by Ines Johnson
They drove through the scenic French countryside in silence. He took the long road that would lead them back to Paris and back to the Notre Dame ley line. He wanted to be careful to avoid Malegant and his men. It would take four hours, but that’s only if he did the speed limit. Lance pushed the ancient truck to its limit on the deserted road.
Gwin sat close to the passenger-side door, leaning against the windowsill watching the sun as it began its descent down below the horizon.
“I’m sorry for being rough with you earlier,” he said.
She said nothing, but he knew she’d heard him.
“That’s my nightmare. Seeing you in danger and being unable to save you.”
She turned to him and placed her hand on his knee. Her heated touch warmed him instantly. She wasn’t using magic. She simply was magic.
Lance’s foot let up off the gas a bit. The scenery stopped being a blur. He made out the details of flowers on the side of the road.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m here with you. Exactly where I belong. Exactly where I want to be.”
“I need to get you home, to safety.”
“I’ll go. I’ll do as you wish.”
Lance blinked and let out a laugh. “I don’t think those words have ever been uttered by a Galahad girl in the history of the world.”
Gwin grinned. One of his hands came off the steering wheel and met hers. Their fingers intertwined.
“When we get home,” she said, “we’re going to talk about our future. Because, Lance, we deserve a future together.”
He nodded as they continued toward the horizon. Finally, things were going his way. That’s when the truck grumbled, sputtered, and came to a halt.
24
The sun had tucked itself beneath the horizon thirty minutes ago. They all stood at the side of the road under the cover of darkness; Gwin, Lance, and the truck which had come to an abrupt halt. She and Lance had no flashlight and didn't dare use the flares. Instead, Gwin held her palms under the hood. Her witch fire illuminated the engine, and the man bent under the hood.
Gwin couldn’t help but admire Lance’s backside. It was round and firm. Not too high, like a woman’s rear. Not too full, like someone with extra baggage.
Lance had always filled out his pants nicely. His shirts too. Now she had the occasion to look her fill instead of stealing furtive glances.
“Gwin, can you raise the light?”
Her hands had sunk down lower to get a closer, brighter look at the junk under his trunk instead of the hood. She raised her hands. But not her gaze.
Lance bent farther under the hood. The move lifted the right cheek of his backside. Gwin bit her lip, wondering if she’d get the chance to bite that part of skin.
It wasn’t that she’d had no occasion to see a naked man or his rear. She'd seen enough of Merlin. His skin was pasty and pale. His body thin and flabby at the same time. Merlin’s ass was flat and jiggled as he’d turn in his bed. Not their bed. Merlin was often in a sick bed which left Gwin sleeping elsewhere in their quarters.
That would no longer be her life. She and Lance would share the same bed. He’d roll around in the covers with her. She’d grab his firm ass and—
“Gwin?”
She snapped back to the present. Her hands hadn't fallen down. They were glowing brightly. She gave her wrists a shake and then her whole body.
“Are you cold?” Lance asked.
“No. I’m quite warm, actually.”
Satisfied of her well-being, Lance turned back to his frustrations beneath the hood of the truck.
“Come on, you ancient piece of scrap, or I'll put you in neutral and push you to a junkyard," he growled.
Gwin couldn’t hide her grin. She knew the knights preferred fast German and Italian cars when they weren’t riding magical horses.
Lance lifted from beneath the hood. He swiped a hand over his forehead and smeared oil on his brow. Gwin giggled and then reached out for him. She wiped her hand over his face. The heat of her magic rubbed the stain off his face.
“Thank you.” The frustration had burned from his face along with the slick of oil.
“You’re welcome.”
In the quiet of the night, Gwin heard the sound of twin thumps. One after the other. The thumping increased in speed and resonance until the sounds became one. Her heartbeat was now in sync with Lance’s.
She flicked out her tongue to moisten her lower lip. Lance’s gaze tracked the movement. His throat worked, and his own lips parted.
Gwin leaned into him. He held onto her, not turning away from her advance. But he did turn his head.
“We can’t,” he said. “Not here.”
“There’s no one around.” She wanted to curse the words the moment they left her lips. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not ashamed of you, of what we have. As soon as we get home, I’m shouting it from the turrets.”
In the darkening night, Lance's expression was clear. He gazed down at her with a soft expression that brimmed with love. His sigh was filled with appreciation.
“That’s not what I meant.” Lance swooped a strand of hair from the bridge of her nose and tucked it behind her ear. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. We’re practically sitting ducks.”
She relaxed, pressing her chest into his, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It could be worse.”
The sound of the beating hearts grew louder. Instead of thumping, it sounded more like clicking and clacking. Like horses in a trot.
“You had to say it could be worse,” Lance groaned. “Has Loren taught you nothing about horror movie clichés?”
The sound of horse hooves touched her ears. She looked over her shoulder to see two old horses. As their heads bobbed up and down, she caught sight of an elderly couple coming into view under the rising moonlight.
Lance remained vigilant, even though it was clear there was no threat from the elderly duo. Gwin kept her promise to stay out of trouble and stayed within the cone of his protection. Really, she had no complaint of her current location.
“Having a little trouble there?” the elderly man called out in English with a thick, French accent.
He dismounted from the cart, coming around to hand down his companion. A cloud of silver-white hair floated from the cart to the ground. A matronly smile lit the night when the old woman lifted her head. She wrapped her hand around the arm of the old man, who Gwin had to assume was her husband.
The chivalrous gesture loosened Lance’s stance. Gwin’s own knight relaxed as the couple came near.
“This truck is older than me,” said the man with a laugh. He was in blue overalls. He pulled his farmer’s cap over his bald head.
“I’ve checked the oil and starter,” said Lance
The farmer left the hood and walked to the driver’s side. He looked in the window. “Did you check the gas? You’re on E.”
Lance scrubbed his hand over his face.
The man clapped him on his back. “There’s a fuel station in town about five miles from here. But they’re closed for the night. And I’m afraid there are no hotels or inns in the village.”
“Why don’t you come home with us? You can get cleaned up,” said the woman. “We have a spare room. You can grab a bite and some rest.”
“Do you have a phone?” asked Lance.
“Afraid not. But the service station does. You can make your call in the morning.”
The farmer’s wife took Gwin by the arm and led her to the cart. Her smile and earthy scent reminded Gwin of Igraine.
“Most young couples drive fancy cars through the countryside,” said the older lady.
“We were visiting the Perceptory of Arville,” said Gwin.
“The old knight? I knew him when I was a girl. My aunt fancied him. She kept a tender for him all these years.”
“Is she still with us?”
The farmer’s wife nodded. “She lives in the city. She’ll celebrate her ninety-fifth birthday this year. She’s just as
spry as a fifty-year-old. How long have you two been together?”
“Feels like a hundred years,” said Gwin looking to Lance.
“Must be newlyweds.”
“Not yet,” said Gwin. “But we are taking our vows soon.”
25
The door shut behind them with a quiet snick. Lance prepared for the oncoming battle but knew he was ill-equipped to handle the onslaught. There was no more defense he could mount against this adversary.
The door closing sounded like a cell door slamming him into a confined place. He stared at the four-post apparatus inside the room that would torture him all night. He shouldn’t have trusted that nice couple. They were making him face his deepest fear; being alone in a bedroom with Gwin.
No man could stand this test of chastity. Perhaps he could've withstood the test two days ago before Gwin had openly displayed her love for him and her intention to part ways with her husband.
Lance could have her. One day he could have her. But not tonight. Tonight she was still bound by the vows of her marriage.
He’d gone so far as to lust after another man’s wife for decades. He’d broken his boundaries of embracing her, kissing her. But the bed is where he drew the line.
Despite what he’d said earlier, Lance still held those vows as a sacrament, a holy order that he would not break.
The floor would be just fine for him tonight. He deserved its hard planks. The problem was, he suspected Gwin held a different view of her vows, a view that would have them sharing the solitary, full mattress.
The elderly couple had assumed they were married. Gwin encouraged the notion all during the drive to their quaint cottage. As well as through the homemade dinner that was served.
Now Gwin sat at a vanity washing herself with water from a bowl. Sounds of water sluicing made him seek her. He watched her fingers as she squeezed the cloth. Water trickled over her hands, hands he’d felt the healing touch of for a century and the caress of for just a day. Lance had had wine at dinner, but he was thirsty again.
Gwin put the rag to her neck. She closed her eyes in relief as water lapped at the skin there. When she opened them, her gaze landed on him.
She didn’t need words. He heard the plea in her command clearly. The traitor that he was, he left his post and went to her.
Lance took the rag from her hands and began to wash her. He moved the hair from her neck. He wiped away the dust of the road. He cooled the sun’s warmth from her forehead. He wiped the smudges from the church fire from beneath her eyes. She’d healed him for decades, but now she was in his care.
He would not fail her. He would not take advantage of the situation, or her virtue like her husband had done their entire lives together.
“I’ve never been touched,” she said.
“You’ve always been so busy caring for others.”
“No. I’ve never been touched by my husband.”
Lance’s fingers stilled. Water dripped to the floor. Droplets splashed like waves crashing onto a pier.
“I’ve been living a lie. Merlin and I never consummated our marriage. He couldn’t perform on the wedding night.”
Lance had just managed to resurface after that tidal wave of information. Now the air left the room. The world spun at this next admission. Gwin; a virgin?
“He didn’t keep his vow?”
Gwin shook her head. Lance eyed her reflection in the mirror, but he needed to see the truth in her eyes. He dropped the wet rag with a plop to the floor. Taking her shoulders, he turned her to him.
“I’ve been holding onto a lie,” she said. “There’s nothing keeping us apart, no reason I can’t be yours. I’ve never belonged to anyone else. I never wanted to. I’ve always been yours.”
Lance’s knees buckled, coming to his knees. He rested his head on her shoulder as though he were the blade blessing her into sainthood.
“I don’t want to live a lie anymore.” She met his gaze. “I want to give myself to you. I want to give my vow to you. I’ve waited for decades. The world could end tonight. I won’t wait any longer.”
She tugged at the bottom of his shirt. It gave easily from his waistband. His mind was so befuddled that he was a puppet to her string pulling.
She tugged upward, and he lifted his arms. She struggled to get the shirt over his head. He ducked to give her access. She placed her hands on his chest. His heart beat double time for her.
Gwin was unclaimed. Words were one manner of promise, but it was nothing without deeds. Gwin was unbound. Gwin could be his. Gwin could be his now, tonight.
He watched in a daze as she lifted the blouse from her head. Lance stared openly, unashamedly at two perfect globes. Her nipples strained the fabric of her bra eager for his touch.
Her hands moved to her jeans, twisting the fabric until the button gave. The cloth, which had hugged her every curve all day long, slipped off her body like a sigh, landing on the floor in a heap. There was nothing between them but her lace panties that matched her bra.
Gwin reached for the button of Lance’s trousers. Her fingers uncertain but still bold as they coiled into the fabric to free him.
“Stop,” said Lance.
The hazy cloud of uncertainty in her blue gaze darkened. “Please don’t tell me you’re impotent too?”
Lance choked on his response. “No, it’s not that.”
She snatched her hand away. “It’s me, isn’t it? There’s something wrong with me?”
Lance could’ve kicked himself. She’d been denied the pleasure of touch for a century because of one inept man. Now, he was the one cocking everything up. “Gwin, you’re perfect.”
“Then why? You’ve been with others. I heard ladies talking.”
“They lied,” he said. “I’ve never touched them. I’ve never touched anyone.”
Her brow drew with confusion. He couldn’t blame her. It was a big admission. Something he’d never told anyone, especially not his brothers at arms.
“I was young when I came to Camelot. I’d seen the effects that sex without marriage could have on a woman and child. I knew I never wanted to bring that shame on anyone. And then I saw you. I never wanted to marry anyone but you.”
“So … you never …?”
“I’m untouched, like you. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
She flew into his arms. Her mouth assaulted his in a kiss that marked him, body and soul. Lance pressed her to him, arching her spine back to press her chest into his. He tilted her head back so that he could press his suit.
They drank from each other. Her soft moans a perfect harmony to his deep groans. Their hands moved up and down the other’s body, playing each other like practiced instruments. It was a song they’d been humming for years. And now, finally, they’d get to sing it out loud.
He wasn’t sure how they found themselves on the bed. It was inevitable. He’d known it the moment the door clicked behind them that this was where the night would end, with her in his arms. But it wasn’t enough.
With great effort, Lance unraveled Gwin’s arms from his neck and her legs from his torso. Despite her very vocal protests, he rose from her. Undoing the belt from his pants, he let the garment fall to the floor. The belt he kept a hold of.
Gwin’s eyes widened as he rejoined her on the bed. Her gaze was trained on the belt and not on his erect flesh.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
She did as she was told. Lance clasped her right hand with his left hand. Then he wove the belt around their wrists. It wasn’t a cord or a ribbon, but it would do the trick.
“Repeat after me,” he instructed. “Lord, keep us to remember when we first met and the strong love that grew between us.”
Lance began the words of the Scottish wedding prayer. Gwin faithfully repeated each of his words without missing a beat.
“To work that love into practical things so that nothing can divide us.”
Lance bound the belt beneath their hands as Gwin repeated his words.
/> “We ask for words both kind and loving and hearts always ready to ask forgiveness as well as to forgive.”
With the last loop of the belt, he fastened the buckle over the bracelet he’d given her earlier. It was a tight clench. He knew that neither of them would ever want to escape.
“Dear Lord, we put our marriage into your hands.”
Gwin repeated the last of his words, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Now your mine,” he said, his voice just barely above that of a possessive animal marking his territory.
The few scraps of material that barred her from him were gone in an instant. And then she was bare. He’d ached for decades to know what was beneath her layers of fabric, dreamed of it in the dead of the night. Now he knew.
She was perfection. Her breasts rose to meet him. The hollow of her belly begged for kisses. The thatch of hair between her legs glistened, ready for him after all these years.
Lance was eager to get inside. But he knew he had to take his time with her. Hell, he had to take his time with himself. This was a moment he never thought would come, and now that it was here he didn’t want to embarrass himself.
But Gwin would have nothing for a slow seduction. She arched into him, rubbed him in all the right places, and then angled her hips until they found their union.
He couldn’t deny either of them. He slipped inside with a welcomed ease. They held like that for long moments until they both caught their breath.
Lance looked down at Gwin. Like every moment of their lives, words were not necessary. It was crystal clear what she meant to him, and he to her. But Gwin decided she needed to speak her truth in this moment.
A possessive smile stretched across her face as she said, “And now you are mine.”
26
Waking up was the last thing Gwin wanted to do. Her body felt languid and heavy from pleasure. She and Lancelot had made love all night long and into the morning.
