‘You are important to the temple in other ways, Helena. You must not risk your life like that.’ His voice held a husky note. ‘Without you, the temple would suffer.’
‘I wasn’t risking my life,’ she whispered. His lips hung over her, tantalisingly close. A deep longing swept over her. She wanted to experience the soaring feeling she had felt up on the turret.
‘I ought to go.’ He made no move towards the door, and continued to look at her as if he were a starving man. A muscle in his cheek twitched. ‘My men will need me. You are safe now.’
The memory of the black mist welled up within her. Would it reclaim her once he had gone? Already she could feel it gathering around the edges of her mind. What if this was all a dream and she woke to find herself in that dark grotto where the only sound was the endless echo of her voice calling?
‘Stay. I don’t want to be alone. Please stay for a little while longer. You said you would stay…if I asked.’
Her hand reached up and touched his cheek. His skin shivered under the pads of her fingers, but he made no move towards her. Instead he stood as if he had been turned to marble. Helena ran her hand down his arm, feeling the warmth of his hard muscle, but he did not move, not even when her palm touched his.
She swallowed hard, and knew he would go because he had said he would. He did not feel the way she did.
‘Helena.’
One word, but enough. He was going. A terrible longing swept over her and her eyes traced his features, hoping to make a memory. When she was old, she wanted to take it out and remember that this was the man who had saved her from the black mist. She reached out again.
Her lips parted.
His forefinger touched her bottom lip, the briefest of touches. Her whole being stilled.
‘Hush now. You are safe. Sleep well.’
He started to turn.
Then she knew she needed more, much more. A deep longing swept over her. She refused to let him go, like this. She had to know.
Her fingers interlaced with his, pulling him down. She lifted her face towards his, brushed his mouth with hers and heard his muffled groan.
His mouth came down and captured hers, a far more seeking kiss than any they had shared before. Her lips parted and she tasted his mouth. Warm, wet and inviting. She drowned herself in the kiss.
An ache started to grow between her legs, driving her forward, building within her. She wanted more. Her body demanded more. She was alive, gloriously alive.
Her tongue entered his mouth and then retreated. Another groan passed his lips and he pulled her closer.
Helena’s body arched forward and her breast brushed the firm wall of his chest. Her skin sought his and the heat of him inflamed the fire building within her.
The coverlet slipped unnoticed to the floor and she pressed her body closer, seeking the solid reassurance of him.
His mouth left hers and travelled down the length of her throat, making a fiery trail as he eased her back amongst the cushions of her bed. The bed sagged as he moved next to her. To give him more room, she shifted on to her side and felt the plaster wall against her back. He watched her with deep black eyes, propped up on one elbow, but he made no attempt to draw her into his arms.
His eyes traced her mouth, and she knew he was thinking about the kiss they had just shared.
She smiled and he returned the smile, making her heart beat faster, too fast.
She touched his bronzed muscles, glorying in their hardness, in their warmth. They were not sculpted from marble, but were flesh and blood. These arms had carried her.
His hand trapped hers, held it there against the warm flesh. Helena could feel the black mist of the cave retreating as his assault on her senses continued.
He lowered his mouth to hers again and she welcomed his tongue as it teased and tormented hers.
His fingers moved the material of her gown and he pressed a kiss at the base of her throat. She glanced up and saw a question in his eyes.
‘What is it?’
‘Do you know what you are doing to me?’
‘I think so.’
Her hand smoothed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. It was soft to the touch, softer than the wings of the white doves. Her fingers, having touched one lock, seemed to wander of their own volition over his head, burying themselves in the springing curls. Her forefingers traced the outline of his ear and then his jaw where the beginning of soft bristles grew.
She wished she knew more about what she was doing, if she was doing it right. She wanted him to feel the way she felt.
‘Am I behaving properly?’ She had to know and waited for his response.
‘What is that you want?’ he asked, his voice little more than a rasp against her lips.
‘You.’
The word came from deep inside her. And as she said it, she knew it was true. Nothing else mattered but the feel of his skin against hers. It was if she were encased in a bubble outside time. And yet she knew she was born for this, that she had never been truly alive before. She never wanted to be anywhere but his arms. Her hand snaked up around his neck, pulling his head closer to hers until her breath mingled with his.
‘I want you.’
He groaned and recaptured her lips with a fierce swiftness, his tongue entering her mouth, teasing and tormenting her until her whole body was infused with heat.
Mere kisses were not enough. She longed to see him. She had to see all of him. Her hands moved down his broad back and pulled at the hem of his tunic.
‘My lady is bold.’
‘Please, Tullio.’
The dimple at the corner of his mouth deepened. In a heartbeat the short tunic was gone. The firm line of his broad shoulders and the sweep of his chest held her vision. Never had she seen skin of such a hue. She ran her hand down his back and felt the strength ripping under her fingertips.
He was a statue come to life. His golden skin contrasted with the whiteness of the loincloth he wore. She refused to look lower and instead feasted her eyes on the sculpted muscles of his chest. Smooth and firm. Bronze except for the dusky rose of his nipples.
She tentatively reached out a hand to brush his nipples and then drew back.
A swift intake of breath.
From her? From him?
The sensation of touching his skin made her knees go weak and an ache developed inside her, and a deep hunger that longed to be satisfied. The urge to experience more drove her on. She reached forward again and pressed her palms against his puckered nipples. His heart seemed to be beating at the same time as hers—faster and faster. She started to move her hands and his hands covered hers, holding them there.
It seemed to her that she had never experienced anything like this before. She knew that perhaps she should stop, that she should consider her duty. But the warm ache in her body made other demands. It was if Helena with her concerns was some other person, watching from far away. And she was being made new for this man.
He caught her fingers, bringing them to his lips, tasting each one, suckling them, sending fresh waves of sensation through her. His other hand eased her under-tunic over her shoulders, pushed it down past her breast band. A delicious shiver passed over her as his hands encircled her breast over the band. His thumb and forefinger rolled her nipples under the cloth until they contracted so tightly that a new aching filled her.
His tongue followed his fingers, lazily drawing circles on her skin and on the cloth. But he made no move towards removing the band that bound her breasts. She raised her hand, and unfastened the cloth, dropped it on the floor, and allowed him to see her rosy-tipped breasts.
She wondered at his response.
Would it affect him as deeply as seeing his chest had done her? Did he experience this aching in his loins as well?
He lowered his lips and captured a breast. His mouth tugged and pulled, and a stream of stars shot through her mind. Her body bucked and she felt his weight come down on her. She felt the hard maleness of
him press into her belly and knew she wanted him inside her.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind issued a warning. This was not her destiny. She was about to throw away all that she had worked for, all that she had dreamt about since she was a child—and for what? For a Roman? She silenced it. Why should such things be forbidden?
Helena gasped at each new sensation. Each time a thrill went through her, her body demanded more. But was it right? Was she doing everything correctly?
Her hand stilled.
‘Tullio, is it supposed to be like this?’ she asked. ‘I want to make sure you experience pleasure.’
He raised himself on his elbow again, his eyes tender. One hand traced circles on her breast. ‘Like what?’
‘Like this? I feel as if I am floating on a sea of air. Everything in my body is alive in a way it has never been before. Is it just me? Please, I have to know.’
A crease appeared between his eyebrows and his face changed, became harder. He rolled off her and stared up at the ceiling, expelling a deep breath of air.
‘How do you feel?’
‘Out of control. Burning with a fire. My head is spinning with it.’
He made no move to touch her. The distance between them increased.
Helena shivered. What had she done wrong? Tentatively she reached out a hand, stroked his arm, but his muscles did not ripple as they had done before. She felt the tension in them as if he were holding back from something.
He turned his head towards her. With one hand, he smoothed curls off of her forehead. ‘You said earlier that you took herbs before you went into the cave.’
‘I did. A mixture to ward off the chill and to make communication with the goddess easier.’
The bed creaked and he stood up. He reached down and retrieved his discarded tunic.
‘Where are you going, Tullio?’
Tullio stared down at Helena’s body. Her dark hair was splayed out over the white pillow. She had recovered the sheet and draped it about her and the cloth clung to the soft swell of her bosom. His manhood was hard to the point of pain.
This was one of the toughest things he had ever done—leaving.
His body called for him to continue, but he could not take the chance. He could not allow Helena the opportunity to throw his actions back in his face. Too much depended on him and his actions. He couldn’t just take his pleasure.
He took one lingering last look at the curves, then lifted the blanket to her chin and tucked it around her as if she were a child. His lips brushed her forehead.
A friend’s kiss. A brotherly kiss. He felt anything like that. The merest touch and his body ached.
‘If I stay, Helena, I will make love to you. And I refuse to do that while you are recovering from your ordeal.’
‘And what would be the harm in that?’ Her voice sound normal, but he could see the dilation of her pupils. He had no idea what she had taken. He had heard stories of the way sibyls acted after their communication with the gods, how some needed to slake their body’s hunger with any man. And he was proud enough to want her to want him, not just any man.
‘In the morning, you might regret it—when the herbs’ influence wears off.’
‘I won’t.’ Her bottom lip stuck out, giving her the appearance of a girl barely older than Niobe.
Tullio forced his eyes to look at the lip and not the curve in her neck, the point where he could see the rapid beating of her heart.
‘Some day we will make love, Helena, but not to banish the horrors of that cave, and not when you can say that I took advantage of the situation.’
He touched her shoulder with the lightest touch and the flesh quivered. It took all of his self-control not to crush her again in his arms and make her his own.
‘I suppose you will say you have been in charge of the situation.’
‘It was not something I planned.’
‘Go, please go.’ She hid her face in her pillows. ‘It is obvious you don’t want me.’
Tullio restrained from slamming his fist into the wall. It took every ounce of his strength not to go to her and kiss her. Instead, he would go back to his men, using the passage that Niobe had shown him earlier.
‘We can be lovers, Helena, but I want your friendship more,’ he whispered, but she gave no sign she had heard him. He closed the door behind him with a click.
Chapter Ten
The late afternoon sun kissed the back of Helena’s neck as she sat, combing the wool smooth. A simple task, and one she normally left to Galla or one of the other servants, but it was all she felt able to do. Her limbs were weak and none of the other chores held any interest. She’d examine the lists tomorrow. Everything could be done tomorrow.
She had spent yesterday and most of the morning asleep, then had woken with a start—embarrassment flooding over her.
Had she actually begged Tullio to make love to her?
Her mouth twisted at the memory. She should be grateful he had refused. The terrible thing was that even now she hungered for his touch. She wanted him to desire her. She wanted him to think her attractive, even though Aunt Flavia had warned often of the fleetingness of beauty.
It was the inside that counted.
She had taken trouble with her dress and hair. A flattering rose pink, but nothing flashy or showy. Her hair was caught up in a simple style and twisted at the base of her neck. Her shawl had slipped down and now lay discarded at her side.
Helena forced the comb through another tangle in the wool, picking out the clot of dirt with practised fingers.
She needed to stop thinking about Tullio and his Roman ways. The temple’s allies were the seafarers. They were the ones who would guarantee the villagers’ survival, not a Roman tribune with crinkles in the corner of his eyes when he smiled, and a powerful grip.
A seafarer would never have rescued her from the cave.
Helena silenced the traitorous voice in the back of her mind.
‘Have you given a thought as to how you are going to answer Androceles? Today is the Ides,’ Galla asked, breaking Helena’s musing.
The maid was swathed in cream cloth from head to foot and her face was slightly perspiring from the heat. She stood in front of Helena, hands on hips.
‘That is my province, Galla.’
‘Flavia is not strong enough, Helena, you know that. You will need to inform Androceles of her illness. You should have done so before.’
The implication hung in the air between them. Galla seemed to trust that the seafarers would give them time and not demand concessions. Helena could not afford to listen. She had made her decision. She would stick by it.
‘It is under control. I…I have had an answer from Kybele.’
‘You?’ The maid’s eyes widened as the full implications of what Helena had said sunk in. She made a sign warding off evil spirits. ‘You didn’t? Your illness begins to make sense. And here, I thought it a headache brought on by overwork. Helena, you took an awful risk. You foolish girl, you should have told me.’
‘Why? What could you have done?’
‘Kept a watch out for you.’ Galla pushed the basket of wool aside and sat down next to Helena. She put an arm about the younger woman’s shoulders as she had done when Helena was small and frightened from one of her aunt’s tests. ‘That cave is dangerous, child. Even my lady says so. You don’t know what you are playing with.’
‘I am here. I survived.’
Helena kept her face resolutely turned away from Galla. She was no longer a baby who hid her face in Galla’s skirts when the rituals frightened her. She was a grown woman who had to consider what was best for everyone under her care. Her own fear did not play a part. Responsibility came before fear. A shiver ran down her back.
A lump came into her throat as she saw the worry lines in Galla’s face. She had no idea that Galla knew so much or cared. Maybe she should have approached the maid for advice, instead of trying to brave the cave on her own. Her mouth twisted. Had she taken Galla’s
advice, Tullio never would have been there to rescue her.
‘There is a prophecy now. It remains to be seen what the seafarers will do with it.’
‘But still—’ Galla’s clucking subsided. ‘You must not take chances, Helena. People depend on you. The temple depends on you.’
Helena kept her head down and concentrated on the wool. She picked apart a tangle and ran the wool through her fingers. People depended on her. Sometimes, she wished they didn’t. Sometimes she wished she was an ordinary person with ordinary desires and a family.
All the girls she had grown up with had children hanging on to their skirts—married for five years or more. She had aided her aunt at a few of the more difficult births. Her aunt made a point of showing her the horror, but she had also seen the pleasure of a mother’s face when she first beheld her child and heard the shared laughter of a man and woman.
It was folly, she knew, but she couldn’t help longing for something like that in the quiet spaces of her mind.
Helena pinched the skin between her eyebrows. Her life could never be full of an ordinary woman’s pleasures. She knew her duty. It was one of the reasons that her desire for Tullio was impossible. It made her long for things that were best left to others.
‘I have sent a scroll with the answer. Lichas will arrive in a black mist.’ Helena shifted uneasily. It was what the black mist meant. It had to be. She couldn’t have gone through the ordeal for nothing. Kybele may not have spoken to her directly, but she had experienced something. She had no idea who it was meant for, but it was all she had.
Her lips turned up in a wry smile. With her luck lately, Uncle Lichas would arrive in bright blue sky and Aunt Flavia would have to reinterpret the portents. But she had bought some time.
‘Does Flavia know? Did she give her permission? Does she agree with the exact wording? The wording is important.’
Helena stared at her hands. ‘It is my responsibility. She needs to get well. I will explain when she is better.’
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