Not that it was any true marriage, consecrated not by a priest in God’s sight, but by doing obeisance before some unholy forest demon. By Deirdre’s knowledge, Elisabeth had come to know more than she truly wanted about the pagan ways. Fae tales, false demon gods, brazen fools riding naked in the night with wolves as hounds in some wild hunt toward damnation.
Know thine enemy.
But Elisabeth couldn’t help but feel sullied by such knowledge.
“She’s older, of course, but there’s no doubt in my mind, Reverend Lady. This Eluned of Loxley is a leader of one of the most powerful and insidious covens in all England.”
“And she’s tending to my uncle, for the love of Christ!” Elisabeth gritted out. “Feeding him lies and false cures!”
“There is no doubt that she is indeed a skilled healer, Lady.” Deirdre’s words were meant to soothe, Elisabeth knew. But they did the opposite.
“Yet since her healing arts come from the Devil, how can she tend anything but the Devil’s wares? Who knows what subtle poison lies in such cures?”
“I saw Sir Ian’s body servant test the mixture himself.”
“That is not the kind of poison I fear. If she was that stupid, that obvious, the woman would have been dealt with long ago. Nay, she is subtle, and that is the fear. Already she begins her foul work. Sir Ian will hear no word against her, even the smallest. And she has beguiled the boy. You heard him when he escorted me from his father’s solar. He was insolent.”
“Aye, Lady, but you must remember that a lad his age is fairly made of insolence.”
Elisabeth smiled. “That much is true. But it is the direction of his insolence that disturbs me. He defends her like a knight his lady. Or a lover. From what you have told me, seduction would not be unheard of with these people.”
Deirdre shrugged then went over to the counter and took up the pitcher, poured wine into a goblet. “And that would not be an uncommon path for a lad his age, either. If I might ask, Lady, why this concern over a lord’s late-gotten issue?”
“That ‘lord’s late-gotten issue’ is indeed of interest, Deirdre.” Elisabeth took the cup from her, dipped her head in thanks. “He is an uncommon young man. You mention the vices of those his age. Yet I’ve rarely seen one with such fierce devotion to God. He spends much of his time reading or at his devotions.” She sipped the cup gladly—Deirdre was quite gifted with herbs, herself, and her dandelion wine was worth savoring. “There is something altogether untainted about him. He has a unique purity that we all strive for, and seldom achieve. Yet it is there, in him.”
“You have been watching him closely, then.”
“From the moment his father mentioned a possible vocation for him. Uncle Ian said he would well-dower the boy despite his birth order—and he means it, he is very fond of Gamelyn—but that is not the only boon, Deirdre. Uncle Ian has only ever shown kindness to me. He took my side when my father would have seen me auctioned on the marriage market, talked my mother into siding with me when I would have chosen God’s love over any pimply, pretentious suitor. I owe my uncle much; the least I can do is see that his beloved youngest is safely installed in the Church.” Elisabeth pursed her lips. “I think the boy has averted temptation so far. He has not the sinful and unspoken language about him that can be seen when a man is near his lover’s side. But I will keep an especial eye upon him, nevertheless.
“As to the witch.” Elisabeth tapped her fingers against the cup, took a last drink. “Tomorrow we leave for Nottingham, to see to another of the pagan filth. I’d warrant this murdering forester is of her coven. And her husband should still be there.” Her eyes gleamed. “You did not recognize him when we crossed paths before—”
“I did not think to look, Reverend Lady. I beg your forgiveness.”
“There is nothing to forgive. There was no reason, then, to even suspect of the evil he represents. He seemed merely a kind man burdened with an insolent and wayward son. It is a good reminder of the wickedness that can bide beneath a fair face. As I told young Gamelyn.
“But no matter. These people might have infiltrated the shire, they might have a powerful coven at their beckon, but neither am I without resources.” She handed the drained cup to Deirdre. “I will see this wortwife burnt or hanged, and her coven with her.”
XIX
IT WAS close to evening when he heard it, echoing through the trees: the steady, rhythmic sound of a walking horse. The hoofbeats approached, then abruptly slowed, stopped with a shift back and forth, then began again.
Looking for something.
Bloody damn. Rob rose from where he’d been giving his saddle a good oiling and took several slow, silent steps forward. He’d hoped to not attract attention… well, not the kind that would come looking for him a-horse, anyway. His role as visiting benefactor had no doubt sent Blyth’s peasantry abuzz. The small blessing-gifts that had been left here at his cavern had been transferred, as if by magic, to a place outside the tree line to the north. Rob had left a gift there as reciprocity for their giving, and they had adopted it. In fact, he had a gift of fish to deliver before he retired for the night. Despite tying them in the cool stream nearby, it was warm enough they’d not keep forever.
But surely none of those people would turn him in.
Rob frowned at his hands and forearms—they were all over the fat he’d been laving on his saddle—then wiped the palm of his left hand on the leather of his breeks and fingered the dagger from his belt. Likely he was being overcautious. Even if someone had been indiscreet, he was on legitimate business here, and had the documentation to prove it, with Conisbrough’s seal.
Then he saw a glint of ivory through the trees, and his heart leapt into his throat then plummeted down into his belly.
Nay, he was being daft. It could be any gray horse. In fact, his eyes could be playing wishful tricks upon him that the rider was there at all… but Arawn was looking too, ears pricked, head and tail lifted. He gave a strident whinny.
The gray answered, a stallion’s high-pitched whistle of query and challenge. Arawn nickered, more subdued but also welcoming, as the other horse turned, made his way toward the copse. It was Diamant who answered, picking his way almost daintily through the ground cover. Diamant’s rider halted him as they reached the edge of the little clearing, and for long moments they stood there, not moving.
Had they come looking, intent and intending? Or had they come across the clearing only by chance? Tens of tangled and insecure scenarios played their way through Rob’s scattered thoughts, were strangled by one focus:
Get off your horse, you tosser. Get off your horse and walk over here, or I swear I’ll come over there and knock you off.
Another few heartbeats, so tense and demoralizing that Rob almost started forward to make good on his silent threat. Then Gamelyn threw Diamant the rein and dismounted. Stood there again, green eyes scanning first Arawn, then the clearing, then the little cave, then—finally—Rob.
Rob once again had the peculiar sensation of time stretching around him but without the dreaming or the cutting: his heartbeat was normal, he breathed in the same spans, but the surround seemed slower, stilled and hushed about him. Just as before, he was almost afraid to move, unwilling to step back into the moment lest the loom of tynged go spinning wildly past and he loose his grasp upon it, just as he loosed his knife and it rang with impact then skittered on the rocks and dirt.
But then Gamelyn started walking toward him, and the moment grounded itself into Rob’s chest, the loom clacking back and forth, the shuttle rhythm his heart and breath.
Gamelyn seemed not so much like the young man who had followed Rob to the mere and then run from him, but the boy who had so inexplicably and determinedly made his way to Loxley. Worn, secondhand riding clothes of linen and leather settled snug about his frame. Shafts of sun caught fire-gold in his hair as he passed through them, betrayed a sunburnt nose and flushed cheeks.
But he walked like the young man, a swordsman’s cant. G
amelyn had one hand resting on his sword hilt, the scabbard rocking against his thigh. As he came closer, however, that hand left the sword and hovered at his hip, as if unsure of what to do.
He was… beautiful.
Not an arm’s length from Rob, Gamelyn hesitated then halted, looking both confused and determined, more akin to someone walking to his own beating than meeting his lover in the forest.
A tiny sound came from Gamelyn—a question, an answer, Rob wasn’t sure which, but it didn’t matter. Suddenly they were lunging forward, wrapping around each other, kissing each other with a pent-up violence that made Rob see stars and fire and not much else. Heat and strong arms, gasping breaths and grasping, desperate hands; fine hair sliding through Rob’s fat-slick fingers to gleam like cinnamon-gilt silk; and Gamelyn’s hands knotting in his tunic, bruising the small of his back.
And the bloody sword was still in the way.
This time it was Gamelyn who broke away just long enough to unbuckle it and fling it aside—not without a flinch as steel rang, pained, against rock—but then Rob was pulling him close again, leaving tiny shimmers to map streaks upon that fair, freckled skin everywhere he touched.
“I’ve been waiting,” Rob murmured against one of those slicks, tracing down Gamelyn’s chest, and when Gamelyn gave a strange shudder, hesitated, Rob pulled him beneath the overhang. Pushed him down onto his furs.
“Rob?” It was shaky, hoarse; Rob covered it with his mouth, desperately trying to unlace his breeches with oily hands. Gamelyn finally did that as well, first Rob’s then his own, his hands reaching… begging… and he hissed in a sharp breath between his teeth as Rob fisted him. Gamelyn kept staring at Rob as if he could scarcely believe what was happening, and when the breath left him, it sounded like Rob’s name, then a few more words, unintelligible.
And aye, but Rob knew what would shut him up, something his slippery hands were good enough for….
Rob wasn’t sure what was more satisfying, the sharp stab then the dull pressure that stretched him almost past bearing but sent shivers and sparks up and down his spine… or the way Gamelyn’s eyes widened with no, what are you doing—no! as Rob first straddled and slicked him, then the yes oh God yes please, as Rob guided him, took him in. The way those green eyes closed as Rob hunched over him, panting, and how Gamelyn flung his head back against the furs, the cords of his neck straining. Rob leaned forward, loosed his held breath to skim gooseflesh over that arched throat, felt the tension runnel from him and the throb of discomfort give way to the throb of Gamelyn deep-sunk inside him. Started to rock, back and forth.
And Gamelyn was groaning beneath him, fisting his hands in Rob’s tunic, shoving then pulling then shoving again, a mindless, chaotic tangle of come here and go away. Instead Rob grabbed those hands, yanked them above Gamelyn’s head, and rode him until there was nothing left—no future, no past, only this now and this moment—but Gamelyn’s body against his, and nothing left in this world—no doubt, no questions—only just fuck me until I canna think or speak or even breathe my name….
“DON’T RUN from me again.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.”
“But…. You don’t understand.”
“Aye, you have me there. This is one thing I don’t understand.”
“This is… it’s all wrong.”
“Then why are you here?
“I don’t know… I don’t know!”
Rob propped up on one elbow and tilted one eyebrow up into his forelock. “Sure of that, are you?”
Gamelyn groaned and put his palms over his eyes. Other than that he didn’t move, was still lying on his back trying to get his breath back, still half in and out of his clothes—they’d been more direct than thorough. Rob himself still had his tunic on, though his breeches had been flung aside with that bloody interfering sword.
Gamelyn’s breeks were also flung aside; his thin braies, on the other hand, were still clinging stubbornly to one pale, freckled leg.
Fancy that.
Rob reached forward, pulled Gamelyn’s hands away from his face. “Enough.”
“Rob—”
He didn’t answer in words. Instead he leaned forward and took Gamelyn’s upper lip between tongue and teeth, let his hand slide down to press Gamelyn’s sated erection between his fingers and Gamelyn’s belly.
Not so sated, after all; there was a slow but undeniable quiver against his palm. The quiver ran up, hung in Gamelyn’s throat, then escaped in a hoarse groan. Rob caught it with his tongue, gave one back against parted lips.
“Rob, I….”
It wavered as Rob gave a roll of his hips. Rob indulged in a slight smile, ran his tongue over Gamelyn’s cheek and down to the hollow where his neck and shoulder joined. The waver choked into a shudder, the quiver against Rob’s palm into a full-on lurch and stiffen.
“Rob.”
“Gamelyn,” he whispered back. “Shut the bloody fuck up.”
“IS IT so horrible, then? Loving me?” There was a quaver in Rob’s voice, vulnerable telltale.
It pulled an answering quaver, deep down, from Gamelyn where he was sitting and staring past the small fire that Rob had kindled. It lit the little cavern in spastic starts and flashes, glinted over sweat-wet skin and reflected out into the night. It even reached for Arawn and Diamant, standing comfortably head to tail just outside, a black shade limned by a white ghost.
“If only it was.” Gamelyn reached out, seeking Rob’s hand. Rob gave it to him. “Then everything would be so easy. It’s just….” The hand clenched. “God, what have we done?”
Rob rose from the furs and onto his knees, spooned close behind Gamelyn, his tanned forearms limned against moon-pale chest. All the grease was gone, rubbed into each other several times over, now. “Not half of what I’m planning for the rest of the night.”
“Rob—”
“Gamelyn, bloody damn! You’re strong enough to tie me in a knot and you know it. You want me to stop, then kick my arse and make me. Otherwise—”
“I know, I know. Shut the bloody fuck up,” Gamelyn finished for him, and suddenly turned, yanked him close.
“WHERE DID you get this?” Rob fingered the amulet resting against Gamelyn’s breastbone. It had rolled into the hollow of his throat as he’d flung himself onto his back, still panting.
“The stable lad gave it to me,” Gamelyn mused, curling his arms over the top of his head. “He had it about his neck and insisted I take it.”
Rob smiled. John, then.
“He said it would help me find you.”
“And have you, then? Found me?”
Green eyes rose to his, all but bursting with both doubt and wonder, and Gamelyn reached out, pushed a lock of black hair behind Rob’s ear. “I have, haven’t I?”
“Mm.” Rob sighed. “My toes think so. They’re still knotted fair tight.”
That impossible, soft-sweet smile appeared, turning into a chuckle as the tucked-back black curl made stubborn recoil into Rob’s eyes. Gamelyn’s expression went somber as he trailed slow fingers down to the small crescent of horn and silver that pierced Rob’s right nipple. “This is one, isn’t it?”
Rob nodded. “I don’t like things about my neck, so this is how I carry it with me. You really didna know what it was?”
Gamelyn shrugged, somewhat self-conscious. “I just thought you enjoyed pain.”
Rob smirked. “This from you?”
“I don’t enjoy pain.”
“Mm. Keep telling yourself that. I hear the sounds you make what I rake my teeth across your—”
“Rob—”
“Or how you squirm when I do this.” Rob leaned forward, ran his fingertips across Gamelyn’s chest and gave a sharp pinch to one nipple.
“Fine.” Gamelyn’s brows were drawn together in a fierce glower, but the effect was spoiled by the smile trying to quiver in one cheek. And the squirm. Definitely the squirm.
“Ah… stop. I can’t….” Gamelyn shivered, ro
se up on one elbow. “Why did he give it to me, then?”
“You canna feel it?”
Gamelyn frowned. “Feel what?”
“He’s woven a protection about it.” Rob traced light fingertips over it, and Gamelyn gave a shiver. “See?”
From the look in the green eyes, Gamelyn did see. And wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. “He said that. I didn’t…. So. It’s… sorcery.”
“Not so contrived as that. This is a more… natural working of breath and skill. It led you to me because I wore it for a time.” Another smile, Rob remembering that time, indeed short and sweet and full of magic.
“I know,” Gamelyn said, half into the furs. His hand had crept up, fingertips rolling at the charm.
Rob’s brows drew together. “You… saw?”
“I… I didn’t mean to. It was an accident, and….” Bloody damn, but Gamelyn was not only babbling but blushing, sitting up and looking anywhere but Rob’s face. “The next morning, you put it over his head.”
Rob sat up behind Gamelyn and nuzzled at his neck. “Did you watch us?” he purred.
“I’m afraid I did, a little.” It was hesitant.
“Only a little?”
“I didn’t understand.” Gamelyn began a shrug, instead sucked in a breath and arched his neck as Rob tongued his nape. “I’m still not sure I understand.”
“Me and John?”
“No,” Gamelyn whispered, “me. It’s… overwhelming.”
“O-vuh…?”
“Almost too much to bear.” Gamelyn gave a shiver as Rob began to trace his tongue along that lovely pad of muscle arching between neck and shoulder, arched his neck and gave a bit of a purr himself.
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