“Now, touch me,” he whispered, guiding her to that aroused part of him. “Like this. Aye, that’s it. Ah, Christ help me. I might well die in your arms, lass.”
How could something so rigid be so soft? His skin felt like silk beneath her fingers, which left a film of her own intimate wetness on his shaft as she stroked him. The sensation, the sharing of her body’s fluid with him, sent tingles all the way down to her toes. A sudden, exhilarating sense of power flooded through her. She was the reason for his magnificent hardness. Touching him was not enough. She wanted him inside her.
“Gareth.”
He looked at her, apparently understanding her unspoken demand. He refused it with a silent response of his own as he rubbed his erection against her stilled hand.
“Don’t stop, Lora.”
At the same time, his fingers sought her out again, sinking into her moist depths, one at first, and then two. They thrust and probed while his thumb caressed the sweet little spot that made her thrash about.
“Aye, that’s right, my love,” he whispered. “Take your pleasure.”
“Gareth,” she moaned, hips rising to his thrusts, stroking his shaft with the same frantic rhythm. “Please, oh, God, I can’t…ah…”
Again, she stood on the brink, deaf and blind to everything except what was happening between them. He stretched her free hand up and over her head, pinning her wrist to the floor as his lips found her nipple again.
“Let it go,” he murmured, sucking and tugging with his mouth while probing and caressing with his fingers. His thumb pressed down hard. “Now, cariad. Let it go.”
Something exploded deep inside. The most intimate part of her clenched tight around his fingers and sent her tumbling into a chasm of light, shattering her body into a thousand pieces. She heard a gasp and long low moan of pleasure. Had it come from her or him? Beneath her fingers, Gareth’s shaft pulsed several times and his seed, sticky and hot, trickled across her hip.
“Lora,” he breathed. “Oh, Lora.”
Neither one spoke in the immediate aftermath. Gareth’s head rested on Lora’s shoulder, while his hand stroked idle caresses across the flat plain of her belly. She felt the rise and fall of his chest, the throb of his heartbeat, and the sweat on his skin.
The scent of their passion surrounded them.
“I love you,” she said at last, releasing the words from the innermost part of her soul. He lifted his head to look at her and then placed a kiss on her chest, over her heart.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
“Then why did you not—?”
“Precisely because I love you.” He rolled over and pulled her into his arms. “You’re still a virgin, physically at least.”
“Hmm.” Contentment, like a silken cloak, wrapped around her. She sighed and dragged a fingertip down the center of Gareth’s chest. “I enjoyed it very much, Stonemason.”
Gareth chuckled. “Aye, I got that impression.”
“Can we do it again?”
“Brazen wench.” He kissed the top of her head. “I swear you’ll be the death of me.”
“Don’t speak of death.” Lora pressed closer to him. “It frightens me. If our future together is not to be, I must know your heart still beats as it does now, strong and clear. I must know, in every spare moment, that you are perhaps thinking of me as I shall surely be thinking of you.”
Her words, or her sentiment at least, echoed that of William’s.
“…her mere presence on this earth is enough to sustain me.”
How well she understood his meaning. She sighed, swallowing an urge to cry. The night had been so special. She didn’t want tears to sour the sweetness they had shared. Gareth rose on one elbow and looked down at her. His dark eyes were aglow with candlelight and, Lora thought, love.
“I’ve no intention of dying anytime soon, cariad. As long as I live, you’ll always be in here…” He touched a finger to his temple. “…and here.” He pressed his hand to his chest, brushing against the gold medallion, which rocked back and forth like a pendulum, snatching at the meager light.
Lora touched her fingers to the golden disc, slowing its motion. “You have this to protect you against evil spirits,” she whispered, feeling a twinge of guilt at her blasphemous words. “I wonder who owned it before.”
Gareth smiled and captured her fingers with his. “A man of means, I should think. A Celtic chieftain, perhaps. Or maybe an ancient prince.”
“An ancient prince?” Lora’s eyes widened. “Oh, I wonder what he wished for. Victory in battle? Or maybe he wished for a son and heir. Or a beautiful wife.”
“I should think the wife would have to come before the son and heir.” Gareth’s teasing tone became serious. “I doubt his wish was granted, though, whatever it was.”
Lora blinked. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the offering became snagged on a root. It never actually made it to the bottom of the well.”
“Ah. So the spirit was not paid.” She stifled a yawn. “The poor man. He likely had no way of knowing. I hope it wasn’t, then, an important wish.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was. Such a payment would not have been for anything trivial.”
Gareth’s hand cupped her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple for a moment before his caress continued down and across her abdomen. Lora closed her eyes and stretched, luxuriating beneath his touch, her skin tingling as if warmed by the sun.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered, his lips against her ear as his hand followed the narrow curve of her waist. “Perfectly sculpted. Would that I could create your likeness, shape you from the whitest marble in all your naked glory and look upon you every day.”
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I would never age.”
He shook his head. “Never. Time would not touch you.”
A sudden cool wisp of air brushed across her skin and the candle flame sputtered.
“What was that?” she asked, her heart taking a funny little leap. “Gareth?”
He put a finger to his lips and sat up, peering toward the top of the staircase. Lora saw the tension in his shoulders and held her breath. Dear God. Were they found? Was someone there?
Silence settled around them, tranquil and reassuring. The little flame burned steady and Gareth shrugged.
“Just a gust of wind, I think,” he said, turning to her, relief evident in his tone and on his face, “but a reminder of how dangerous our trysts are.”
Lora drew a deep breath and nodded. Caught up in the romance of the night, she’d forgotten the danger surrounding them. The reality of her future opened up like a pit in her mind. Nay, not a pit. A well, unguarded and bottomless. Gareth could not pull her back from the brink this time.
“We have one more night.” Tears blurring her vision, Lora sat up and reached for her shift. When Gareth didn’t respond, she raised questioning eyes to his. “Gareth? Please tell me you’ll be here tomorrow.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Lora—”
“Don’t you dare refuse me, Stonemason.” Trembling, she rose, pulled on her shift, and tugged it down around her legs. “Don’t you dare. I couldn’t bear it. That would make tonight…what? Something fleeting, something—”
“Stop.” He stood and pulled her into his arms. “I’m not refusing to see you, cariad. I’m merely questioning the wisdom of it. The sadness you feel now will be tenfold tomorrow. And tonight, my love, has been a gift without price. The sweetness of it still overwhelms me.”
“Then to the Devil with wisdom.” She ran her fingers along his jawline, feeling the rise of stubble on his skin. “For now, I shall live only for tomorrow night. Beyond that, I cannot think.”
Gareth’s body stirred against her and Lora arched a brow. “Again, Stonemason?”
He set her back from him and reached for his breeches, a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. “Get dressed, Lora FitzGilbert.”
“So, you’ll be here tomorrow?”
“Y
ou know I will. Get dressed.”
*
A while later, Lora waited in the darkness of the doorway, reliving every moment of the night, feeling a growing tingle of excitement as she did so. Love was much more than words and fanciful dreams. It had a physical power, an intense pleasure manifested by touch. Graceful yet feral, practiced yet raw. She had learned much from her stonemason, but knew there was more. Much more.
How, under Heaven, she wondered, could she ever respond to Edward? She had no love for him. The mere thought of his touch felt like a betrayal. She shuddered, her gaze drifting toward the well. Its ghostly crown, each piece formed by Gareth’s skilled hands, seemed to glow in the darkness.
Gareth had insisted on crossing the bailey first to draw any potential and unwanted attention to himself and divert it away from Lora. The shadows had swallowed him as they would soon swallow her. Other than the night’s watch on the battlements, not a soul stirred. All was quiet beneath the moonless sky.
Confident in her solitude, Lora stepped out and paused beside the well, listening to the familiar rush of water way below. “Did the medallion belong to a prince?” she asked in a whisper, remembering Gareth’s words. “And did you grant him his wish? Will you grant mine? Please?”
There was no response from the mysterious spirit. Lora sighed and turned toward the keep, only to halt mid-step, her heart missing a beat.
Something, or someone, had moved in the shadows along the castle wall. A figure? Lora squinted into the blackness, her eyes straining to make out detail. Had she imagined it? She waited, hardly daring to breathe, watching for any sign of movement, but saw none. Her mind sought out the comfort of a simple explanation.
Perhaps it was one of the castle dogs or the descent of a hunting owl.
It occurred to her she had no real reason to worry anyway, at least not for Gareth. True, she was without an escort, but in all her years at Rothwyn, she had never felt threatened. No one would harm her within the confines of the castle. No one would dare.
Still, a sense of unease stayed with her as she picked up her skirts and scurried across the bailey.
Chapter 10
Lora felt trapped between two rivers of time, one rushed and turbulent, the other sluggish. Part of her longed for the hours to speed past so she could be with Gareth once more. Another part of her understood the finality of their rendezvous and dreaded its arrival.
The next day would see Edward’s return, and Gareth would be gone by the week’s end, his wall completed. After that, the rest of Lora’s life would play out according to…what? Her prayers? Her pagan wishes?
She had slept little but risen late, kept abed uttering those same prayers and imagined wishes. Because of the late hour, with the exception of a few stragglers, Rothwyn’s great hall was empty. Lora chose a quiet place in the corner to break her fast and continue her contemplation.
Emotions filled her stomach. There was no room for food. She sighed and tore off another piece of bread from the larger chunk in her hand. A small heap of similar pieces lay on the table before her.
Choose your words. The spirit’s message came back to her again and again, the meaning still elusive.
“How do I choose my words?” she mumbled, throwing another morsel of bread on the pile. “I don’t understand.”
“Is the bread stale?” William’s voice cut into her thoughts and startled her. “Or are you making something?”
Lora blinked at him as her weary mind stumbled back to its immediate surroundings. “What?”
“Not a very polite response, my lady,” he said, settling himself next to her.
“My pardon.” Lora smiled. “I meant to say What, Master William.”
“Very funny.” He cleared his throat. “You look tired, little ’un.”
She lied. “I’m fine. You need not worry yourself.”
He frowned, picked up a morsel of bread, and rolled it between his fingers. “And you need not pretend with me, Lora.”
She grimaced at him. “’Tis as well you’re not my father. I would get away with precisely nothing.”
William’s fingers paused in their manipulation of the bread. He closed his eyes for a moment, a small muscle twitching in his jaw. He looked…angry? Unsettled by his strange reaction, Lora fidgeted.
“Um…I didn’t mean to offend you,” she murmured. “I should tell you I’m truly grateful for your confidence.”
He looked at her, the lines of tension around his mouth easing into a smile. “I’m not offended, little ’un. And your confidence in me serves my purpose.”
“Your purpose?”
“Aye.” William placed his hand over hers. “To protect you. Be careful, lass. Not all of Lord Grant’s retainers went on the hunting trip. There’s one or two still wandering in and out of Rothwyn. Mind you’re not seen with your Welshman. If Edward should find out…”
*
Troubled by a sense of trepidation, Lora heeded William’s warning and purposely avoided Gareth all day. Now, with only the night birds disturbing Rothwyn’s silence, she crept across the bailey. She paused at the side of the well and stroked her fingers across the stone wall. One more layer of stones and the wall would be finished. Those final blocks lay on the ground, already formed and chiseled. Tomorrow, Gareth would set them in place. Tomorrow, his work at Rothwyn would be finished. By the week’s end, he would be gone. Nausea clawed at her stomach.
Lora’s mind, tortured by unwanted reality, juggled with a slew of wishes. All of them had merit, yet not one sounded exactly right. She felt as though something was missing, like she needed to find the answer to a long-forgotten riddle. It was there, in front of her, yet she couldn’t quite see it.
“Help me.” She leaned over the wall and peered down into the depths. “Tell me what I’m supposed to say.”
Her words returned as a soft echo, but it was not the spirit who answered.
“Come away, Lora.”
She turned as Gareth materialized from the shadows. Clothed all in black, his silhouette blended with the night. His hair, dampened by the rain, curled around his face. Tears stung her eyes at the sight of him, their sudden arrival taking her by surprise.
“Gareth.”
“Come away,” he said again, reaching for her hand. “’Tis not safe for us out here.”
Her skin tingled at the warmth of his touch. They shared silence until they reached the shelter of the loft. Gareth let go of her hand and bent to light the candle. Then he turned and pulled her into his arms.
“Silly lass,” he whispered as she shivered against him. “Why didn’t you wait here for me? Out of the cold?”
“I…I can’t bear it.” She turned her face to his chest. “I can’t bear to think this is our last night together. So, I thought maybe, if I made another wish—”
“How do you know it’s our last night together?” He bent his head to kiss her wet hair. “Nothing is ever certain, cariad. Did the voice speak to you again?”
“No.” Lora sighed. “Maybe it was all just my imagination.”
Gareth’s finger slipped beneath her chin and lifted it. “You know that’s not true. Something is going on here. You–or perhaps we–just have to wait and find out what.”
She squirmed in his arms. “I wish I had your faith.”
He groaned. “I wish you knew how it affects me when you wriggle like that.”
The huskiness of his voice prompted a sweet flutter deep in Lora’s belly. She smiled and moved against him. “Like this?”
“Lora FitzGilbert, I swear…” He let out a low growl as his lips met hers. Heaven help her, she was meant for this, for him. She had the impression of melting into his body, becoming a part of him. His arousal nudged her, and she whimpered against his mouth. He drew back to look at her, emotion evident in his gaze.
She kicked off her shoes and fumbled with the laces of her kirtle. It slid to the floor. She stepped out of it, at the same time pulling her shift over her head. Naked, she stood before him, an exqu
isite shiver lifting all the fine hairs on her skin. She felt her nipples tighten beneath Gareth’s feral gaze and heard him mutter something in Welsh.
Lora’s eyes flicked to that male part of him, its readiness obvious even through the fabric of his breeches. Need, powerful and instinctive, throbbed at the juncture of her thighs. She lifted a hand to her breast and ran her fingertips over the sensitive tip. “Touch me, Gareth. I want you to touch me.”
He let out a hiss of breath.
“Lie down.” His commanding tone sent a jolt of desire through Lora’s veins. “Lie down and open yourself to me.”
Without hesitation, she stretched out on the furs, tilting her head back, running her hands across her stomach.
“Please,” she whispered, dizzy with want. “I ache for you, Gareth.”
As if in worship, he dropped to his knees at her side, reached out and cupped her breast, stroking the nipple with his thumb.
“I love you.” He breathed like a man starved of air. “God knows, I don’t want to lose you.”
For the first time, Lora heard fear in Gareth’s voice. In a strange twist, she drew strength from it. It steered her away from introspective thoughts and stoked a desire to reassure him.
“You have my heart, Stonemason.” She placed her hand over his, squeezing it against her breast. “No matter what, you will always have it. Not Edward. Never Edward.”
She wasn’t sure what drew her attention away from Gareth at that moment. A slight flicker of the candle flame? A movement in her peripheral vision? Perhaps some inherent instinct? Whatever it was, the realization of what her eyes beheld twisted around her throat like a noose, thick and choking.
Gareth must have seen the look on her face, the disbelief, the recognition, the absolute horror. He frowned and followed her gaze to where Edward stood at the top of the stairs, watching them.
Time, it seemed, slowed and drew itself out, stretching until it snapped under a burden of sickening reality.
“Edward.” The whisper scraped across Lora’s lips. Shock, like iced water, shot through her veins. She sat up and groped for her shift, using it to shield her nakedness. “Dear God.”
The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1) Page 11
