Jorrell saw Remmah approaching him. She was alone. He looked quickly about the room and relaxed a little with relief when he saw Ulli safely talking with Consul Astol.
"I am going to take Ulli back to the library to continue his studies. I believe you might find his mother in her rooms. She mentioned something about being quite overexerted by the fatiguing pressure of her efforts." Remmah's eyes twinkled with mischief.
"If you truly thought that she needed to rest, you wouldn't be speaking one word about her whereabouts." Jorrell smiled. Remmah's amusement was infectious.
"No, I wouldn't. But I know that the palace should be quiet today, and whatever passed between you and Erkas infuriated him. Propriety and care be damned, she needs you to be close at hand should he decide to take his foul mood out on her."
The thought of Serwren being at risk immediately dampened Jorrell's good humour, but he was not sorry that he had answered Erkas as he had. He was only sorry that the man had been able to leave the room without any of his blood staining the stones.
"I'll make sure that she's safe. I'll take care of her."
"Oh, I'm sure that you will." The impish glint had returned to Remmah's eyes as she turned away in Ulli's direction, flinging the comment over her shoulder.
Jorrell wasn't sure whether to be amused or whether to be offended that Remmah had turned such a serious issue into a jest. He still hadn't made up his mind when Cael stepped up to his side.
"I'm coming with you."
That gave Jorrell pause. He meant only to talk to Serwren, of course that was all he intended, but he certainly had not anticipated having an audience as he did so.
Cael answered Jorrell's consternation before he could grind out any words. "Don't worry, I don't need to be by your side to watch your back. You'll never know I'm there."
"I don't want to find you with your ear to the door."
"Really, what do you take me for?" Cael was the very picture of offended pride. They began to make their way through the palace corridors. "Are you going to tell me what Erkas said that set murder to your mind?"
"It was so obvious?" Jorrell asked, although he was barely surprised that Cael had noted his angry and defensive attitude. Cael nodded his affirmative response. "No, I won't repeat what the bastard said," Jorrell replied to Cael's initial question.
"Then I'm sure it's something that'll make me want to kill him more than I already do," Cael muttered. "The question is, how to go about it?"
"Carefully," Jorrell replied. "Very carefully."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Serwren started at the knock at her door, and immediately picked up the unsheathed knife that was resting on top of the chest of drawers alongside the silver cuffs that she had removed for the sake of comfort in the privacy of her chamber and the ornate key which could grant her visitor admittance. She still had her smaller blade hanging from her belt, but she had seen Erkas and Jorrell muttering together. The unhappy outcome of that discussion had been palpable, and had been confirmed when Erkas had all but thrown a tantrum and stomped out of Forum, still surrounded by people. Since she wasn't sure whether her visitor was Erkas or not, she had no intention of being persuaded to grant anyone entry without an extra weapon in her hand.
Her door was locked, as it always was when she was in her rooms. There was an adjoining door between her room and Ulli's that she always kept unlocked as a means of escape. She had drilled the habit of always locking the exit to the corridor into her son, too. Serwren ran her fingers over the brass key in her palm as she stood behind the door and called out, "Who is it?"
"General Jorrell, m'lady," came a sarcastically formal reply, muffled by the thick wood of the door."
"Are you alone?" She wasn't sure whether she trusted him to tell the truth.
"Serry, let me in." His response was decidedly less formal and definitely more irritated.
She wasn't sure whether it was a wise thing to do; Jorrell didn't sound to be in a particularly serene mood. The thought that spurred her to insert the key into the lock was that Jorrell never went anywhere without Cael. She could depend on the good-humoured commander's presence to... She couldn't finish the thought. She wasn't sure what she expected Cael to protect her from, why she felt the need to be protected from Jorrell. She cursed herself for a foolish girl and unlocked and opened the door. Jorrell pushed his way into her room as she was registering that Cael was nowhere to be seen. She was still reeling from that realisation, and the realisation that she was now alone in a room with Jorrell, as he tugged the door from her fingers and locked it. He removed the key from the lock and pocketed it.
"What do you think you're doing?" Serwren found her anger belatedly, but allowed the indignation to fill her swiftly.
"You're avoiding me," he stated simply.
He was right, she was. Thoughts of him confused her too much to seek out his company. She was trying to be strong, trying to present an image of composure and self-assuredness to the world, and yet whenever she was near Jorrell, all she wanted was to allow him to wrap his strong arms around her and promise her that she was safe. That she felt any urge at all to be held in such a manner, by anyone, let alone someone that she had known intimately, was causing conflicting emotions of desire and fear to war within her.
"I am not." Oh gods, she sounded like a petulant child.
"You are, but that's beside the point. How are you feeling? Have you suffered any ill effects from the poison?"
"Only headaches for a day or so afterwards, but no more. Have you discovered who could have done such a thing?"
"Not yet. We're making enquiries, but so far we've found no trace of guilt."
"Then why are you here? Do you need to inform me of some new threat?" she asked archly.
"Ahhhh." Jorrell grinned. "You saw me talking to Erkas."
How dare he be so cocky. How dare he be so insolent about her precarious position. If Jorrell annoyed Erkas, he put both her and Ulli, and himself, in danger; it was a simple equation.
"I saw you anger him."
"If he was angered, it was of his own volition."
"He's unstable enough as it is. I don't need you stirring him up."
"I didn't. I merely responded to his attempt at provocation in a manner he hadn't been expecting."
"You can't do that."
That Erkas had been deliberately trying to provoke Jorrell did not bode well for anyone, but Jorrell was beginning to be angry now. His blue eyes were flashing with irritation. They were the colour of a cloudless sky when he was amused, but they were darkening as with the coming of a storm.
"Why not? Should I sit back and let him insult you, insult us both, without making any response?"
Serwren could only imagine the fetid bitterness that Erkas had dredged up. Time had only increased Erkas' hatred towards Jorrell, as it had sharpened hers towards Erkas. But she couldn't allow Erkas' evil lies to taint Jorrell's memories. She had to tell Jorrell what had happened, he had to know the truth. Her heartbeat sped up with remembered shame and powerlessness. She had to tell him. She had to tell him all of it. But she wasn't sure that the words could be voiced, that they could live beyond the dark place inside her. She straightened her spine and tried to force the truths through her lips.
“Jor, I... I.... You should know. Before you left..."
Serwren halted her stuttering, impatient with her own inability to say the words. She huffed out a breath and tried again, but she could not meet Jorrell's eyes while she told him this, so she shut hers. "While you were on the Isle...Erkas...”
She opened her closed lids at the touch of Jorrell's finger against her lips.
“Shhh. I know.”
“You do? How?” He had lifted his finger when she had spoken, but only so far as to allow him to slip his warm, rough palm along her cheek until his fingers were buried in her hair. Shame made her want to turn away, but he wouldn't let her, so she closed her eyes again.
“I put the pieces of that puzzle together over a dec
ade ago.”
She still couldn't look at him, despite the gentleness in his voice. “You were so angry. I knew you... felt.. that you knew... someone...”
“Shhh. I was a fool. An angry fool.”
She felt Jorrell move, felt him take the step that brought them together. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her close, tucking her head against his chest. Unsure of her actions, but unable to stand limply in his embrace, Serwren tentatively wrapped her arms around his waist. Her dress was loose folds of silk, the colour of rusted iron. The material was fastened at her shoulders by two simple bronze pins. The cool leather of his jerkin, smooth against the exposed skin of her arms, made her shiver.
He held her until her frantic heart had calmed a little. His next words, although said so quietly she could barely hear them, caused it to begin to race again.
“Serry, have you ever been touched with love? Your husband...?”
“Don’t speak to me of him.” Memories of hatred and disgust made her voice shrill and had her struggling to get away, but Jorrell would not release her.
“Shhhh. Be calm." He paused, and Serwren sensed that he had more still to say, but she felt the next word as it was dragged from his throat. "Seddrill?”
“No! Jor, why are you digging at this wound?” She didn't want to have to stab him, but if he was going to continue this line of questioning, if he was going to keep her trapped, then he wasn't going to leave her much choice.
“Serry, Serry.” Her name was barely a whisper on his lips spoken into her hair. “I’m not digging at it. I’m.... sorry. I’m... jealous. You avoid me now, you only let me touch you under duress. I thought I understood, knowing what you’ve been through, of course you wouldn’t. But you let Seddrill, and I don’t understand that.”
“That was an illusion. For safety. I had no other choice. I haven’t had any other choice since you were sent away.”
Jorrell moved his hand from her waist and wrapped it around the wrist of the hand that was holding the knife. The knife that she had forgotten she was still holding clattered to the floor, unheeded by either of them. He ran his thumb over the collection of white marks that were the remnants of the price of Seddrill's protection and friendship. "That you had to do such a thing," he murmured. "I am in awe of your strength."
Serwren didn't think she was so very strong. Mostly she felt like a collection of shattered pieces that had been badly moulded back together, but her words of disagreement died as Jorrell tilted her chin to turn her face to his.
She steadied herself with her hands on his hips, she could find no other support, as his lips descended to hers. She need an anchor, a tether to this reality. The kiss was tentative at first, until she began to respond. When her body, acting on long-denied instincts, arched against the solid wall of Jorrell's chest, he deepened the kiss with a groan.
It had been years since she had last been kissed so, not since the times that Jorrell would clamber up the vine to gain entry into her old room. Now it had the taste of that familiarity, but it was as new as if she'd never been kissed that way before. He was rougher, less hesitant with her than he had once been. They were adults now, no longer beholden to the whims of their parents. They were masters of their own destiny, as much as circumstance would ever allow. They were free to be together, and the years had taught them both lessons.
When Jorrell pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in shallow pants, Serwren was surprised to find that tears were rolling silently down her cheeks.
"We should stop," Jorrell breathed.
She could hear the last thread of his control woven into the words. She could feel his desire for her, in the faint tremble of his muscles as much as in the steel shaft that was currently trapped inside his trews but pressing urgently into her stomach. That evidence of his lust both terrified her and drew the interest of her own body unconsciously forward, like a moth to a flame.
"No." Serwren shook her head just a little, not enough to break the contact. "I want this. I want you." Maybe, perhaps, she could know what it was to be loved without pain.
Jorrell brushed his lips over the tracks of her tears. "You're not ready."
"I am." She spoke with far more confidence than she felt. She prayed to the gods that she was speaking the truth. "I want this. I just... I don’t know what to do."
Jorrell spoke again, his lips moving over hers, almost a kiss of its own. "Let me show you."
Serwren couldn't speak. There was no way she could communicate the magnitude of her feelings, or the way that they were clashing inside her like thunder and lightning. She could only nod her head in assent.
He kissed her again, and she followed his lead until the memory of a time before took control of her body. Their tongues danced in a rhythm she remembered from her dreams. She felt herself reaching the edge of mindless desire, but the ever-present fear kept her from falling into the abyss. The taste of him was intoxicating, perhaps if she could become drunk on him she could forget her trepidation.
Serwren thought that maybe she had become hypnotised by the pleasure of the kiss, because she hadn't felt Jorrell's fingers working at the pins at her shoulders until he unclasped them and slipped them completely from the fabric. The material fell with a sigh until it pooled at her feet like a soft, amber cloud, leaving her body bare to his gaze.
"You're beautiful." Her anxiousness was not abated by Jorrell's reverent whisper. Serwren felt the heat of the blush as it coloured her skin from her cheek to her chest. She cast her eyes downwards, shy in the face of his blatant appreciation. She was intimidated. Jorrell's clothes were like a suit of armour compared to her nakedness.
Serwren heard movement. She took a breath for strength and dared to look up, only to find that Jorrell was stripping the leather and wool from his body. Fear made her want to look away, but an old yearning kept her eyes fixed on his body as it was revealed to her. A man stood in the place of the boy that she had loved. The years were evidenced in the scars that littered his skin and the way that his frame was densely packed with muscle where once it had been lean. His skin was darker now, more so it seemed where coarse hair covered his chest and trailed down, down to... to...dear gods... Serwren swallowed audibly.
As if he sensed that she was ready to bolt, Jorrell caught her fingers with his and led her to her bed. That light touch steadied her, and enflamed her. Lying down felt like a point of no return, but Jorrell did not give her time to regret her actions. He followed her down to the mattress, almost lying over her, but without pinning her down. She could get up, she could leave... if she wanted to. But she did not want to.
Serwren gasped when Jorrell's callused palm cupped her breast. He ran the roughened pad of his thumb over her nipple, a touch both light and maddening. In her memories, Jorrell's hands were soft, untested, untried. These hands were the hands of a warrior. They had known pain, and caused death. On her body, they could only be described as worshipful.
Jorrell was watching her carefully. She could see that he was assessing her reactions to his touch, but she pushed her fears away. They had no place here. Jorrell seemed satisfied at her acceptance of his caress. He caught her nipple between his thumb and finger and tugged it sharply. That was not something that fit with her memories. Shock as much as sensation caused Serwren to gasp and arch from the bed, but that only pressed her body more firmly against Jorrell's. His desire for her was undeniable.
Jorrell dipped his head and let his mouth follow the path that his hand had traced. He had one hand behind her shoulders; the other was clasped over her hip, steadying her, keeping her in place, for she could not be still. She tried to move against his hold, but he would not let her go.
His exquisite torture sent traces of lightning across her skin, through her body, deep into her core. Serwren felt herself grow wet and clenched her thighs against the fierce need that was growing there. When Jorrell raised his head, Serwren thought she might beg him to continue, but she needed... more.
"Touch me, Serry." Jorrell's voice was hoarse with hunger and restraint.
For the first time in long moments, Serwren's anxiety returned, but she called the old memories to give her strength. She remembered the feel of him, a solid shaft covered in velvet silk, and let her fingers find that contrast anew. This was exactly as she remembered, the exhilarating power of having his body at her command. Her fingers traced paths that she had never dared to explore on another, until Jorrell groaned, caught her wrist and lifted her hand away.
He moved over her then, settling himself between her thighs. Serwren drew her legs up to make room for him, needing to feel him, needing the promise that was restrained within his taught muscles. Jorrell's lips formed a small smile, and she knew that he was pleased by her acceptance, her enthusiasm.
Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Page 31
