pit, over which was suspended a huge pot of some sort of stew, for it bubbled and steamed, and the odor that rose from it made Juilene’s mouth water. Cariad wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “Who’s here?”
A slight form, garbed in a long robe of greyish homespun, emerged from some nook carved into the rock walls. “All hail the non-born knight,” he said with a bow, spreading his hands wide. “All hail the ’sayer who holds the harp.”
“Who are you, old man?” Cariad’s jaw was tight, and he did not relax his guard.
The old man seemed to smile through the thick beard that flowed down his chest nearly to his waist. “My name—” He seemed to search his memory. “Ah, my name! My name lost all meaning long ago, but you may call me Ludi, if you will, young knight. Please, have a seat at my hearth, and a bowl of my broth, you and your lady both.”
Juilene flushed at being called Cariad’s lady. She drew a little closer to him and pressed against his side. Cariad was looking warily at the old man. “Who are you?” he asked.
The old man sighed. “Hm. So you know the difference between what a thing is called and what a thing is. And that is not a question easily answered. But most call me the old man of the wilderness—you’ve heard those stories, too, I think?” He smiled nearly slyly at Cariad.
Cariad narrowed his eyes. “I’ve heard them. Are you he or not?”
Ludi spread his hands once more. “I’m afraid I am. But please, it’s not nearly so important who I am as who you are, young knight. And your lady looks famished. Won’t you both sit and have a bowl of broth?”
Cariad cast a look around. Juilene could see nothing that would indicate any danger or harm. He nodded and slowly sat on one side on the firepit, keeping the exit to his back. She sat down beside him, crossing her legs in front of her.
Ludi whistled something tuneless under his breath. The errant breeze whipped around his head, making the unruly locks lift and dance, and Juilene had to bite her lip in order not to giggle. Whatever there was about this strange old man, he didn’t strike her as dangerous, just odd. She glanced at her ring. The stone was dark and dull, and she relaxed beside Cariad, nudging him and pointing to the ring. He raised his eyebrow and set the sword down by his side, the hilt still close at hand.
Ludi waved his arms. “Away with you, sprite!” He shook his head in exasperation. “Air sprites! Ever deal with a sprite? Be grateful you haven’t had one fall in love with you—” The fire in the pit rose in a shower of multicolored flames. “Ah, my Imisine—you know I love you, too.” He busied himself with spoons and bowls, ladling generous servings of the contents of the pot into the bowls. He passed them over to Juilene who handed one to Cariad. “Now, eat, my friends. Eat and then you may ask me what you will.”
Cariad dipped his spoon into the broth and stirred it, as though reluctant to eat it. Juilene felt her mouth water once more. She tasted the broth, though it was more like a stew, gingerly. Flavor exploded on her tongue. She glanced once more at the sapphire ring, and with a little sigh began to eat.
“What’s a non-born knight?” Cariad demanded, setting the bowl aside untouched.
Ludi raised his eyebrows, bushy and grey. “Ask her.” He nodded at Juilene.
Juilene nearly choked in midswallow as Cariad glanced at her. “No, old man. You tell me. What’s a non-born knight?”
“I think you know.” Ludi smiled through his beard. “It’s you.”
Cariad glanced at the sword by his side. “I’ll ask you once more—”
“It’s Lindos’s doom,” said Juilene. She put her spoon down. “He can only be killed by a non-born knight. Arimond thought it was he, since he wasn’t born the usual way. But it wasn’t.”
Cariad stared at her. “Lindos?”
“Aye, young knight. Gives you pause, doesn’t it?” Ludi cackled softly. “You have a choice to make.”
Cariad looked at Ludi, his eyes narrowed. “A choice?”
“It’s in your power to end it, to change what will be—”
“Who are you, old man? How do you know these things?”
Ludi met his eyes evenly, and there was no trace of madness in the steady gaze. “It’s not important who I am. What’s important is what will be.”
“You’re talking about the future.”
A chill went down Juilene’s spine. There was an undercurrent to the conversation she couldn’t understand, but something told her that it concerned Cariad’s identity. Who was he, that Ludi called him the non-born knight?
“I am,” said Ludi with a nod. “Choices made and choices spurned. Things which should not be, and yet are. Places not known, and yet sought. All these things—and more.”
Cariad drew a deep breath. “What do you know of us, of me?”
“I know who you are, and who you aren’t.”
“How?”
“I can read the magic on you.”
“And me?” Juilene interrupted.
Ludi looked at her closely. “There’s no spell on you, little sister. You aren’t bound by magic.”
“But—but the spell—” She stared from the old man to Cariad.
“Can be lifted by one who loves you for yourself alone,” murmured Cariad, not taking his eyes off the old man.
Shock went through her, made her weak. Could it be true? Was it possible that since they’d traveled through the wilderness the spell was lifted? She thought of all the things Cariad had handed her, offered her, given her. Nothing had ever affected him, and yet, she had thought it because of the spell he said he had from his uncle. “Why didn’t you say something?” she whispered.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me,” he murmured back.
She sat back, still shaken.
Ludi regarded them both from the other side of the firepit. “So many things left unsaid, young knight.” He got to his feet. “There’s a room—” He pointed. “Sleep there if you like. If not, sleep in the cave. No harm will come to you.” He clapped his hands. “Come, Imisine.”
A gust of air so concentrated it was nearly visible swirled around his robes. The old man laughed. “Yes, yes, let’s be off.”
Cariad half rose. “Wait—old man—”
Ludi turned back. “Yes?”
“You haven’t told us anything.”
“I’ve told you everything. The rest is for you to tell.” Without another word, the old man seemed to fade into the rocks, his grey robes fading into the walls as though he had never been there.
Cariad sank down beside Juilene.
She dared a peek at him. His face was pale, and his eyes were shadowed. “Cariad—”
He heaved a deep sigh. “The old man was right. There’s so much I must tell you. I—I just don’t know how.”
“Was he right? About the spell?”
Cariad lowered his eyes and color rose in his cheeks. “I never expected to feel what I feel for you, Juilene.”
“But—you love me?”
He raised his eyes to hers and nodded. “From the first time I heard you in the inn, I think.”
“But, I thought Lona—”
“You thought I loved Lona?” He sat back with a soft chuckle. “No, she’s like a sis—” He seemed to choke on
the word sister and hastily went on. “Like an aunt.” He dropped his eyes and somehow Juilene knew a nerve had been touched. “No,” he said again. “I don’t love her like that.”
She reached for his hand, and his fingers curled eagerly around it. “So, all this time—”
“All this time, I’ve tried to think of some way to make you safe. I knew Diago and Rihana were a danger to you, and I was so unsure of my own feelings. There’s so much about me you don’t know, Juilene.” He broke off. “There’s so much about me you may not like if you do.”
“Cariad, how can you say that? You have no idea how I’ve felt these last weeks—how much I looked forward to your coming every evening—how much I hoped you’d speak to me—and tonight—”
He looked over his shoulder. “I’m not sure we should stay with this old thurge, or whatever he might be.”
“Then let’s go back to the cave.”
“I want you to be comfortable. It may be a long time before we can sleep sheltered again.” He got to his feet and picked up his sword. “Come.”
She followed him to the place Ludi had pointed to. A low opening in the rock wall led to a room carved out of the rock. A low bed, big enough for the two of them, covered in blankets and piled high with pillows stood in the center of the floor. A lone candle cast huge shadows on the round walls. “You sleep,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with one finger laid across her lips. “It will be a long while before we have this chance again.”
With a little frown of resignation, she ducked beneath the low opening. Inside, the ceiling was as high as the other room’s. She glanced at the door. She could hear Cariad settling down once more beside the fire, doubtless his sword still held in his hand. She wondered if she should protest. The bed looked so inviting—she thought of their lovemaking earlier and a pang of desire went through her that was nearly painful. There’ll be time for that, she scolded herself. She sank down on the bed and weariness overtook her, and was asleep before her head touched the pillow.
The fire guttered and burned, fed by some unknown, unseen source. Cariad watched the flames dance in the confines of the pit, and wondered how to tell Juilene his story. Would she believe him at all? he wondered. And if she believed him, would she recoil in horror when she heard it? Would she think him some beast, less than a man? Curse the old man for revealing him to Juilene before he was ready to declare himself. But wasn’t it right, somehow? Shouldn’t he have told her how he felt, before he had taken her?
The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden Page 24
