Elves and Escapades (Scholars and Sorcery Book 2) (9 page)

I stay very still. Even my breathing seemed to become slow and slight, as if it too is waiting, terrified of being noticed too much and scaring away whatever is about to happen. My heart is beating too hard, sending echoing pulses through my throat and wrists and somewhere else, deeper inside.

Eventually Rosalind speaks again, so softly and indistinctly I have to strain to catch the words. And I know it is so terribly important I don't misunderstand a word.

"I didn’t care for Mavis the way I care for you. Truly not. But—sometimes I think she was right about me. I did feel differently to the other girls. And—I do care for you, Charley. So much.”

“I care for you, too, Rosalind. You know that.” My mouth is dry and it is an effort to force the words out.

“I don’t know if you care the way I do. I care too much, Charley. Far too much. And I am so afraid you will hate me for it. But sometimes I think you’re feeling the same, and I need to know. I can’t bear going on wondering, otherwise.”

Her lips against mine shouldn’t take me by surprise, not really. Not after what she has said. It’s just that you don’t really expect your secret dreams to come unexpectedly real. Only in my dreams it was always was always me losing my senses and kissing her, not Rosalind pressing her cool mouth passionately against mine in the dark.

Any control I have scatters to the wind. I try to snatch back the pieces, to remember that I might have it all wrong, that this might just be sisterly affection still, but I’m kissing her back in a way that is not sisterly at all, my hands caressing her and pulling her closer. Too much, I’m risking too much. But Rosalind’s mouth against mine is fierce and wanting and when my lips part under hers I feel her tongue warm and soft against mine, something I’ve never imagined even in my most secret dreams. Past her lips her mouth is not cool at all, but hot and demanding. So demanding, my gentle little Rosalind, pushing her tongue into my mouth and pulling at my lips with hers.

I should stop. But somehow the curve and press of flesh under linen, through my pyjamas is a natural part of me, as if all the hopeless wanting I have felt is gathering into fire, like a flame pegasus’ wings spreading. As if all the hidden love and longing I have carefully covered over with friendship is exposed and burning, taking feverish form in my body. Rosalind makes a small desperate sound against my mouth, a sound I recognise from the night I touched myself, and the flames consume me as I pull her fully on top of me. Her thigh presses between my legs, and my entire body jerks with wanting more contact.

My heart, at the same time, seems to let go of all the aloneness I have felt for so long, in a rush of happiness. It feels like, somehow, like in the heat of the kiss my heart has melted and combined with Rosalind’s, and is whole at last.

Her mouth breaks away. I can still feel the painful heaving of her breasts, her breath audibly catching so sharply that fear catches at me as well. She is going to panic at the thought of what we are doing and leave, I know it. I hold her more tightly to me so that she can’t escape, my arms hard against her slender back in a plea for her to stay.

“Charley. Oh, Charley. I’m so sorry. But you promised not to hate me.” She sounds so afraid, as if I haven’t been clutching her close and kissing her as if my life depended on it. “Even if I’m… all queer and wrong.”

“Nothing about you could possibly be queer and wrong.” It’s the simple truth. All my worrying and guilt, all my feeling that I was wrong and twisted, has melted away in a single kiss. It’s so sweet, and so perfect, and so overwhelming, and there’s nothing of sin or wrongness about it, just my precious dear Rosalind who is good and loving and, by some miracle, in my arms and wanting me. It can’t be wrong, if she was the one who came to me.

“Do you mind, then, if I kiss you again? Charley. . . Oh, Charley, I want to kiss you so much.” She sounds fearful and fierce all at once.

“Kiss me, then,” I say, unsteadily.

Her mouth comes against mine again, and I let any tiny fragments of resistance I have break, giving myself up to whatever happens here in the darkness, to kissing and touching and all the things we seem instinctively to know.

I wake just once during the night. At first, I don’t remember what has happened and can’t understand why I can feel breathing so close to me, nearly in my ear. Then my memories come back to me along with a sense of the weight and warmth on the bed behind me, the unaccustomed feelings in my body, and the hand splayed against the curve of my hip. There’s something very possessive about that hand. But then, there was something very possessive about Rosalind, last night. She had made it clear that I belong to her, entirely. I shiver happily at the memory.

I have been sure, for a long time, that in her way Rosalind was truly the bravest of the two of us. She was the one who chose to keep Sunflame, who faced Diana with forgiveness and grace and kept my friendship in the face of hostility. Even so, I have not realised before just how brave Rosalind truly is. To come to me like that, to kiss me… There is so much courage in her small frame, so much knowledge of who she is and what she wants, despite having been betrayed before. Maybe it’s because so much of her is elven, that she sees the world more straightforwardly than the more human among us. I don’t know if I would ever have been brave enough to do and say what she did.
 

If she truly does feel like I do, she could have been hurt very badly… but perhaps she instinctively knew I couldn’t hurt her. I never will, I swear to myself. I’ll keep her safe and happy.

I cover her hand with my own, very gently. “I love you, Rosalind.
My
Rosalind,” I whisper. I suppose I’m quite possessive myself, when it comes down to it. “Sweet dreams, darling mine.”

She makes a small sound and moves closer, so that I can feel her just slightly touching me down the length of her body. I don’t think she wakes.

I drift off to sleep in a haze of happiness.

When I wake again, grey light is filtering in through the curtains. I lie quietly, listening to Rosalind’s breathing. She’s turned over in the night, her back turned to me; I inch closer, putting an arm across her warm form, carefully cuddling her.

It seems incredible that I have the right to hold her like this. I let my hand glide up, gently cupping her breast through her nightgown, moving timidly as if I’m still afraid of disaster if I dare too much. The garment is still unbuttoned and I slip my hand inside, tentatively touching velvet skin.

 
I try to make myself understand that last night I really did unbutton her gown myself, that it’s not just another dream. All of it really happened, all of it. She’s mine, as I dreamed and never hoped she would be, and I’m hers, as I have been for the longest time, only now she knows it beyond doubt. Her unbuttoned nightdress, my way my own pyjama top is open so that my bare skin can feel the gown she’s wearing, is somehow a far more tangible proof than the strange little pulsations and aches left in my own body. It’s all real, and it happened.

I’m not quite sure what to do with the knowledge. Everything is changed; it remains to see what it has changed to, and what we will do with this strange, bright new reality. I’m so happy that it is almost like pain.

I do know I can’t possibly let her part from me now, not ever. I can’t ever let her go away, marry anyone else, even my own brother, let anyone else ever hold her like this. She belongs to me, as I do to her. It’s as simple as that. I won’t let her go.

At the same time I can feel fear deep in my heart. If anyone knows… I don’t care, for once, about myself, I realise. I care about this girl, the daughter of aristocrats, with her pointed ears and her magical Gifts, with a presumably glittering future that will all fall apart if anyone knows that her tomboy best friend has kissed and touched her as a lover in the night in a crowded, ramshackle house. There’s triumphant joy inside me at having her in my arms, but in the merciless dawn light it is almost matched by the terror of what my love has done to her. Perhaps it would have been better, kinder, more loving, to leave her friendship to Diana, and not to throw her life into chaos like this.
 

No. My stomach tightens in rebellion against the thought. Rosalind is mine, for better or for worse.

As if she feels my fear, Rosalind stirs restlessly. One hand comes up, to find mine still gently touching her. I freeze in panic and my hand slips from her as she turns to face me, her eyes seeking out my face, her pupils dilated.
 

“Charley.” Her voice is wondering, not quite a question. Her hand is still pressed against her chest, feeling the bare skin there. Her gaze drops to where my top is open over my own rather more substantial bosom, and even in this faint light I can see her translucent skin flash into the red heat of realisation. “Oh, Charley!”

I reach for her, to pull her close and reassure her. Before I can grasp her, there is a movement somewhere down the hall, a door closing, and she tears away, sitting up in panic. “Oh. I shouldn’t be here!”

She slips from the bed before I can collect my wits and prevent her.
 

Perhaps she’s right, after all, no matter how bereft I feel. I need to protect her from the consequences of my love for her, and even though wandering in and out of another girl’s bedroom is perfectly natural and none of my family would question it, after last night it seems oddly dangerous.

Rosalind fastens her nightgown with quick fingers. I find myself blushing as well, recalling where those fingers have touched me, and how I reacted. When she’s decent again, she turns wordlessly and starts for the door. I’m about to protest when she falters to a stop, then darts back to the bed, bending over me.

“You mean more to me than anything or anyone in the world, Charley,” she says, and kisses me, as fleetingly and delicately as the brush of a fairy’s wings against my lips. Then she’s gone, before I can even return her kiss or tell her I love her too.

It will wait. I snuggle down into bed and into delicious memories. There will be plenty of time, later. I’m sure of it. I don’t care how difficult things are for us, I’ll find a way to tell her, over and over, how much I love her. And we’ll find more than enough time for kisses.

As I dress, all I want is a few moments to have Rosalind to myself. A chance to steal a kiss, perhaps, to make sure that what I think has changed truly has.
 

Somehow, it doesn’t happen. After breakfast is a flurry of packing, with Mother helping and Bobby playing on the floor and the doors opened and the boys and little girls wandering in and out for a last chat with Rosalind. In desperation I tell them I need to take Rosalind to the stables to say goodbye to Ember and to Fleet, the pegasus she has been riding. Bobby invites himself along and holds her hand all the way, chattering about his new dragon jigsaw puzzle.

Rosalind seems to be avoiding talking too directly to me. I can’t blame her, when every time our gazes cross for a moment I turn hot and red.

Before I know it the morning has changed and we’re out on the drive, waiting for the car her father has sent. My family, including some of the grooms and stable boys, have turned out en masse. Rosalind seems quite overwhelmed with the amount of well-wishers; I am sure she is not used to being so readily liked and welcomed. For once, I am almost annoyed with my family’s open hearts.