“Where do you go?” I asked, trying not to sound petulant.
“As Arthur is still unable to ride out, I must visit the far keeps in the realm. Spring makes fighting men restive. I must get the lords to agree to keep their armies close to home in case of need. Arthur has an idea about having the nobles patrol their roads to keep off the highwaymen and lay-abouts. I think it’s a good diversion.”
“Three moons is a long time to wait.” I caressed his cheek.
He kissed me long and thoroughly. After a time, he said, “I shall miss you more than you can imagine.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Spring at Castle Camelot was glorious. It was hard to feel downhearted in such beauty. I spent my days hunting for bulbs and spring herbs. I had to beg Trahern the gardener for a larger area to plant, as Pwyll had asked to use my herbs in his healing. Each night, as the Storm Moon shone down, I sent out a prayer to my Merlin and dropped into bed, exhausted.
One night, I was awakened out of a sound sleep by Weylyn, the page. “The king asks that you join him in the West gallery.”
“What is it? Is he unwell?”
“I know not,” Weylyn said. “He only commanded I fetch you. Shall I lead you to him?”
“No, I know the way. Go back to bed, if you are finished with your watch.” He ran off. Groggily, I got up, dragged a comb through my hair, put my cloak on over my shift, and made my way to the gallery. The place was dark when I got there, and I wondered if I dreamt the summons.
“Anya,” I heard Arthur’s whisper from the far end.
I went toward the voice. Near a shaft of moonlight, I saw Arthur sitting on the daybed we often paused at during our nightly walks when he was sick. “Arthur? What troubles you, My King?”
Arthur reached out and drew me to sit beside him. He took off my hood and looked for a long while at me.
What is it he wants?
Finally, he said, “I’ve heard nothing but the wonders of Lady Anya the healer from everyone in the castle. But I never see her myself.”
“It has been a busy couple of moons, what with all the sickness.” I felt a jumble of emotions from him. “Do you ail?”
He turned away. Several times he started to speak, then stopped himself. Finally, he said, “Do you ever think of me, Anya?”
“Of course.” My inner voice warned me to be wary. “What is it you need of me?”
Arthur stroked my unmarked cheek. “Do you not know my feelings for you, Anya?”
I took in a breath. Jasoslava told me long ago it wasn’t unusual for the ill to become enamored of their caretakers. I took his hand away from my face. “Arthur, this cannot be.”
“Long I have thought on you. When I first saw you tied to that boat—my heart leapt! I couldn’t account for it. Then Morgaine brought you to court, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. You were so much more beautiful than I recalled.”
“You are married, My King.” I got up.
Arthur gently pulled me back down. “I am married, Anya, to a woman who was selected for me to make the ties of my kingdom stronger. I’m wed to a woman who loves my best friend and most valuable knight. I sorrow for them both, for they cannot be together because of me.”
It was shocking to hear the confirmation of that affair from his own lips!
“Gwen won’t let me send her away, as I could since she’s childless. She feels it would bring shame upon us and possibly ruin my reign. I think she may be right. But in truth, I think she values her position as queen most of all, and so I share a bed with her. But since the wound, I haven’t been able to act as a husband.”
“I know of an herb …” I began, formulating the potion in my mind.
He smiled sadly. “I need no medicine. I know the cure, my Anya.”
“Arthur, I …” He leaned over and kissed me.
At first, I resisted. But, as his tongue flowed onto mine, my heart burst. A flood tide of desire poured forth!
What is this?
His hands began to roam over my body. Slowly, we sank together onto the daybed. I should get up. Get away!
But I found myself unable to say no.
Unable, or unwilling?
He whispered into my ear, “Do you know what those nightly visits during my illness were to me, my darling? To have a woman beside me who had rather talk of statecraft and things of import, than what this woman is wearing or who has slighted her? To be with a woman at night who is warmth and wit and caring, and in the day to be with she who is coldness and scheming? To have you touch me, gently, surely, with compassion, rather than taking what a woman will grudgingly give? Anya, I need you. I want you … I believe I love you.”
And then he kissed me again in that way that seemed to reach straight into the heart of my lust.
I felt his stiff rod against my thigh. I realized that I wanted him, as much as he wanted me. It made no sense, but my body craved him as badly as I craved water when I was tied to the beast’s ship.
It was as if I were two people. The first loved only Merlin. That me sat in the back of my mind, a tower of disapproval. Then there was the wanton, who wished only to be loved by this extraordinary man!
And the lustful part of me won out, easily.
But, I did not wholly lose my reason. The risks in letting him love me were almost monumental. “Arthur, if we are found out …”
His hands slipped up to my breasts and his thumbs teased my nipples in a thrilling way. “Gwen’s asleep. I checked before I called for you. I have Ea guarding the way up. He won’t let anyone get near us but will alert me if there is need for me to attend to something.” He kissed me deeply.
Oh, Goddess, I want him so!
When he paused, I said, “Arthur, you have not answered me. What happens to me if we are caught?” For I knew no blame would be assigned to the king for our tryst.
Only me. The witch.
“Then I would get Bedevere to ride you out of here as fast as possible. I have friends in Little Britain. You would be safe and well-treated,” Arthur said.
Judgmental-me had enough, and I tried to get up. “Please, Arthur. I care for you as well, but the dangers are too great.”
Arthur gently pulled me back down, and I let him. He said, “I will never let any harm come to you, my Anya. Trust me. Let me love you.” He kissed me again, and his hand slid down my body. My skin ached and tingled at his touch. But I still resisted … a little.
He paused. “This isn’t your first time, is it?”
I had to chuckle. “Well, yes and no.”
Arthur removed his hand, but I was still encircled by his strong left arm. “What does that mean?” he asked.
As if of themselves, my fingers played with a curl of his beard just at the hinge of his jaw. “I am a priestess, and so no virgin. This is true.”
“Ah, of course,” he said. “And did you not know him because of the ritual?”
“Oh, aye. I knew him. It was Khoryn.”
“No!” And I saw that Arthur was genuinely alarmed and saddened. He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly. “Was it awful?”
“Well, it was not particularly holy,” I said, recalling the night of clumsy, somewhat brutal lust, and the face in the fog. “Other than him, no, I have not taken a man before.”
Arthur kissed my palm. “Let me show you what loving is.” He ran his tongue down the line of my windpipe. Tiny shivers radiated out through the whole of my body. My head fell back, and I felt my resistance slipping away like a knot untied from a too-tight sash.
He sucked on my earlobe, then kissed my eyes, my brows, my cheeks—avoiding the whip scar.
This is madness!
But I must have him!
He slid off my cloak and the shift off my shoulder and kissed, then sucked the joint. Then he ran his tongue along the line of my collar bone, stroking my breasts all the while. Kissing his way back up to my mouth, he said, “Let me make love to you, my Anya. Let us have each other in all the ways a man and woman can be with each
other.”
My resistance collapsed.
I helped him take off his robe, and he assisted me in taking off my cloak and shift. I had seen his body when he was my patient, but now I explored it as a lover. His arms were like the branches of a mighty oak wound with veins, well-corded and thick. Around his right upper arm was the Druid-initiate’s tattoo of the woven vine. His chest was broad and covered in surprisingly soft black hair. He held me tighter. I ran my fingers along the corded muscles of his shoulders and up his neck. Our touching and our exploring mouths soon had us both inflamed.
I moved out from under him.
“Nooo, don’t go,” he moaned.
“I am not going anywhere.” I slid on top of him and balanced my weight on my knees and elbows. “I spent months healing your wound. I will not let you damage yourself on my account.” I rubbed myself up and down his manhood. My pleasure bud was stiff and aching. He kissed me so deeply, holding my breasts in his hands.
Slowly, I let him enter me. The desire was almost too much for me. I could not move for the intensity of it.
“My beautiful Anya,” he said, taking my thighs and moving me to his rhythm: fast-fast-slow, like a dance, as ancient as time.
I heard its beat in my heart.
“Arthur!” I cried out as the waves of pleasure crash upon me. Sparks rose off our skin, surrounding us in starlight.
And then, the blinding explosion of lust shook the heavens.
Afterward, lying in a sweaty tangle, he held me close and whispered, “I knew it would be this way with you, my darling. I knew you were made for me.”
A long while later, I slipped back to my room with promises to come when called for—but only after making him promise to be discreet, and not send for me nightly.
Chapter Thirty-Four
And so March sped by with days filled with planting and otherwise being the healer everyone knew, and my nights being the king’s mistress.
And ever my thoughts ran to Merlin, riding out in the country. How could I explain this to him when he returned? How make him understand my heart was now divided? For I wanted him still, even though I craved Arthur. How could a woman want two men so desperately?
One night when Arthur and I were lying in the daybed, Arthur playfully began sucking on my earlobe. “What are you doing?” I asked, laughing. Shivers were radiating down my neck and making it feel as though sparks were leaping off my nipples.
“Tasting you,” he said around my lobe.
“What?!” I tried slipping away from him, but he held me too closely.
“Remember I said that not all women taste the same? So, I’m tasting you.” He stroked me slowly.
I shivered. “And what do I taste of?”
“Hmmm,” his deep voice rumbled inside my ear. “Lilacs … sage, yes … and parsnips.”
“Parsnips?” I giggled. “You are too silly!”
“I happen to like parsnips,” he said, with a pretend-serious look on his face. His fingers slipped down my belly. He traced the outlines of the Great Tree tattoo there. “What does the tree represent? Why do you have it etched into your skin?”
“It is given to the woman who becomes high priestess at Viborg.” I could not tell him of my ascent into the Sacred Water, and how it still swirled in my mind. It was not permitted for a man know this.
He spent a long while tracing the outlines into my pubic hair. It was as if all of my senses narrowed down to that touch. That gentle trace of a finger along the sacred ink lit my desire as nothing he had done so far. And he knew it. Over and over, he followed the lines of the sacred tattoo. My lust built and built until I could no longer contain myself, and I exploded in ecstasy.
I returned to myself with Arthur chuckling softly into my ear. “I don’t know what your Sisterhood intended it for, but I believe I have found another use for that tattoo.”
I could not help but laugh. What would Jasoslava have thought of such blasphemy?
I rubbed my hands over his well-muscled back. I could feel the scars there, permanent marks from his armor and battles. Then I reached down and found his hard manhood. It pressed into my hand. “Let’s see what you taste like,” I said. Scooching down, I ran my tongue up and down his rod, tracing the vine-like path of the big vein. I slid it in my mouth and took him deeper, back and forth.
“Anya,” he moaned. His hands were buried in my hair, and I could feel his shaking fingers on my scalp. “Oh my God, Anya!”
I knew he was nearly ready. Playfully I kissed my way to his mouth. “And you taste of leather, alder wood … and those spicy pears Lavena makes,” I whispered.
He laughed a little, then kissed me hard as he entered me. “My Anya,” he whispered, stroking slowly. We rolled on our sides, my legs wrapped around his hips. “I’ve never wanted any woman so much. Have you cast a spell on me?”
“If there was magick involved, then we have cast it upon each other.” Once again, I wondered why I could not stay away from him, what drove this fierce need.
But then, Arthur increased the rhythm, and the bed squeaked which each thrust. It sang in chorus with our gasps and sighs. His mouth was all over my throat, my shoulders, my face. I grabbed his firm behind, urging him into me harder, faster. On and on he went until our lust became liquid fire, shooting across the sky.
The split in my affections began to affect me. There were times I could not recall what herb did what. People spoke to me and I did not hear them for all the tumult inside my head. Many nights, I could not sleep.
All my confusion disappeared when I was in Arthur’s arms in the daybed. But they crashed down upon me when I returned to my room.
April brought fine weather. Daily, the queen rode out with her maidens. Their horses were festooned in flowers as they trotted by me working in my herb patch. The unmarried knights chased after them, and there were “picnics” in the wild—small feasts away from the castle. The king and the married knights spent their days watching jousting and arms practice out in the fields.
One day, as I was bent over weeding, I felt eyes boring into my buttocks. I turned to challenge the impudent rake. There was Arthur with his walking stick, gimping beside some of his men. He said nothing to me. But his eyes, how they hungered! How could anyone not tell the king and I were lovers by the look he gave me!
That night, I made my way to the dark gallery. Arthur was standing at the window, looking out upon the half-veiled face of the Storm Moon. He did not turn around as I approached but said, “There are times I think I see your face in the moon.”
“That would be a strange place to put it.”
He chuckled and took me into his arms. “All I see, everywhere I look, are traces of you. I spot a copper beech tree. The leaves are the color of your hair! I gaze upon a tapestry, but all I notice is the green just there is the color of your eyes. I hear a lark call, and it is your voice!”
“Arthur …” I was at once flattered and alarmed by his fierce interest in me.
“I love you more than I can say.”
He kissed me, his tongue sliding onto mine, starting sparks a-tumbling down my throat. Tingles shot through my body. I felt entirely ensorcelled by him.
I wanted him so desperately!
His need was equally intense. Arthur’s hands roamed over my body, and each touch caused my skin to shiver with longing.
I ran my hands over his strong shoulders and up his corded neck into his hair. I felt his need rising within me, just as I felt his rod stiff against my belly.
Arthur picked me up, grabbing my behind and leaning me against the stone wall. But I worried. “You will hurt yourself.”
“Never. Not with my darling Anya,” he whispered. He dragged my shift up and slid his hand down to my wetness. “Tell me you do not want me, right now.”
“I did not say I do not want you. Just that I am concerned that we will open the wound.”
He unfastened his robe and slipped his hard rod inside me. “This will help hold us up,” he said with a chuckle.<
br />
I started to giggle, but then he thrusted inside me, hands gripping my behind. My laughter turned to gasps of pleasure.
There was no up or down, no floor or ceiling. I did not know where I was. Only the union of our sex connecting me to reality.
I fear that Arthur will consume me, body and soul.
Later, I dreamt of Merlin. He was sitting drowsing by some castle’s guest room fire. His bones hurt, he was lonely, and he was tired of his work. He wondered why he was so far away from the castle when he longed to be with me.
I awoke crying.
I cannot be two people! Goddess, tell me what to do!
But She answered not.
A pressure was building in my mind, and it felt as if my head would erupt in flames. I knew I could not continue this way.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Worrying how I would ever explain this situation to Merlin, I rounded a corner and almost walked straight into Priestess Rowena from Avalon. I staggered back and struggled to hide my dismay. “Sister, what a joy it is to see you!” I said, hoping my words matched my face.
Rowena’s minimal bow conveyed disrespect. Her lifeglow—which I had never noted before—was a strange orange and brown. “Anya—or, as I’ve heard you style yourself here—‘Lady Anya.’”
“L-Lord Merlin’s idea, not mine. To ease the concerns of the court.”
Rowena’s dark-brown eyes narrowed. “I made sure to clear up the matter with the queen. She’s my cousin.”
My heart sank. “What brings you from Avalon?”
“The Lady Morgaine received disturbing reports about you. I came to see if they were true. Apparently, they are,” Rowena looked up me up and down with disgust.
“Reports?” I asked, panic rising.
“That you’ve usurped the king’s healer’s position,” Rowena folded her arms across her chest. “That you—a baseborn foreigner—style yourself royalty. That you have undue influence …” she dragged out the word to let the implication hang, “with the king.”
The Priestess of Camelot Page 17
