The Dragon Prince (26 page)

Eastra tried to talk to Nevyn, but the other
woman kept her distance, her pale eyes giving away nothing.
Finally, Eastra gave up wondering what Morguese was up to. It was
clear if she wished for the Rheged queen’s help, she would have to
be patient.

Eastra often saw Bridei around the fortress.
He appeared to be enjoying himself, playing draughts with the other
warriors during the day, strumming on his harp and drinking with
them in the evenings. He even went out on a hunting expedition with
Urien’s men and returned flushed and jubilant over the great stag
they’d killed.

On the fourth night they were there, she
caught Bridei on his way to the privy and asked him if he had
thought of a plan for their escape. He shrugged and said he hadn’t
come up with anything yet, but he was still thinking on it.

Eastra returned to the hall, seething with
frustration. It seemed they would remain Urien’s prisoners until
the end of the sun season. She worried about what was happening in
the world outside the dense forests of Rheged, whether the truce
had held or if Cerdic and Arthur had resumed fighting. She wondered
if anyone guessed they were being held prisoner. Or if anyone
cared.

That night she was called upon to serve
while the warriors feasted on fresh venison. She did her duty, but
her mind was elsewhere. Only when she saw Morguese near the
entrance of the hall, motioning to her, did she snap to alertness.
When she reached Morguese, the queen made a movement to indicate
Eastra should follow her and be quick about it.

They went out, leaving the noisy, drunken
atmosphere of the hall. A bright full moon lit the yard of the
fortress. Morguese led her into a shadowed place behind a building
and said “Would you like to see your lover? If you are quick and
quiet, there is time for you to be alone before any of the men
notice.”

This time Eastra did not protest that Rhun
was not her lover, but nodded rapidly.

“Come,” Morguese said.

Eastra had not known where Rhun was being
held. She was startled when Morguese led her to the outer edge of
the fortress and indicated a passageway leading into the ground.
“He’s down there. I’ll stay outside and keep watch.”

As Eastra studied the narrow opening.
Morguese said, “This is not the time for escape. Although you could
free him from his prison, you’ll never get him out the gate. Urien
is no fool. When the mead flows freely, he makes certain only his
most trusted men stand guard. Enjoy your time together, and know
when the moon is dark again, your lover will have a chance to seek
his freedom.”

With these words, Morguese gave Eastra a
gentle shove toward the opening. Struggling against the dread that
choked her throat, Eastra eased herself into the passageway, where
there were stairs leading downward. She followed them to the bottom
where there was a door. Leaning near, she called softly, “Rhun.
Rhun, are you there?”

“Eastra?” His voice whispered out of the
darkness and curled around her body, igniting a fierce ache of
longing.

“Aye,” she answered. She fumbled with the
leather latch on the door, her fingers nerveless and clumsy.

And then she was inside. She wished she had
brought a torch. There was a kind of air hole above the chamber
that let in a sliver of moonlight, but she could barely see him.
“Oh, Rhun.” She reached out for him, seeking his familiar warmth,
his smell. His body felt big and solid and wonderfully comforting.
They clutched each other like drowning souls dragged from the
violent surf.

“Eastra, Eastra, you smell wonderful. Like
sunshine and flowers. Like my dreams.” Gently, he removed her arms
from around his neck and took a step back. “How did you get here?
Is there anyone standing guard outside?”

“I’m afraid so. Bridei bribed one of the men
to let me see you, but there’s no chance of escape.” Somehow she
knew she dare not tell him that Morguese was the one standing
guard. If he knew there was only an unarmed woman between himself
and freedom, she feared he would make a dash for the gate.

“Damn!” He released his breath in a sigh.
Eastra felt a stab of guilt. What if Morguese was wrong? What if
there was a chance they could get away? After all, most of the men
were in the hall, drunk on mead and sluggish from gorging
themselves on venison.

“I have to get out of here,” Rhun muttered.
“I have to go to Arthur and warn him.”

A twinge of irritation rose up inside her.
All he could think about was escaping. What about
her?
Was
he not pleased to see her? “I’m trying to find a way out of here,”
she said. “But it is difficult. The fortress is well guarded.”

“Of course it is. Oh, Eastra, my dear sweet
Eastra.” His mood had shifted again. He held her close and nuzzled
her hair. Breathlessly, she realized she must find a way to keep
his attention. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He met the kiss with hungry eagerness. As
she felt his arms tighten around her, she let herself go limp. Her
breasts were pressed against his chest, her belly against his
groin. She opened her mouth, yielding to him, letting him know she
was his to do with as he wished. His tongue was in her mouth,
tentative at first; then, when she accepted him, caressing and
exploring. His hands moved down to cup her buttocks. He held her
tighter and she felt his shaft, hard and demanding, straining
against his trousers. She squirmed, partly on fire from his kisses,
partly in a calculated attempt to arouse him further.

He gave another groan and pulled away. She
waited, panting. There was a battle raging inside him. Which would
win? Duty? Or desire?

“Oh, Eastra, I should not, but I cannot help
myself.” His voice was ravaged.

“Rhun, please. I want this. I want
you.”

He made a harsh, almost animal-like sound,
then once more crushed her against him. Dragging up her skirts, he
found bare skin. Stroking, kneading. She clutched him tightly,
barely able to stand. Then he found the aching apex of her thighs,
and she let his callused exquisitely-tender fingers support her
weight. Tremors of fierce pleasure raked her body. She moaned. Ah,
to have him touch her like this... sublime... perfect.

But there was more. To be joined. To feel
his shaft stroke her womb as his fingers were stroking the swollen,
wet opening between her thighs. He was kissing her neck now,
driving her wild. “Please, Rhun,” she murmured.

He released her, and she thought she would
go mad with impatience. But then she saw he was arranging a blanket
on the straw, directly beneath the hole in the ceiling that let in
the small sliver of moonlight. Boldly, she pulled her gunna over
her head and slipped off her sandals. She wanted to be naked with
him.

She lay down on the blanket. “By the Light,”
he whispered. “You are so beautiful.”

She reached up to him, urging him near. Some
sort of madness had entered her. All she could think of was being
joined with him, flesh to flesh, with nothing in between. She heard
him removing his own clothing. Then he was kneeling over her,
kissing her neck, her breasts. She arched her back, offering
herself. She wanted everything, every pleasure he could give
her.

The roughness of his unshaven jaw rasped
against her skin, contrasting with the smooth warmth of his lips
and the fluttering softness of his long hair. Her nipples tightened
and throbbed, and the deep inner center of her pulsed with urgency.
Then his hands moved down her hips. He grasped her thighs and she
felt him opening her, spreading her. The air was cool against her
heated flesh. His mouth touched her, warm and wet, glorious
pressure against her helpless need. His lips and tongue and teeth
played upon her, striking sparks inside her. Fierce desire whirled
and caught flame, raging in violent splendor.

Colors and light. She was caught in a wild
spiral. And then, gasping, she floated back to earth.

He was leaning over her, his face near hers.
She could smell the musky scent of herself mingling with his
maleness. “I’ve wanted to love you like that since I first saw you
in Cerdic’s household.” he whispered. “A woman. A radiant bloom
that has fulfilled every promise of that lovely child I
rescued.”

“I want more,” she whispered breathlessly.
“I want you inside me.” She reached out, feeling for the raw proof
of his desire. Her fingers closed around the warm, rigid flesh of
his phallus. So big. It amazed her to think of such an impressive,
substantial thing inside her. Yet it had fit before, and now she
was even more ready.

She wondered if he breathed, he held himself
so still as she caressed him. At first she felt clumsy, uncertain
how she supposed to touch him. Then gradually she let her fingers
do whatever they wanted. Explore. Squeeze. Fondle the amazingly
soft, tender tip. He gasped. Her hand glided along the long, stiff
length to reach the coarse hair, the heavy, rounded shapes beneath.
His ballocks. Full of his seed. Seed he would put inside her, deep
into her womb.

Suddenly, she could wait no longer.
“Please,” she whispered, knowing he would understand, knowing he
waited only for a sign from her.

She helped guide him to her opening. He
thrust in. Deep. More than she expected... she was not prepared.
She fought for control, to catch her breath. Harsh, solid flesh
stretching her, impaling her. He shifted position, stroking slowly,
as if he meant to get her used to him. Her body relaxed and
yielded. And then she was caught up in the maelstrom, the raging
storm inside her, the strong, even tempo of his thrusts.

She felt her womb contract like a frenzied
beast. She arched her hips. Spread her legs wider, offering him
access. Offering him everything.

His body jerked. He groaned. And it was
over.

She wanted to weep. She did not know why. A
gasping sob escaped her.

“Eastra, my love.” His arms were around her.
Tender. Protective. He kissed her cheek, reassuring her. “My
sweetness. My darling.” She fought back tears, wondering what was
wrong with her. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He sounded anxious,
upset. She shook her head. What he had done to her body was one
thing. What he had done to her soul was another.

“Oh, love. You are so innocent. I should not
have let you push me so close to the edge. For a moment there, I
lost control. I should have been more careful.”

“It was what I wished,” she choked out. “It
was exactly what I wanted.” That was true. She had wanted him to
lose control. To spill his seed inside her, a great gush of life.
Or maybe the Goddess had driven her to do this thing.

A strange feeling afflicted her as she slid
from his arms and sat up. Was Morguese still waiting at the
entrance of the prison, a few feet above their heads, bathed in the
soft light of the moon? Did she know what they had done? Had she
even planned it?

Eastra turned to look at her lover, sprawled
naked on the blanket. The spot of moonlight illuminated the coarse
gold hair on his chest, but she could not see his face. She leaned
over him, finding his mouth and kissing him. “I love you, Rhun ap
Maelgwn.”

He exhaled a sigh. “And I love you... but
that does not mean...”

“Hush.” She pressed her hand to his mouth.
“Don’t say it. I can’t bear to hear those words.”

He sighed again. She lay her head down on
his chest. Tears squeezed from under her closed eyelids. She waited
a moment, then sat up again. “I must get back,” she said. “I might
be missed.”

“Of course.” His voice was toneless, sad. As
she dressed, she wondered what she had done to both of them.

She went out the door of the chamber and
closed it behind her. It latched with a dull thud. She heard him
try it from the inside and knew it was locked. Climbing the stairs,
she pushed through the entrance at the top and climbed out into the
moonlit night. Morguese was nowhere to be seen.

He was going mad, Rhun thought as he lay
back on the blanket-covered straw. It was as if some other man had
invaded his body and controlled his actions. A man like Bridei, who
gave no thought to duty and responsibility but only to the pleasure
he could seize in the moment. Why else had he just done what he’d
done—wasted his only opportunity to escape making love to Eastra?
Even now, he felt drugged, his senses so suffused with the bliss of
their coupling that he could not think clearly.

Sweet heaven, it had been good! Better than
he’d imagined sex could be. The woman he desired most in the world,
willing and eager, hungry for everything he could offer. She had
bewitched him, disordered his senses. He’d heard of the technique
of kissing a woman’s most intimate parts, but never tried it. Yet
at the time, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world.
He’d known she would taste sweet and delectable. Known she would
reach her peak. And once she’d peaked, she’d be able to take all of
him. He would not have to hold back, to worry about hurting
her.

But the other—her touching him—that had been
a revelation. He recalled her delicate fingers teasing and
caressing, displaying a boldness he had not dreamed she possessed.
What had happened to the demure maid in Cerdic’s longhouse, her
eyes downcast, her manner so discreet and shy? With her rare
coloring, Eastra had always seemed untouchable, pure and chaste.
But she had shown herself to be almost lusty in her appetites. Not
the child he had rescued all those years ago, but a woman in her
prime, rich and earthy, and remarkably satisfying.

Rhun got to his feet, his mind reeling.
Every day, his life grew more complicated, his feelings more
tangled and difficult to sort out. The thought of leaving Eastra,
even for a short while, aroused a gnawing ache inside him. Yet he
knew he had no choice. Duty called to him. His oath to Arthur
allowed no room for love, no matter how transcendent his feelings.
And love with a Saxon princess was even more forbidden and
hopeless.