Shattered Magic

by Rebecca York

  He lifted his mouth a fraction. He was breathing hard, yet he managed to say, “I’m a stranger. You don’t even know me.”

  “I know enough. I know your character.”

  He thought that was strange, because he wasn’t sure he knew himself any more. But he was helpless to deny what she was offering.

  “I know we mean something to each other,” she added.

  He had felt that, too. A connection that went beyond the bounds of ordinary interaction. As though the two of them were meant to be together. Or perhaps he was only trying to justify what they were doing.

  When he gathered her to him again, she sighed and snuggled closer.

  As he brought his mouth back to hers, she slid her hands down his body and cupped his buttocks, pulling his stiff cock against her thigh.

  He fought the need to plunge into her. She was a virgin. This was her first time with a man, and he must make sure that it was good for her. He owed her that much.

  He rolled to his side, taking her with him so that they were facing each other on the makeshift bed.

  In the flickering light from the fire, he looked into her eyes, sliding his hands through her damp hair, then kissing her gently as he stroked his fingers over her cheeks, down to her jaw and over her collarbones.

  She touched his body with the same tenderness, looking awed to be playing her fingers over his broad chest, burrowing into the thick dark hair she found there.

  The chill had left her skin, and he pulled the covers down so that he could see her breasts. They were creamy and rounded with coral nipples that tightened as he gazed at them.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he cradled her in his hands, stroking his thumbs across the beaded peaks.

  She made a small sound, arching into the caress.

  “You like that.”

  “You know I do.”

  He bent his head, circling one crest with his tongue, then sucking it into his mouth while he plucked at the other with his thumb and finger.

  She sobbed, clasping the back of his head with her hands.

  Raising his head, he looked into her eyes again as he trailed his fingers down her body, stopping to circle her navel before reaching the triangle of blond pubic hair. He played with the springy curls, then slipped lower, into the folds of her most intimate flesh.

  She was wet and slippery there, telling him that she was responding to his touch, and he rejoiced that he was pleasing her.

  He caressed her, sliding through her folds, pressing into her tight passage and circling, then gliding his finger upward to the nub that was the center of her sensation.

  “Oh!”

  Sexual need surged between them. His and hers. Her hips were moving now, increasing the friction.

  He had never taken a virgin before, but he had played many erotic games with his partners, and he knew how to bring a woman to climax without entering her.

  He pulled her to him, sliding his aching cock through the slick folds of her sex, pleasing both of them with the friction as he fought the need to take her.

  Instead he waited until the right moment to complete the act. Her body began to convulse, and she cried out as climax grabbed her.

  In the background, he heard some of the rocks at the entrance to the cave tumble down, as if they were somehow responding to the sexual storm surging through her. But that was too far away to be a threat, and his focus was on the woman in his arms.

  He held back until he felt the storm begin to ebb before rolling her to her back and at last plunging his aching cock into her.

  He felt the resistance of her maidenhead and pushed past the barrier, making his entrance into her body swift.

  As he buried himself in her, she cried out in surprise, perhaps in pain.

  He brought his mouth back to hers, his kiss hot and greedy as he moved in a steady rhythm, plunging into her tight channel and withdrawing, feeling his own climax gather.

  He shouted his satisfaction as the wave crested, and he collapsed on top of her and lay breathing hard and fast.

  When he raised his head, he saw tears in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I tried not to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re crying.”

  She reached to touch his face. “Only because you did that so perfectly. I couldn’t have asked for better.”

  She stroked her hands over his damp shoulders as she turned her head to slide her lips against his cheek.

  He shifted his weight, coming down beside her, gathering her close, kissing her cheek.

  * * *

  Drifting on a cloud of contentment, Rowan snuggled beside him. She had told him she couldn’t have asked for better, and that was the honest truth. He had made her first time wonderful for her.

  She had heard women talking of sexual matters and knew that men were sometimes too caught up in their own needs to satisfy a virgin. This man had taken care of her before he had satisfied himself.

  Closing her eyes, she basked in the closeness with him. She felt so much, and perhaps that was a mistake. She still didn’t even know if he wanted to stay with her. Or what he would think when she told him about Valleyhold.

  She’d have to be careful about that. No matter how good a lover Grant was, she couldn’t let her relationship with him endanger her people.

  But perhaps if he came back, he could help her vanquish Telman.

  He held her for long moments, and she wanted to stay in his arms, enjoying the aftermath of their joining. But she sensed he didn’t share her languid feeling.

  “What?”

  “I should stay with you longer.”

  “But you were trying to find another way out of the cave. And you still have to do it.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was lucky for me that you came back. Why did you?”

  “The torch was defective. Then I heard you scream.”

  “Perhaps the gods arranged it.”

  “You think they meddle in the affairs of men?”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t know. Ten years ago when the castle was under siege…” He stopped speaking abruptly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He’d obviously said something he hadn’t intended. What castle was he referring to?

  He thrust the blanket aside and stood, apparently unconcerned that he was naked. She watched him walk to his pack and take out another shirt before collecting his leggings and boots from the riverbank.

  She stayed where she was, admiring his hard-muscled body and the graceful way he moved. She hadn’t noticed when they were making love but now she saw a scar on his chest and another on his arm.

  “Your scars. How did you get them?” she asked.

  “On the practice field.”

  He had spoken earlier of battle maneuvers. “You practice a lot?”

  “Enough.”

  He apparently didn’t want to talk about it because he finished dressing and picked up another piece of wood, thrusting it into the fire and waiting until it was burning.

  “Do you have dry clothes?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to dress, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Don’t go into the water.”

  “I won’t.”

  She watched him stride off, watched the light recede down the tunnel at the back of the cave. When the light had almost disappeared, she climbed out from under the blanket and hurried to her carry bag. She had one more set of clothing, and she pulled on the shirt and brought the leggings with her to the riverbank. Careful not to fall in again, she washed herself, seeing bloodstains.

  Proof that he had taken her virginity. They had made love. And now she wanted…

  It was almost impossible to put everything she felt into words, but she knew she wanted to stay with him. Did he feel the same?

  After dressing, she pulled some rocks near the fire and laid ou
t their wet clothing. Then she added more wood, seeing that the pile was diminishing. What would they do when it was gone?

  She could only hope that they would have found a way out by then. Or was that what she hoped? Did she want to prolong this time alone with him, away from the world?

  * * *

  Grantland strode down the natural tunnel at the back of the cave. He had told Rowan that he was looking for a way out, but that was only part of his purpose. In truth he needed some distance from her. He had told her he would not take her virginity, yet he had ended up doing it anyway in the intensity of the moment after he’d dragged her from the water.

  He had been terrified when he’d spotted her in the water, clinging to that rock. The only thing in his mind had been the need to pull her to safety. And to get the wet shirt off her.

  Then the proximity of their naked bodies had taken over. Well, not just that. The emotions of relief.

  He’d been terrified for her because he felt something for her. Something he had felt for no other woman, perhaps because he’d been forced into the role of Prince Grantland all his life.

  But Rowan knew nothing of his exalted position back home. She only knew Grant, the man who wasn’t willing to talk about his background.

  He’d slipped and spoken of the castle, then waited with his heart pounding for her to ask what he was talking about. But she’d said nothing, which gave some credence to the notion that she was from an isolated area.

  But she was still hiding something from him. As he was from her. How could a real relationship be possible between them unless they both told the truth?

  And what about making love with her? There was no doubt that she had been a virgin. What obligation did he have to her on that count?

  He had never been in a position like this before. He had been careful about lovemaking. But so much was different here. He had hidden his identity. And he had taken a woman he had no business touching.

  As those thoughts swirled in his mind, he walked farther into the cave. There were a number of side passages, which all led to a dead end. Each time he had to retrace his steps to the main corridor, where the space was getting narrower and lower, making him think that he was coming to the end of the tunnel—and the end of his options. Still, he wouldn’t turn around until he was forced to. Pressing doggedly onward, he kept scanning the darkness ahead of him, praying that something would change.

  His heart leaped when he finally saw a patch of daylight. Or were his eyes playing tricks on him?

  Hardly daring to breathe, he kept walking forward, and the light grew brighter. He lowered the torch as he stared up at the ceiling where a shaft of sunlight filtered into the cave. It wasn’t a large opening, but it wasn’t far above his head, and he hoped that he could enlarge it.

  Excited to give Rowan the news, he turned and hurried back the way he’d come.

  * * *

  Rowan turned the clothing that she’d laid out on the rocks. The side facing the fire was almost dry.

  Restlessly she walked around the area where Grant had made his camp, studying the neat arrangement of the provisions he’d brought or carried into the cave.

  He was a methodical man, mayhap from his military training.

  She wanted to tell him about Valleyhold, to ask for his help in driving Telman from the village. But she couldn’t risk it yet, not when she knew so little about Grant.

  But perhaps there was a way to find out more. Glancing over her shoulder, she peered down the tunnel where he had gone to look for another way out of the cave. She wasn’t sure how long he’d be absent, but she knew that she’d see the light of his torch when he came back.

  Did she have time for some…

  She was thinking of the word spying, which made her teeth clench. She hated prying into his life, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to glean some information.

  Sitting down on a flat rock, she picked up his pack and opened the flap. Inside she found another shirt, plain but of good quality like the clothing of his she’d already seen. He had also brought along a book. Leather bound, it was a study of military tactics. Which fit in with what he’d said about his background. There was also a small pouch of coins. Both gold and silver. The hair on the back of her neck prickled when she saw the crest of Arandal on one side—two crossed swords and a laurel branch. On the other side was the image of a bearded man wearing a crown. King Wilfred. She knew the crest and the king’s image because the men who had gone out into the world from Valleyhold had brought back some of the coins.

  The coins were the only currency. There was nothing from any neighboring territory, which led to the conclusion that Grant was from Arandal, the kingdom that had tried to exterminate her people because they feared their psychic powers and had called them witches.

  Something he’d said leaped into her mind. He’d talked about the castle being under siege. Presumably he’d been there. Was he one of the men who guarded the king? Or was he a noble? That seemed more likely, given the quality of his travel clothing.

  She shivered, fearing to discover more, yet knowing she must press on.

  In the pouch with the coins was something else. A ring that also had the Arandal crest on the face.

  She turned it over in her hand and saw words engraved along the inside surface. Taking the ring to the fire where she could see the small letters better, she read, “To Prince Grantland from King Wilfred.”

  She stared in shock at the words.

  King Wilfred. Prince Grantland.

  Her heart started to pound. He had called himself Grant, to hide his real name.

  Because he meant her harm? She shook her head.

  He had made tender love to a woman named Rowan, and she was sure he meant Rowan no harm.

  But that was because she had been cautious and hidden her identity from him. Her people had fled Arandal after many of them had been killed in a witch hunt. Now she had made love with the prince of that land.

  True, he hadn’t even been born when the attack on her people had transpired, but from the men who went into the world, she knew nothing had changed in the kingdom. The people of Arandal still feared witches.

  She made a moaning sound as she thought about her idea of bringing him back to Valleyhold. She’d almost made a fatal mistake. If he knew about her home, he would bring his troops to hunt down her people.

  They might fight with the power of their minds, but was that enough to vanquish a hoard of skilled soldiers who could be ordered to rush the barrier, pressing forward until scores got through?

  Even if they succeeded in beating back the enemy, many of her people would die. And their hiding place would be revealed.

  She moaned again as the enormity of what she’d done struck her. She had been naive and trusting, and that had led to a horrible mistake. Now she must get away, get as far from Prince Grantland as she could.

  Without thinking through her plans, she jumped up and stuffed her damp clothing back into her pack. Then she hurried to the wall of rubble and studied the way the rocks lay. She didn’t know how thick the barrier was, but she had to make an opening large enough to crawl through. She needed to be away from this cave before he came back.

  But how to do it? If she pulled a boulder from the bottom, stones above it would tumble down. If she pulled one from the top, it could come crashing to the floor, and she couldn’t let that happen.

  She had never tackled a project like this on her own, but there was no choice now. She must do it, and quickly.

  Focusing on a large rock near the top of the pile, she summoned her will, gently pulling it from the heap and lowering it to the ground slowly so that it didn’t crash. She’d hoped to see daylight behind the space she’d left. There was only more stone, but the success of moving the rock gave her hope, and she tackled another one, and another.

  It was hard work that brought a sheen of sweat to her brow and made her limbs feel weak, but she kept going. She had to get out of here, then away from the vicinity of t
he cave.

  Chapter Six

  Grantland stepped into the main part of the cave, anxiously scanning the open space. He’d been bursting to share what he’d found with Rowan. When he didn’t immediately see her, his chest tightened. What if she’d gone back to the river and gotten into trouble again? Or to the wall of rubble?

  One thing he understood about her—she wasn’t good at following orders. If a notion came into her head, she acted on it.

  He looked in the direction of the cave’s mouth. What he saw made him freeze in his tracks. Rowan was standing near the wall, and a boulder was hanging in the air near her. As he watched, it slowly lowered, then settled on the ground with barely any sound.

  Rowan stared at it for a moment, then turned back to the wall.

  Grantland couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as another boulder slid out of the rubble, hanging in the air before descending as lightly as a seed pod carried by the wind. When it settled on the cave floor, a sick feeling rose in his throat.

  He’d been sure Rowan had been keeping a secret from him. Now he understood why. Only a witch could accomplish what she was doing now.

  She had snared him with her act of innocence. Pretended that she didn’t know who he was.

  As he thought back over the little she’d said about her home, he shuddered. She came from an isolated community and hadn’t said much more. Now he thought it was likely a place where the cursed spawn of witchcraft festered.

  Could a witch make herself into a virgin? Why not, if she could move huge rocks with her mind.

  He drew his dagger, quietly crossing the cave, thinking to take her by surprise. He was almost to her when she whirled, her eyes widening as she saw the knife in his hand.

  The boulder in the air crashed to the floor, inches from where they stood. Ignoring it, he lunged for her. But an invisible force threw him back so that he landed on his ass on the stone floor.

  “Witch,” he spat.

  “No.”

  “I have lain with a witch. What did you do, restore your maidenhead to make me think you were a virgin?”

  Her face contorted. “No. Of course not.”

  They stared at each other.