Eyes closed to lose herself in the sensation, Pressine never wanted it to end. Burying her fingers in his thick hair, she responded in kind, with the pent up passion of an island virgin releasing the flood gate at Beltane. Elinas loosened his grip, but she did not let go of him. A simple taste could not quench her desire.
Finally, Elinas pulled back and stared into her eyes, concern softening his handsome face. "Are you well, my lady?"
Confused and disoriented, Pressine realized that, for a moment, she had lost control. "My apologies," she mumbled, dropping onto the bed, trying to master the new emotions churning in her chest. She closed her gown tighter, wondering whether Elinas despised her now, for wanting too much too fast. "It is my first kiss, my king."
Elinas exploded in riotous laughter. "Your first kiss? You take me for a fool? Such fire..."
Heat rose to her cheeks. Pressine bristled at the implications. "Now that the debt has been paid, my lord, I must ask you to leave."
"In my opinion, you rather enjoyed that kiss." He reached to stroke her arm. "Would you like another?"
Standing up to escape his touch, Pressine struggled to regain control, reminding herself of her duty to the Goddess. "Whether I would like it matters not, my lord. It would be improper. I shall cleave to no man other than my lawful husband. Did I lead you to think otherwise?"
"Is that how you want it?" Elinas flashed an infuriating grin. "Well, we shall see about that." He bowed. "Good night, my lady. Until morning."
As he left, a light spring in his step, Pressine battled the urge to call him back.
* * *
Unable to sleep, Elinas lay in bed trying to get Pressine off his mind. He had serious decisions to make. Should he send troops to defend Galloway? It seemed futile, since one never knew where the Vikings would strike next. On the other hand, he could not forsake a vassal in need.
He found it difficult to concentrate. His mind kept returning to Pressine's kiss. She had clung to him with a passion that left no doubts about her attraction to him. For a brief moment, he even wondered at her claim of virginity. Her confusion afterwards, however, had pacified his doubts.
Making up his mind to consult Dewain before sending troops to Galloway, Elinas finally drifted to a land of voluptuous dreams, full of glorious battles, not all on the battlefield.
He slept through cockcrow but awoke shortly after sunrise, to the melodies of the same enchanting voice he had heard at the spring. Each note, each archaic word, plucked a string that reverberated throughout his whole being. The singing came from across the yard through the open window. Elinas stretched leisurely, wondering whether Pressine bathed naked and sang every morning.
"Something to look forward to," he mused, moved by the lovely picture in his mind.
Getting up in no hurry, he dipped his hands in a pail and splashed water on his face and underarms, rubbed his teeth with coarse salt, rinsed the rank taste of mead from his mouth, then swallowed the salty water. As he donned the fresh linen shirt and green trews spread on the back of a chair, he yelled to the servant who slept behind his door.
"Go fetch Dewain!"
A yawn, then the brush of cloth against wood.
"I will go at once, my lord." The boy sounded sleepy. The pattering of bare feet on flagstone ensued.
Elinas sat on the bed and pulled on the high leather boots, then stood up to buckle his baldric and adjust Caliburn on his hip. Approaching the window, he drew the blade to the morning sun. He had not dreamt the strange radiance last night, by candlelight. The sword did glow with bluish fire. Furthermore, Elinas could feel warmth radiating from the weapon, as if it truly had power.
He knew of great swords forged in antiquity by ancient gods. The bards told tales of ladies guarding such swords in mysterious isles, but Elinas had never heard of a sword named Caliburn.
The heavy door opened, interrupting his thoughts.
"Lord Dewain, Baron of Ayre," the servant boy announced dutifully, allowing the old man inside before disappearing behind the closing door.
Glad to see his friend, Elinas sheathed the blade to greet him in a bear hug. "Dewain, I need your advice."
The old baron winked. "This early in the morning, sire? A matter of great urgency, I suppose?"
"Did I wake you?"
Dewain laughed dryly. "I have been up for hours." He rubbed his elbow. "Old bones loathe the dampness of spring."
The body servant came in, carrying a tray loaded with food, a wine ewer and two pewter goblets, which he set on the table.
Elinas pulled a high-back chair away from the massive table and sat, motioning Dewain to do the same. "Will you break your fast with me?"
"I would be honored, sire." Dewain sat gingerly.
Elinas pulled out his dirk. Breaking a piece of bread, he spread goat cheese on it. "You said yesterday I should take a new queen."
"Indeed! Why this sudden interest in the drivels of an old man?" Dewain’s dark eyes twinkled with amusement. He poured dandelion wine in both goblets. "Have you changed your mind overnight?"
"What if I have?" Elinas chewed, savoring the bread and mild cheese.
"So, why do you need my advice now, since you refused it yesterday?" Dewain selected a boiled duck egg then tapped it on the table. He peeled the crumbling shell with gnarled fingers. "I can tell that you already made up your mind."
Elinas drank some wine, enjoying he tartness, and smacked his lips. It had started to turn to vinegar but he liked its bite. "I need to know whether or not Lady Pressine is worthy of a king. Do you believe she is who she claims?"
"Ah... Lady Pressine..." Dewain dusted dry egg yolk that trembled in the ribbons of his beard. "I believe she is the daughter of King Salomon of Bretagne. I met her father once, and what she told me is consistent with what I know of him."
"She also has an extravagant dowry... More gold and silver than in my coffers." Elinas rose, walked to the window and stared at Pressine’s chambers across the courtyard, trying to shake a disturbing feeling. "Do you think she wants to buy herself a crown?"
Dewain twisted in his chair and faced the king. "If you hope to impress me with her wealth, you are wasting your time, sire. The only question is, how do you feel about the lady?"
Elinas leaned back against the windowsill. "When it comes to my kingdom, I value your opinion, old friend... even though I do not always abide by it. So, indulge me."
"In that case, you have my blessing, sire. Lady Pressine has all the dispositions of a great queen, I am certain of it. As for her womanly qualities..." The grizzled head tilted to the left. Dewain winked. "I have no doubts about them either."
Elinas returned to the table and hacked off a slice of ham with his dirk. "She is so young, Dewain, still a virgin."
"Curious." Dewain chuckled. "I never understood why virginity is considered an asset. But she could be older than she looks."
"What do you mean?"
Dewain cleared his throat. "She has a sound mind for one so young, a good sense of humor, and she shows great promise in navigating the treacherous waters of a royal court. The perfect jewel for your crown, sire."
Elinas suddenly realized that his attachment to Pressine went deeper than he would have thought possible in such a short time. As if by magic, she had rekindled his appetite for life. He could not let her go. If it took a husband to make her stay, a husband she would get.
"It is settled, then. I shall propose this morning. We can be betrothed in a few days and married at midsummer, when Mattacks returns from Whithorn."
Dewain glanced up with interest. "You seem very sure that she will accept."
Unwilling to say more, Elinas smiled mysteriously. "I have my reasons."
"Ah... very well." Dewain drummed his nails on the table. "My only worry is your Edling, sire. Mattacks may not see the lady as favorably as we do."
"I know..." Elinas distractedly picked at crumbs of cheese on the table. "Mattacks barely tolerates his brother Conan. He will hate the idea of Pressine usur
ping his mother’s place. She might breed more brothers to dispute his throne."
"Worse than that!" Dewain took a sip then set his goblet down on the table. "He may view her Pagan allegiance as heathen and evil. The old faith is frowned upon in Whithorn where Christians have churches and monasteries. Bishops and abbots preach against it daily. Even in Ayre. They harassed me so much, I left the province to my heir, who is far more accommodating with the Christians."
Elinas stroked the blade of his knife. "I managed to remain neutral so far, welcoming renegade druids and holy monks alike. Bel be my witness, I even gave my Edling a Christian tutor."
"When Bishop Renald hears of a Pagan joining in Dumfries castle, he will hound you both until you convert." Dewain sighed. "And, as sure as I am alive, a Lady of the Isle will never submit to a bishop’s rule."
Elinas remembered his conversation with Pressine. "When she says her Aunt Morgane is Fae, what does it really mean, Dewain?"
"It means, sire, that Lady Pressine must have Pagan gifts as well. The Ladies I once knew could weave spells, foretell the future, and demonstrate the power of the Goddess in frightening ways."
Elinas leaned over the table toward Dewain and lowered his voice. "I always thought the Ladies of the Isle were a myth."
"They looked real enough to me when I traveled through Armorica." Dewain’s dark gaze took on a dreamy expression. "Extremely attractive. But their most amazing gift is that they never seem to age."
"Really?" Uneasy, Elinas poured more wine in both goblets with a shaking hand. "You knew them well, then, old brigand?"
"I have known a few." Dewain raised his goblet. "But I was young and handsome in those days. They would laugh at my old bones now."
Elinas joined his friend in a toast.
Dewain sipped the wine "The bishop will accuse Pressine of heresy, of dark sorcery, of consorting with the devil, of human sacrifices, or worse. It could mean trouble." He smiled thinly. "But, naturally, a king can hold a bishop at bay better than a baron could."
"Would a bishop dare attack his king?" Elinas planted his dirk into the tabletop, immediately regretting his lack of control.
"Not openly, sire. But do not underestimate the might of Rome. The pope is still trying to rule our country from afar. Charlemagne and his bishops are only pawns."
"Rome is far from here, Dewain, and I can take care of myself."
"I believe it, sire."
"Then it is settled," Elinas said with an assurance he did not feel. "I will propose to Pressine." He shifted in the chair and cleared his throat before breaching the other matter. "Any word from Galloway?"
Dewain's expression sobered. "None since the report of the Viking raid a week ago. Why do you ask?"
"We should not send any spearmen until we hear of another attack in the same area." Elinas rubbed his beard. "The raids are usually random. The Vikings are probably long gone."
"It looks that way, sire." Dewain sunk back in his chair. "But we do not know for sure."
* * *
Pressine gazed through the open window at the king's chambers across the courtyard, agonizing over what to do with the royal sword. Against reason, she kept postponing the binding spell. The more she waited, the more she felt attracted to Elinas, but apart from drunken lust in his eyes, she could not read his heart. Her own feelings for him blinded her.
A servant girl erupted into the chamber and ran to her. "Lord Dewain brought this for you from the king, my lady."
"Where is the baron?" Pressine snatched the offered pouch and peered through the open door.
"He left." The girl curtsied. "Said the king was on his way here."
The king had not bothered to announce his last visit. Wondering what prompted such formality, Pressine loosened the strings of the silk purse. Her jaw fell open as she gawked at the heavy gold necklace, a lovely work of art. The polished gold, amber, and jet stones shone as she held the jewel to the morning light.
Her heart leapt. Did the king want to win her love? She kept her excitement in check. Perhaps, Elinas simply wanted to apologize for last night's kiss, or purchase sexual favors, or other kinds of favors entirely. In any case, he had chosen well. Pressine liked the present. It matched to perfection her tan skin and black hair, and the gold tone complemented her blue gown and golden sash.
At a rush of activity in the antechamber, she guessed Elinas had arrived. To present a conciliatory face, she quickly asked the servant to fasten the necklace around her throat, then dismissed the lass. Pressine liked the weight of the smooth gold on her skin. It nestled comfortably between the curves of her breasts.
Elinas strode in and bowed as the door behind him closed. Pressine noticed the ceremonial broach pinning the coat, the feathered hat, and the bejeweled baldric holding Caliburn.
"Why such a formal visit, my lord?" Her fingers flew to caress the necklace. "And what in the name of the Goddess could warrant such a lavish gift?"
Elinas grinned, dimpling his short beard. "I see you chose to wear it. Does that mean you like it?"
"Like it? What woman would not?" Pressine hesitated. "What you may request in exchange, however, troubles me."
"Good!" Elinas took the hat off with one hand. Then he combed strong fingers through dark hair. He looked jumpy as a deer.
Pressine liked his boyish vulnerability under the gruff demeanor. "I thought it took more than a mere woman to make a warrior-king anxious."
"You should give yourself more credit, sweet lady." His voice sounded like a caress.
The familiar address as well as the comment raised the soft down on the skin of Pressine’s neck. Had he come all dressed up to ask her to bed?
Pressine indicated a chair, but Elinas just threw the hat on it, unpinned the coat, and spread it on the high back. Then he walked straight to Pressine, forcing her to retreat and sit down on the bed. Dropping one knee on the thick rug, he brought her hand to his lips.
"My lord, what are you doing?" Pressine's heart rammed against her ribs.
Elinas stared into her eyes. "Asking you to be my queen."
Delightful shock and pride at her success suffused Pressine’s face. She congratulated herself for not using magic. For her peace of heart, however, she needed to ascertain the king’s true motives. "Why this sudden decision, my lord?"
"Does it matter?" Elinas sounded amused.
"It matters to me."
The king’s brown eyes softened. "I could tell you that I need the protection of the priestesses of the Lost Isle to save the land from the Viking threat. I could tell you that I want your gold in my coffers, that Dewain wishes me to remarry, that I never really renounced my dream of becoming high king... It would all be true to some extent."
"But?" Pressine held her breath.
"The simple truth, however, is that since I laid eyes on you, my heart started to sing again, and your presence fills my mind day and night. Just looking at you makes me the happiest man in the land, and I cannot imagine life without you at my side. I believe, sweet lady, that the exalted feelings I have for you constitute true love."
Stunned by such an honest and courageous declaration, Pressine fell quiet. Her throat constricted and tears of joy blurred her vision.
Elinas squeezed her hand. "Please, do not delay your answer. If you despise or refuse me, or if I am just and old fool, I need to know it now."
Pressine raised one finger to touch his smooth lips. "I know not how to express what I feel, except..."
Under his expectant gaze, she leaned forward and their lips met in a soft, slow kiss that grew more ardent. Neither of them, however, made a move to take things further.
Finally, Elinas rose to his feet and helped her off the bed. Holding her at arm's length, he asked, breathless, "Do you accept?"
"I would love to become your queen." Pressine sighed. "But on one condition."
"Oh?" Elinas released his grip on her shoulders.
Standing very straight, Pressine smoothed her gown then spoke gravely. "You must sol
emnly swear that you will never attempt to see me while I am in childbed."
Elinas chortled. "Strange request... Is that all?"
His smile faded as Pressine’s anxiety grew. How could she convey the seriousness of her plight?
"As simple as it may seem, if you ever break that vow, the Goddess will strike the land, steal any happiness you may have, take me away from you, and curse your male descendants down to the ninth generation."
Elinas emitted a low whistle. "A curse?"
Pressine swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
After a short pause, Elinas gazed into her eyes. "I pledge on my crown that I will never attempt to see you in childbed."
"Thank you, my king. As long as you keep your oath, our happiness and the prosperity of the land will endure." Relieved, Pressine allowed herself a smile.
"Anything else I should know?" The gravity had gone from the king’s voice.
"Yes my king, many good things. But we have ample time to discuss them later." Pressine laughed, feeling light as a bird taking flight.
Chapter Seven
Gusts of wind rattled the closed shutters, ushering into the room the sweet smell of fermenting mead. Alone in her chambers, Pressine shuddered with foreboding as a hound howled in the night. A row of tallow candles around the rim of the stone basin illuminated the dark water surface. Pressine bent over the reflecting pool, holding her breath. Would Morgane answer the call at this late hour?
When the flames flickered and smoked, the water rippled, and Pressine perceived a subtle change.
Staring back from the basin, Morgane shifted her gray gaze. She smiled. "I see you remember my lessons, Pressine."
"Elinas proposed," Pressine blurted, unable to hide her excitement. "Betrothal in two days, wedding vows at Midsummer. Will you come? You are my only family in these lands."
"You seem pleased. So, you like Elinas?" Morgane looked serene, as usual.
"He is a wonderful man. I feel so privileged."
A whiff of Morgane’s lavender scent emanated from the basin. "I knew you would like him. I am proud of you, child. I will attend the wedding and bring with me the blessing of the Goddess." Morgane's smile faded. "But there is much to do until then. I had a vision."
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