And more than that, too. Arianna was now a lady, my wife, and everyone in the household treated her as such. There was some resistance at first, but as I had already learned, no one could remain indifferent to Arianna for long.
It wasn’t just me, I knew, who was slowly being drawn into the enchantment she spun. Within a fortnight she’d endeared herself to every servant, and many in the clan had gone from whispering suspicions about her to singing her praises, while others had at least grudgingly accepted her. Even the laird’s men soon looked upon Arianna with fondness and affection.
Mara was so proud of her daughter. This was another part of Arianna that seemed to be flourishing here–the loving daughter, devoted and attentive to her parents. She had dresses made for her mother, and personally oversaw the early stages of construction for the home Joseph and I were having built for her family. Each day, without fail, she rode into the village to visit her parents. Often she would bring them back with her to dine at the keep, and sometimes she would take me along with her to eat at the humble cottage with them. She even attended morning mass at the village church with them on occasion. I knew how she detested it, so it moved me even more that she should do this just to please them.
The love in that tiny family grew steadily, day by day. And I was somehow included in that love. Arianna’s father and I spent a great deal of time together in the stables discussing Joseph’s horses as Edwyn repaired saddles, and even hunting together now and again. The man seemed to look upon me as a son, and an old scarred place in my heart seemed to soften and become tender all over again.
But it was not the strengthening bond between Arianna and her family, nor between her family and me, that unnerved me. No, more than anything else, it was my own unwilling fascination with her. I grew more and more reluctant to be away from her, and found myself seeking out her company at every opportunity. When she visited her family, I went along more often than not. Even to mass at the village church. I knew she was spending time with Nidaba every day in secret lessons of combat. I often hid myself to watch. The way she moved, the way she learned so quickly, her grace, her strength . . . all of it entranced me. When I exercised Black, I took her along, and our rides became more for sheer enjoyment than for the good of our mounts. Seeing her beside me upon a galloping mare, her hair flying in the wind, sent such sensations through me that I barely knew how to contain them. Or to understand them. And while these feelings frightened me, even while the warnings whispered through my mind, my heart rejoiced in them.
I told myself it was only friendship I felt for my young bride, a fondness like that of a brother for a sister. And yet I knew, deep down, these were lies. For I wanted her. More with every breath I drew, I wanted her. And each night as I lay in my nest of cushions upon the floor my discomfort and frustration grew. My young, beautiful bride only an arm’s length from me, asleep in the bed we were meant to share, seemed to beckon me even from within the realms of her dreams. And often, I would part the makeshift curtain between us, just to look on her as she slept. When she rolled toward me, a soft sigh escaping her slightly parted lips, her hair spread over her pillows, I ached inside. When moonbeams streamed through our window to bathe her in silvery light, I held my breath as I watched her sleeping.
The moon waxed toward full, and with each night, I grew more and more uneasy. For I had promised her we would observe the full moon together, at the Stone Circle, and I felt a certain anxiety growing stronger and stronger within me. What I feared, I did not know. But there was a sense I had always possessed that warned me when danger was near. And I felt it now, looming larger with each night.
Until finally, the moon was full, and I knew the time was at hand.
Arianna was . . . remarkable that Esbat night. She wore a white tunic gown of the style I’d seen worn in Greece on my travels there, no doubt given to her by Nidaba. Silver clasps held the gathered fabric at her shoulders, a silver belt hugged ‘round her slender waist. Her long, graceful arms were bare, save the bracelets she wore. And her pendant was fastened, as always, about her slender neck. For the first time I examined the pendant more closely, and the detail of it, the Moon Goddess reclining in the curve of a cradle moon, made me catch my breath. For it was the sort only worn by High Witches . . . but she did not know she was one.
She looked up at me as I entered our chamber, eyes wide, smile uncertain. Then she rose slowly as my eyes remained riveted. Her hair caught up with a silver clasp, then spilling free ‘round it. A black cloak I’d given her for tonight was draped over her arm.
“Am I dressed suitably?” she asked me, her voice soft, hesitant.
“You . . . chose very well, Arianna.” I’d seen an artist’s conception of the Moon Goddess Diana once, and it had looked very much the way Arianna looked now. Silver adorning her, dressed all in white. As for myself, I wore my finest kilt, beneath a dark hooded cloak, and this night, I had donned my own pendant, so similar to Arianna’s.
My gaze returned once again to the pendant she wore, I wondered what she knew of its significance. “Arianna . . . that necklace. It is . . . very unusual.”
She fingered the piece, her touch reverent, fingers dancing over the circle, and the star in its center, and the cradle moon and reclining goddess that adorned its outer curve. “‘Twas one of three gifts The Crones gave to me when I’d studied with them for a year and a day,” she said. “‘Twas at our last ritual together. I will cherish it always.”
I nodded, not telling her I was wearing one very much like it, tucked beneath my cloak. Nor did I tell her that most of the High Witches I had known did as well. I did not usually wear mine when I was here at Stonehaven. I had no wish to advertise what I was to those few who might, somehow, know what the pendant symbolized. It was becoming painfully obvious that more knowledge existed out there than I had ever suspected. The Crones . . . could they have known of our existence? They had given her a High Witch’s dagger as well that night as I’d watched in silence.
But how? And if they suspected what Arianna truly was, why had they not told her?
Then again, I thought, why hadn’t I?
Perhaps they, too, had believed her too young, and not yet ready to know the truth.
“Come,” I said softly, banishing the other thoughts. “It nears midnight.” Taking the dark cloak she held, I draped it about her shoulders. It was silken, large, and loose, and had a hood. I had one like it.
“What is the meaning of the cloak, Nicodimus?” she asked as we moved into the corridors and through them, and finally out into the night.
Reaching behind her, I tugged the hood up to cover her golden hair. “It is practical. We blend with the night and are less likely to be seen. The Druids wore white ones much like these during ritual, and I followed their custom. However, with the advent of Christianity and Witch-hunters, I thought it wise to change it to black, at least for the journey to and from the sacred site.”
She glanced up at me as we moved side by side over the meadows and into the woods beyond. “Ah. But what of your own people?” she asked as we picked our way along the old path. “Did they wear cloaks for their rites?”
“No. My clan were of the barbaric sort. We spoke to our Gods in solitude, and wore nothing at all, save the colors with which we painted sacred symbols over our bodies.”
She blinked as if surprised, then smiled to herself. “I can see why you thought the Druid method might be preferable tonight, then.”
I glanced down at the hint of laughter in her voice. But as I did, an image crept into my mind. One of my beautiful Arianna, naked and proud, unashamed, raising her arms and turning her face up to drink in the moonlight. And the image grew. Until I saw myself kneeling before her, dipping my fingers into pots of color, and drawing the ancient sacred symbols upon her pale, soft skin.
I shivered, and she looked up quickly. But when I said nothing, she faced forward again.
Soon the stones of the circle towered before us. I’d since returned to remove the sig
ns of battle and death from my confrontation with Kohl, and the ashes and charred wood from his pyre. Without being told, Arianna stopped and bent to remove her slippers before stepping inside. I nodded my approval and removed my own boots. Then I entered, and tugging the pack from my shoulder, I emptied it, setting its contents upon a large flat stone table in the northernmost quadrant. Wine, and two cups, four candles, and a staff.
“What magic will we work this night, Nicodimus?” Arianna asked me, her voice childlike with excitement.
I smiled down at her in the moonlight. “What do you wish for?”
She lowered her head at once. And I knew I had spoken too quickly. I knew what she wished for. And she knew it was impossible. Yet she spoke it all the same.
“I wish for your love, Nicodimus, but I ken that can never be. I wish for your touch . . . but nay for the consequences of knowing it. For those would only be pain for us both. An’ I’d nay use magic to gain either of those things, for were they not given freely, they’d be worse than useless to me.”
I did not speak. I could not, for I knew not what to say.
She lifted her head again, eyes meeting mine. “So instead I’ll wish for something far simpler an’ more mundane. A cooling North wind, to ease the dreary autumn heat.”
Relief that she could smile in spite of the pain I’d caused her–was still causing her–made me breathe again. “Then a cooling wind it shall be. A wise choice, for the heat is wearing on the clan, making their tempers short. You’ve called forth the winds before?”
“Aye,” she said. “With The Crones to guide me. Thrice we did so, an’ each time the gentle breezes came within a fortnight of our casting.” She tilted her head. “An’ you, Nicodimus?”
I nodded once. “Usually the winds come within a day of my conjuring.” I bent to make the preparations, building a small fire in the center of the circle, and lighting it. Then I placed a candle in each of the four directions, just at the edges of the circle. Returning to the center, I sat for a time, gazing into the flames. Arianna did likewise, and I knew she was letting her mind go quiet, gathering the energies around her. It seemed we both felt ready to proceed at the same moment, for we looked up simultaneously. And in silence, I took a flaming limb from the fire. I walked to the North candle, focused on the energies of Earth, and lit the candle’s wick. Arianna met me in the center, taking the limb from my hand. She moved to the East candle, closed her eyes for a moment, and lit it. I could almost feel the Air move as she summoned its elemental energies to join us here. I repeated this process in the South, for the element of Fire, and she in the West, for Water.
Meeting at the stone table again, we locked gazes, and I saw something in her eyes . . . the swirling reflections of moonlight and fire. A shiver worked up the back of my neck. I took a breath, poured the wine, handed Arianna her cup. She held it up, as if to capture the light of the moon in the glistening scarlet liquid, as she chanted.
“I am one with the light from above. An’ one with the force from below. One with the beasts of the wild. One with the green things that grow. One with the moon, one with the sun. One with the Earth and the Sky. One with All since afore I was born. An’ will be long after I die.”
Then closing her eyes, lowering the goblet, she drank its contents. I downed mine as well, and walked her back to the fire. Dipping a hand into the deep pocket of the hooded cloak I wore, I drew out a palmful of herbs, and tossed them into the flames. They hissed and heated, burned fragrantly.
Smiling, Arianna reached her small hand into my pocket, and repeated what I had done. Then I faced North, palms up in front of me, and chanted in a long forgotten tongue the words to call the North wind.
Her eyes as she watched me were huge and luminous. And before I knew what she intended, she faced me, and pressed her palms flat to mine. The tingling contact rocked through me, right to my core, and the warmth remained long after that initial shock faded.
I felt it then. A power like I’d never known surging from below and above at the same time. And the place where it gathered until it nearly burned, was the very place where Arianna’s palms pressed flat to mine. For just a moment, I swore an amber glow emanated from our joined hands.
There was a deep humming sound, as the wind picked up force, blowing through the trees, whistling over twigs, and groaning past limbs. Then it grew to a roar. The mighty oaks ‘round us seemed to bow beneath its force. Arianna’s hair blew and danced and her white gown seemed alive. Leaves and twigs swirled ‘round us like miniature cyclones, and the air cooled so rapidly my skin shivered. My gaze swung ‘round, seeking shelter. But before I could think on that further, the air filled with snow. Snow! In the midst of a highland autumn!
It coated my garments and melted there, wetting me to the skin in a matter of seconds. Amazed, I faced Arianna.
But my little cat stood with her face turned up to the snow, and her arms outspread as it fell on her. Turning in a slow circle, she faced me again, a look of wonder in her eyes as her hair grew damp, and crystalline flakes sparkled on her cheeks like tears. Smiling, then laughing aloud, she flung her arms ‘round my neck.
“Do you see what we’ve done!” she cried. “Nicodimus, this is powerful, this magic we work together!”
Her body close to mine, my arms tight ‘round her waist, I nodded against her snow-damp hair. “I’ve never seen the like.”
She drew back just a little. Enough so she could look up at me, her face only inches from mine. The Crones said ‘twould be so. They said the power of magic is strongest when there is balance . . . between feminine and masculine energies, such as those of a man an’ a woman.”
“Yes.” I nodded my agreement. “I’ve been taught much the same . . . and yet it has never been quite this . . . startling.”
“Ah, Nicodimus, do you nay ken, even now? ‘Tis nay just any combination of man an’ woman who could bring about such a force as this. But of you an’ me, husband. Two who . . . belong to each other.”
“Arianna . . . I–”
She held up a hand. “I know, dinna speak it. I know you canna love me,” she whispered. “An’ I’ve no wish to hurt you. But I know you want me as I do you, Nicodimus. An’ I’m tired of protectin’ myself from future hurt by refusin’ to live life. I’m tired of fightin’ against feelin’s over which I’ve no control. ‘Tis like fightin’ against nature.”
I stared down at her. She stepped back another pace, and drew the cloak from her shoulders, tossing it to the ground. “I know you canna love me, husband. But I can love you.” Her hands went to the shoulders of the tunic, freeing the clasps there, and the dress fell down to her feet as if washed away by the snow. “Let me love you,” she whispered. “Just this once. . .”
I stood staring at her. Perfect, her skin glistening with the snowflakes that drifted down on her. Breasts round and soft, nipples growing stiffer with each icy flake that touched them. She stepped over the discarded dress, closer to me.
And what was I to do? How could I . . . or any man, resist such an offering? Before I could even consider my answer, my hands were on her, palms skimming over the wet skin of her belly, cupping her breasts, caressing her. I drew her tight to me, and bent my head to capture her mouth. I tasted the snow on her lips, and the warmth beyond them when I pushed my tongue inside. I fed at her mouth as her yearning body pressed against mine, and I dreamed of drinking every melting droplet from her skin. I slid my lips to her cheek and down slowly over her neck. She tipped her head back and moaned softly as I nipped and suckled the tender skin there.
Lower. I licked the beaded moisture from her shoulder. And all the way down her arm to the inner bend of her elbow, and she cried out when my tongue darted over that sensitive flesh. I moved to her hand, sucking the moisture from each finger, and then kissed a hot path across her belly and began again at her other arm.
She was trembling, clinging to me in order to stay upright when I moved at last to one tender breast. I took my time, circling the peak slowly wit
h my tongue before finally closing my lips on the crest. I drew on her there, and she shivered. I suckled harder, and her fingers curled in my hair. I bit lightly, and she pressed herself closer.
“Nicodimus,” she whispered. “Oh, but you give me such pleasure. An’ I . . . I dinna ken how. . .”
I bit again, and this time she tugged against my teeth, whimpering in rapture at the sweet touch of pain. My hand slipped between her legs, and I touched her inner lips, tracing them, feeling the moisture there for me. I drew a forefinger higher, circling the tiny nub that was the key to her pleasure, and then touching it, rubbing it, pinching it so that her knees began to buckle, all the while still feeding at her breast.
My other arm ‘round her waist anchored her to me, else she’d have surely fallen to her knees.
“Nay,” she whispered, and it was a plea. I pinched her harder, and her voice grew hoarse. “You must tell me what to do, Nicodimus. Tell me how to please you.”
I closed my eyes in sweet anguish. “You please me, Arianna, with every breathless whisper, and every sigh and every touch.” I slipped my fingers inside her, gently, carefully. “And to see you in the height of pleasure will please me even more.”
“Make love to me, Nicodimus,” she whispered.
I lifted her then, and carried her to the stone table. My cloak I flung down beneath her, then I lay her upon it. Quickly I took off my clothes until I stood naked in the falling snow. And gently I parted her legs and watched as the snowflakes kissed her secret places. Then I bent to kiss and lick every droplet away until she squirmed and cried out and opened wider to my questing tongue.
I moved upward until I lay atop her, and carefully, I entered her slick passage. The wind swirled icy cold ‘round us, and the wet snowflakes fell upon my back. I moved deeper into her, and still deeper. I felt her pain, brief and sweet as I tore through the barrier of her maidenhood, and I held her still beneath me, waiting, giving her time.
Timidly, hesitantly, she moved her hips against mine, taking me deeper. And again, drawing away and moving once more. Fire licked at my loins, and I took her then. Deep and hard and fast, I took her, and she lifted her hips to meet my every thrust. I kissed her fiercely, swallowing each breathless whisper, each sigh, each moan. And finally, her entire body tensed around me, squeezing and drawing on me, convulsing around me until I felt myself shatter inside her. I pumped my seed into her, and with it, it seemed, my very soul. And then I eased my body down beside hers, and held her, and wondered how I could ever let her go again.
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 51
