It was close to midnight when he made his entrance. His face, harsh in the light of the torch he held, softened upon seeing her as he drew the flap closed behind him. “I am sorry, sweetheart,” he said, and she melted.
He had not ensconced the torchlight when she was hugging him fiercely, seeking his lips. A startled sound escaped him, then he met her demanding mouth with equal fervor. “I like this greeting,” he said huskily sometime later.
Tears came to her eyes. “Take me now,” she said harshly. And she caught his face in her hands and kissed him, forcing his mouth open, plunging her tongue aggressively within.
He took her quickly, roughly, right there on the pallet, and although Ceidre found physical release, she was not sated. Her fear and anxiety were choking her. She draped herself over him and around him, and could not burrow close enough. He caressed her lazily, then laughed. “I see you missed me,” he teased.
She did not look at him, she felt like crying again. “I always miss you when we are apart, my lord,” she said breathlessly.
He was silent, but she felt his heart beneath her palm, and it had jumped in response to her words. He stroked her hair. “Is it true?” he asked, nuzzling the top of her head.
“Yes,” she said, and realized, stunned, that she was not lying.
“I thought of you this day too,” he admitted. He wrapped both of his powerful arms around her and held her more firmly against him. “Have you eaten, sweeting? Are you hungry? I will call for food and wine.”
“I have eaten,” Ceidre said, kissing his neck quickly.
He stroked his palm down her naked back, to explore the full curve of her bottom. Ceidre felt him hardening again. She felt a wild, uncontrollable need to be with him again, to have him inside her again, as if she could exorcise reality, or at least hold it back for a while. She slipped onto her side, her breasts provocatively crushed atop his chest, and reached down to fondle him. He tensed, then sighed with pleasure, his own fingers seeking her nipples and finding them.
She looked at him. His burning gaze met hers, then he threw his head back, revealing his thick, strong throat, arching his tumescent penis into her hand. His mouth opened, his breathing became ragged. Ceidre watched his face become strained as she continued to arouse him, kneading, squeezing, sliding up and down the smooth, hard length. He groaned, thrusting into her hand. “Ah, Ceidre …”
She slid onto her knees and nuzzled his full shaft with her face. He gasped, grabbing her head. Her tongue flicked out, to touch the ripe tip, to taste his seed. “Don’t stop,” he cried.
She kissed him, she licked him, she took him in her mouth.
Moments later he yanked her beneath him and plunged into her, again and again, his hands everywhere, until she was shaking and screaming in ecstasy. He followed instantly, collapsing on top of her.
They cuddled in silence for a long while. Ceidre stroked his chest, then said, her mouth against his heart, “How long do we have, my lord? Before you must leave?”
He paused, as he had been caressing her waist, then resumed. “And you are so sure we leave—witch?” His tone was light, teasing.
He has learned to play so well, she thought, and the sadness was overwhelming. Her soul felt on the verge of shattering. “I am not blind. I see all the preparations. You and your men ride out—for-war.” She sat up abruptly, her eyes filling with tears.
“Why do you cry?” he asked harshly, sitting also.
She shook her head, the tears falling unfettered.
“Do not fear,” he said, his tone both rough and gentle, “we do not ride after your brothers.”
Her relief was immense. Yet there was guilt now, and the sadness induced by the hateful reality that she had been forced this day to face, so she cried harder.
“Why do you cry?” He touched her cheek.
What should she say? That she cried because she was a spy, not a simple lover? “I am afraid, afraid of all this,” she managed.
“Dare I hope,” he breathed, capturing her chin, “that some of your fear is for me?”
She looked at him mutely and nodded.
He smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her mouth softy. “Do not fear for me. I will return to you, Ceidre. Nothing can stop me.”
“Will there be fighting?” she asked, touching his jaw.
He hesitated, searching her eyes. “Hopefully, yes.” “I hope you do not find the Wake!” Ceidre cried, meaning it.
“We know where he is, Ceidre,” he said, still regarding her. His look was strange, searching, but she was too distraught to really mark it.
“How do you know? You cannot be certain!”
