Dark Maiden (20 page)

“I am no one’s plaything.” Yolande kicked the stocks, startled by her own reaction. “Is that scene from now or your foresight?”

“What do you think, Yolande?”

Yolande almost scowled, disliking these tests, but caught herself. “I saw a maypole and it is not May Day yet.”

“Indeed. I think it is a future vision but not a good one. I have heard of acts they do already.” She stopped. “Not good.”

What kinds of acts?
Yolande wondered but guessed she would get no more from the woman.

“It will be hard and dangerous,” Katherine continued, implacable as only a saint dared to be. “Finding the place may be difficult, for no runaway has been able to give me clear directions. But evil is gathering there. Too many are being hurt, crippled in their souls, for me to pretend otherwise.”

“Are they possessed?”

Her companion gave a disconcerting giggle. “That is your trade and craft, not mine, but no, I do not think so, unless the hermit himself is possessed.”

Yolande blazed at the idea and pushed it quickly away. “Does this so-called holy man of the forest take part in these raptures?” she asked, wishing she had a drink to take away the foul taste in her mouth.

Katherine pulled a face. “He watches.”

With a superior smirk, no doubt.

“And the labyrinth? What spiritual purpose does it serve?”

“Not as a journey to some holy city as a sacred labyrinth should, but I do not understand its true goal.” Katherine sighed. “Such lack of foresight troubles me.”

It worried Yolande as well, though she said nothing. She knelt on the grass before Katherine and took her hands between her own, praying her power into the older woman. “I swear, by my fealty and faith, that I shall strive to cleanse this place, this New Jerusalem of the forest.”
This is the true reason why I am here.

“Or to prevent a great evil. Go with my blessing, my daughter. Go with God.”

She can read my thoughts then.
“There is not much time, is there?”

“No, there is not.” Katherine leaned forward and kissed Yolande on her cheek. “Cleave to your Geraint and be a comfort to each other. Trust each other.”

Yolande blushed, hoping Katherine did not know what a “comfort” meant to her with Geraint.

“That too,” said Katherine. “Oh, and—” She stopped, her whole frame stiffening as if she listened. “Never mind, such pretty news will keep.”

Pretty? What did the woman mean?

She opened her mouth to ask but was forestalled as Katherine rose from the stocks. “Come to my little house by the wood edge, you and Geraint. I have some things for your journey. Do you set out today?”

It was another spiritual test, then. Yolande said at once, “We will, for the evenings are long.”

“Good,” said Katherine. “In these trials it does not do to be late, especially when it is a final trial.”

She walked away, leaving Yolande alarmed afresh.
Is this really my final trial? Am I ready? Is Geraint ready? Will he be safe? Please let him be safe.

Geraint prodded their modest woodland fire with a stick, mulling over what Yolande had told him and what Katherine had whispered to him before he and Yolande—
my wife Yolande
—had set out to find this Jerusalem of the forest.

“More ale?” Yolande offered him a flask and another of her spicy flat cakes, smiling broadly to show she was pleased he was with her and not a bit worried about their coming quest.

You make a poor liar, Bathsheba mine, but never mind. I have a secret too and one I’ve acted on already, for Katherine is talking to the smith and carpenter of High Woodhead for me. That plan is going on already and tonight I have another in mind, and all with a female hermit’s approval.

Eating and drinking, relishing the warm flat cake, giving one last prod and check to their fire, he almost snorted. How incongruous his life was. He, a man who had never been tied down, never sought treasure, power, office or a house, had just asked the advice—the
permission
—of a middle-aged woman mystic. But his days were interesting and if he could keep Yolande safe…

“She said we might be a comfort to each other. Katherine, I mean.”

Is that so, my zesty wife?
Geraint raised his brows and reached out, ignoring her hasty, “But you have walked a long way today and might be weary.”

Chuckling, he gathered her in, stretching out full length with her, the flame shadows playing over her pert breasts, stroking spots where his caresses would soon follow. “Did Eudo kiss you today?” he asked, gently sucking on her full top lip and watching her lashes flutter.

“Only a kiss of fellowship.” Yolande tucked herself closer into his armpit, weaving one supple, shapely leg between his.

He bit down on asking if the tree roots pained her.
We are safe enough by this great pine and the tree’s old needles make a fine mattress. You would not be asking last month or last week so do not fuss.
Recalling all that Katherine had said, he massaged her neck, finding and easing the knots in her bow shoulder.

“Great Maria.” Yolande’s eyes almost rolled in her head and he grinned to see her so undone.

Tonight, my queen, you will experience such a comfort from me as to forget your name.
Why not? Had the mystic Katherine not said, “When you find this evil Jerusalem and even before, you must fight these fleshly raptures with your own”?

His kind of fight, yes indeed.

“A kiss of fellowship, eh?” He tickled his fingers along her spine and flanks, closing on his final sweet goal. She returned the embrace and his ears sang with an angel chorus, his blood leaping. “A kiss like this?”

He trailed kisses over her mouth and neck.

“Or like this?” He embraced her deeply, tasting the lavender, rosemary and pepper on her. “Should I be jealous?”

“Never.” She nipped his tongue and he laughed within her mouth, sure of her and surer of himself. This was his stage and he would pamper and pleasure but tease a little first.
All warriors and queens like to be teased, after all, for they forget their cares.

“’Tis well I’m not a jealous fellow or you would be my princess tonight.” He kneaded his knuckles softly along the links of her spine, his mouth drying. If she were in full queen and exorcist mood, she might buck him off and thrash him with her bow until he begged pardon.
Even that rough scolding excites me, a heady dance of danger and desire,
better than walking a fire pit.
Even his skin crackled.

“How so?” she asked, her lips pressing softly against his—in appeal?

“Ah, yes, you English do not know the tale.”

“I am African also and not all English,” she mumbled but she did not stir her lashes or her luscious lower flanks, not even when he cupped her bottom.

He clicked his tongue in mock reproof. Still he diced with risk, strolling in his fire pit, and most agreeable it was.
A few more steps to safety…

“Princess Bronwen never smiled, it is said in Gwynedd, where this tale is told ’round the campfires of a night.”

Lies, all lies, but it was a story, just his and not a bard’s.

“I smile often,” Yolande complained.

“Indeed and for sure you do, Yolande, but Bronwen was a sourpuss. Neither her parents, suitors, courtiers, maids nor bards could coax so much as a tweak of the lips from her.”

Yolande gave him a rich dazzle of a grin, looking straight at him.

There’s my glorious queen and princess, all in one.
“Stop, or you shall make me forget everything, including my name.”

“You are Eudo.”

“Is that right?” Teased, Geraint pursed his lips. “On with the story. One day a tumbler came to the palace.”

“I wondered when a Geraint would make his appearance.”

He chuckled, circling her hips with his hands until her breath hitched and her fingers started to explore him.

“Ah, ah.” He grasped her palm and kissed it, tucking it snug into his tunic, flesh against flesh. “I want to finish my tale sometime before midsummer’s eve.”

She grew still. He took a deep breath as his manhood twitched and ached in response to her.

“ Geraint, my tumbler,” she coaxed.

“Came to the palace, took the little princess out into the water meadows to show her the new dragonflies.”

“Little?” Yolande wrinkled her nose, looking suddenly years younger.

“Sorry, my telling in English has gone wrong, should I switch to Welsh? I meant elegant, the elegant princess Bronwen. When she yawned—as you are not doing—Geraint tossed the princess high in the air, over and over until she could scarcely breathe for flying, then he caught her near and rolled her like this.”

He turned Yolande so she lay on her side, clamped against him with her soft breasts and firm backside sweetly close.

Her body is changing, her breasts a little riper, her waist a little narrower, the life veins on her throat showing more clearly. Delicious she is and with our own lovely miracle.

Guilt stung his ears and lips and he almost spoke, confessed what Katherine had told him, but then he recalled the mystic’s other warning and tucked the knowledge away.

Katherine said it would be safe and right for us to make love so that the babe recognizes both of us. Just as well, to be sure, for I cannot resist her.

He kissed Yolande, which was not part of his story, and resumed. “Geraint the tumbler scolded the elegant Bronwen, saying she was selfish for wanting others to amuse her when she should be doing some entertaining herself.”

Yolande propped herself on her elbow. “Did Bronwen put a fist down his throat and rip out his impudent tongue?”

Careful, Geraint…
“She was a princess, mark you, not yet a queen, and so brought up to please her father the king and her mother.”

“Not yet a queen, I see that. So was Bronwen confounded?”

“Disconcerted,” said Geraint hoarsely, running out of invention as he fondled
his
princess’s nether curves.

“Did she offer to pay compensation? In kisses like this?” She glowed in the firelight, copper and bronze, and her kisses, when she seized his mouth with hers, were hotter still, galloping him into a frenzy of heart-hammering need. He squirmed her out of her braies, tugging them to her knees, and then yanked down his even more roughly.

“Kisses,” he hissed, burying his tongue into her mouth and stealing her lips over and over. “And love pats.”

He coiled an arm ’round her waist and spun her over then hauled his tunic off and tucked it under her head.

She was ready for him, arching her back like a lioness. Unable to resist, he positioned himself behind her and sank slowly, delectably, into her, his manhood threatening to spend his seed in her instantly, she was so snug and wet and loving. At once she began to move, rocking against him, wilder and faster until he could stand it no longer. Gripping her hips, he pounded into her, finishing her and himself with two light, sweet slaps to her perfect rump.

“Comfortable?” he asked later as they lay snuggled together, watching the fire.

Yolande’s skin gleamed copper, her teeth very white. “Like being a princess. Those pats…”

“Good.”

She would be a queen on other nights and he would treat with her so. It made their times a loving challenge, endlessly fresh.
I will never have my fill of you, Yolande.

She yawned and blinked. “Have we any ale left?”

“Of course.” He hated shifting from her but tore away, finding the flask in their muddle of things. “There you go, my lovely.” He spoke in Welsh, the tongue of love to him.

“Lovely,” Yolande repeated in the same language, tipping her head back to drink.

Lovely indeed
, Geraint thought as she poured a drink into him and they lay down afresh.
My wife safe and filled with a comfort and the summer stars overhead. I hope we never find this Jerusalem in the forest.

He guessed it was a futile hope.

* * * * *

Yolande, fast asleep, fought in the forest against the New Jerusalem.

I should have asked Geraint for some of that salt he has with him. I ought to have put salt in a protective circle around us and set up a shield of prayer against evil but I forgot. I was so carnal, so greedy to have my husband make love to me.

This nightmare was her punishment. Enduring it, she roared, thrashing wildly, desperate to break free.

“Easy, easy, you are safe,
cariad
. No one will hurt you. No one.” A loving voice, a pair of arms she knew well, supported, shielded her. She shuddered and a pair of lively eyes filled her world, driving out the shadows. “No shame,
cariad
. A bad dream and some night chatter, that is all. See where you are now? See the fire? See me?”

She forced her dusty throat to speak. “I always see you.” He was so good to look on, with his shaggy curls, rangy body and that angel-and-devil smile.