Heart's Magic (34 page)

“An excellent idea,” he agreed solemnly. “But
I beg you, do not make the infusion of herbs too strong. I do not
want to sleep away the entire day.”

“I understand my lord. I will see that you
have your wine with no delay. And what of you, Brice?” Mirielle
asked, hoping to dispel any curiosity on his part. “Shall I prepare
wine for you, also?”

“I thank you, but no,” Brice said. “I have a
final dose left of the medicine you gave me, and I think I will
take it. ‘Tis strange, Mirielle, but for the first hour after
Alda’s death I felt greatly improved in health, as if the sickness
was leaving me, yet now I am weak again and sorry I ate so
much.”

“It may take several days before you are
completely recovered,” Mirielle told him. “Rest and eat lightly,
and if you need more medicine, I will make it for you.”

It was almost an hour later when Mirielle
knocked on Gavin’s bedchamber door. He opened it at once, as if he
had been impatiently awaiting her arrival. She thought he looked a
bit pale but, recalling his comment about not having slept at all
during the previous night, she put his lack of color down to a need
for rest.

Or perhaps, while she was burning with desire
for him, he was pale with wanting her. For she did not doubt why
they were met alone in his room on a cloudy afternoon when the sun
was trying feebly to drive away mist and the occasional shower. She
set the pitcher of wine on the table near his big, wooden chair and
then she faced him with fast-beating heart and shallow breath.

“I asked you to come to me,” he said, “to
give you the freedom to refuse if that was your wish—and also
because we are less likely to be disturbed here than in your
chamber, if I were to visit you there.”

“What would you have done if I had sent a
serving woman with the wine?” she asked.

“I would have taken the wine and sent the
serving woman away, however pretty she might be,” he answered. “I
want no one but you. I hope—I believe—that you want me as much. As
I have no marriage vows to keep us apart any longer, the only thing
to prevent us from doing what we want is your possible reluctance.
I know you are a maiden, Mirielle, and if you do not wish to give
me—if you would prefer—God’s holy teeth!” he swore. “What is wrong
with me? I have never in my life sounded so weak in the presence of
a woman.”

“You do not sound weak to me,” she said. “You
sound like a man who will not force a maiden against her will.”

“I have never done so.”

“Have there been so many women?” she asked.
“Many maidens?”

“More than a few. I am no monk,” he
responded. “But never have I made any woman, maiden or not, do
aught with me than what she wanted. Nor will I force you now,
though I do believe I will die a slow and terrible death if you
should say no to me.”

“I see.” His evident confusion and his
reluctance to do anything to which she did not agree were having a
curious effect on Mirielle. She had come to his room besieged by a
mixture of emotions. Her longing for him had grown since their
first meeting, when she had sensed that he was the one man who
could give her not only passion, but a steady affection to last for
all of their lives. She yearned to throw herself into his arms and
beg him to make her his without further delay.

Yet there remained with her s slight fear of
the unknown. Once she had given herself to Gavin there would be no
turning back. She would belong to him forever. And she knew in her
heart that, fear or not, she had made her final decision in the
moment when she had picked up the wine pitcher and taken the first
step toward his bedchamber. Thus she stood before him in virginal
apprehension, confused, filled with love, hoping to be all he could
want or expect without knowing precisely what his expectations of
her might be.

“I would not want you to die, my lord.”

“Would you not?” The look in his eyes
deepened, holding her as if his arms were already embracing
her.

“Especially since your death from unsatisfied
desire would mean my own immediate demise of the same illness.”

“We will talk no more of illness and death.
There has lately been too much of both. We will speak instead of
happiness and of the sweetness that cannot be taken from a woman,
but must be given freely.” He held out his hands to her. “Will you
give me that sweetness, Mirielle? I warn you, if you put your hands
in mine, I will never let you go.”

“Yes, my lord.” She laid her hands in his. He
raised them to his lips to kiss her fingers and her palms before,
with a glad cry, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted
her off her feet to swing her around, laughing.

Still holding her, he began to kiss her. He
had not said he loved her, though she thought he did. He had not
mentioned marriage. She did not care. She loved him with her whole
heart and she had recently learned how perilous life could be. She
would give to him all she had to give of love and passion, of her
chatelaine’s skills for his home and her true affection for his
children, and she would take from him the joy of his desire for
her. It would be enough. They stood heart to heart, thigh to thigh,
with Mirielle upon tiptoe with her arms around his neck. His mouth
was warm and sure on hers, his tongue was seeking out her own
tongue, thrusting against it, urging her without words to
reciprocate his every movement. His hands caressing her back sent
little shivers of delight along her spine.

They undressed each other with such haste
that Mirielle did not pause to reflect on what they were doing
until she wore only her shift and Gavin was completely naked.

“Oh.” She stared, swallowing hard. “Oh,
my.”

“There is nothing to fear.” He took her hand
and placed it on himself.

“It isn’t fear. It’s awe.” She rubbed him
gently, feeling his heat and an eager, leaping motion at the touch
of her fingers.

The blood surged to her cheeks. Her ears
rang. She was trembling so hard that she thought she would faint.
Gavin lifted her and laid her on his bed. She put her hands on his
shoulders, holding him away when he would have kissed her
again.

“Trust me,” he said.

“I do. I will.” But she thought her heart
would burst from an innocent apprehension that had nothing to do
with genuine fear and everything to do with the approach of a
change that would take her in an instant from maidenhood to
maturity and the possibility of motherhood. Why had she not
considered that aspect of what they were doing before coming to his
room? Until this moment, all she had been able to think about was
Gavin and how much she wanted him. Now she thought about having his
child. Gavin’s baby. She met his serious eyes and smiled at the
thought of holding his son or daughter in her arms.

Gavin lay down beside her. Balancing on one
elbow he caught her chin, holding her face steady while he gazed at
her. Slowly he lowered his head, his lips moving toward hers.
Mirielle caught her breath, waiting. This kiss was sweet, his
tongue only teasing at the margin of her lips. She became aware of
his fingers leaving her chin to glide along her throat to her
breast, which fit into the palm of his large hand as if the two
were made to be together.

His gentleness perplexed her. She knew Gavin
could be forceful. He had kissed her hard on several occasions and
she was fully cognizant of the way in which he used a calm and
quiet manner in his daily life as lord of the castle to disguise
both his physical strength and his steely determination to have
things done his way. She was distracted from these thoughts when
his fingers began to play with her nipple. Disturbed by a
simultaneous twinge far inside her body, she wriggled, trying to
get away from the insistent, teasing touch.

Gavin’s mouth was still on hers and now he
deepened the kiss, pressing Mirielle back into the pillow. His
fingers on her breast never stopped their insidious movements. Her
nipple grew hard and erect. She could feel it tightening and,
worse, her other breast was crushed against his chest when he
leaned over her and the hair on his chest was rubbing against her
sensitive skin until she wanted to scream.

Gasping for breath, Mirielle twisted her head
away from Gavin’s mouth. He did not complain. Still holding her
down with the hand that was tormenting her breast, he began to
nibble at her chin. Shortly thereafter he moved on to her throat,
her shoulders and, finally, to her aching breasts, where he
continued to nibble and lick and kiss. Mirielle was by this time
thoroughly distressed and confused by a growing sensation of
hollowness deep in her belly. That emptiness cried out to be
filled. Gavin’s mouth fastened over her taut nipple. She did scream
then, and began thrashing her legs.

Gavin threw one of his legs over hers, his
hard thigh holding her where he wanted her. With this change in
position Mirielle once more was made aware of his arousal. He was
breathing hard and she could tell that he was every bit as agitated
as she was.

At last he left her breast alone, but only to
continue his explorations with his hands and with the licking and
kissing that was driving her wild. He caressed her abdomen and her
hips and thighs with devastating skill, moving ever closer to the
place between her thighs that was burning for his touch.

“Gavin, please,” she cried. “Stop tormenting
me.”

“I am tormenting myself far more than you,”
he rasped.

She moved restlessly, seeking she knew not
what, opening her legs in the hope that he would caress her where
she wanted, but too shy to ask. Gavin moved, too, placing one knee
between her thighs. She felt his hand on her and his fingers began
to slide into her hotness. This was what she ached for, what she
had imagined would alleviate her distress, though now she found to
her bewilderment that his actions were only making her unsettled
condition worse.

“Warm and moist and sweet,” he murmured. “Are
you ready for me so soon, then?”

“Soon?” she gasped. “You started this before
midday, my lord. I have been waiting, thinking of what you did then
and wanting you to—oh!” She bit off a cry, for he had reached a
spot so alert to his circling finger that speech had just become
impossible. All of her consciousness was centered on his one
finger, and the seductive motions it was making.

“Have you been waiting for this?” he teased.
“I have thought of little else, either. I believe the time has come
to end our waiting.”

Waves of heat and pleasure swept over
Mirielle, stemming from the place where Gavin’s finger was.
Overcome by what was happening to her, she closed her eyes and thus
did not see exactly what he was doing, but she felt his huge
manhood begin to enter her.

“Gavin!” Her hands clutched at his shoulders
as she tried to drag him upward so she could kiss him.

He did not answer her. He moved his hands to
hold her buttocks as slowly he stroked into her. She felt a sharp
twinge that was no more than a slight pinprick. Even as she caught
her breath he was deep inside her and the awful, gnawing hollow
place was filled.

She opened her eyes, meaning to tell him what
a relief it was and to thank him for stopping that most
uncomfortable ache, but she saw his tense face and again she could
not speak. She did not know what would happen next, but she did
comprehend that he was holding himself under tight control. Perhaps
he feared he would hurt her, for he was an enormous man. Filled
with love and tenderness, Mirielle drew him down to her and kissed
his mouth. He groaned as if he were in pain.

Having adjusted to his hardness inside her,
Mirielle experimented by moving her hips. The motion produced a
remarkably pleasant sensation. Mirielle moved again. Gavin groaned
once more and gritted his teeth.

“Tell me what to do,” she cried. “How to—to
help you. If you are in pain—then cease what you are doing for my
benefit, for I fear—I fear I cannot—oh, dear!” In fact, her hips
were moving of their own volition and the motion was creating more
and more heat. Mirielle was certain she was about to burst into
flame.

“Pain?” Gavin loosed a choked laugh. “The
sweetest pain I have ever known. Ah, Mirielle, forgive me. I cannot
stop. Nor can I wait any longer.”

She thought he was withdrawing from her. She
wanted to prevent him from leaving her, but if he was in pain she
knew she must let him go. Still, she could not stop her soft cry of
loss, nor could she keep her hips from lifting as he pulled away.
Her distress turned to joy when he surged back into her with a
fierce pressure. He left again and came back a second time.
Mirielle began to understand. She let her body do what it would and
thus she met his every thrust, letting him fill her over and over
again, until she could bear no more, until Gavin possessed her as
completely as she possessed him and she felt herself opening to
accept his hot seed. In that moment Mirielle knew the true meaning
of magic.

She wakened in late afternoon to deepening
gloom and heavy rain. Gavin was not in the bed with her. Mirielle
rolled over, stretching out a searching arm. The sheets were cold,
which meant he had been gone for some time. Thinking he might be in
his chair drinking the wine she had brought, she sat up to look for
him, but he was not in the room. With her senses more deeply
attuned to him than ever after their lovemaking, she knew something
was wrong.

She dressed in haste, smoothed back her
disheveled hair without taking time to look for or use a comb, and
went in search of her love.

She found him leaving the garderobe. Brice
was with him and both men were obviously sick. To Mirielle’s eyes
they looked much as Donada had shortly before she died.

Mirielle wasted no time. Heavy footsteps
sounded on the staircase. She hurried to intercept the man-at-arms
who was climbing to his watch on the battlements. Fortunately, she
recognized him as one of Captain Oliver’s friends, so she was
reasonably sure he could be trusted.