Bound by Blood

by Mia West

  It was heavy in his palm and sort of slippery, wanting to slide out of his grasp.

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry.”

  He tried again, holding her more gently, then rubbed an experimental thumb over her nipple.

  She gasped sharply.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  He kept rubbing, watching her face. His nipples were sensitive too, which he’d discovered when Bed had pinched them. He didn’t suppose he should bring up her brother’s tricks just now.

  Color rose high on Gwen’s cheeks as he stroked. Feeling more confident, he slid his hand down to her belly. She held on to his waist, nodding, and he thought he’d venture farther down, but then he lost his nerve and slipped up to the curve of her hip.

  Her skin was smooth here. He stroked down her leg, slowly, watching her face, until he reached the crook of her knee. He tickled her just enough to get a response—a wriggle and a push at him to stop—then slid his hand up the back of her leg.

  It was hard not to compare her to Bedwyr. Not that there was any comparison; she was soft where Bedwyr was hard, smooth where he had hair. Her arse was both—soft and smooth—and as generous as her breasts. He’d never really thought about what she looked like under her clothes. He wondered how many men in the village had thought about it, and he felt a sudden, protective jealousy.

  It manifested in his grabbing hold of her round cheek, and she squeaked.

  “Finally,” old Mabyn cawed. “Progress.”

  Gwen’s eyes were wide, and he knew she’d forgotten that the old woman huddled in the corner. He eased his grip and brought his hand to the small of her back. Gwen started laughing silently, and he buried his face in her neck to keep from snorting with her. She shook, all her soft parts mashed against him, and he was overcome by how ridiculous their situation was.

  “Shh,” he whispered in her ear, which only launched more silent giggles. “Stop,” he warned, fighting to hold in his own laughter. When she shook her head, he gave her a smack on the arse.

  She yelped and pulled back, mouth forming an O. Then she came at him, and it felt as if she possessed a dozen hands. He tried to fend them off, but they were everywhere. Her face grew flushed, and she gasped as she dodged his attempts to grab her wrists. He got them, finally, and held them tight against his belly.

  They looked at each other for a long moment, breaths puffing between them in the cool air of the chamber, and then he felt her again. Just her fingertips, stroking the skin below his navel.

  “No sudden movements,” he said, and when she nodded, he let go of her hands.

  Gwen touched him in light circles, which didn’t really do much, but then her fingernails scraped down toward his cock hair. Arthur held his breath as her fingers closed around him.

  Chapter 14

  Bedwyr stopped pacing and cursed.

  Elain and Matthias broke off their conversation about…whatever they’d been discussing…and looked up at him.

  “Weary of sitting,” he griped.

  Elain rose from where she sat on the edge of the bed. “Need to walk?”

  “Need to fight.” He nodded to Master Matthias. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to waste your evening here.”

  Matthias stood and smiled. “Good company is never a hardship.” He studied Bedwyr so that he consciously tried to still his restless limbs. “Will you be all right?”

  A question with too many other questions inside it. “I only need to spar.”

  “Shall I fetch Cai? I’m afraid he’ll have had a fair tip of ale by now, celebrating his new house.”

  Bedwyr tilted his head toward Elain, who smiled at the healer.

  “I enjoy a bout now and then,” she said. “Keeps me sharp.”

  “Do you? Well, don’t let this one fall on his sword.” Matthias gave him a pointed look. “My son still needs him.”

  Who knew what Arthur needed just then? Bedwyr opened his door and looked into the main room. Mora had fallen asleep at the supper table, waiting to walk her mistress back to the hall.

  Bedwyr jerked his shield and sword belt from their pegs on the wall and kept his eyes from straying toward Arthur’s bedchamber. Uthyr always finished with Eira swiftly enough. Why was it taking so long? Thank the gods he couldn’t hear anything through the door. Still, he needed out.

  The village was quiet except for the muffled sounds of celebration coming from the meadow. Matthias bid them good night and set off to give Uthyr a report he didn’t require. In the armory, Bedwyr fitted Elain with a sword and shield, then led her from the village to the shepherd’s hut several hills away.

  When they arrived, his steps faltered. The training yard in the village was too central; the sounds of their sparring would have drawn attention, and so he’d thought to take advantage of the hut’s more isolated location. But standing before it, his sword edged with moonlight, all he could think of was Arthur and their time here, spent training on this tramped bit of earth. Arthur had pushed him, and he’d fought back, and they’d both reclaimed their places in the warrior corps.

  But they hadn’t only sparred here, and those were the thoughts binding his muscles into rigid immobility. Inside that small structure, Arthur had sparked something in him so intense Bedwyr was surprised the hut hadn’t burnt to the ground around them.

  “Stop thinking.”

  He looked over to find Elain at this shoulder.

  She drew her sword. “Let’s forget.”

  He began slowly so he could gauge her ability. The dagger was Elain’s weapon, but she’d clearly handled a sword before this night. She held it correctly and didn’t make a beginner’s mistakes, at least. But her technique didn’t have the hone of years of practice. She was strong, though, and with practice could probably approach Arthur’s quickness. When he was on form, Arthur could rattle Bedwyr with a series of strikes he couldn’t predict—

  Gods’ blood, every place he could think of reminded him of the man now. This hut, the armory, the house, the meeting hall. All the surrounding hills and streams. That one hot pool. Every one of the watchtowers, in which they’d had the brilliant notion that only one of them needed to look out for Saxon smoke at any given moment, leaving the other free to kneel and suck.

  He growled in frustration and called a halt.

  Elain stepped back and wiped a sleeve over her brow. “I’m rusty.”

  He couldn’t help prodding her for that small bit of pride. “A master swordsman, were you?”

  She looked up sharply. “For all you know.”

  “I only know what you show me.”

  He thought she would charge him at that. Arthur would have done so, goaded to prove himself. They’d come to know each other’s levers, and Bedwyr, for one, enjoyed tripping them.

  Elain was more even-tempered. She stuck her blade point into the ground and leaned on the pommel. “I trained with a Saracen who stayed with Rhys for a time.”

  “Before?”

  “Of course before. It was at Rhys’s.”

  He noted the annoyance. Elain didn’t tolerate questions she considered unnecessary.

  “No,” he amended. “I mean, did you always live as a girl? Or did you train before?”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “Before. Palahmed trained me in my fourteenth and fifteenth years.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty years, or close enough. Our mistress always had a couple of men guarding the brothel outside, but she saw no harm in having someone among the whores who could defend the place.”

  “I’ve never known whores to be a helpless lot.”

  Elain smiled. “They’re not. But they don’t usually carry anything to rival the blade a man might bring with him.”

  Bedwyr snorted, and Elain recognized the double meaning. Her eyes dipped away shyly.

  Interesting.

  “What?” he said.

  “Nothing.”

  He clapped the edge of her shield with his blade. “Tell it.”

>   Her eyes met his briefly before flicking away. “He called me…” Her voice trailed off in a mumble.

  “Called you what?”

  She scowled at him. “Lancea.”

  “Was that your name?”

  “No, that name is dead. A lancea is a Roman weapon, a lightweight spear.” She shook her head. “Palahmed thought it was amusing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of my weapon.”

  “Your dagger?”

  She dealt him a look that, even in the moonlight, clearly said he was a dolt.

  Her weapon…

  Oh.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes,” she said, “oh.”

  “Are they long, these lanceas?”

  “You’ll never know.”

  “Fine way to speak to your husband.”

  Elain smirked.

  He wouldn’t know, not really, but Gwen would. Or maybe already did. “Have you and Gwen…?”

  Her smile died. “You know we haven’t.”

  “What I know is that there are a lot of dark nooks around if two people want to find them badly enough.”

  She elbowed him. “An expert on the dark nooks, are you?” she said, lobbing his earlier remark back at him.

  “A damned master.”

  “Maybe some of us exercise patience. Restraint.”

  “Restraint.” Arthur wouldn’t be holding back just now. Bedwyr could feel Elain looking at him and kicked at the grass.

  “You aren’t angry with Arthur, are you?”

  Angry, jealous, resentful…all for accepting the troth, even though they’d long since agreed it was best for all involved.

  But now Arthur was in bed with someone else. He would spend himself inside her, and it didn’t matter that he had to do it, or that that someone was Gwen, who would rather it was Elain.

  He looked at her but couldn’t make his jaw move to respond.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Master Matthias had the right of it, Bedwyr. Arthur still needs you. He’s ambitious, a warlord’s son-by-law now. He may not have meant to become so, but he did mean to impress Lord Uthyr. If you ask me—”

  “I don’t,” he warned.

  “And yet I’m going to share my opinion.” She squeezed his hand until he met her eyes. “I believe this is only a beginning. He’ll continue to take chances and impress. He’s going to naturally draw people to him, people who will be loyal to him, beholden to him. He’ll belong to them too.”

  The jealousy in him grew scales and spit fire. “He’s mine.”

  “I know. And so does he. I wager he’s thinking of you right now—”

  He jerked his arm free. “While he empties his stones into your lover?”

  Elain fell silent, her hand dropping to her side.

  He tossed his blade aside. “Sorry. That was cruel.”

  “But true,” she said softly.

  “The cruelest things are.”

  Clouds scudded past overhead, muting the moon’s light for a long, silent time. When it emerged again, Elain bent and retrieved his sword, handing it to him.

  “Come,” she said. “I’ll take it out of you in sweat.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Gwen was watching him now, and Arthur had the urge to hide what he was feeling. But what would be the point of that? She needed to know, so they could keep marching forward, step in step, to reach the evening’s goal. So he held her gaze and let her see. Her hand didn’t feel like his, or like Bedwyr’s, but his cock responded anyway. Maybe it was the novelty.

  As she stroked him, something occurred to him and he leaned close to her ear again. “Have you been practicing this too?”

  She shook her head. “We were waiting to share a bed,” she whispered back.

  And there it was. He couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. He’d known Gwen as long as he could remember. She’d gotten him through his lessons, which had seemed interminable. She’d never taken Cai’s side against him in an argument, and those had been innumerable. When she’d discovered what he and Bedwyr had, she’d kept their secret.

  Gwen was the best friend he’d had, and she deserved the wedding night she’d been waiting for.

  He stilled her hand and pulled it aside. Then he rolled until he lay over her, his weight on his hands and knees, and bent to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to spend on your belly. You put it inside.”

  When he rose to see if she understood, she smiled. “Thank you, Arthur.”

  He spit in his palm and took hold of his cock. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine this was Bedwyr’s hand on his leg. But he could feel Gwen watching him. He braced his elbow above her shoulder and laid his head next to hers.

  This was easier. He could almost imagine this was Bed breathing under him.

  “Is it working?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  The next few minutes involved no thought, only the slick heat of his own hand. It overtook him, the chase and the push. “Soon,” he managed, and then he was in its hold. He strove, his body rigid with the effort.

  And then it was over, and he was breathing hard, Gwen’s ribs pressing into his. He lifted himself off her and studied her face. She smiled and nodded but gave him a slight push. He rolled to the side.

  Gwen looked down at the pools of seed on her skin. Swiping her fingers through them, she pushed the slickness between her legs, then twice more. The third time, an expression of concentration took over her features, and then she winced. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Mistress Mabyn?”

  “Yes, all right.” The old woman rose from the stool, both hands clutching her walking stick, and shuffled to the bed. With no warning, she took hold of the cover and threw it back. Gwen moved to shield herself with her hands, which Arthur found strange and a bit silly since they’d been naked for some time now, but maybe women thought differently about these things. Then he remembered that Bedwyr had been shy at first too and wondered if it was a family thing.

  The Myrddin’s hands found Gwen’s hips. “Spread your legs, girl.”

  Gwen did. She also reached over and gripped Arthur’s hand. Mabyn’s gnarled fingers slid down past Gwen’s hair and disappeared inside her. Gwen’s hand tightened on his. Then Mabyn pulled her fingers out.

  Holding them close to her nose, she sniffed them. Frowning, she rubbed the shiny moisture between fingertips and thumb. Then she licked one of her fingers.

  Arthur wondered if Gwen was holding her breath as he was.

  After a few seconds, the Myrddin nodded decisively. “It’s done. Cross your legs and hope for a son, Gwenhwyfar.” Her distant, unseeing gaze moved toward Arthur. “Young man, see me to the door.”

  He stood and rounded the bed, offering the woman his arm. She hobbled slowly to the door, and then out of the chamber. His sister startled awake at the table and rose to meet her mistress, blinking.

  He left them to it and closed the bedchamber door. Turning back, he crossed to sit on the edge of the mattress next to Gwen. She’d raised the covers to her armpits again. She looked different somehow, though he couldn’t have pinned it down.

  “Do you want to be alone?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, laughing a little. “To forget?”

  She tipped her head. “Why would I want to forget?”

  “Gwen.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, then found one of his hands again and held it loosely. “For what it’s worth, if it couldn’t be Elain, I’m glad it was you here tonight.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  He studied her face, but she seemed to be telling the truth. “Remember to keep your legs crossed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lucky for us both, Elain knows of some remedies. Benefit of growing up in a brothel.”

  Arthur nodded, surprised by a silly resentment he hadn’t expected to feel, that his seed would go to waste. He’d spent it a thousand times since he�
��d first discovered his cock’s best purpose, and it had always gone to waste. Nothing was different now. They’d already planned for Gwen to have babes by Elain. With any luck, Lord Uthyr wouldn’t notice that none of them had red hair.

  “We’ve met my father’s requirement,” Gwen said. “Mistress Mabyn will attest it. Now we’re free to live as we please.”

  “Not quite as we please.”

  “No,” she conceded. “But close to it.” She lifted their hands and knocked them against the covers. “Will you fetch Elain for me?”

  He stood and reached for his shirt. “It’ll be a few minutes.”

  “She’s only across the house.”

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  Gwen gave him a curious look. “If they’re not in their bedchamber, where are they?”

  ~ ~ ~

  They had been sparring for what felt like hours, circling each other endlessly, coming together to clash, then parting to rest, before going at it again. The sounds of their blades filled the night. Elain’s quickness made up somewhat for the imbalance in their power, and they managed to wear each other down, their breaks between bouts stretching longer and longer. Eventually, they sat on the damp ground, panting, Bedwyr’s shoulders already sore.

  That was where Arthur found them.

  He nodded to Elain. “Gwen asked if you’d come see her.”

  Elain had already stood. Bedwyr thought he should join her but wasn’t certain his legs would obey. He caught her skirt as she passed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Bedwyr. Thank you.” She handed her sword and shield to Arthur and set off for the village.

  They were silent for some time, Bedwyr sitting, Arthur standing over him, before Arthur spoke.

  “It’s late to be sparring.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  Arthur tossed the armor aside and settled on the ground. “What would you have me do?”

  Bedwyr ground his teeth. He didn’t like to admit how good it felt to have Arthur next to him.

  “We agreed—”

  “I know what we agreed,” Bedwyr growled. “Doesn’t mean I enjoyed knowing you were fucking my sister.”

  Tension rang as loudly between them as if they’d been clashing with steel.