She gasped. "Oh, Andor, please." But she had no idea what she meant.
"Yes, love," he replied, his voice deep and husky. He pulled her hand down to the throbbing length between them. When she tried to pull back, he wrapped her fingers around it. "Please."
Gillian studied his face and stroked him. He groaned in response. She smiled to herself at the power she had over him and stroked once more.
"Aye. That is it." He slipped his fingers to her center. "This is how it feels." He circled the hooded guardian.
Gillian cried out, arching against him. She forgot about her role of power and gave in to feelings she had never felt before. She wanted it to never end, and yet as her body gyrated beneath his hand she knew it could not last forever. It was a white hot feeling that encompassed her, energizing and draining at the same time. She was vaguely aware that Andor had moved between her legs. But when his fingers moved aside for his entry, she was bereft.
"No. Please, do not stop."
"I have only begun. Do not fear. I will not leave you unfinished." Then he slid his full length deep within her.
Gillian panted for breath. She felt him pull back, pause, then ease in once more. Then again - harder. She arched her hips while sounds she never thought she was capable of reached her ears. She rocked with him, taking the full measure of his pounding thrusts. A spasm gripped her, a feeling so intense she felt she was exploding from within to without. She dug her fingers into his buttocks and ground herself against him as the moment overtook her.
It was too much for Andor. The rapture on her face, that beautiful body writhing against his, the heat that surrounded him. With a final thrust he seated himself deeply and joined her.
They collapsed together, spent with the exhaustion of after-love. He did not know how long they had lain together before he heard her say, "I feel so cheated."
He looked up and brushed a strand of coppery hair from her face. "By me?"
"Never," she quickly replied. "By Evan. Do all men know how to please a woman so?"
Andor shrugged a shoulder. "All men should, but only a woman can say if he does or does not."
"How did you learn of such things?"
He smiled. "From Tove, the widow down the road. I worked for her one summer. I arrived a boy and left a man. She taught me much. I visited her from time to time until I wed."
Jealousy smacked into Gillian again, but she forced herself to smile and say, "Perhaps one day I shall be able to thank her."
Andor chuckled. "Your eyes say different." He kissed her before she could form a denial.
Gillian felt him grow hard within her. "You want me again?"
"Yes," he said with a grin.
"Is that possible?"
"Very." He dropped a line of kisses across her jaw. "I intend to love you as much as I can, whenever I can. With your consent, of course."
"You have it," she said with a sigh, and closed her eyes as those wondrous feelings built again.
* * *
CHAPTER 8
This was what married life was supposed to be like, Gillian told herself. It was what her parents had had. Sharing, companionship, love - it was all there. It made her painfully aware of what she had missed as Evan’s wife. Gillian didn’t dwell on that past. She refused to let old miseries intrude on what she now had.
It was difficult for her to pinpoint one specific thing she liked best about her life with Andor. Each aspect held its own special quality. She had always enjoyed his nearness at night, but in the fortnight passed the closeness had reached a level she never believed possible. A night had not gone by without them loving one another. And the thing that pleased her most about that was that she was as free to initiate it as he was. Such activity was not restricted to their bedroom or the night.
Gillian smiled and looked across the hearth to where he played with Gwynneth. She supposed if she were forced to pick a favored part of her life, it would be this. Every morning as she prepared their food, Andor took Gwynneth aside to coo, sing, and play with. Whenever the baby saw him near, she’d kick and wave her arms in excited delight. How could Gillian resist loving that time?
Andor looked up to find Gillian watching him. The smile in her eyes brought a rush of emotion to his heart. By all the gods that existed, he never knew loving a woman could be so all encompassing. It was all he could do to keep from running to her right now and crush her to him.
He treasured the first sight of her face after a day’s work. The lilt of her laughter, her gentle caress, her sigh as she settled beside him in sleep, the unbridled passion that seared from her blood to his - all were the mainstays of his existence. And this beautiful child he held...her child...their child...if the gods had decreed Gillian would bear no more young, she would be enough for him. In the moments he spent with her, playing and making unintelligible sounds, he planned her future.
They would always be close, as Freyda and his father had been. Gwynneth would take her first step to him. She would seek him to heal her hurts. And when it came time for her to wed, only the best man could have her - only a man who could love her as much as Andor loved Gillian.
He thought of Astrid as he often did at times like this. They had been married five months and still had not obtained the intimacy that he and Gillian now shared. Only the day before Gillian had surprised him in one of the outer fields with a noon meal. Before he could peek into the basket, she had lured him into the trees - something Astrid would never have done no matter how long they had been married. Gillian had the fire, the passion, he craved in a woman. Astrid paled in comparison. While a part of him was saddened that she had died, another part was grateful for the release that gave him Gillian.
"What are you staring at?" he asked her.
"Oh, I was wondering what you might look like without that beard."
"Naked as a babe," Freyda put in. "‘Tis quite a sight."
"Oh, I have seen him naked," Gillian replied. "‘Tis quite a sight indeed."
The purr in her voice set fire to Andor’s blood. He forced down his reaction as best he could. "You are thinking to rob me of my beard, are you?"
"I am a wee bit curious."
"A man’s face would freeze in the winter without his beard. You would freeze me to satisfy your curiosity?"
The women laughed.
"If ‘tis that dangerous, we ought to have beards too," Freyda said.
"We could take Andor’s and Rollo’s as they sleep and have fine ones for ourselves," Gillian said.
Andor grabbed his chin in mock fear. "You would not!"
They laughed again.
"Tempting, I admit, but I will not risk having a life with a man who has no face. You can keep the beard. Besides, ‘twill give Gwynneth something to hang on to when she begins to walk."
This time Rollo burst out with a laugh. "That little one may pull her father’s beard out by the roots if she wishes. Andor would never protest."
"No doubt that is true," Freyda said.
Andor merely shook his head and looked down at the baby. "Your aunt knows of what she speaks, young Gwynneth," Andor said. "For many years she was an only daughter who could mold her papa like clay."
Freyda shook a finger at him. "Do not start teasing me. ‘Twill make me homesick. Come eat your food. We have curds and whey this morning, hot bread, eggs, and smoked ham. Eat up. You will need your strength if you intend to net more guillemots today."
Gillian clucked her tongue. "If I had my way, there would be none of that again."
Andor shot an accusing glare Rollo’s way.
Rollo fanned his fingers across his chest. "‘Twas not me who told."
"Only you and I were present and I know I kept silent," Andor said.
Rollo’s head rotated in Freyda’s direction. Andor’s followed.
She gave them a sweetly innocent smile. "I forgot you did not wish Gillian to know."
"When did you wish to tell me?" Gillian demanded to know. "When the tide had carried your body away?"
/> Just thinking of how close Andor came to death made her heart pound with anxiety. If it weren’t for Rollo’s quick reflexes and strength, Andor would have fallen down the face of the cliff when his safety rope had come loose from the tree above. All the guillemots in the world would never be worth losing Andor’s life.
"Other than a few scrapes and bruises, I was unhurt," he replied. "I saw no cause to alarm you."
"I find the bird tasteless," she said. "I have no use for it, its eggs, or its feathers. I will not have it in this house."
It was panic making her talk this way, but Gillian didn’t care. They would not starve for lack of guillemots, but they...she...could not survive without Andor. If he wished to argue the matter, she was ready. He had made her mistress of his house, and she was asserting that authority.
A royal edict, that was the first thing that popped into Andor’s head. Gillian had firmly put her foot down and nothing would make her lift it. The stubborn tilt of her jaw and the fire in her eyes told him that. She could have her way. Netting guillemots while dangling fifty feet in the air was not something he particularly enjoyed. He walked to the table, handed her the baby, and kissed her.
"As you wish, wife. Rollo and I will spend the day planning the trough from the hot springs to our home."
His acquiescence was still not enough to quell the frantic beat of her heart. Even though she had not been at the cliffs the day before with him and Rollo, she could still see the knot slipping, the rope snaking away, and Andor groping for a hand-hold. The fact that he sat here now, eating and planning the day’s events, could only be by divine miracle. By her God or his gods, Gillian did not care, as long as he lived.
After he finished his meal, Andor cupped Gwynneth’s head and dropped a kiss to her forehead. For Gillian his good-bye kiss was longer. Then he snatched up the bundle of food she had made for their noon meal and left with Rollo. Gillian’s prayer that he return safely went with him.
"I much prefer the loving Andor and Gillian to the warring Andor and Gillian," Freyda said.
"Aye," Gillian said with a smile. "‘Tis a great improvement indeed." She began to gather the dirty dishes.
"Let’s take them to the river," Freyda suggested. "We can wash them there while we do the laundry. ‘Tis such a nice day, I do hate to be inside."
Erik jumped up. "Mother, may I pull the wagon?"
"Of course, but not with the babe inside," she replied.
"I would be careful," he said, hurt that she seemed to have so little faith in his grown-up abilities.
Freyda smiled then hugged him. "I know you would, but babies move very quickly...so quickly it is even hard for a mother to keep up."
He accepted this limit to his abilities and wheeled the small laundry wagon from its storage place near their bed closet. Once Gillian found a secure place for the basket of dirty dishes in the cart, she pulled out Gwynneth’s basket and put it on top.
Erik’s eyes widened at the load, but he refused to tell the women how intimidated he felt. He grabbed the handle and pulled as hard as his five-year-old muscles would allow. Gillian and Freyda smiled at each other. When she was sure Erik could not see, Freyda pushed the wagon from behind.
Gillian felt Gwynneth’s head droop to her shoulder. Soon she would be tagging after Erik, then her siblings would be following her. Gillian hoped she could do as well raising children as Freyda - willing to let them try on their own, yet there to guide and catch them if they should falter.
"Is she asleep?" Freyda asked.
"Yes. Exhausted again from her play with Andor." Gillian spied a figure on the far bank of the river. "Thora has come to do her laundry. Perhaps we should leave her be and come back later."
Freyda straightened and pushed the kinks from her back. "No. ‘Tis a silly thing for her to run off when she sees us. No matter what Leif has done to her, she still needs the company of women. We have been friends all our lives. I will not let her continue to shut me out...Come, Erik." She took the boy’s hand in one of hers and the wagon handle in the other, then marched toward the bridge.
Gillian held back, hoping Thora would make a hasty retreat. She was ashamed to admit she was still jealous of Andor’s former attraction to the woman. Freyda’s quick actions gave Thora little time to retreat. Her dark eyes widened then darted around for a way to escape. In the end there was no way she could gracefully gather her clothes and leave before Freyda reached her.
"Good morning," Freyda called out. "Gillian and I saw you and thought to join you."
When Thora made no protest and turned back to her work, Gillian reluctantly joined them. "‘Tis a good day for a visit," she forced herself to say.
Still Thora did not acknowledge them. While Erik skipped away to chase butterflies, they settled on either side of her. Gillian put Gwynneth in her basket out of Thora’s reach. Thora gave the baby no more than a glance.
"The river runs swift today," Gillian said.
"And cold," Freyda said. "It will be wonderful if Andor and Rollo are able to bring the hot springs to our house. Imagine...not having to go outside to wash clothes or dishes, or even to bathe."
Thora shot a wary glance over her shoulder.
"Do you have a hot spring on your land?" Gillian asked.
"I must go," she replied, and began gathering her things. She held her left arm close to her body, her movements stiff. Although no bruises marked her face, there could be no doubt Leif had not let up on beating her.
Freyda touched her arm, wincing with Gillian when Thora jerked back. "There is no need to leave us. We would enjoy your company."
She glanced over her shoulder again to the rolling fields behind them. Leif’s figure appeared at the top of one of the small hills. He paused, raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, then strode their way. As painful as it was for her, Thora scrambled to put the clothes in her basket. As she stood to leave, her ankle gave way. Gillian caught her before she could fall.
"Easy now," she said. "Did you hurt yourself?"
"No. I am fine." She bent over to lift the basket, stifling a cry as she did so.
"Here...let me," Gillian said.
"NO!" Leif shouted. "Leave her be and get off my property!"
He came down upon them so quickly, Gillian never had a chance to do as he ordered. He grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked her back. Thora’s laundry fell to the muddy river bank.
"Get off my land!" he roared. "And take your brat with you!"
With no regard for the infant inside, Leif kicked Gwynneth’s basket as hard as he could. It fell to its side, dumping Gwynneth. Gillian and Freyda scrambled to catch her before she reached the water, but neither were fast enough. There was a short wail from the infant before she hit the water, then the tangle of laundry pulled her under. Gillian plunged in after her, flinging clothes aside.
"Gwynneth!" she screamed, as if the baby could reply. "Gwynneth!"
"There!" Freyda pointed downriver a few yards. Gwynneth’s body bobbed to the surface. Gillian swam for her while Freyda ran alongside the bank.
Gillian’s strong strokes tried to close the distance the swift-moving river seemed intent on keeping between her and the baby, but the effort and the icy water sapped her strength. She thought only for Gwynneth’s life, not for her own, even when exhaustion and the weight of her clothing began to pull her under.
"You are almost there," Freyda shouted. "Only an arm’s length away. Keep going."
Gillian sucked in a breath. Her lungs stung from the effort. She saw Gwynneth’s nightgown before her and kicked. Her shift wrapped around her legs and pulled her under. She swiped the water with a broad breaststroke and surfaced inches behind the baby. With a sob she gathered the limp little body to her.
"Gillian! Catch!"
Gillian heard a splash beside her. Freyda had tied the dirty clothes into a rope. She grabbed the end and twisted it around her arm.
"Hang on!"
Gillian was numb with cold by the time Freyda pulled h
er and Gwynneth to shore. When she tried to stand, her knees buckled. Freyda caught her before she could fall.
"Easy now."
"My baby." Crying, she lay Gwynneth on a patch of grass. "She does not breath." She pressed a hand to the baby’s chest to check her fears. Gwynneth regurgitated water and everything else in her stomach, then started to shiver. Her body was tinged blue from cold and lack of air. A purplish bruise the size of a goose egg edged her hairline.
"She breathes now. ‘Tis all right." But the baby remained unconscious and Gillian was afraid of what that might mean.
"We need to get you both back to the hearth or you will freeze to death." Freyda tossed her cloak around Gillian’s shoulders then bundled the baby into some dry clothes.
Gillian reached for her. "I will carry her."
Freyda helped her to her feet. "No. She needs the warmth of a body - you have none to give."
She nodded and took a step. Her legs felt as if they’d been cast in iron. "Go on. Get Gwynneth back. I will follow."
Leif took a stance between her and Freyda. "You will go nowhere, witch!"
Freyda tugged on his arm, but he refused to budge. "Have you gone mad? Gillian is no witch!"
"She is! I have thought so from the beginning. Now I have the proof I need." He jammed his fingers into Gillian’s chest. She staggered backward and fell to her knees.
"Leave her be!"
He shoved Freyda away. "She is a curse that must be stopped. Since the river did not do it, I shall have to myself." He grabbed her hair and pulled her back to the river’s edge.
Gillian tried to lash out at him with her feet but her sodden shift rooted them in place. She swung her arms, trying to sink her nails into him, but Leif played on her exhaustion, keeping just out of reach. Gillian felt the icy water oozing over her legs once more. Her body was so cold the water felt warm. She twisted in his grasp, fighting to keep him from pushing her under. The last thing she heard before he succeeded was Freyda.
The Quest for Gillian’s Heart Page 10
