“Perhaps I should see you home. The way is dark. You might stumble again,” Torin offered.
“We can send one of the servants to see her home, milord. There is no need for you to trouble yourself,” Tulia interjected with an unmistakable annoyance in her voice.
“She speaks the truth.” Alyson slowly backed from his grasp until she was out of sight of the guests and then she hurried to the kitchen to retrieve her cloak. The kitchen servants paid her no mind as they continued with their duties. No one followed her as she stepped into the darkness. A hand reached out, grabbing her arm. Torin had left by another route and met her on the garden path.
“It is only me.” His gaze skipped over her, but she sensed his thorough assessment. “You seem to have recovered well.”
“Please return to cena. I am fine.”
“But I need to speak with you. You are the one who came sneaking into my chambers, if you’ll recall, telling me that the gods had sent you. Now if all they had in mind was for you to present yourself to me…”
“I did not present myself, milord,” she responded with a defiant thrust of her chin. “That is not how I recall the events of last evening.”
“While I am very interested to hear your thoughts on what you do remember from last night and if you lost sleep the same that I did, I am still left unsettled with understanding more of what the gods wish to tell me.”
“Not here. Not now. It is too dangerous.”
His dark eyes searched hers.
“Very well then. Where? When?”
Alyson’s mind raced as she tried to think of a safe place where they could meet without Tulia finding out. “Tonight, when you are certain that everyone is asleep, meet me at the sacred pool in the north woods. There, just over the ridge. A path winds through the trees and will bring you to the spring. You will see it by the moon’s light.”
He squeezed her arm with gentle reassurance. “You are certain you are well enough to go on alone?”
“Yes, milord.”
“Then I shall see you tonight in the wood.”
Torin found himself pacing his chamber floor, waiting until every last sound in the villa had ceased and he was as certain as he could be that all were asleep. Thankfully, Tulia had retired with her head aching. She claimed that perhaps one of the servants had slipped her bad wine. The moon, nearly full again, hung high in the sky and illuminated the winding path just as Alyson said it would. Torin could not deny the thrill he felt in being alone with her again. Though this time, he had to be cautious of her seductive charms. He had to find out more of why she’d been sent to him. Perhaps it was about his past, the pain that was buried so deep inside of him that he could not bear to think on it. Or perhaps it was concerning his future, about the battle he, his men and the general’s men were about to embark on. He stood in the thick forest, searching the dark shadows on the path ahead. There was no reason to believe her request was designed as a trap, but these were times when it was better to be cautious than foolish.
A splash pricked his ears and he hurried on faster, hoping that with a stroke of luck, he might find her bathing in the moonlight. It was not a wise image to conjure in his already roused state. She seemed to have that power over him. The forest spilled out into a yawning cove, so wide Torin could not see across the small lake. Cupped at one end by a high cliff, a waterfall splashed down over the vine and moss-covered jagged rocks, emptying into the placid water below. He saw nothing at first, and he held still, relying on his other senses. It was then that he heard another faint splash of water and he squinted into the inky blackness, catching a glimpse of something moving through the sparkling moonlit waters. A few feet away lay a pile of clothes. Torin scooped them up, his eye on the water, and held the garment for a moment against his face, remembering the soft scent of her body, the way she responded to him with quiet sighs, her hands urging his exploration.
“I do not believe it will fit, milord, though you are most welcome to try it on if you fancy it.”
“I did not know we would be bathing this evening.” He dropped his scabbard to the ground and undid his sandals.
“We are not, Milord. I found waiting for you tiresome, and felt a swim would revive my spirit.”
“I admit the thought of swimming with you does much to revive my spirit.” He peeled off his tunic and pondered stripping down further.
“I agreed to meet with you so that I might reveal what more the gods might have to say to you.”
“So you did.” His grand ideas of a sensual precursor to her explanation dissipated with her authoritative reminder. “So come out then and tell me.” At least he would have that much to remember about this night.
“You are in danger, milord,” she said, emerging from the water, her red hair plastered against her wet, naked body. She had no idea of how much danger she was in. Her skin glistened in the moonlight. Torin dropped his tunic to the ground, unable to keep from staring at her.
“Why do you stare, milord, you have seen my body before?” She lifted her hands through her hair, smoothing it back from her face. Her eyes, luminous and wide, were fixed on him. “Druids worship all of nature, milord, including the human body. We have no shame in our nakedness. We believe that it is wickedness that causes shame.”
Torin could not speak, his tongue, normally loose and able to flatter a woman at the drop of a feather, seemed affixed to the roof of his mouth. Other parts of him, however, responded with justifiable interest. “You do not seem to remember how it was between us, milady.”
Bent on her haunches, she tossed a handful of twigs in to the embers of a smoldering fire. The fire caught, igniting a small but bright blaze that revealed her sumptuous body. “You are quite beautiful. Surely, you know what a temptation you are.” He did not move, fearful that in getting too close he might lose control…again.
“Your charm is welcome, milord, but I do not deceive myself that my mistress, Lady Tulia, is by far more enticing and pleasing in all ways to a man.” She pulled a small sack from beneath her garments. “Sit there, on the grass.”
“Here?” Torin asked as he made himself as comfortable as he could. His erection, hard and painful, jutted between his thighs. He was grateful he wore still his leather thong to hide the fact. “My name is Torin, in case you do not remember that as well.”
“That is not why we are here.”
“Still, I would like to know that we know each other’s names, after spending a night of intimacy.”
“Names are of no importance, milord. What happened was not fate. It was nothing more than carnal desire.”
“Desire that we both felt, true?” Torin folded his arms over his chest, unyielding to her insistence that the unforgettable night was but a whim.
She closed her eyes, heaving an impatient sigh. “Very well, then, you performed most admirably.”
“Admirably?” he repeated. “I would have to say, milady, in humble recollection that I performed much more than admirably.”
She held his gaze, her sweet lips poised in a firm line. “Please, we haven’t much time.”
“So it seems the way of things when we meet. Is this to be our fate, then? Secret liaisons of admirable sex?”
“I am here tonight to place a protective spell over you.”
“More instructions from your gods?” he asked with a wry grin. When she did not respond in kind, he sobered. “From what or whom do I need protection from?”
A bag in her hands, she knelt on the ground in front of him and lifted her arms skyward, her lips moving silently.
Torin continued, “For matter of discussion, the general’s niece is not more beautiful in my opinion, in the event that you might be interested in my thoughts.”
She gave him a pointed look. “I am not.”
“More beautiful or interested?” he asked easily.
“Neither at the moment, now hush before you wake the dead.”
Torin scanned the perimeter, as far as the small fire reached into the woods
around them. “Is this a sacred burial ground?”
“All springs are sacred to the druids, milord. Water is part of the earth’s life-force.”
Torin was focused currently on how she stirred the life in his blood. He tried to focus on what she was saying. “Why do the gods feel I am in danger? Why do I need this blessing of protection?” Torin watched her from eye level, as she spread the powdery substance around him. His fingers itched to caress the soft, supple flesh within his reach.
Forbidden fruit.
She circled him, her breasts, which fit his hands perfectly as he remembered, swayed gently as she set to her task.
“There are dark spirits at work, milord. I have sensed them around you. The gods spoke to me in a vision.”
“And why would I have not noticed these spirits myself?” he asked, trying valiantly to keep his mind focused on what she was saying and not the fact that he wanted to be buried deep inside of her.
She paused in front of him, having completed the circle.
“You do not sense them, because you insist on blocking the magic inside of you.”
Torin shook his head. More magic. The only magic that he wanted was to feel her arms around his neck, to hear her whisper his name when he drove into her. “How can your magic help one who does not believe in it?”
She knelt in front of him, her hands placed on the top of her knees, her full breasts rosy and taut. There was more between them than she admitted. Either that or she was cold. But based on the heat surging in his system, he doubted she could be far removed from what he sensed happening. It was the same quick flash of fire that had occurred between them the night before.
“Promise you will not interfere?” she asked, her red hair now drying, spilled over her shoulders in a luxurious cape. She held his gaze until he swore he could feel her hands on his face.
“How do you do that?” he asked. “Surely you cannot deny the connection between you and me.” Her tongue darted out, swiping across her lip, and his body twitched.
“There is something…I cannot say what it is between us, milord. That is not why I have come. I have come to bring you a message and to make certain that you believe the truth of what I am about to tell you.”
“The truth?”
“Aye, milord. The truth of your destiny. But first, I will summon the spirits to protect you.”
Torin studied her face. Absurd as it sounded to his logical mind, there was innocence in her wisdom that made it difficult to refute. Certainly, it was true that in the days ahead as he faced the Saxon on the field of battle, he would have use of this protection. What could it hurt?
“What would you have me do?” he asked his curiosity as roused now as the rest of him.
“Be still and be open to the magic.”
She closed her eyes and began to sway gently back and forth. A low hum, barely discernable, emitted from her throat. She spoke no words, only hummed a tune, moving with greater rhythm to the song, as though it was controlling her movement. Torin watched transfixed, drawn into the peaceful repose of her face turned to the dark night sky, as she stretched her arms wide. She was oblivious to him now, her body being guided by the thrum in her throat. She bent forward, her red hair dragging across the grass, and then rose to her knees, arms outstretched, her soft breasts bouncing with each subtle jerk of her body.
Torin’s body tingled with what he could label only as arousal. The rush of going into battle, what it felt like to teeter on the edge of fear, the exhilaration, the anticipation of what was to come. The sound of his breathing seemed at one with the hum of her voice. Her hands caressed her body now, caught in the frenzy of the chant. Her palms cradled her breasts, her face turned upward in total blissful elation, doing what Torin desired to do himself. Whatever this magic, it embodied the potency of making love. His flesh grew warm, sensing her back against his chest. Her womanly scent was powerful in his nostrils. He reached between his legs, needing relief from the fire rising inside of him. There was no pain, no discomfort any longer, no mindless yearning—only a certainty of what was to be.
He needed her as he needed air to breathe, and what was more—she needed him. Though he did not yet know why. The tune she hummed now played in his brain, over and over, stroking him. She opened her eyes, gazing on him with shimmering eyes that cut into his marrow. Without a word, he lifted his hands to her.
She rose to her feet and took his hands, stepping into the circle. Torin brushed his cheek against her thigh, his fingers gently kneading the tender flesh of her thighs, taking in her musky, womanly scent. He pulled her forward, causing her to straddle his crossed legs, her sweet flower poised before his face. A gasp tore from her throat, her hands resting on the top of his head as he tasted her, delving into her moist heat, until her honey juices touched his tongue.
Torin drew her down, squatting before him, lost in how she held his face when she kissed him. He pressed his forehead to hers, touching her lips to his, her breath hot against his mouth as she dropped to her knees and emitted an audible sigh, eased down on his rigid staff. He drew in a sharp gasp as her warmth wrapped around him, taking him deep inside her tight core.
“What is this magic you bewitch me with?” he whispered against her cheek, content to rest inside of her for a moment, relishing the tight perfection.
She lolled back her head, a quiet purring sound coming from her throat. Torin found the warm curve of her throat, his lips moving across the soft underside of her jaw. Her thighs pressed against his ribs, the movement stirring the fire inside him. He cupped her bottom, tracing his fingers over the soft, moist valley between her thighs, exhilaration coursing through him as he touched where their bodies joined. This time, there was no need of a frenzied hurry to finish, no frantic, heated rush. This was divine…sacred.
The pungent scent of burning sweet grass wafted around them. Her legs locked around his back, holding her steady gaze to his. She traced the curve of his face, following each spot she touched with a gentle kiss. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. He sensed his soul laid open to her. She cupped his face and met his questioning look.
“Be well, Torin. You have all you need to do what you must. Remember the magic of this moment, when the dawn of tomorrow comes. You must accept the magic you were born with. Embrace the past. It is your key to the future. You no longer need fear the darkness in your mind. I am here to guide you through it with a power greater than us both.”
She kissed him then, her soft mouth soothing, healing the pain he’d seen, the guilt of the blood he’d spilled. He held her as she moved her hips, coaxing, rolling gently, causing Torin’s body to tighten. His fingers dug into her flesh as he teetered on a shattering climax. With a quiet moan, her body milked his release and Torin squeezed his eyes shut at their explosive joining. His mouth dropped open in a silent primal scream. In the distance the screech of a great owl echoed in the night.
Torin shot up in his bed with a start, frightening the servant who was waiting by his bed, his morning meal prepared. Sweat dripped down Torin’s face, his body shining with perspiration. Had it been a dream, a magnificent incredible dream? He searched the blanket covering his naked legs, scanning the room for evidence that she had been there, that it was no dream.
Only the curious servant shared the room with him at present. Torin was ravenous and took the tray from the young man. He gulped down the wine with a single swallow and pushed it into the servant’s hands.
“More, I am famished.” He wolfed down nearly a stack of wheat cakes before he swallowed another glass of wine and then savored the sweet grapes and succulent berries. His body thrummed with anticipation and energy. He needed to find out if it was real. Torin brushed his hand through his hair and a small twig with a single leaf fell to the bedclothes.
Remember the magic of this moment.
Torin twisted the twig between his fingers and grinned. Indeed he did and forever would. He grabbed another cake from the plate and stuffed it in his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten
for days.
“Milord, this was on your tray.” He handed Torin a scrolled piece of parchment. Curious and hoping it was from Alyson, he quickly opened it, reading the lines carefully.
Milord, last night was more than I could have hoped for. I have more to tell you. But we must be discreet. Meet me at the midnight hour at the Baddon pool. I will wait for you there.
Chapter Four
Alyson reread the note that the servant had stuffed in her hand earlier in the day. She’d read it ten times, but wanted to be certain it was from Torin. Who else would leave her such a cryptic message, especially after what they’d shared? He’d asked that she meet him in the sacred pool in Baddon. There they could speak in private, safe from prying eyes. She crumpled the paper and tossed it into the flames of the hearth.
“What is that?” her mother asked. Seated at the nearby table, she was busy braiding sweet grass for rituals.
“’Twas nothing.” The white lie escaped Alyson’s mouth before she could stop it. If her family knew she was sneaking off with a Roman warrior there would be hell to pay. “More orders from my mistress,” Alyson responded as an afterthought.
“Mark my word, since that girl has arrived, there has been more tension among the workers. She carries a bad aura about her, that one. If she’s not careful someone is bound to put a curse on her.”
Alyson wrapped her thin shawl around her shoulders and stared into the fire. “Sometimes we curse ourselves by the choices we make.” She looked up and met her mother’s steady eyes.
“You are certain that all is well with you, daughter?”
Alyson nodded. She’d not seen or heard from Torin all day, assuming that he’d had time to consider the grave mistake they’d made and did not wish to see her again. But this note changed everything. After tonight, she would know what part she was to play in this strange dance with the gods and perhaps at least, where Torin fit into their plan.
Later that night when her family was sleeping soundly, she snuck from the house, drawing the hood of her cloak up to hide her face. The walk to Baddon was not far, but she did not tarry as she hurried toward the near empty city. Once the center of Roman social life, it was a meeting place for discussions of political and military importance as well as a belief that the sacred pool was the entrance to the gods of the Underworld. Here jilted lovers and recipients of theft and scorn made known their curses, placing them on lead tablets and cast them into the depths of the pool in hope that the gods would honor their curse—and they usually did—for a price. Roman guards no longer patrolled the perimeter, but the streets of Baddon were not a safe place, especially for a woman alone.
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