Medusa scanned the beach with narrowed eyes. Ektor was right. This tent, larger than the others, sat on the edge of the shore, removed from the rest of the camp. This was a place for strategy and discussion, to plan for war.
She ran along the steep hill peaks, climbing up onto the flat face of a rock. She sat, breathing hard, and leaned forward to search for him. The tent was open, allowing the cool night air entrance, and the flaps lifted and fell in the sea breeze.
More than a hundred men were gathered inside, she was sure. While most stood back, pressed against the tent sides to form a human wall, a handful stood around a table.
Ariston was not one of them.
The men were gesturing, pointing and slapping a chart spread before them. Though she could not make out their words, their agitation was visible.
One man, with a thick thatch of long black hair, gestured wildly. He stopped, scowling, and straightened. He stepped back so that the other, a bald and weary looking giant, spoke. The giant’s finger jabbed at another spot of the map with fervor, ending his speech by slapping the table with one large open hand.
Medusa wondered what they argued over. Where the enemy waited or the best route to intercept, perhaps? Ektor had said the Persians were coming, but they must stop them from a land invasion if Athens was to survive.
Tonight she would not think of war, but these men could think of nothing else.
Her gaze searched eagerly amongst the men, knowing she’d find him.
And then, she did.
Ariston stood, with his head tilted forward, listening, it seemed, to the two men. His helmet rested under one arm, his fingers drumming impatiently on the metal dome. His other hand came up to rub the back of his neck.
She shifted, pulling her knees up and drawing the heavy brown cloak around her peplos as she watched him. Everything about him pleased her so. It was no burden to rest her chin on her knees and watch him.
He shifted from one foot to the other, revealing his restlessness to her. His face was hard. His eyes moved, she noticed, glancing through the tent opening. He was distracted. Worrying over the coming battle?
A shout went up from the bald man, startling her. The bald man’s arm flew up and his cloak billowed about him. He stood, towering over the other man, who yelled back without flinching.
Medusa looked at Ariston, concern mounting. His eyebrow rose, his frustration plain to see. She knew how tiresome it was, to be at the mercy of others’ dictates. While it was an honor to be trusted by those of great import, there were times when that honor meant enduring a vast exercise in patience. She suspected this was one of those times for Ariston.
If only he could see her.
Thea appeared then, cooing. Medusa held her arm out to the owl, but Thea flew toward the tent. The owl flitted past the opening once, then twice, the night filled with her endearing call.
She watched as Ariston’s eyes traveled to the tent’s opening, piercing the dark with their silver-grey warmth.
Thea flew again, swooping past the tent opening, hovering briefly.
Did he see Thea?
His features were fluid, displaying his heart with no words spoken. His gaze narrowed then widened. His jaw tightened and his chest rose sharply. She tensed, waiting, as his eyes peered into the darkness.
He found her.
Her heart leapt into her throat as she waited. He would come to her, she knew it.
###
Ariston had cursed his summons, cursed the Persians and cursed the Gods. The trek from the Temple of Athena Polias had been unbearable, each step a cut upon his heart.
He did not know if he would see her again.
If she was called by Athena, nothing would change. A gift, he supposed.
But the alternative, his lady claimed by Poseidon, was beyond bearing. His hands tightened as images of her laughter, her smile, filled his mind.
Would she laugh with Poseidon?
No, no good could come from such thoughts.
A heated curse filled the air, forcing him back to the matter at hand. Why did the council continue to debate? The Persians were coming. The Athenians and their allies were ready, as ready as they would ever be for such barbarians. Action was needed now. The time for words had passed. He could hardly wait for battle. Those who fell beneath his sword and spear would find no mercy. It was there, upon the battlefield, that he could release the anger and pain he’d held at bay.
His lady’s fate was unknown, pressing upon him. His eyes continued to stray to Athena’s temple, a pale shadow in the moonlight. He should be there, with her.
She’d chided him to do his duty. She’d accept nothing less, for duty ruled all of her.
But his duty was of little import to him.
And now the bickering of Athens’ great commanders was more infuriating than a swarm of gnats. He knew his Ekdromoi would lead the Athenians into battle. They were far superior in close combat than the others. Yet the two commanders roared on, delaying this verdict.
The night dragged on as they argued over the formation of their fleet, the worries over Thermopylae’s fate, and the massing hordes of Persians at Sardis. He knew things were grave, but his restlessness could not be soothed. His gaze wandered again to the temple, the hillside, the rocks… A flicker of movement caught his eye.
Thea fluttered by, her coo confirming her very real presence.
He narrowed his eyes, unable to accept what he saw. Yet the owl flew past once more, calling to him – surely.
But what he saw, sitting upon the rocks, could not be. The Gods were playing a most cruel trick on him. Medusa was not here, she could not be.
Yet his eyes found her, knew her, and his body reacted.
She is here.
His comrades were lost in the throes of debate. They had no need of him now.
This war, these soldiers, even the Persians sitting upon the sea’s edge, could not stop him from going to her.
He slipped from the tent undetected. Circling behind the tent, he moved past the guards at watch without hesitation. He jumped on the back of his horse and nudged the animal forward, onto the thin path that cut sharply up the hill, towards her.
It took him moments.
As he crested the hill, she rose to meet him. In the pale light of the moon, he stared at her in wonder.
Chapter Six
He slid from his horse, running to stop before her. Her face, white and luminous in the moonlight, tilted toward him. Her veils were gone, freeing him to explore every curve and line of her face.
“Lady?”
“Soldier.” Her voice was soft.
“You come alone?”
She nodded, a hesitant smile gracing her lips.
He smiled in return, unable to refuse his instant response.
Though questions swirled in his mind, none found their way from his lips. She was here.
Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shifted on her feet. She was uncertain – was the news so grave then? Had she crept away to ask for his help? He swallowed against the tightening of his throat.
She took a deep breath and spoke quickly, her voice quavering, “I am released from Athena’s temple.”
Ariston froze, his chest leaden as he waited for the rest of it. His gaze traveled over her, taking in her peplos and chlamys, the garb of a woman – no longer a priestess.
Did she wear the robes of a wife now? If she was in fact Poseidon’s wife, or was to become his bride, he should celebrate her honor. And keep his searing agony hidden from her brilliant eyes.
He spoke the name, forcing it from him though it pained him to do so. “Poseidon?”
Her eyes were as fathomless as the sea as she shook her head. Her voice trembled as she whispered hoarsely, “I’m free.”
His brow furrowed. “Free? To marry Poseidon?”
“No. Athena has given me my freedom.” She watched him closely.
Free?
He wavered, pulling air into his lungs with great gasping breaths. At
hena had given her freedom? His relief was a physical thing.
And she’d come to him.
The roaring thrum of his blood filled his ears, unbalancing him as he absorbed this turn of events. Joy followed swiftly, buoying his love and spirit beyond measure. He did not catch himself but kneeled before her.
She had come to him.
He reached for her with wavering hands, tentatively clasping her skirts. Comforted by the feel of her within his reach, he drew in a deep breath. She was here. His hands fisted and grasped the fabric, pulling her gently against him. His arms twined about her knees and he burrowed his face against her stomach.
He closed his eyes to everything but her lush feel, the smell of her, firmly – finally – in his arms.
###
Medusa’s chest tightened. Indeed, it was hard to breathe.
She had not expected his reaction. She could not have imagined her own.
She had thought of nothing but coming to him.
Seeing him trembling on his knees, reaching for her – drawing her to him without pretense or reservation – unlocked something inside of her.
She felt his hands tighten in her skirts, felt his hands draw her close. And she wanted more.
She was spellbound in his hold, enraptured by the feel of his arms about her knees. His hard chest was flush against her, the strong beat of his heart thumped rhythmically against her thighs. His head pressed beneath her bosom, fitting against her. Fitting perfectly, she thought.
His ragged breath caressed her skin through the soft linen of her peplos. His breath, a hot whisper, brushed across her stomach and the curve of her breasts – stealing the remaining air from her lungs with its intimacy.
She had no will to stay upright, her senses were so overcome. Yet his arms encircled her, holding her tenderly against him. She looked down at the top of his head.
She could touch him…if she dared.
Her hand rose, pausing before she gave in to the temptation. The downy softness of his curls was a feather light caress against her fingertips, teasing her. She watched her fingers as they slipped into his curls. She sifted through his silken locks, exploring and reveling in their feel.
Her breath caught and her hands cupped his head, pulling him tightly against her. Such new sensations filled her, tumbling about and making her light-headed. She clung to joy, she clung to him, overcome.
She loved this man. The power of it rolled over her.
His arms tightened about her, unwilling or unable to release her, she knew not. Nor did it matter, as long as she was in his arms. Her hands tangled in his hair, savoring the way his curls twisted about her fingertips, as if they were embracing her too. She smiled at the thought.
Her hand slid to the nape of his neck, startling her anew.
His skin… his skin, against hers... He radiated heat. Her fingertips felt afire, as if his touch had ignited her body and soul. Not with pain but with an exquisite pleasure, unknown but most welcome. His heat flowed into her hand, connecting her with him.
It was too much.
She drew her hand away from his flesh and placed it on his shoulder, safely covered by his cloak. Still, her hand tingled and she felt unsteady on her feet.
His hold loosened gradually, as if this was a most difficult feat. As he stood, releasing her, she met the intensity of his blazing eyes. His face, the steadiness of his gaze, was heavy with something more, something heady.
The silence pressed her, stirring her uncertainty. But he seemed satisfied.
She must speak…she must breathe. “You are warm,” she murmured.
His eyes, silver in the moonlight, moved with leisurely contentment over her face before he spoke. “And you are my lady.” His words were a promise.
“I am,” she whispered.
He smiled, staring at her with a look of uninhibited pleasure. Her words, spoken without hesitation, seemed to echo in the air about them.
She returned his smile, joyfully.
He swallowed then, regarding her so closely that she felt her face burning from the heat of it. But she could not look away. She watched as his jaw tightened and he drew a deep breath.
“Shall I walk with you to your uncle’s?” he asked.
Her courage mustn’t falter now. “No.”
“No?”
“No.” She held her hand out to him, ignoring its telltale tremble.
His words were unsteady as he stared at her hand. “I would give him my pledge, Medusa. I would have an exchange of vows – a promise made that cannot be broken, by anyone or anything.”
She understood him, his worries. But she would not share one second of their time together.
“I have your pledge, I hold it dear.” She stepped closer to him, her hand wavering before she placed it on the chiton covering his chest. His warmth reached her through the linen. She stared fixedly at her hand upon his chest. “I would have you for what little time is left us.”
How was it that no flames licked at her skin where her flesh met his? The heat which unfurled inside of her was as strong as a living, burning flame. Unbidden, her body swayed towards him. “Please,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.
###
Ariston’s hand clasped hers. Her hand, so small and delicate, lay in his hold. He hadn’t anticipated the sense of wholeness her touch afforded. But he welcomed it, letting his fingers wrap about hers. He was defenseless against her touch, but empowered beyond measure.
He would give her whatever she wanted to keep her here, with him.
“I give you all of my time, Medusa. But there must be a witness. You’ve lived too long under the mantle of honor. A witness to our vows will give me peace of mind when…when I must leave you for battle.” His hand tightened about hers.
She seemed to consider his words. “Will Elpis serve? And Ektor? As witness to such vows?”
He nodded. “Yes, they would do quite well.”
“I hoped so.” She blushed. “They wait for us at the Seat of Poseidon, in the cove.”
He smiled down at her, astounded. She had taken pains to make sure no obstacles stood in their way. She would have him as her husband. She wanted him to be her husband. His laughter rang out. “Then let us make haste.”
He moved back to the horse, leapt astride and urged the animal forward.
She stared up at him, eyeing the horse with undisguised apprehension. Her voice wavered, “I’ve never ridden. Nikolaos’ donkey hardly counts.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” he promised.
Her smile, her faith in him, warmed him through. He reached down, offering his hand to her. She took it, clinging to his arm as he swung her up behind him.
“Hold tightly, my lady,” he said over his shoulder.
He heard her gasp as his knees tightened about the horse and the animal jerked forward. His stomach constricted beneath her touch. Her arms wrapped tightly about him. Her cheek and chest pressed against his back, swaying against him with the gait of the horse. He knew she would hear his heart – beating as if it would break free from his chest.
His hand covered hers, holding her soft palm against the hard plane of his stomach. His thumb brushed across her knuckles before he clasped her hand in his, squeezing it gently. She returned the squeeze, her body softening against his back.
They moved quickly, traversing the country and avoiding the main roads. No doubt Galenus would make this marriage wait, to consult Medusa’s father and gain his permission. But he would make certain Phorcys was well pleased with the bride price he would provide for Medusa. If Phorcys was not satisfied, he would give more. He was willing to give all he had for her, without quarrel. None here knew that, in Rhodes, he was a man of substantial wealth, rank, and property.
He was only Ariston the warrior in Athens, he’d preferred it. The legacy of his father and uncle cast too great a shadow to give him prospects for one of his own. He’d set out to prove himself, without the use of his family name, and had done so, remaining simply Ariston.
He glanced at his waist, following the line of her arm wrapped about him. Exposed from elbow to wrist in the white light of the moon, he could scarce believe that they were bound as they were. Yet they were. Her arm seemed to disappear at the wrist, clasped warmly in his hand. This was how it should be, this bond between them. Having her with him now left no doubt.
He did not think of Persia or strategy, he did not worry over retribution for deserting the meeting or the lack of his weapons or helmet. All would be forgiven. They would need him too greatly.
She would be his, through witnessed vows. She would be his wife, his love and his lady, for all time.
It was slow going, for Ariston’s impatience mounted with every bend in their path. Yet they forged ahead, the stars the only light as they ventured far from the city and surrounding farms. He turned the mount, steering them closer to the sandy beach and the cove at Poseidon’s Seat. When they rounded the final outcrop, Ariston slowed their horse and stared in amazement.
Beneath an olive tree set far from the shore, Elpis was arranging a make-shift altar. She was pointing, speaking to Ektor in hushed tones. The young man stood back, adjusting one of the two tall tapers set beside a flat rock. The rock was covered with flowers, fruit and nuts, as was customary for a vow ceremony. How he wished theirs would be such a ceremony, attended by all who loved them. That would wait, when there was time for such festivities to be savored.
This was not that time. And though it had yet to begin, he longed for the time when this war was ended.
He would take her home, to Rhodes. The sun was brighter there, warmer. She would be even more radiant from its rays. They would run through the hop fields, eat the grapes from his family’s vines and dive for pearls and shells before having a feast on the beach, just the two of them …or with their children. He would enjoy showing her his boyhood home and sharing it with her. He could see it, their future, and knew the rightness of it.
Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) Page 10
