by Julia London
“Cadfael,” he said, his voice soft and warm behind her. “It means ‘Battle Prince’ in Welsh. Shall I hand you up?”
She turned away from the horse’s unwavering eye and looked up at the prince. She wanted to speak, to share a private jest. It seemed to her that if two people had shared such extraordinary intimacy, they should at least have leave to call each other by their given names. “What is your name?” she asked. “Your full name?”
He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up. “Rhodrick. Rhodrick William Glendower.”
Rhodrick. She smiled as he swung up behind her. With his left hand, he gathered the reins, and his right he put around her middle, pulling her back and anchoring her to him. With his head next to hers, he asked, “Ready?”
He could not see the smile with which Greer stared out at the road before them as she nodded.
They rode on a narrow forest path that Rhodrick had not traveled in months. It was overgrown, but still passable. Cadfael labored up a steep incline, and then picked his way carefully along a narrow ridge path—which, Rhodrick realized with some chagrin, was blistering cold in the wind. He took the edge of his cloak and wrapped it securely around Greer, who shifted back against him, nestling her slender body against his.
He could scarcely see; the feel of her invited the memory of how she’d looked last night. Her hair inky black against her creamy white skin, her lips dark and moist, and her eyes, always her eyes, tiny seas of blue in a nearly gray world.
As Greer chattered on about Methodists for reasons he had missed altogether, Rhodrick realized that he was breathing a sigh of relief. All morning he had dreaded seeing her, fearing the look of regret in her eyes—or worse. He still could not understand how it had happened. One moment, he was looking at her, wishing that his life had been different, that his face had been different, and the next moment, he was holding her in his arms, kissing her, caressing her….
It was some sort of miracle. Not in his wildest dreams had he believed he might experience the joy of making love to a woman as beautiful and as spirited as Greer Fairchild, to see her brilliant smile in the light of the next day instead of the revulsion he’d feared.
How could it be that she was here with him now, riding through a snow-dusted landscape, chattering about Methodists? How was it possible that she seemed so happy to see him with that deep light shining in her eyes? She had never seemed more beautiful to him than she did at this very moment—not even the day he’d first seen her standing defiantly on the road, wondering aloud if he was as primitive as surely she must have heard.
At the point where the tree had grown partially around a rock, Rhodrick turned Cadfael into the forest.
“What do you suppose they meant to do with them?” Greer asked, piercing his contemplative mood.
“Beg your pardon?”
“The Welsh Bibles,” she said. “What did they mean to do with them?”
“Who?” he asked, confused.
Greer laughed and turned her head slightly, her face upturned and her eyes shining. “I daresay you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, sir! I was explaining I’d read that when the Bible was first translated into Welsh, several of them disappeared from the churches. Why do you suppose that was?”
“Quite simple, really,” he said. “The English were not entirely trusted and the Welsh were afraid of losing something that was very valuable to them. We’ve one of them at Llanmair. My ancestor took it from the parish church and put it away in a locked box.”
She laughed gaily. “You admit to your family’s thievery with pride.”
“And you,” he said, smiling down at her, “have been too long in the bosom of the English, I think. You are far too trusting of them.”
She laughed again and faced forward, settling against him as if they had long been lovers. “And you have the sensibilities of a man who lived in another century altogether.”
“I beg to differ. I have the sensibilities of a man who has had many dealings with Englishmen. They are not to be trusted.”
“Perhaps you—Oh!” she exclaimed as they rode into the clearing. She sat up straighter, looking around at the ancient Viking ruins. “Oh my…this is extraordinary.”
Rhodrick brought Cadfael to a halt, swung off, then helped Greer down. With her cloak leaving a trail through the snow, she hurried to the first oddly placed stone. “How did you find it?” she exclaimed as she traced a gloved hand over the top of the stone. “What is it?”
“A site of worship for the Norse Druids. Or a Viking burial ground. The scholars who have been here to study it aren’t entirely certain.” He ran his hand over the rough edge of one stone.
Greer squatted down to look at the markings on one stone, then stood up again. With the dogs following her, their tails high in the air, she walked the circle of the stones, spiraling around to the largest stone in the center, which was larger and cut in a different shape from the other stones. She whirled around to him, her cheeks pink with the cold, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. “It’s wonderful, Rhodrick.”
The sound of his name—so rarely used, and therefore, so rarely heard—filled him with the same sensation of bliss he felt when he heard music. “There is more.”
“Where?” she asked eagerly.
He questioned the wisdom of what he was about to do, but he put his hand on her elbow and guided her out of the circle and into the forest. He led her through thick brush into another small clearing, where a small cottage and horse trough stood beneath the boughs of the forest trees.
“What is this?” Greer exclaimed with delight.
“I built it years ago for the scholars who came to study the ruins,” he said as he took in the thatched roof, the rock walls, and the small lawn. “I let it fall into disuse after they’d gone, but one day, in the middle of a rather fierce storm, I sought refuge within its walls. I found it to be very quiet and, well…” He walked forward and opened the door.
Greer looked at him curiously, then suddenly marched forward, brushing past him as she stooped to cross the threshold just behind the dogs, who trotted in as they had, no doubt, a thousand times before.
For a moment, Rhodrick panicked. He’d never brought anyone here. He’d done all the work himself while Cadfael and Cain and Abel looked on. It was his own small place in the world, and if she laughed, if she thought he was mad to find refuge in such a common dwelling on an estate he owned—
He followed her inside. Cain and Abel had already headed to the pallets he’d made for them, plopping themselves down, their long pink tongues hanging identically from their jaws. Greer stood in the middle of the room and looked around, studying the paintings scattered about the room. Paintings he’d made in secrecy and had never shown another living soul.
There was a single chair he had dragged down here behind Cadfael once, the table he had made from wood he had lathed and dragged here, too. There were few appointed comforts—a single rug, discharged from its duty at Llanmair. A tarnished candelabra. A stack of canvases.
Greer turned around fully twice, taking in every detail, then moved to the canvas he’d left on the easel these last few weeks. He had meant to capture the evening light as it descended over the Cambrian Mountains, but he was dissatisfied with it, and had left it. Now Greer was staring at it, wide-eyed, her fingers touching carefully the mountain he’d painted.
He suddenly wished he’d not brought her here. He felt like a fool, like a boy showing off his fort. He could not understand why he’d allowed himself to believe that he was safe, that he could show her the most private part of himself.
He was about to tell her that they must go, to try and erase the mistake he’d made, but she suddenly turned and looked at him with amazement. “Did…did you paint these?”
He scarcely even nodded.
“They are beautiful…so very beautiful! But why are they here? You have all of Llanmair to pursue your art.”
He glanced around, tried to see this little cottage through her eyes. It
was odd to her, as odd as he must seem. “There are times,” he said, forcing the words, “that I desire to be away from the trappings of my title and the attendant responsibilities. There are times when I want to be free to paint without servants hovering or strangers calling. And…” He paused, glancing at the floor and drawing a breath. “And I don’t know if there is…color in them. Or the right sort of color.”
She looked around again, but when she returned her gaze to him, she was smiling brilliantly. “There is color in them. Brilliant color, Rhodrick. The mountains are yellow and the sky is blue and the trees are red. But they are beautiful.”
In that instant, Rhodrick knew that he adored her, that he’d adored the idea of her for as long as he could remember. He didn’t think when he took her in his arms—it suddenly seemed so natural, so right, and so perfect, as if this were the moment for which he’d lived his life thus far.
He put his hand on her jaw and lifted her face to him and studied it—the eyes, of course, the one true bit of color in his world, the straight nose that turned up just a bit at the end, the full lips, the freckles faintly splattered across her nose and cheeks….
“What do you see?” she asked, a smile spreading her full lips.
“I see color,” he said honestly, and bent to kiss her cheek. Then one eye, and the other, and then the bridge of her nose.
Greer smiled, lifted her hand, and pressed her palm to his face, smiling as he turned his head and kissed her palm. Her eyes shimmered with a depth of emotion that caused his heart to levitate in his chest. He felt on the brink of something quite deep, something in which he could very well drown were he not careful.
But Greer’s warm smile wrapped around his heart and squeezed life into it. He drew her into his arms and kissed her—crushed her, actually. Her fingers raked through his hair as he unclasped her cloak and pushed it from her shoulders, deepening the kiss.
Greer responded by pressing against him and tangling with his tongue.
Somehow, he managed to push his greatcoat from his shoulders and off his arms, and the two of them fell onto it. Rhodrick’s hands eagerly swept her frame, moving up her arm, down the side of her body and belly, then up to her breasts, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her riding jacket. Greer thrust her hands inside his coat, around to his back, feeling his spine, his rib cage, and the taut muscles in his neck and shoulders.
Rhodrick freed a breast and eagerly brought the rigid peak into his mouth. She rose to him, unabashedly indulging in his ardor for her.
With his mouth and hands, he exulted in her, and she received his caress with pure elation. He paused to remove his coat and waistcoat as she worked the pearl buttons of his shirt. When he had managed to divest himself of that, he put his hand on her ankle and skimmed below her skirt, up her leg. “I think the heavens brought you to me,” he said as he unfastened her skirt, surprising himself with having voiced the sentiment aloud.
She smiled seductively and lifted her hips so that he could remove her riding skirt. He pushed the skirt away and began to pull her undergarments down her body. When she was bared to him, he feasted his gaze on her body before kissing the flat hollow of her belly.
Beneath him, Greer sighed with pleasure. The heavens had brought her here—nothing else would explain how she was now, against all odds, against everything she had ever learned or known, on fire with a burning hunger for this man’s touch. His hardness, straining the fabric of his trousers, pressed against her leg. The soft sensation of his lips against her belly and the flick of his tongue in her navel sent spasms of desire spiraling through her. She gasped with delight, shoved her hands in his thick hair, and smiled lazily as he lifted her leg and kissed her thigh.
As his lips traced a warm, wet path up her leg, pausing to kiss the soft crease behind her knee, she laughed at the dizzying sensation of it. But when his breath brushed against the tops of her legs, she felt that dangerous sensation of being consumed by flames.
When his tongue flicked across the seam of her sex, the pleasure overwhelmed her. Her breathing quickly went from ragged to gasping for air. She helped him as he moved between her legs, shifting to give him access. With a wolfish, purely masculine grin, he lifted her legs, putting them over his broad shoulders, and slowly descended to her flesh.
She was quickly spiraling toward release, writhing beneath him, clutching desperately at his head, moving instinctively to meet the caress of his tongue. His hands held her buttocks roughly, holding her to him as he delved deeper and tormented her in the most intimate way imaginable. The pressure building in her was unbearable; she strained to meet him at the very same time she strained to move away from his ministrations.
But he would not let her go, and the stroke of his tongue quickened, staggering her with the sensation, pushing her higher and higher toward a release. She reached it, plummeting into that release and letting go with a long, low moan of pleasure as a wave of sensual gratification washed over her and carried her out to sea.
Rhodrick rose above her, kicking off his trousers. His gaze was fiercely possessive and full of wanting. Greer put her hand to his solid chest, could feel his heart racing beneath her palm as his swollen cock skimmed her leg. “You make me insane with desire,” he said roughly.
Greer’s heart fluttered unevenly; she cupped his face with her hands. “Rhodrick…”
With a groan, he bent to kiss her, the taste of her still on his lips. He grappled for her hand, guiding her to feel the velvet head of his erection, wrapping her fingers around the thick staff, guiding her hand up and down, squeezing her fingers around him until she was doing it alone. Rhodrick moaned low in his throat and kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as her hand glided over him. He suddenly pulled her hand away and gathered her up in his arms, rolling onto his back and bringing her with him, so that she was on top of him.
She gasped with surprise and delight as he gripped her hips and moved her to straddle him, then moved beneath her, rubbing against her. It was wildly erotic. Her hair, long since fallen from the prim coif she had worn, formed a curtain around her face and brushed his chest. “I cannot resist you,” she said wantonly.
She had never seen a man more intent, had never understood the power of the feminine sex before that moment. His eyes were full of an almost beastly desire that Greer instinctively knew she controlled—with a smile, with her hand, with a soft sigh. It was extraordinarily empowering, and extraordinarily seductive. She smiled with the knowledge of how much he wanted her as he lifted her up, positioned himself beneath her, then led her to slide down his shaft until he was buried deep inside her.
It was hopeless—Greer lost herself in the beauty of it, crying out in ecstasy with the sensation of drawing him deeply into her depths. He taught her how to move, carefully pushing her hair aside so that he could see her face as she glided on him. He rose to meet her each time, eventually putting his hands on his hips and taking over, and then abruptly sitting up, taking her in his arms and rolling her onto her back without missing a stroke.
Lying in his arms, feeling his body surround her and in her, Greer felt beautiful and more feminine than she had ever felt in her life. As his strokes grew more urgent, her body tightened around him, coaxing him to the brink of fulfillment. She watched his face, pressing her palms to his cheeks as his body flowed into hers, as smooth as a river. He reached his hand between their bodies and began to stroke her as he moved faster into her body, stroking her toward another eruption of bliss. As Greer reached another climax, he cried her name with his last powerful surge and convulsed into her, giving his life blood to her womb, then collapsed onto her, breaking his fall with his arms.
He brushed the hair from her face and they silently gazed at one another. Greer could not remember ever feeling quite so alive.
Rhodrick smiled and kissed her, then lay his palm on her breast. “It is cold, isn’t it?” he asked, watching her eyes. “You’re cold, your skin is cold.”
“I’m not cold,” she sa
id with a laugh. “I am really rather warm.”
He smiled, kissed the curve of her neck and shoulder, and slowly withdrew from her body. “We should return before it grows dark.” He covered her with his greatcoat, then stood and dressed, completely immodest, seemingly oblivious to her admiration of his masculine body.
She, however, was not quite so immodest, and by the time he had draped his neckcloth around his collar, Greer had wrapped herself in his coat and had pulled on her undergarments and skirt.
He helped her button the skirt, then turned her around, buttoning her chemise and the bust of her riding habit as if he’d buttoned her up many times before. When he finished, he looked into her eyes. She had the sense that he meant to speak, but that he was struggling to find the right words. “Greer,” he said, his gaze moving over her face.
She instinctively knew that he meant to speak of their sin, and she could not bear to hear what he would say, no matter what it was. She had taken leave of her senses, but she had not yet determined what she might do about it.
With his hands, he caressed her arms. His gaze fell to her bodice.
“Mrs. Bowen says you are to Rhayader on the morrow,” she interjected before he could speak.
He lifted his gaze, his green eyes shrewdly considering her. “I am. Would you care to accompany me?”
“Me?” she exclaimed with a laugh. “No, my lord. I have an entire century of Welsh history to read.”
He picked up her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. “That is quite a lot of history. Perhaps I can spare you the trouble and tell you what happened.”
“No, sir, I will not allow it,” she said as she fit the fur bonnet on her head. “How else shall I impress you?” she added with a wink.
He smiled, put his arm around her shoulders, and said softly, “You have impressed me far beyond what I believed was possible,” he said. “Shall we?” And he led her out of the cottage, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back, with the two dogs on their heels.
