“Rhiannon did everything to cover you. And I’ve never seen her care. Not this much. Not about any other woman. And Goddess knows she had them all in school. So many, Mother despaired. Victoria found this amusing. And I… I was impressed. I was the oldest, and my sister was the most popular girl in school once she was old enough. Certainly outshined me.”
Ceridwen’s smile was small, but the light of it brightened the room better than the candle. Outside, a night owl hooted low. The dusk had settled, its fingertips poking in the cracks in the heavy drapes.
The intimacy of the conversation blanketed both of them. Pru did not lift her fingers and Ceridwen didn’t seem to notice them, her thoughts unspooling.
“She thought I would be jealous. And I believe she went out with as many purely to spite me. She never had to prove anything to me. She was always…more. Stronger. Certainly morestubborn. And more powerful. Prudence, if you could see her winds, her storms.”
“Tell me about them?”
“Her storms were unforgettable. Sometimes when it was safe, Mother would allow her to let loose, and it was always such a sight to behold. I always felt…unworthy, I guess is the right word, and I am not prone to that feeling very often, Pru.” Ceridwen shivered even though the air around them was warm, slowly filling with the herbal aromas. “That’s why whatever she is doing now, renouncing the gift, is so asinine, so utterly foolish and self-destructive. Because no matter what happened today, more than anything she has seen, this she did to herself.”
Ceridwen let Rhiannon’s fingers fall out of hers to the steel-colored satin sheets.
“Power needs to exist, and it cannot do so in a vacuum of one’s soul. It will destroy it. Seeing her suffer the shielding spell and do this to herself, enduring this? I can’t imagine the pain. And maybe away from here she had it much easier.”
“Away from you? From Victoria and Seren?”
“From us and from the power the island holds, the power grown on blood of my ancestors and all the other women who sought refuge here, in town or at the school, on the cliffs. I can’t imagine what it feels to try and keep the craft from seeking its own when it’s literally surrounded by all of this.”
“So why is she doing this, Ceri?”
Ceridwen’s shoulders lifted as if in a shrug but fell helplessly in a poor imitation of one.
“Has she ever told you about her wife?”
Pru felt her hands go numb.
“She has a wife?” Her own voice was foreign to her. The owl outside flapped its powerful wings and was gone, the evening sinking in silence.
“Once upon a time.” The binds around Pru’s chest tightened. “I don’t know what happened and she is clearly here alone, so I guess it’s all past tense now, but you two really should do more than just…” Ceridwen gestured toward Rhiannon’s prone body, visibly uncomfortable. Pru smiled, imagining Rhiannon taking great pleasure in making her sister squirm. Maybe they weren’t so different and Ceridwen was right? As for talking…
“Maybe you should start saying words out loud that are more than whatever it is you need for said…” Now Ceridwen’s sharp cheekbones were tinged with crimson and her prim and proper pose all stiff. She looked away, either to gather her thoughts or to master the blush, could be anyone’s guess. When she turned and caught Pru smirking at her discomfort, she shook her head.
“Birds of a feather, the two of you. Talk, Prudence Ophelia. It helps.”
Ceridwen’s words still rang in Pru’s ears two night later. When Rhiannon leaned toward her, giving her plenty of time and space to evade, to sidestep, to ask questions. Talk. They needed to talk. Words that weren’t “harder” and “fuck me” and “please, please, please.”
Pru lifted her hand and drew Rhiannon’s mouth toward hers. Maybe talking wasn’t their strong suit. But this—this fire, this hunger, this need—was stronger than either of them.
The warmth of the kiss spread from the lips, down her throat like honey, sweet and tangy. Her stomach clenched when Rhiannon guided her gently to the sturdy oak table in the middle of the spacious kitchen. As her thighs hit the edge, she heard Patches scramble out of the room, undoubtedly followed by Boleyn.
Pru sank her fingers in the auburn tresses, getting her fill, for once reveling in the silken fire spilling in her palms. She tugged and combed and pulled and Rhiannon lifted her head, her eyes molten, dark and sly.
“Found my weakness, have you?” The purr of that voice. Pru closed her eyes, savored it and tugged harder, bringing that wicked mouth back to hers again. She licked the bottom lip until Rhiannon granted her access and then their tongues met, tentatively at first, then throwing caution to the wind, fast and wild. And yet there was nothing of the rush of their other times here. Underneath the desire was a tenderness both of them lacked before.
Rhiannon’s fingers touched her as if she would break at any time, as if she was precious, special. Pru felt the unexpected tears spill from under her closed eyelids and Rhiannon kissed them away. Her fingertips traced Pru’s jawline, dipping lower and following the pulse jumping wildly under her skin all the way down her clavicle. Seeking, finding. What? Pru could not tell, but she lifted her arms obediently as her cardigan was gently pulled off, her blouse next, slower, Rhiannon’s mouth following her hands, tasting every exposed inch of skin.
Pru’s tears kept falling, the gentleness in the touch, in the sweetly murmured words of appreciation, of admiration, of gratitude, the sincerity behind them.
“So beautiful, Prudence. Like a lily of the valley, delicate, tender. So beautiful. Thank you, thank you.”
Pru did not know what Rhiannon was thanking her for, if she even knew it herself. The ache at her very core, the hunger this woman, only this woman, had ever lit there, was like a winding spring. Any second now another twist, another push would be too much and she’d unravel. Would she be able to hold back then? And hold back what?
Rhiannon, perhaps sensing the turmoil, lifted her head from Pru’s chest and simply looked. Their eyes met and Pru felt the silver thread of their connection, the magic flowing from her to Rhiannon. Even if one-sided, even if not reciprocated, it was received.
For one moment the green of the iris was overcome by a tempest, and then Rhiannon blinked and it was gone, and Pru was grateful for it. The truth of Rhiannon suppressing her power, holding it in, being tormented by it… Pru never wanted to add even a small sliver to that torment and so closed her eyes and placed her hands on Rhiannon’s shoulders, not pushing, not pulling, just keeping the connection, leaning back on the desk, letting her make all the decisions.
A slow hum, sensual, guttural, was almost her undoing, but she kept her eyes shut and surrendered.
