by Ruth Kaufman
She sensed that his explosion was near. Though he was clearly pleased by her touch, she had to have him inside her again.
“I want all of you,” she said, unable to utter more specific words.
In one smooth movement Morgan lifted himself and entered her. The instant of joining was sheer ecstasy. As he slid in and out, slick with her moisture, she knew she’d burst with joy. In just a moment…one more moment….
“What you do to me,” he whispered. “I’m going to—. I have to pull out.”
“Wait,” she breathed, “a little longer.”
“Don’t think I can.” He moved faster, bringing her closer to her peak.
Then he slid out, gasping, his chest heaving.
“Touch me,” he demanded. “Touch me now.”
She reached for his erection, so slippery now her hand moved over him with ease. He groaned as she stroked him, and slid his hands between her legs. His fingers moved in tiny circles against her woman’s flesh. Even as she pressed her hips against his hand, she matched his rhythm with her own.
“So good,” he breathed.
Ecstasy blasted through her.
He jerked against her hand and found his release.
Morgan rolled over and collapsed on top of her. She relished his weight, thrilled. Not only could she experience such pleasure despite her past, she could give him satisfaction in return.
It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t come inside her again. Not at all.
“Annora,” he whispered in her ear. “Never in all my life have I experienced anything like that. Believe me, that means a lot.”
Chapter 11
Dawn brightened the windows, but Annora hadn’t slept. As wondrous as making love with Morgan had been, something was missing. Something very, very important.
Morgan’s arm tightened around her waist as he nuzzled her neck. His hand closed possessively over her breast, reawakening her desire. She lay motionless, wanting him but knowing she should resist.
“I want to be inside you again,” he said.
His simple statement filled her with an uncomfortable mixture of joy and despair.
In his strong embrace, she felt safe from all dangers. But reservations about his past continued to haunt her. She’d thought she could enjoy him for now, could separate sharing their bodies from sharing their minds. Their hearts.
But that proved to be too difficult a task.
“Whether it’s wrong or right, I want to be with you until we have to part, Morgan. More than anything. But….”
“No ‘buts.’” He ran a finger along her jaw. “Feel me.” He tilted his hips. His erection brushed against her. “See how I want you. Can we not think and simply be together as we both desire?”
A tempting question, particularly because seeing and feeling evidence of his need for her made her want him all the more. But not thinking had brought her to this awkward point. She’d wanted him so much that all common sense had flown. Now, with her body still tingling from his touch, reason seeped in.
Annora turned to look at him. “Morgan, I must ask you something.”
• • •
Just holding Annora and breathing in her rose scent brought more happiness than Morgan deserved until he achieved his goal. Morning light set her hair agleam, her skin glowed. She was his. Waking with her in his arms was one of the most magical moment of his magical life.
With a spasm of guilt, Morgan realized he no longer cared about the future. For a man who’d never die and had sworn to revivify his father, who lived to serve his king, that was no small thing. He hadn’t wanted a woman as much as he wanted Annora in more than nine hundred years. Never had his heart, his body been so in need of comfort.
Annora might not be his destined mate because she wasn’t immortal, but he couldn’t imagine a woman more perfectly made for him. Being wanted by her in return yielded a heady pride he hadn’t expected. Replete was the perfect word to describe his mood.
How could he let her go?
“Morgan, who are you?”
Her words wrenched his soul with the force of the tide sucking under an unsuspecting swimmer. His desire dwindled.
“I thought we were past that.” He reigned in disappointment. “You know who I am. Very few have ever known me as well as you do.”
Now that she’d revealed all, she expected him to do so in return. If she’d been any other woman, he might’ve suspected her of playing on his guilt, thinking he’d feel compelled to reciprocate her candor.
“I need more from you. I thought knowing your body, having you know mine, would be more than enough. As wonderful as that is, I’m giving all and you’re only giving what you can. I didn’t flee my uncle and work so hard to get Amberton back to settle. How can I describe the way I feel?” She sat up and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. “Like a painting without paint. The outlines of a beautiful design are there, but lack colors to make the whole what it should be.”
He sat up, too. If he told her who he was, shades of hell might tint her painting. Better to keep the picture bland than let it destroy her.
“Are you a criminal? A thief, a murderer? What could be worse? With frightening thoughts running through my mind, I’m beginning to think I know what being mad is,” Annora admitted. “The things I imagine about you, your family and what you might’ve done have to be worse than the truth.” She shuddered against him, making him ache for the misery his secrets caused her. “Tell me who you are. Please. Otherwise, even as much as I still need your help, as much as I…I’ve come to care for you, I’ll have to go on alone. I will find another champion.”
Her words stung sharp as a wasp. “Annora, you’ve given me a most precious gift and made me happier than I’ve been in a very long while,” Morgan said as he took her hands in his, thumbs idly stroking her soft skin. “You’ve shown me how much you trust me. We’ve found immense pleasure together, which is a rare thing. Knowing who fathered me or what I did in all the years before we met won’t change any of that.”
“Sharing will make us stronger. Because we’ve been as close as two people can be, I must know.” She braced herself on his shoulders, her hair tickling his chest. Tears sparkled in her golden eyes. “I need to know who is becoming one with me.” She climbed out of bed and covered her beautiful figure with a robe, creating a barrier between them. “Who are your parents? Who are you?”
The moment Morgan most dreaded had come.
• • •
Had she pushed Morgan too far? As Annora slipped on her robe and drew it tight around her, she bit her lip to keep from taking back her ultimatum. She remembered Morgan’s solemn expression in the cottage, his low voice when he asked her to see him as the man before her and not wonder about the man he had been. Which of course made her wonder all the more.
“Do you understand? Do you agree?” he’d asked.
She had understood. And she had agreed. But their situation had changed. He meant so much more to her now. To share her innermost self, with their flesh and bodies becoming one, she had to know him.
Even if his refusal to explain meant never making love with him again.
Morgan leapt out of the narrow bed that had served as a cozy haven and glared at her. He began to pace. She never seen him so incensed. Walking around naked didn’t seem to trouble him, but baring his past did.
He built up the fire, banging logs and slamming tools. The clanging made her head ache along with her heart. When the flames shot higher, he turned to her.
By now she was used to his changeable eyes, but this particular shade was new—a dank gray-blue, like the sea during a storm. She could almost see churning waves, sense fury emanating from him as though he could summon the power of the heavens.
He towered over her. Annora cringed, though she knew he’d never take his anger out on her.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” she told him. “But I’m not sorry I said what I wanted to say.”
She looked away from his harsh expression.
The weather, fairly sunny a few moments ago, seemed to have darkened with her mood. Gray clouds mushroomed and writhed in the sky.
Maybe they’d have to delay their journey. She walked to the fire, chilled inside and out. The leaping flames didn’t warm her, the snap and crackle didn’t soothe her.
“Why, Annora?” Morgan demanded. “Can’t you judge a person by his actions instead of his ancestors? I thought you of all people could. Look at your uncle. Roger is from fine stock, surprisingly well respected. Yet you know how heinous he is and how he cleverly conceals his misdeeds.”
“Knowing that Roger is my father’s brother and a noble makes his evil behavior all the worse,” Annora said. “I expect more of family and those responsible for leading others. If actions alone mattered, not lineage, how would England choose her king? By selecting the man someone thought best suited for the role instead of the rightful born heir? How would one man prevail, when so many want to rule? Who would be servant and who noble? That’s why parents matter. They’re part of who you are.” She sighed. “You make it sound so easy. Yet you know the world doesn’t work that way.”
“The world doesn’t concern me. You do.” Morgan moved closer, his hair falling forward as he bent toward her. The flames turned his silver hair a shimmering red. An especially loud pop from the fire made her jump as he took her chin between his fingers. “Does it truly matter whether I’m highborn or low?”
“It’s not how high or low that’s important. I think you’d have told me if you were the son of an earl or a peasant. It’s whatever you go to such lengths to conceal. Your secret has to be something awful.” She paused. “Are you a bastard?”
“No. If only it were that simple to explain.” He looked at the flames as if they held the answer. “Annora, I ask you one last time to trust me. As I trust you.”
She sighed, sadder than she’d ever been. “You mean so much to me, I thought I could. But how can I share myself and be honest with you when you won’t trust me in return?” How can I let you into my heart?
A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped it away, annoyed that he affected her so. How easily Morgan made her body dance to his tune, how she ached from his refusal to share. What a fool she’d been to think physical intimacies might spark deeper truths. Why had she thought he might come to care for her?
She took several steps back. If she stayed within arm’s reach and he touched her, she might cave in, allowing their attraction and connection to prevail over good sense.
“Thank you for bringing me this far. I hereby release you from any supposed debt to me.” She waved her hands as if shooing chickens, refusing to let him see her despair. “Go, then, back to your quest. Save your father. Forget what we have. All that we could have if you’d just trust me.”
“Annora, I do—”
“I want you to know something.” Her throat was so tight she might choke on her sorrow. “How thankful I am that you believed me from the start. Granted, you didn’t have the persuasive speeches and eloquence of my uncle to convince you otherwise, but I could tell you never thought me a lunatic. That means more than I can put into words.” She held her breath to avoid bursting into tears. “I will never forget you. I wish you well in your quest.”
Morgan hadn’t moved. He stood, hands clenched into fists, muscles bulging. Of all the times she’d seen him naked and awake, this was the first his maleness lay flaccid when he looked at her. She’d quashed his desire. Her refusal to be satisfied with all he had given her ruined their indefinable relationship.
“We seem to be at an impasse,” she said, removing all emotion from her voice. “You won’t tell me the truth. I can’t bear to continue as we are.”
“Annora. We only have a short while left. Let me show you what you mean to me even if I can’t tell you what you want to hear.”
His pleading tone almost swayed her. Never had she thought to hear such a powerful man beseech her for anything. He’d opened up to her as much as he was able.
“Go, Morgan, please. This is hard enough.”
“If you ever need my aid, a friend….”
“Don’t.” Annora held up a hand though he hadn’t moved. She took another deep breath. This was her last chance to give in, to do things his way, without ever knowing who he was. She couldn’t. “Goodbye, Morgan.”
He stomped around the room as he yanked on his clothes and crammed his belongings into his bag in such a hurry he didn’t even bother to pull the length of his hair free from his tunic or strap on his sword.
Morgan left without another word.
Annora’s heart hurt. She had done this. She had sent him away.
After the door slammed behind him, she whispered, “I hope I’m not in love with you.”
• • •
Morgan wasn’t coming back.
For many long moments, Annora had stood still, listening to the dwindling fire and staring at the door, praying he’d return despite her stubbornness and rejection.
Finally, she gave up waiting. Alone in this room that seemed larger and far emptier without Morgan, she dressed and packed with a mixture of trepidation and satisfaction. She was truly on her own for the first time in her life. Somehow she’d find the strength to succeed. Despite her uncle’s reach. No man, nothing would defeat her. Not when she’d come so far.
A plan. She needed a plan.
Annora dropped to her knees and prayed until an idea came to her. Lord Hastings. He’d been most helpful, and knew everyone and how to do most everything. She’d return to court and have him recommend guards she could hire to escort her to Amberton and support her when she presented her evidence to Roger. Thanks to Ninian’s loan, she had coin to pay them.
The roads were filled with peril for a lone woman, so she’d stay dressed as a boy and join other travelers going in the same direction. Morgan and Ninian had taught her she could do whatever she wanted if she set her mind to it.
Except get him to tell her what she needed to know.
Annora stuffed her hair in the boy’s hat and grabbed her bag, glancing around the room that’d been the location for so much happiness and misery in the course of a single day.
Something glinted in the corner. She dropped her bag. Morgan’s unusual necklace of the Holy Grail.
He’d had it on when he collapsed on the cottage doorstep and at the stream where they first kissed. He always made sure to hide it beneath his clothes. She remembered the necklace dangling as he moved over her while they made love last night. When had he lost it?
Annora picked it up by the thick chain, again admiring the ornate detail engraved on the raised chalice. She was glad she’d have to see Morgan again in order to return it, but she also had a selfish urge to keep it to have something to remember him by.
She clutched the bronze disc in her palm. As soon as the metal touched her skin, it grew warm. First the disc felt soothing. Then the heat intensified, quickly turning so hot her whole body burned. She dropped it, staring at her hand, stunned.
Why had she reacted so strongly to Morgan’s necklace? Strawberries gave her hives when she ate too many. Maybe it was something like that. What else could it be?
Morgan ap Myrddin is rumored to have abilities beyond your imagining…. Jankyn ap Lewis’s words rang clear. This time the peculiar warning reassured her that she’d done the right thing in letting him go.
Gingerly she picked the necklace up by the chain and dropped it into her bag. ’Twas too precious to Morgan to leave behind, yet she was leery of carrying the thing.
As Annora reached for the door, it opened, almost hitting her in the face. She stepped back in surprise.
Morgan stood in the doorway, looking as drained as if he’d been through a battle. Maybe he’d fought one with himself. Relief mingled with confusion.
“You win, Annora. I cannot fight you on this.”
“If we are at war, ’tis not your surrender I want. I don’t even want to win the day. I want you to want to tell me.”
“What y
ou want is capitulation, when victory is all that should matter. Not the means of obtaining it,” he said.
“All I want is for you trust me completely as I have trusted you. ’Tis not the same if it has to be dragged forth.” I want to mean enough to you that you need to tell me.
“As I said, you win.” He took a deep breath. “I will tell you who I am.”
* * *
Annora set down her bag and sat stiffly on the edge of her chair. She pulled off her ugsome hat and shook her hair free.
Morgan closed the door, fighting the urge to run his fingers through the long strands. He feared his tale would wipe the pleasing eagerness from her face and replace it with horror. He set down his own bag and sat in the other chair.
Outside the inn mounted on Secret, he’d struggled with his decision. Other travelers had come and gone, the innkeeper had sent a few curious glances his way, but still he sat there. Beneath the morning sun, the horse had waited patiently for direction, then had begun to snort and stomp his dissatisfaction. Finally, Morgan dismounted and led Secret back to his stall in the inn’s small stable. As he groomed his mount, the soothing, repetitive motions of the curry comb eased his nerves but couldn’t curtail his flooding thoughts.
Should he tell Annora? If so, all of the truth or some? Could she handle whatever he dared reveal? Should he add to her problems? And the most important question of all: would she still want him when he finished?
He wasn’t sure he could bear her rejection.
“Don’t go back to her. ’Tis a mistake.” The whisper of an ancestor had floated through his mind.
“No, it isn’t,” contradicted another. “She deserves more of you, mortal though she be. But don’t tell. Never tell.”
A third added, “Of course you should tell her. But ’twould behoove you to do your best to resist her.”
Very helpful.
Her analogy of peasants and nobles had hit him hard. ’Twas no different than the way immortals behaved toward mixedbloods. Parentage was of great import in his world, too. Was there any society where all were created equal?
