Boadicea's Legacy (39 page)

“Why do you say that?”

“Your eyes, your nose, your mouth …” She blew him an exaggerated kiss. “Poetry. Your shoulders, your legs, your feet.”

He couldn't stop the rumble of laughter erupting from his belly. “My feet? You would write poetry about my feet?”

“They are handsome feet, my lord. Oh look—is that a gray hare in the field? Osbert, we are going to be so happy here.”

He'd given up arguing with her when it came to her leaps of faith that all would be well. Os had learned the hard way that things didn't always go as planned. The documents in his inner pocket burned.

There had been time to tell her of his mission, but he knew that she would react emotionally. She'd pick Albric or Warin as the traitors, mayhap, because they'd been such arseholes to her. Uneducated and superstitious, they'd behaved terribly. They'd apologized, and though Ela accepted it, they still rode to the rear of the line.

They
should
be ashamed, and Os didn't regret beating the shit out of his friends for disrespecting his wife.

He was sure it would never happen again.

For now, Osbert needed a cool, collected head in order to find the knight who was a traitor in the earl's midst.

“You look too serious again. Should we race to the gates? Look—I can finally see them—yea?” His impetuous wife took off at a gallop.

He had no choice but to follow her.

So what if he let her win?

“Ha!” Her face was a wreath of joy, her wimple askew, a smudge of dirt on her nose. Henry peeked from beneath her hair.

“You look beautiful, my lady, Ela of Edyvean.”

“Oh. That does sound lovely.”

He dismounted. The vine-covered wooden gate was shut and padlocked, but a swift slash of his sword soon fixed the problem. He opened the door, slowly, the creaking noise heightening the tension.

Os almost wanted to close his eyes, as if he were a lad afraid of the dark. He'd spent enough nights alone to remember how frightening it could be.

Until Sir Percy.

Sir Percy taught him how to be a man with pride, dignity. And in the cemetery with Brother William, Os had forgiven the scared little boy he'd been. Now he had a wife and a home. He could raise goats, if he truly wanted, or mayhap horses instead.

He exhaled and stepped around the gate to see what his future held.

Ela slipped her hand in his and squeezed. “It will be wonderful,” she said in a whisper. And it was.

An overgrown gravel path led its curving way toward the wood-and-stone keep built on a small mound. It looked lonely and neglected, but it wasn't the burnt shell he'd been preparing himself for. Trees in need of trimming grew green
and bright over a pond that needed de-scumming. The sun shone down on it all.

“It's a blessing,” Ela said, awe in her voice. She put Henry on the ground. “We are here.”

“A miracle.” Os picked her up and swung her around. “Ela, we have a home. You and I. Together.” He kissed her, deeply, thoroughly, with all the pent-up passion he felt. She didn't shy away, but returned his kiss.

He pulled his mouth from hers, taking another look around. “It needs work.”

“Aye.” Ela nodded, tilting her head to the right. “But can't you see it? Over there will be the perfect place for our children to play beneath the shade of the tree.”

His knees buckled. “I want children.”

“And I want to give them to you.” She winked at him, ever saucy. “Are you happy standing back so far, my lord? Or do you think we can see the inside of our new home?”

Laughing, Os took her hand. “Nag, nag. Is this what I needed a wife for?”

She whispered something delicious into his ear.
“That
is what you need a wife for.”

Ela couldn't believe her eyes. She waved dust motes from her nose as they entered the keep, but she couldn't stop sneezing.

“Will you be all right?” Os looked at her, concern on his face. His wonderfully expressive face. When they'd
first met he'd seemed a man of stone. Unfeeling and, she'd thought, uncaring.

How wrong she'd been. “Aye. Once we open everything up and give it a good,” she looked around at all of the rubble, “scrubbing, I will stop sneezing. Mayhap my eyes will stop watering.”

She blinked the moisture from them, trying to focus on something other than the dust. “It doesn't seem like Thomas was much of a housekeeper.”

“That one never came inside the keep,” a voice from the shadows in front of them said. “He and his men stayed in the tower.”

Os reached for his sword. Ela put her hand over his.

“Nay. Wait.”

He growled but didn't unsheathe his weapon. “Come forth,” he ordered in that tone that made her heart leap. And her belly warm, and her thighs … She shook her head.

A wizened old man limped into the hall. “I am slow, me lord. Age does strange things to a man.” He laughed, the sound rusty as iron left in the rain.

“What tower?” Ela looked to Os, who wouldn't take his gaze from the old man. Suspicion. What was it like to live under that dark cloud?

“It burned. He burned it, methinks, when he left.”

“Why was there a separate tower?”

“A separate road, too, me lord. This one's been forgotten for a long time.” Goose bumps chilled her skin as Ela
listened to the easy rise and fall of the old man's voice. “It was right that you found it. Together.”

“Did Thomas know this keep was here?” Ela knew it wouldn't have mattered. This place would not have tolerated his evil.

“Aye. But he felt it was haunted. He kept his distance. Filled with dark fears, that one—his demons choke him. He knows he's ill. Methinks he tried to die in the tower, but one of his mercenaries set him free.”

Ela's nose twitched, but she held back the sneeze. “How do you know this?”

“I've been a part of this land for a very long time.” He had merry blue eyes and a pure white aura. She'd thought at first that she was seeing a shadow surround him, but the closer he came, the more she understood that she was envisioning a spiritual being of divine light. She bowed her head.

Os elbowed her, almost knocking her over. “What are you doing?”

“I—”

The old man winked one of his sparkling blue eyes. “Some things are best left unexplained.”

White light bathed her, and she knew what the mysterious old man wanted her to know. This place had belonged to her and Os a few hundred years ago. She'd been called Arget, and he Brindel, and they'd built a square home on this ancient Celtic mound. Secrets were buried beneath the keep, and she would protect them—along with Boadicea's spear. That was her destiny.

“I don't have the spear,” she said to the old man.

“It will turn up,” he promised. “Now, I must rest.”

“Wait!” Osbert called as the old man turned, more spry in his step than he'd shown so far. “Who are you?”

Golden dust motes exploded in the air, and Ela sneezed and sneezed and sneezed. Os patted her back and helped her out the front door so she could breathe. When they went back inside, there was no sign of the old man with the twinkling blue eyes and old British magic.

In fact, the room was suddenly clear of all dust and the inside of the keep as clean as if fifteen maids had been scrubbing for hours. “Do you know what just happened here?”

Giggling, Ela shook her head. “Nay, but isn't it wonderful?”

Os insisted on drawing his sword and checking each room, prepared for a skirmish.

“He's gone, Os.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I don't know. I feel it. He's been keeping watch over this house.”

“For what—five hundred years? He looked as old as Methuselah.”

“You are the reincarnation of a thousand-year-old Roman. Do you think you should call names?”

“I don't trust it. It's magic.”

“A
miracle
. He'll be back when we need him.”

“I can protect you, Ela. We won't need some doddering old fool.”

Ela sighed.

“Don't sigh at me.”

“You expect me to get through eternity without sighing at you? Now who is the fool?”

He stopped stabbing at empty wardrobes and took her in his arms. He dropped his sword with a clatter and kissed her roughly, branding her as his. She could have purred with contentment.

“Should we christen this old stack of wood?”

Her loins ached with wanting—just for Os, no matter what name he went by. Her soul recognized his. This time, she prayed, this time let us make it right. “Aye. Do my laces?”

He had her untied in less time than she could catch a breath and stripped naked within a heartbeat after that.

“Stand there,” he said, his grin in place. “The light from the arrow shaft above shines down on you, covering your body with liquid gold.”

She shivered beneath the heat of his gaze but didn't move so much as a muscle. If he wanted to play, then she would play.

He unlaced his tunic, slowly, and then just as agonizingly slowly, he lifted it up and over his head—revealing a body designed by God, and mayhap a little bit of the devil's handprint was evident too.

Tempting, she thought with a swallow. Tempting as sin. The muscles of his abdomen were defined and hard. The dark blond arrow of hair pointed to mysteries that she longed to explore. She was a healer, and the pleasure she derived from making love with her husband was nothing
but magic—or a miracle, depending on who she was talking to.

He walked around her, using his fingertips to gently caress her buttocks. The cleft between her legs dampened with desire. “You are quivering,” he said in a sensual whisper.

“Aye. With want. For you.”

He groaned. Came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her tight, imprisoning her in his embrace. The rough cloth of his breeches scratched her sensitive bare skin. He pushed her hair to the side, and a rush of air reached her shoulder blades. He traced the length of her spine, downward with the tip of his tongue, stopping at the round of her cheeks. He kissed the hollow of her spine, the twin divots above her buttocks.

Then he spun her around, resting his face against her lower belly.

In the times of old, the tribal women would celebrate in sexual frenzy, crying out for blessings from the gods and goddesses of the earth. The Horned One mated with the Maiden, fertilizing the crops. Pregnant with child, the Mother slayed the willing Horned One and fed the crops his nourishing blood, before cycling into the Crone who became the wisewoman in the moon. In the spring the ritual would begin anew.

Earth magic and sexual power.

She and Os were bound in love. They couldn't fail.

Ela took her time unveiling her hair, teasing Os with the silk fabric, barely touching his sensitive skin. He watched
her, his eyes heavy lidded, his body emanating desire. When her hair was finally free and unbound, it fell to the wooden floor in red waves, covering her like a shawl.

Os laid her back, pulling his boots free and his breeches off. He stood above her—the vision of conquering male. His penis jutted from the thatch of dark blond between his thighs, his muscled legs tensed, his belly trembled with need.

She opened her arms, welcoming his assault.

It was his turn now to be covered in golden light, and again Ela was reminded of the mythological statues from Roman times. “I love you,” she said in a husky voice.

The words felled him, and he dropped to his knees to take her in his arms.

“No need to be careful,” she said, sensing his tenderness.

“I am taking you on a wooden floor. You could get slivers.”

Ela smiled wickedly. “Then you be on the bottom. I'll take the top, my lord.”

Os groaned but quickly shifted so that she was sitting on his belly and he was facing up. “I like this,” he said, cupping her eager breasts.

Feeling powerful, Ela lifted herself over his searching manhood, poised at the moist, crimson tip. “And this?”

She met his eyes, those stormy, blue-gray eyes that were as potent as hard cider. “You are a tease, wench, and I, oh …”

Ela lowered her body slowly over his, taking him in one inch at a time until she was seated and snug—her feminine
parts against his masculine ones. Her inner muscles clenched with pleasure.

Watching Os fueled the fire.

He caressed her breasts, her belly, her hips and thighs, wherever his hands could reach. And she slowly lifted herself, then lowered—lifted, lowered, until she forgot the game she was playing and lost herself in the thrill of just
feeling
. She tossed her head back, close to the peak, searching, questing—his thumb flicked the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs just as he sat up and drew her nipple into his mouth.

She pulled at his hair, pumping her hips forward. “Now,” he ordered, thrusting up. Their bodies exploded in mutual pleasure.

He held her close, his body slick with sweat. She could feel his small tremors as he came back to earth from his own release. “We must christen every room,” she said. “Just like this.”