by Ruth Kaufman
“Let’s go.”
They walked down a steep hill toward the narrow stream in companionable silence. Just enough moonlight broke through the clouds to illuminate her. He stood on the grassy bank behind her as she grabbed the bottom of her tunic. She lifted it, revealing the rounded curves of her buttocks for an instant, but dropped the garment as she turned with a huff.
Annora raised a brow and crossed her arms. “I understand why you’re here. But must you watch?”
Morgan knew he shouldn’t. Why torture himself? Why invade her privacy? Because it was all he’d ever have of her.
“Yes,” he said. “I meant, no.” He could barely squeeze out the words. He turned slightly, still able to glimpse her out of the corner of his eye. Anticipation roused his desire.
She removed the boy’s tunic and hose, but remained in her chemise. She shook out her hair, raising her face to the sky as if honoring the Moon goddess. He knew better than that from seeing her at prayer. She was Christian through and through, not likely to accept his kind.
The air was crisp, but Annora didn’t seem to mind. Soap in hand, she immersed herself. With a gasp, she burst back up. Water streamed from her hair and dirt ran down her face. The soaked shift clung to her slim form, revealing the full mounds of her breasts. Her chilled nipples stood out.
Her beauty, her innocence in that glorious setting, set fire to his blood. Morgan wanted to touch her wet skin, warm her with his heat. He took a step. He couldn’t just go to her, could he? Yet his feet seemed to have a will of their own. He couldn’t stop. When he reached the water’s edge, Annora looked up.
I never should’ve shown myself. If she seems afraid or angry, I’ll leave.
After a fleeting look of surprise, she turned her back. She smiled over her shoulder. Her wet hair clung to every curve, her charmingly rounded rear. His erection pulsed.
Did he want Annora so because he couldn’t have her in the long term? Would it be so wrong to enjoy a kiss, a taste of her?
Yes. Because instead of slaking his desire, he might hunger for her eternally. And she deserved a husband to stay with care for her, not a man who’d only offer brief pleasures before returning to his quest and people who understood him, even if they didn’t always accept him.
“Must I return to the cave so soon?” she asked. “It’s such a beautiful night.”
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “No, not yet,” he said. “I thought since I was here, I’d bathe, too.”
“Oh,” Annora said. “I’m almost finished.”
“The stream is large enough for two.”
“Oh,” she said again.
Keeping her back to him, she moved to his right, as if asking him to keep his distance. Water swirled around her, puffing out her chemise, then pulling it tight.
He tore off his clothes and hurried into the icy water, hoping she wouldn’t notice his arousal. Did she even know of such things?
The rocks moved beneath his feet as he walked to her. Closer than necessary. He smelled Ninian’s rosemary soap.
When she looked up, golden eyes wide, it was all he could do not to take her in his arms. Morgan clenched his hands. He’d been trained in supreme discipline, had learned to fortify his will when subjected to hardships no mortal could endure. Resisting the urge to touch Annora, no matter how she fired his blood, should be easy. The mind controlled the body, he’d been taught again and again. But what was he to do when his mind and body agreed upon a course that was less than wise?
“Soap, please.” His voice came out a whisper, barely audible over the rush of the stream.
She turned, holding up the soap. Their bodies almost touched. He couldn’t stand it.
“Annora….”
“Yes, Morgan?” Her lips parted. She licked her lips.
That was all it took to shatter his control.
He bent his head, fighting the need to pull her close. If she showed the slightest sign of resistance, he’d plunge into the stream until the frigid waters doused his need. He paused, his mouth inches from hers. She didn’t move a muscle. Her eyes were wide. Trusting.
Slowly he lowered his head.
An instant before their mouths met, she whispered, “I don’t know how.”
Morgan rejoiced. She wanted this, too.
“I do.”
He kissed her, trying to rein in his urgency. She tasted of forest, fresh water and hope. Roaring in his head drowned out sounds of night and stream. He put his arms around her, deepening the kiss as her body pressed against his. The chilled, wet fabric of her chemise assuaged his heated flesh. He nibbled her lips as he’d wanted to do the first day in her cottage, teased her tongue with his. And ran his hands over her wet shoulders.
Never before had he found such pleasure in kisses.
Tentatively she kissed him in return, opening her mouth to let him explore. Their tongues met again and again. Her soft sighs aroused him anew.
He wanted more.
Morgan cupped her breast through the soaked fabric, caressing her rigid nipple with his thumb. A low moan was his reward. Eyes closed, her head tipped back and she clutched him as though she’d fall into the water if she let go. He kissed his way down her throat, then tugged at the chemise, exposing her breasts to the moonlight. His finger traced the line of her chin before he kissed her once more, slowly, tenderly.
He intended to lavish more attention on her breasts, to satisfy his desire, but Annora opened her eyes and pulled a few inches away, her delicate hands resting on his arms. Their locked gazes conveyed their connection better than words ever could.
A moment frozen in time.
“Is this how kissing always is?” she asked. “So…pleasant? So delicious?”
“No, Annora. This is better. Much better,” he admitted.
Morgan drowned in need for this woman. Just as his father and his king must have needed the women who betrayed them. That thought squelched his desire as nothing else could.
He was proving as weak as they’d been.
Morgan released Annora abruptly, stepping back and raising his hands as if her flesh had burned him. With a slight frown, she moved closer. She tipped her chin and parted her lips. So comely, so enticing.
“This can’t be. We can never be,” he said.
He wouldn’t allow the look of stunned hurt on her face to sway his decision.
“We must return.” He left the stream, grabbed his clothes and headed for the cave. Annora followed silently.
She enchanted him, and without benefit of spells employed by the one who’d ensnared his father. He knew full well what came of caring for mortals. In the best case, the chances of them bearing children with the requisite skills to carry on the quest of King Arthur and his knights were slim. Inevitably mortals grew old and died, leaving the immortal to watch his beloved suffer and alone to mourn. In the worst case, they devised means to betray immortals and endeavored to claim their powers for their own ends. If not for a mortal woman, King Arthur’s line would still retain England’s throne. And Wales’s. The houses of Wessex, Normandy and beyond would never have ruled.
But his body and mind weren’t in agreement. Nor, most unfortunately, his heart. As he’d feared, there was no going back. Now that he’d sampled Annora, he wanted more.
He’d finish helping her as quickly as possible. Before her form and spirit lured him to touch her again.
• • •
Llanarglyn, Jankyn ap Lewis’s stronghold near the Welsh border, awaited just down the road, its round stone towers looming over the city walls.
“There lies our biggest challenge yet,” Morgan said.
Annora’s heart sped. Sweat trickled down her back. From fear, or the sun bearing down on her layers of boy’s clothes?
“’Twould be better to avoid large towns,” Ninian said, adjusting her pack. “But I have a friend here who will loan me coin, and this is the best place to purchase horses. We’re in dire need of supplies. Llanarglyn will have items a smaller town might not
.”
Morgan and Ninian exchanged one of those telling glances.
“It’s ironic that the shortest path and finest horseflesh take us to his town. If Fortune rides with us, ap Lewis won’t be in residence. The men on patrol may not know he yet searches for me,” Morgan said, clearly trying to ease her nerves.
They continued in silence, blending in with the steady stream of travelers. Folk garbed in the meanest linens to the most luxurious silks accompanied them, some astride, others afoot. Several led carts laden with goods to sell. Annora held her nose and stepped back as a particularly odorous cart piled with fish passed.
Morgan had planned well. Llanarglyn bustled on market day. No one should notice them amongst the crowds. Her tight shoulders relaxed.
Their disguises were so successful Annora barely recognized her companions. Or herself. She’d become a short, skinny, somewhat dirty lad with her hair stuffed into a hideous hat that was out of fashion even for peasants. Her hair wouldn’t fit beneath newer styles and she’d vehemently refused to cut it. Ninian had purchased tight hose, worn boots and short brown under and over tunics in a smaller size.
Brown. An ugly color. She vowed never to wear it or rough fabrics again upon her return to looking and living like a lady at Amberton.
Each morning, Morgan braided his long, silver hair to keep it secure. She itched to perform the intimate task herself even as she admired the way the braids accented his handsome face. Next he tied a drab scarf around his head. Over that came a woolen cloak with the hood extended. He resembled a monk, or a leper concealing deformities. While in public, he leaned heavily on a walking stick instead of standing tall. The position seemed uncomfortable, but he hadn’t complained.
She hadn’t, either. Not when her legs and feet burned from walking, or when night air made her so cold she couldn’t sleep. She wished Morgan would’ve held and warmed her. But since the abrupt end to their wonderful, passionate kisses in the stream, he hadn’t touched her. And Ninian was always present, so she couldn’t ask why. Whatever the reason, she missed that look telling her he found her attractive. She missed the hope that something more might come of their time together than mutual aid.
“Annor—Andrew, hurry up!” Ninian called.
She too had changed, using walnut juice to die her shining hair a dull brown. Today she’d hidden it altogether under a ragged kerchief. Her shimmering robe had been traded for a serviceable blue wool gown and a plain shawl.
They might fool strangers, but would they fool ap Lewis’s men? Or Jankyn ap Lewis himself?
• • •
Morgan couldn’t wait until he restored Annora to her home. For certain he wanted to get back to rescuing Merlin. Until he was free, they couldn’t begin enabling Arthur’s return.
But what he most needed was to flee Annora. Being close to her every minute tested his will. Even placing Ninian between them at night hadn’t helped. He knew Annora was near, quaking on her blanket during long hours of early October darkness. He yearned to offer comfort and share his warmth. And more.
So he forced himself not to look at her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t mere lust he felt, but something stronger, enhanced by growing respect and admiration. She steadfastly followed his lead. Not once had she asked to rest before he was ready to call a halt. Nor had she grumbled about sleeping on the ground or their humble food, from dried herring to coarse bread made from beans and bran instead of flour, to the dandelions, nettles and ramson Ninian harvested and cooked. Each day, she rose in his esteem.
Subtle changes that sunrise, sunset and firelight cast upon her beauty, which shone clearly to him despite her disguise, were hard to ignore. Watching her strut around in those tight hose, which outlined her legs most fetchingly, and the short tunic that threatened to reveal her bottom, kept him half-aroused. Especially now that he knew all too well what lay beneath those unsightly boy’s clothes.
Never in his long life had he been so attracted to any woman. He both thanked and reviled Ninian for being their chaperone.
The night she bathed had almost been his undoing. Morgan kept recalling the feel of her wet breasts and her resemblance to a nymph standing wet and gleaming in the light of the moon. The way she’d moved against him had been so sensual, so—.
He forced himself to return his gaze to the dust of the road. He’d hardened just thinking about her.
“You have vowed to protect and aid Annora. Nothing more,” Great-uncle Reynold reminded him.
“Don’t be a fool. Take what she offers and leave it at that,” Great-aunt Matilda countered. “Many women enjoy lovemaking, too, you know. She’s a woman grown and can make her own decisions.”
Sometimes it was most annoying to have relatives who knew your thoughts.
Annora frowned.
He lacked words of comfort. Nerves assailed him, too. Because if they were discovered, he and Ninian couldn’t use their powers to defend themselves without endangering innocent lives and their own futures.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
• • •
Annora could barely see Morgan’s face in the depths of his hood.
No, she thought. “Yes,” she said. “We can’t afford to waste time.”
“You remember what we agreed upon should there be trouble?” Morgan asked.
“If someone recognizes you or me, I must do whatever Ninian says, no matter how odd her directions may seem,” Annora recited. He’d spent hours drumming that into her, making her quite curious to know what Ninian might actually say in such a situation. “No matter what,” she continued, lowering her voice to imitate Morgan’s inflection and his dictatorial tone. “Do you understand?”
Annora blinked in surprise. This was the first time Morgan had looked directly at her, talked specifically to her, since he’d left her standing in the stream two nights ago. But his smile didn’t crinkle his eyes in the manner she liked. Clearly he, too, was worried about entering ap Lewis’s lair. If only he’d tell her more about the feud. But he was as tight lipped as if his mouth had been glued shut.
When he’d approached, her first instinct had been to flee, though she knew he wouldn’t hurt her or force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
The way Roger had.
Those memories wiped away the good and made her stomach churn. Roger had beaten her, then attempted to console her and apologize by touching her in places he shouldn’t. She’d vomited the first time. Roger was the lunatic, molesting his own niece.
Each time he forced additional intimacies upon her. Once he’d plunged between her legs. The disgust, the helplessness tormented her. Worst was the fear that he’d ruined her for all other men. Who’d want her to wife now? Even if she could find a man to wed, she’d wondered if she’d be able to submit to his touch without recoiling.
That was one reason she’d allowed Morgan, who she barely knew but had interest in, such liberties. From the first she’d admired his physical perfection and felt strangely drawn to him. She respected his confident leadership of their small band and his decision-making skills. And he’d only be in her life a short while, making him the perfect man with whom to broach physical contact.
She’d gotten far more than she bargained for. Her fears had been for naught. How wonderful it could be to touch a man and be touched in return. The right man, that is. His obvious hunger for her had melted any resistance a maiden, though a tarnished one, should’ve mounted. She wanted him and would take any opportunity to have him, no matter what the Church warned about sin.
Where had God been every time Roger attacked her?
She should be concerned about her reputation, her future. Mayhap when she returned to Amberton, that woman would be. But the disguised boy-woman on the road enjoyed more freedoms than the lady of the castle, and she’d savor them while she could.
Morgan’s kisses and caresses in the stream had enriched her desire, yet left her with an odd dissatisfaction. She’d been exactly where she wanted to be, in his arms, with all of hi
s attention focused on her. Every caress, each kiss had been like opening a door into a wonderful land, making her feel free and more alive. At last she knew what life was for. To share with someone special.
He’d stopped so suddenly, looked so horrified, Annora hadn’t known what to say or do.
Alone and anxious for the first time since meeting him, she’d pulled on her clothes but continued to shiver.
That private place between her legs tingled anew from remembering the way his mouth felt on hers and the other intimacies they’d shared. A sensation completely out of place on the bustling road toward her enemy. Annora felt herself flush.
“Morgan. Annora,” Ninian said. “Strong emotions roll in waves off both of you. Did you quarrel?”
Ninian was far too perceptive. Annora couldn’t tell her the truth, that after Morgan kiss her and touched her exposed breasts he abandoned her in a stream and hadn’t explained why. Nor would she lie. He remained silent beneath his hood.
Ninian stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. The heavy basket she carried bumped against her thigh. “Whatever it is, resolve it now.”
Neither said a word.
“Shake hands, then, at least. We must be in harmony, or ’twill increase the danger to us all.”
Morgan and Annora shook hands.
Ninian sighed. “Somehow I don’t think your hearts were in that.”
Moments later, they entered Llanarglyn through a tall stone arch. Ap Lewis’s town was many times the size of Amberton. Broadgate Street stretched into the distance, lined with more houses and shops than she’d ever seen. People rushed to and fro, sellers cried their wares and horses clomped along the street. Noise piled upon noise into quite a din, making her head pound.
How did people fare under Jankyn ap Lewis’s rule? Did he drain his people’s lifeblood with egregious taxes as her uncle Roger would? Everyone seemed well fed, happy enough. But every so often an armed soldier passed by. To protect, or to keep the people in line?
“Morgan! Ninian!” a male voice called.
