The Dragon Prince (21 page)

“I got lost,” she mumbled.

A deep sense of relief went through him. She
had not been abducted, nor had she betrayed him. The anguished
doubts left him and he began to relax. He continued to hold her,
feeling her body warm. Then, gradually, he was aware of her in a
different way. Of how lithe and soft her body felt in his arms. Of
her smell, like a mist surrounding him, warm and sensual and
female. His shaft grew hard, and he had to shift her weight so he
was not so uncomfortable.

He looked at her and saw the color coming
back into her face. Her eyes appeared dark and wild, her lips rosy,
plump, and tempting. It was so strange, he thought. One moment he
was fall of concern and worry for her. The next, he was on fire
with lust. He knew he should release her. He should examine her
ankle to see how bad the injury was. But he did neither of those
things. Instead, he bent his head and kissed her.

She tasted of rain and forest, but beneath
those things he discovered the even sweeter nectar of her mouth.
She made a small noise, a sigh of contentment. He tightened his
arms around her and deepened the kiss. She opened her mouth,
inviting him to explore, and suddenly he was falling, falling, down
into a world ancient and full of mystery.

Warm skin, the throb of the heartbeat in her
throat. The feel of her breast, so soft and perfect in his hand.
The tender peak tightening beneath his fingers. Her breathing, fast
and rhythmic as he shifted her off of him. He spread the oilskin
cape on the ground, then helped her lie down on it. Shoving aside
the damp fabric of her gown, he nibbled and mouthed his way down
her neck to one swollen nipple. He suckled her, feeling her body
stiffen and his own answering response. Cupping her other breast in
greedy fingers, he laved and licked the silken skin until she
arched her back and moaned.

And then, mindless, he was pushing her
skirts up, finding the linen loincloth and tearing it away as if it
were a frail husk guarding some ripe succulent fruit. A glimpse of
creamy thighs and the delicate, dark gold thatch between them. He
touched the soft, hidden folds and her body quivered as if he were
a harpist striking a stirring chord. He could feel the echo of the
note throbbing inside him, and there was nothing he could do but
answer it with his own harsh, male melody.

He kissed her long and hard, his fingers on
her, readying her, easing her. With each kiss, she yielded more to
him, both her openings wet and slippery and hungry. Her slim form
trembled with need. He fumbled with his clothing, too urgent and
desperate to do more than free his shaft. For a second he stared at
her, memorizing the vision of milky, feminine beauty, the exquisite
perfection of her face. Then, taking a deep breath and closing his
eyes, he pressed himself against her wetness.

Eastra felt him against her, big and hot and
alive, and she urged him nearer, on fire with her own raging,
violent need. With splayed thighs and upthrust hips, she welcomed
him. Then came sharp stabbing pain and her eagerness faded. She
felt him go still, aware of her discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But the worst is
over. Will you let me... finish?” His voice was choked, harsh, and
she was aware only the slimmest thread of control held him
back.

She nodded. “Finish, then next time it will
be better.”

A storm unleashed, or the waves of the sea,
pounding her. Her insides seemed split, stretched, shattered. But
beneath the dull ache, another sensation. A hint of pleasure, of
swelling need and a reawakening of that sharp, urgent craving. She
moved her hips, searching for the something that eluded her.

Then, suddenly, he gave a great cry and went
still, his weight upon her. The waves of pain and pleasure receded
and she felt sore and squashed and uncomfortable. Rhun shifted to
lie beside her, and suddenly she was cold. She sat up and adjusted
her clothing to cover herself. He pulled her down next to him, then
raised up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss her. “Eastra,” he
murmured.

His eyes were dazed, unfocused, his whole
face so soft and relaxed that he reminded her of a little boy. He
smiled at her, a wondering, wide-eyed smile. “What you do to me...
I vow I feel as if I have fallen through one of the fairy mounds
and awakened in another world. But...” He glanced around them and
said ruefully, “I am still in this world after all.” After a
moment, he asked “Are you all right? I mean, did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“And what about your ankle? I swear, I
didn’t even think of it. Does it pain you greatly?”

Eastra hesitated, then said, “It still
throbs, I guess, although I forgot it while we were...” Abruptly,
she was embarrassed. She could hardly believe they’d done what
they’d done. It was what she’d wanted, but... there was so much
unfinished between them. What did he truly feel for her, besides
desire? Did he love her, or was what they shared merely lust? It
had not felt like that. It had been awe inspiring and magical for
her. What about for him?

“By the Light!” He sat up, shaking his head.
She could see he was also discomfited. “I never meant to...” He
looked around them. “Anyone could have come upon us. I can’t
believe I was so foolish, so inconsiderate...” He looked at her,
and there was a kind of despair in his eyes.

As she moved to sit beside him, warm liquid
dripped down her thighs. His seed. They might well have made a
babe. The thought shocked her, but even so, she knew she must put
aside her own unease and reassure him. After all, she was the one
who had enticed him, deliberately schemed to get him alone, to
arouse his sympathy and concern and, ultimately, his passion.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It was... wonderful.” She could feel
herself blushing.

“But to take you like this... in this
place...” He looked around again, as if disbelieving what he had
done, deflowering a woman under an oak tree in the middle of a
rainstorm.

But it was not raining now. Indeed, from
what she could see of the sky through the tree branches, it was
clearing rapidly. “It’s all right,” she told him. “The truth is, I
wanted it as much as you did. And this is not such a bad place. The
Saxons believe trees, especially great oaks like this one, are full
of power. Perhaps we were both touched by some sort of magic, the
hand of the gods.”

She could see that didn’t reassure him. He
frowned. A twinge of warning sounded through her. What if he
regretted what they had done so much he never wanted to do it
again? What if she had tricked him into something that would cause
him grief, the memory of it make him miserable?

“You liked it, didn’t you?” she asked
anxiously. “You were not disappointed, were you?”

He took a deep breath and stared at her, his
blue-gray eyes deep and intent. “It was miraculous. Astounding.
Have no doubt of that.”

She held her breath waiting.

He shook his head. “Where do we go from
here? By rights, I should wed you, but that cannot happen because
of who you are. Don’t you see? We’re trapped. Things are hopeless
between us, and yet now we know how extraordinary it might have
been.” He touched her face gently, and his eyes were sorrowful.

She wanted to shout at him, to demand to
know why it was so hopeless, exactly
why
they could not wed.
But that seemed too forward, too presumptuous. Maybe he really did
not want to wed her. As much as he desired her, he might still want
his heirs to be British, not half-Saxon mongrels. Taking pleasure
in lying with a woman was much different than wanting to make her
his wife. She thought of her uncle and the several concubines he’d
kept since she came back to his household. He would never marry any
of them. They were not of high enough status to make appropriate
consorts for a powerful chieftain. Rhun might well feel the same
about her. She had contrived to obtain her heart’s desire, and now
she found it was not enough.

Rhun’s heart twisted in his chest. She
looked so sad, so forlorn. How could he have done this, become so
caught up in his body’s needs that he completely lost his head? But
it had not felt crude and carnal. It had been sublime, even
spiritual, as if their souls had been joined as well as their
bodies.

He took a deep breath. There was no going
back, no unmaking this thing. He must figure out what to do next.
For one thing, he must get her back so she could change into some
dry garments. He motioned. “Let me look at your ankle.”

She nodded and pulled up her skirts so her
legs were exposed. Ridiculously, he felt awkward. He had just made
love to this woman, but somehow there was still something terribly
intimate about examining her bare ankle. He touched the cool,
smooth skin gingerly. “It doesn’t seem swollen. Can you put weight
on it?”

She looked at him, distress evident in her
pale, expressive eyes. “Nay, I don’t think so.”

He repressed a sigh, dreading the continued
closeness her injury forced upon them.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to
cause you trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.” He managed a smile. “I’ll
carry you.” He put on the oilskin cape, then picked her up.

She adjusted herself so her arms were around
his neck, her head against his shoulder. “I hope I’m not too
heavy,” she breathed.

“Of course not. I’ve carried roe deer that
were a good three stones heavier than you.”

She was light enough, her body fine-boned
and delicate, but with such delicious soft contours. He thought of
the liquid weight of her breast in his hand, the plush curve of her
buttocks. She felt precious and delightful in his arms, as if there
was something so
right,
so perfect in the way their bodies
fit together.

A wave of anguish swept over him as he
strode forward. He wanted to forget all about Bridei and the
others, forget about Arthur and the war with the Saxons, carry her
away and never go back. He remembered another moment like this,
over ten years ago. He’d felt much the same then, wanting to stay
with the wide-eyed Saxon child he’d rescued, to protect her and see
her to safety. Now the urge was even fiercer and more compelling.
This was a woman he held in his arms, a woman he’d just loved with
the fullness and depth of his being. She affected him, drew him in
ways no child could.

But his dilemma had not changed. Duty called
to him, his responsibilities as one of Arthur’s captains, his oath
to his liege lord and to their cause. How could he forsake that
oath? It was a part of him. How could he defy everything that he
was—a warrior, a soldier? Turn his back on his whole existence? And
yet in the deep, secret part of himself, he wanted to do exactly
that. To be a different man, a man like Bridei, who thought of
nothing but his own needs and longings.

The thought of his brother decided him, and
he paused, getting his bearings. The way Bridei lived his life was
sad and futile. It would lead to self-loathing and contempt and
ultimately to despair. Rhun put one foot in front of the other,
walking steadily. And with every step, the pain in his heart grew
sharper and more unbearable.

* * *

She’d been wrong, Eastra thought. She closed
her eyes, not wanting to see the grim, determined look on his face,
not wanting to accept that their idyll was over and nothing had
changed. Nothing. She’d believed once he’d made love to her, Rhun
would finally see they were meant to be together. But, obviously,
that hadn’t happened. He intended to continue on their journey, to
take her to his father’s fortress and fulfill his duty to Arthur.
He’d spoken no words of love, and his refusal to marry her was a
clear enough indication of his feelings. She’d gambled and
lost.

A lump swelled in her throat, but she fought
it back. She wouldn’t cry and let him see her humiliation. No one
else must know of it either. She would tell Bridei that by the time
Rhun found her, they were both too wet and cold to worry about
anything except getting back. She hoped he believed her; Rhun’s
brother was too clever by half.

She felt a sudden hitch in Rhun’s stride.
Then he came to a halt. She opened her eyes and glanced at his
face, hoping for one brief second he had changed his mind and
wanted to be alone with her a little longer. His expression dashed
all her hopes and aroused her dread. She jerked her head around to
see what had caused him to appear so stricken. Through the trees,
she saw a group of armed warriors, Britons by the looks of them.
She heard Rhun suck in his breath, then slowly, carefully, turn
around and begin to walk back the way he had come. “Don’t make a
sound,” he whispered.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on
end as she realized what had happened. Bridei and the other men had
been captured. If they did not get away quickly, they would also
fall into the hands of the enemy soldiers.

There was a hissing sound near her ear. Then
an arrow struck a tree ahead of them, lodging in the bark,
quivering menacingly. Rhun went instantly still. She felt his body
tense. They’d been spotted.

Rhun turned around slowly. A heavily
bearded, dark-haired man stood on the ridge above them. “That’s a
wise fellow,” the warrior said derisively. “It would be all too
easy for that arrow to have struck a little further to the
left.”

“Take me.” Rhun spoke in a clear, strong
voice. “And let the others go. I’m the one you want.”

“Are you?” The man cocked his head. “We’ll
have to ask Urien about that.”

“Urien? Doesn’t the king of Rheged have
anything better to do than molest travelers passing through his
lands?”

“Apparently not.” The man spoke in dry,
ironic tones. Then he motioned with his head to indicate Rhun
should approach.

“If you see an opening, make a run for it,”
Rhun whispered as he started toward their captor. Then, with a hiss
of exasperation, he added “Damn, I forgot about your ankle. Well,
forget that notion. We’ll have to throw them off the trail some
other way. Keep to the story that you’re my concubine, a Saxon
slave I purchased in Londinium. They may know who you are anyway,
but it’s worth a try.”