Her heartbeat quickened.
She could sense that Vortigern had said something but she had no idea what. It struck her that she needed to keep her newfound knowledge from the warrior. If Vortigern learned that she knew he had murdered Caleb and destroyed the fiefdom, he would not bother with the pretense of cordiality. And, George knew, it was only a pretense of cordiality that would allow her to survive this encounter.
“Y Ddraig Goch,” she said carefully. She forced herself to smile for him. “That is the Welsh dragon, isn’t it? The red dragon?”
“The very same,” Vortigern smiled. “It’s a gift from my people to Caleb. He said you would be able to make better use of it here.”
“It’s a very generous gift,” George told him. “Thane Vortigern of Merioneth is clearly a man of immeasurable generosity.”
For a moment she thought his frown was skeptical. She wondered if she had overdone the praise for his generosity and if he knew that she suspected his treachery. Then the expression of suspicion had disappeared. He was smiling at her bared breasts again with lecherous approval.
“I’m not a man of immeasurable generosity,” he admitted. “In return for the gift of Y Ddraig Goch, your laird said I could expect two things.”
“Two things?” George raised an eyebrow. She still held Vortigern’s hand and noticed that it grew warm in hers. The sensation was pleasant. Disquietingly arousing. “What might those two things be?” she asked.
“Caleb said my men could retrieve gold to the weight of Y Ddraig Goch to fill my ship’s hold.”
George nodded.
There was no way the wyvern would allow Vortigern to plunder the vaults of the treasury and he clearly knew as much. But, if George granted him and his retinue permission to take gifts, the lowland warrior would be able to steal whatever he pleased. Knowing that she had to play this carefully if she wanted to survive the encounter, George asked, “What is the other thing that Caleb promised you?”
Vortigern stared poignantly at her bare breasts.
“He promised your hospitality.”
The words hung between them like a challenge.
“The pleasure of bestowing that gift will be all mine,” she told him.
Stepping closer to the thane, pressing her nearly naked body against him, she stood on toes to get her mouth close to his. The polished silver of his armor was cool against her bare body. Yet, when she shivered, she knew the response was coming from arousal rather than cold.
Being dragonmeister of Gatekeeper Island was a lonely existence. Aside from the annual visit from Caleb, there was no one with whom she could have a relationship. The apprentice hostlers were young boys—unable to satisfy the needs and demands of a woman’s body. The temple prostitutes made for interesting distractions, but the experiences they provided were more spiritual than physical. And there were times when George yearned for something that was purely physical.
Vortigern, male, powerful and domineering, offered the prospect of something that was physically satisfying.
His hand had returned to her breast. As they kissed she felt his tongue slide serpent-like into her mouth. She raised one leg, smoothing her thigh against his hip and urging herself close to him as she savored his arousal.
The thrust of his manliness jutted from the crotch of his pants.
“Thane Vortigern,” she murmured. Her voice had fallen to a husky whisper. “It feels like you’re ready to welcome my hospitality.”
“You’re comfortable with us fucking in a temple?”
She stroked the bulge of his excitement through his pants, enjoying the heat that radiated from him. He sounded doubtful about the prospect of sex in a temple but she supposed some of the lowland religions had strange attitudes about acceptable communion in plain view of the deities. She knew there were some churches that condemned sex as immoral, and others that deemed ecumenical orgies a necessity for proper worship.
Her personal belief was that sex was a gift from the gods. It didn’t matter where it took place so long as the experience was enjoyed by everyone involved.
“Follow me to the altar,” she insisted. She led him by the hand. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”
He unbuckled the harness that held his chest armor in place and then removed his hauberk. Beneath she saw his flesh was clean-shaven and glossy with manly perspiration. The sight made her inner muscles clench with greedy sexual hunger. When he removed his helmet and brushed a hand through his sweat-moistened curls, her need for him intensified.
He glanced up toward the golden architecture.
The walls were lined with stone dragons. The altar was guarded by two wyvern who stepped aside as George led Vortigern past them.
“I’ve never fucked in a temple before,” he grunted.
She pushed him onto the altar and then tugged the pants from his legs. Exposed, his length was as formidable as she had hoped it would be. He possessed a broadsword of an erection that was long and thick and looked like it would be a fearsome weapon for the battle she intended.
Unable to resist the impulse, George leaned close to him and drew her tongue against his exposed skin. He tasted of salt and desire. The smell of him filled her nostrils with animal hunger.
“Rhyfeddol,” he gasped.
She chuckled. She didn’t know the word but she could guess it was a term of approval. Placing her mouth around him she sucked on his swollen end for a moment until his eyes were wide and his grin was broad.
Then she climbed on top of him.
It was a slow journey. She made sure her bare breasts caressed his body as she moved. He had clearly been admiring them when she appeared from the catacombs. She suspected that he would enjoy having them stroke against his bare skin.
But she could see that he was also interested in her nether regions.
Tugging the crotch of her thong to one side she exposed the bare lips for him and moved closer to straddling his manliness.
“Prydferth,” he said, reaching out to touch her.
His fingers fell into the crease of her need-oily skin. One broad digit disappeared into her warmth. Another slipped beside it, stretching her wide. A fat thumb stroked against the nub of flesh that she considered the root of all sensation.
Her breath quickened.
She regarded Vortigern with new esteem. The explosion of sensation he inspired was more profound than anything she had enjoyed with any man previously.
She reached for the base of his length and clutched him tight. His fingers sparked bolts of delicious magic from the lips of her sex. She had expected their union would be perfunctory—a civic formality of dominance and acquiescence. But it seemed that Vortigern was one of those rare men who believed in the benefits of shared pleasure. Unable to resist the unspoken invitation of his lips, she pressed her mouth over his and kissed.
Slowly, they worked their bodies together.
She held his length and guided it toward the sopping need of her sex.
His fingers stretched her lightly, preparing her for his broad girth. And, when he finally entered her, they both sighed heavily with the satisfaction of bliss. Vortigern allowed her to sit adrift his length as he toyed with the swell of one breast. His finger and thumb squeezed and rolled at an acutely responsive nipple.
“Dragonmeister,” he sighed. “You should give up your position here. You should come and live with me in the lowlands. You could care for my estates. I could re-home your livestock in my catacombs. And we could play like this whenever it suited your desires.”
“Sex talk,” she laughed softly. She knew a man would say whatever he believed a woman wanted to hear whilst she was straddling him.
Vortigern shook his head.
He continued to tease her nipple with one hand. His other hand slipped to her rump. His fingers smoothed over her rear and slipped saucily close to the union of their bodies. She could feel the syrupy lips of her sex bristling to the light caress of his touch.
“It’s a serious invitation,�
� he promised.
She was pleased to hear that his breath was ragged with passion. Despite the import of his words, the pleasure she inspired was having an obvious effect. It was a testament to her skills in the womanly art of lovemaking that she was able to distract a thane from his purpose.
“Rescind your loyalty to Caleb,” he suggested. “Pledge fealty to Merioneth and I’ll install you as the fiefdom’s dragonmeister.”
George raised and lowered her hips. Sliding her sex along his length took her close to the impending eruption. She caught a breath and held it as the waves of excitement flooded through her flesh.
And she tried not to be tempted by the offer he presented.
The gift of second-sight was showing her the future he promised. If she did as Vortigern asked she would be installed in the scenic splendor of a lowland country estate. There would be catacombs for her to patrol and countless weyrs of wyvern, víbria and Y Ddraig Goch. She would spend her days with dragons and her nights with Vortigern. The sun’s pleasures would only be outshone by the intensity of the night’s passions.
All it would take was for her to renege on the loyalty she had once pledged to a man who had been her lover and was now dead.
A tear trailed down her cheek.
The ripple of pleasure flooded through her body. She bit back a scream, knowing the gods of the temple did not approve of such demonstrations of satisfaction. Vortigern’s length erupted inside her. The copious rush of his molten seed flooded her womb.
Another surge of raw delight rushed through her flesh. This time, uncaring as to whether or not the gods approved, George screamed.
Trembling, she peeled herself away from Vortigern. She gave his spent length a kiss of gratitude. He tasted of their mingled pleasures. It was a flavor she savored as she licked her lips. And she knew she had already made her decision in response to his invitation.
It was an easy decision to make.
“There is the temple doorway to the fiefdom treasures of Caleb the wolf slayer,” she said, pointing. “Take your retinue with you to collect your gold,” she added quickly. “Carry as much as you can. Break your men’s backs with the weight of the gold they carry because the wyvern will only allow safe passage the once.”
Vortigern nodded as he dressed. First he donned his pants. Then his boots. Then the hauberk and finally his armor.
“Your honesty is appreciated,” he admitted. “And my offer to you is an honest one. If you pledge fealty to Merioneth, you can reside as dragonmeister in my fiefdom. Your skills would be appreciated and well-rewarded.”
And I would be whoring my skills to the man who slew my lover and the laird who trusted me with the safekeeping of his dragons, she thought bitterly. Aloud, she asked, “May I consider the generosity of your offer whilst you’re retrieving your gold?”
His retinue approached. They held torches dripping with the burning-tar.
“Consider the offer and know I’ll stay true to my word.” He strode to the doorway she had indicated. It was barred by a pair of wyvern.
George gestured for the wyvern to stand down.
Obedient, the beasts relented from their stiff posture.
His retinue started toward the doorway but Vortigern stopped them. He fixed her with a warning finger. “I get the impression you’ve lied to me.”
She shook her head.
“We’ve lain together, Thane Vortigern of Merioneth. You’d know if I’d lied to you. I can place my hand on my heart and say I haven’t lied to you once.”
He considered this and then seemed appeased. Brushing her cheek with an apologetic kiss he motioned for his retinue to continue. A true leader, he snatched a torch of burning-tar and led the way.
George watched him hasten into the shadows.
A sad smile played on her lips. She hadn’t lied to him once. She had lied to him at least three times.
She had lied when she said the wyverns would only allow safe passage once. That had simply been a ruse to ensure that Vortigern and his entire retinue followed her instructions and went through the doorway.
She had lied when she said she would consider his offer. Her loyalty would always be to Caleb the wolf slayer, even though the laird was now dead and his fiefdom destroyed.
But, most importantly for Vortigern, she had lied by sending him to retrieve treasure through that particular doorway. There was no treasure in the easternmost catacombs where he was now headed. In the easternmost catacombs there was only the mortal danger of the orientals. It was a mortal danger that, she knew, neither Vortigern nor his retinue would survive.
FLESH AND STONE
Sacchi Green
A scarlet-crested helmet shadowed the face above me. I cast my eyes downward, willing my body to the stillness of any inanimate work of art.
“What price for this one?” The voice was low, husky—and female. Hope rippled across my skin. Even shackled in the slave market, I had heard of the woman champion. The capital hummed with tales of her that could not possibly be true.
The trader stumbled over his recitation of my virtues. “A…a rare pearl, Lady, from the house of the late epicure Mendelas. Young, beautiful, trained in all the arts of pleasure, skilled enough to satisfy any…any desires, adaptable to any taste.”
I dared a quick glance and saw her amusement. His desperate attempt to avoid saying “any man’s desires” had not been lost on her.
“Girl.”
I raised my eyes again, looking into hers deeply enough to sense some hint of her mood.
“Can you cook?”
“Only simply, Lady.”
“Can you mend cloth and leather?”
“I was taught as a child, Lady, before…” The slaver’s grip tightened. I hoped he would recall that bruises lowered my value. “Yes, Lady. I was raised in the horse tribes.”
“Then you know something of handling horses, as well.”
The trader sidled in front of me. “If your eminence wishes a mere maidservant, I have others less costly.”
“Than this ‘rare pearl’?” Impatience edged her voice. “What price for her?”
Rattled, he named a sum scarcely larger than he expected. She disdained to haggle. I let myself breathe again. This was a mistress I would follow anywhere, do anything, be anything, she desired. I did not read in her eyes the sort of interest he assumed, but in time…who could tell? The trader had not overstated my skills.
“Have you belongings?” A slave could not possess anything, but a craftsman’s tools might be assumed to be included in the bargain. My “tools” were bits of exotic clothing and jars of herbs and unguents and, tucked beneath them, a few more arcane objects rolled in a length of embroidered silk.
I hid my joy and followed my new mistress meekly. The woman champion! A princess, some said, from a mountain kingdom to the north. A sorceress who could turn men to stone. I neither believed nor cared. All that mattered was that she was strong and skilled and brave, nothing like those coarse women brought into the Emperor’s games as titillation for a jaded court.
She swung me up easily onto her horse and mounted behind me. I clutched my bag and concentrated on balancing, since my narrow skirt kept me from riding astride. I longed to lean against her bound breasts, to tune myself by touch to the resonance of her thoughts and desires, but tried instead to show that I had not lied about my ability to sit a horse.
“Have you a name, girl?” The cool voice made me tremble.
“My master called me Gazelle.”
“What did your mother call you?”
“Shebbah, Mistress.” Mistress. The word was full and sweet in my mouth.
“Well, Shebbah, I will be in disgrace when we get home. You are not quite what I had in mind, but no doubt something can be arranged.”
I did lean against her then, searching through her body toward her emotions. Did she not intend to keep me? Why then purchase me? But her mind was bound as tightly as her breasts.
She swung me down before a modest house.
An aging man-at-arms limped out to take the horse; he frowned, but the lady forestalled him. “I know, Rafen. Hecanthe will give me a tongue-flogging. The sooner you stable the horse, the less of it you’ll miss.”
The room seemed dim after bright daylight. A lamp beside a low couch lit the sharp features of the woman lying there. Another presence loomed in the shadows, and I would have turned that way if her snapping black eyes had not gripped me.
“What’s this?” She knew already exactly what I was. “You go for a strong wench to cook and clean, and come back with this…this little yellow-haired ‘bird of paradise’?”
It was clear enough who ruled this household. I knelt and looked full into her keen old eyes, hiding nothing of myself. “I am stronger than I look, Grandmother, and my skills are not only those of the harem.”
“Indeed.” She too could reach out with her mind, and recognized what she found. “You might do, after all.” Then, more loudly and a bit harshly, “Did you think to distract the Emperor, Domande, with this little sweetmeat?”
“If only it were that easy.” My lady’s voice was weary. “The Emperor desires my humiliation, not my flesh. Even his taste is more refined than that!” The note of buried pain spoke more than she herself knew. “Offering a more appealing bedmate would be pointless. He has ordered me to attend him tomorrow night. I will slay him if I go. Therefore, I must leave.”
She had shed the cloak and the helmet with its champion’s crest. Her tunic and clinging hose displayed the grace of a lioness; when she stretched and ran fingers through her short hair, I could not believe that anyone, of any sex, would fail to take pleasure in the touch of that smooth, taut body.
Bronze curls clung damply above amber-green eyes. Her finely sculpted face could have topped the statue of a young god or, softened by flowing hair, a seductive goddess.
“What then?” Hecanthe asked sharply. “A gift to placate that one, since you imagine you have wronged him?” Her eyes flicked toward the shadows. “If ever he returns to matters of the flesh!”
Thrones of Desire Page 11
