The Breaking Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 1) (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-four

Jealous
of a Dead Man

Merwenna looked up at the full moon and let out a
long sigh.

If only I could stay out here.

She basked in its silver light for a few moments, enjoying
the peace.

Merwenna crouched next to the stone well in the
stable yard. She had just finished scrubbing the huge pot, which had contained
the leek soup, and was taking a breather before hauling the cauldron back up to
the hall.

A brace of torches, hanging from the wall of the nearby
storehouse, cast enough light her way so she could complete her task. Still, it
had taken a while to scour the pot clean and her back ached from bending over
it. Every fiber of her body screamed for rest.

Yawning, she got to her feet. Then, she cast a
farewell glance at the friendly moon, picked up the pot, and climbed the steep
stairs back up to the Great Hall.

Inside, most of the inhabitants were bedding down
for the night. The light was dim; only the glow of the fire pits illuminated
the space. Merwenna picked her way across the floor, stepping over men, women,
children and dogs and set the clean pot down on the freshly scrubbed table in
the servants’ galley.

The other servants had all finished their chores
for the evening, and were laying out cloaks and furs around the far wall to
sleep on. Merwenna did not bid any of them goodnight, and none of them favored
her with a glance either. Instead, she crossed the hall, carefully stepping
over prone bodies as she went.

At the far end, she stepped up onto the raised
platform and made her way toward Heledd’s bower, and the small fur she had laid
out before it. There was no sign of the princess, for she had already retired
behind the tapestry for the night.

Merwenna sank down onto her fur with a groan of exhaustion,
her limbs sinking into its softness. Another evening like that and she would be
bent over like a crone. However, she was too tired to even feel sorry for
herself.

She closed her eyes and immediately felt herself
start to doze off. Sleep had almost claimed her when a voice jerked her back
into wakefulness.

“Merwenna. Are you awake?”

She scrambled upright, heart pounding. Disoriented
and blinking like an owl, she peered up at Dylan’s shadowed face. “I am now,”
she whispered. “What do you want?”

“I need you to take a look at the wound on my arm.”

“Now?”

“The stitches are starting to itch, I think they
need to come out.”

“Don’t you have a healer in your hall who can do
that?”

“I do,” he hunkered down so their gazes were level.
His green eyes gleamed in the dim light and Merwenna saw that he was smiling,
“but he stinks like a goat and kills more folk than he cures. I’d rather have
your tender hands administer me.”

The intimacy of his tone made Merwenna flush, and
she was glad that the darkness hid it. Suddenly, her fatigue lifted and she was
painfully aware of how close he was.

“Very well,” she replied breathlessly, a strange
excitement coiling in the pit of her belly. The rational part of her told Merwenna
she should refuse him. Now that they resided in Dylan’s hall, she should not be
alone with him – but a surge of recklessness obliterated her reason.

“Good,” he rose to his feet. “Follow me.”

Merwenna got up, and cast a glance about her to see
if anyone was watching.

Not a soul amongst the carpet of sleeping bodies
below stirred. Relieved, she followed the prince to the back of the platform,
where another tapestry blocked his quarters from view. Dylan pushed the heavy
material aside and held it there so that she could enter.

Merwenna accidently brushed against him as she
ducked inside and caught the warm, masculine scent of him. To her shame, she
breathed it in deeply, all her senses keenly aware of his nearness.

There was no doubt about it, this man had an
extraordinary effect upon her. She loved Beorn, but even his most passionate
kisses had not been able to rouse the excitement that one glance from Dylan
could.

Her father was wrong – she had not ridden to warn
the prince because she was in love with him. And yet, she had not done it out
of altruism either. The Prince of Powys had ensnared her, and she had not thought
twice about riding to warn him.

Seeing Dylan again had confirmed what she had
already suspected – whenever she was in his presence, she felt truly alive.

The prince’s quarters were a warm, inviting space,
twice the size of Princess Heledd’s bower. As
her
space was colorful,
feminine, scented with flowers and herbs, her brother’s was pleasantly
masculine. Plush, dark fur hangings formed the walls and a fire pit burned in
the center of the space. Dylan’s quarters were unfurnished, save the luxurious
pile of furs a few feet from the fire pit and a large wicker chest sitting against
the exterior wall. Above it hung a huge war axe. The weapon was well-worn, with
chips out of its iron blade; an intimidating sight.

Near the fire pit, Merwenna spotted a healer’s
basket awaiting her arrival. She turned to Dylan, and found him right behind
her.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” she instructed
him. She needed to keep her thoughts focused on the reason she had been
summoned here.

They sat down upon a large fur near the fire, and
Merwenna gently removed the bandages around the prince’s injured forearm.
Nearly a week had passed since Lichfield and she had dressed the wound and
changed his bandages a few times since then.

“What say you?” Dylan asked. “Is it healing well?”

“It is,” Merwenna replied, flashing him a smile.
She was proud of her handiwork. “I was worried it would fester but it has
completely scabbed over and is mending well. However, those stitches do need to
come out.”

The prince nodded, their gazes meeting for a
moment. The heat she had seen there, outside his bower, had increased, and he
gave her that slow, sensual smile that she recognized from their first meeting
in Tamworth.

It was a smile that needed no words.

Merwenna broke eye contact and turned to the
basket, retrieving a small knife and pair of iron pincers. She then passed them
both through the flickering flames of the fire, as her mother had taught her. Doing
so helped prevent wounds from festering.

It only took a few moments to snip the stitches and
pluck them from Dylan’s skin. The wound started to bleed slightly, so she
dabbed it with a clean cloth soaked in an herbal tincture.

“You are very able at this,” Dylan said, finally. “Is
your mother the village healer?”

“No,” Merwenna replied with a rueful smile. “Weyham
has no healer, so all the women in my village must learn healing skills.
Truthfully, I have done little healing myself, but I have always assisted my
mother. Her knowledge of herb lore is the best in Weyham.”

“You look a lot like her, you know.”

Merwenna looked up from wrapping his forearm in a
fresh bandage, her gaze meeting his. “I am like her in many ways. My father has
always sworn we are both too stubborn and willful for our own good,” she
replied.

Dylan smiled. “Some men like a woman with spirit.”

“And some prefer a woman who does as she’s bid.”

The prince laughed softly. “And where’s the fun in
that?”

He was doing it again, looking at her with that
melting gaze that stripped away all her defenses. “Such a woman would bore me
soon enough.”

Merwenna swallowed, holding his gaze. Her heart was
beating so hard it felt as if it would break free from her ribcage.

Gently, Dylan took hold of her right hand, which
had just finished securing the bandage, and placed it on his chest. Merwenna’s
palm pressed against the soft wool tunic he wore, the heat of his body seeping
through it into her skin.

She also felt the thundering of his heart.

Her stomach pitched, as if she had just fallen off
the edge of a precipice.

“Do you see what your nearness does to me?” His
smile had faded now, leaving intensity in its place. “I’m sick with longing for
you. Food and drink have lost their taste. When you stand close to me I cannot
breathe.”

Merwenna stared at him, shocked into silence by the
prince’s admission.

“I thought I could ignore it,” Dylan continued. “I
thought being back here would make me focus on other matters – but all I can
think of is you. Merwenna, you are slowly driving me mad.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered, her fingers
curling into a fist against his chest. “You shouldn’t… we shouldn’t…”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” The bitterness in Dylan’s
voice made her draw back slightly. “I never thought I’d be jealous of a dead
man – but I am. Will he have your heart forever?"

Chapter Thirty-five

Want

“I love Beorn,” Merwenna whispered, “and time will
not change that.”

She saw disappointment flare in Dylan’s eyes, but
pressed on nonetheless.

“He died only a few weeks ago. All of this has
happened too soon.”

“I didn’t plan this either,” he replied with a wry
smile. “But keeping away from me isn’t going to bring him back.”

“I know that,” she replied, holding his gaze. “Beorn
and I were bonded by promises and dreams, but what I feel for you is different.”

“And what is that?” Dylan asked. The bitterness had
disappeared. He reached out and stroked her cheek. The sensation caused a
shiver to ripple down her spine.

If only she had the courage to tell Dylan how she
burned for him. Yet, she had never lain with a man, what did she know of such
things?  

“I…,” she began, staring at him helplessly,
struggling for the words that eluded her. “I want…”

She did not have the chance to say anything more,
for Dylan pulled her into his arms.

His mouth claimed hers.

She let out a groan and surrendered to him. The
smell of him, the taste of him, unlocked something deep within her. Merwenna lost
all sense of where she was. She was conscious only of his tongue, which slid
between her lips and explored her mouth, and his hands that tangled in her
hair.

This was what she had been afraid of. This lack of
control; this need that once surrendered to, was all-consuming.

Merwenna’s limbs grew weak, her body molten.
Instinctively, she reached up and tangled her fingers in his curly, dark hair. Dylan
groaned and pulled her onto his lap. His hands ran down her back. He then
clasped each buttock tightly, pulling her firmly against him. She felt the hard
column of his arousal against her belly and gasped. She had always imagined this
moment would frighten her – yet, instead, she ached to reach out and touch him
there.

She angled her hips even further toward him and
slowly ground herself against him.

“Merwenna,” he groaned into her mouth. “Do you have
any idea what you do to me?”

Not awaiting a response, he pulled her with him so
that they lay stretched out on the fur mat. Then he rolled over so that she was
under him, and kissed her again, his tongue teasing hers, and his hands cupping
her face.

Merwenna went limp and pliable in his arms. She
could not have resisted him, even if she had wanted to. Her mind was nothing
more than a whirlpool of need. Her senses ached for him; she could think of
nothing else except having his naked skin against hers.

Dylan eventually ended the kiss. He propped himself
up on his elbows, breathing heavily, as if he had been running. He stared down
at her face – his eyes dark and luminous in the firelight.

“The gods help me, I won’t be able to stop myself
soon,” he told her, his voice rough. “Go now, if you don’t want me to touch
you. But if you stay, you’re mine.”

Merwenna gazed up at him, her pulse throbbing
through her body. She would surely die if he stopped touching her.

“I’m yours,” she whispered.

That was all he needed. He kissed her again, all
restraint gone. His hands were everywhere, hiking up her skirts and stroking
the skin of her thighs. Merwenna clutched at him, desperate to touch his skin.

Realizing her frustration, Dylan released her,
climbed lithely to his feet and began to take his clothes off – his gaze never
leaving hers. Merwenna watched him, entranced. There was something incredibly
sensual about watching him undress for her. His wool tunic dropped to the
ground and Dylan unlaced his breeches. Merwenna’s mouth went dry as he stripped
them off. He stood before her, naked, clad only in the gold and silver arm
rings he wore on his right bicep. His desire for her was evident.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, Dylan smiled.

“It is your turn,
cariad
.”

Trembling, Merwenna climbed to her feet to face
him. She stood there as he reached out and undid the girdle around her waist.
Knowing what he was about to do next, Merwenna lifted her arms, and allowed him
to pull her
wealca
and tunic over her head so that, she too stood naked.

The cool night air brushed against her heated skin,
and prickled as his gaze raked her, from head to toe. Finally his gaze rested
upon her breasts, and she heard him give a low groan. Then, he was on his knees
before her. He drew her left nipple deep into his mouth as he suckled her.

Merwenna arched her back and stifled a cry. The
pleasure was so intense she felt her knees buckle beneath her. Together, they
sank onto the ground. Underneath his lean, finely muscled body, her own hands
roamed at will. She wanted to touch every inch of him.

He started to suckle her other breast, while he
parted her thighs. When he stroked her gently between them, Merwenna gasped his
name. A few moments later, he inserted a finger deep inside her, and the
trembling grew violent; she whimpered against his shoulder.

Dylan pulled her up against him so their bodies
were pressed together from chest to hip. His mouth devoured hers. Merwenna grew
bolder. As they kissed, she gently bit his lower lip; her hands traveling down
the hard planes of his chest, across his belly, to his shaft. Her finger tips
lightly traced it, exploring.

Dylan groaned as her explorations grew bolder. She
ran her fingers up the long, hard length of it to the swollen head. When she
stroked him there, Dylan gasped something in his own tongue. Then, he parted
her thighs wide.

Despite that she was a maid, and knew what was to
follow would bring her pain, Merwenna welcomed the touch of him. He slid into
her, slowly. His body trembled with the effort he was making to control himself.
Merwenna arched herself up against him, impatient to have him inside her.

When Dylan was half-way inside her, a sharp,
tearing pain knifed through Merwenna, causing her to whimper, her nails biting
into his back. However, Dylan was too far inside to stop now. With a groan, he thrust
deep, seating himself fully.

She remained rigid, slowly releasing the breath she
had been holding. The pain faded, replaced with a glorious, aching fullness.

Dylan began to move inside her in slow, deep
thrusts.

Merwenna was lost.

She had no idea that it could be like this between
a man and a woman. All that mattered was this hunger for him, this deep ache
inside her, and this fire he was slowly stoking. Dylan reached down between
them, and stroked her as he thrust. Merwenna gasped his name once more, her
body quivering – and her reaction drove him over the edge.

With a hoarse cry he thrust hard into her and found
his release.

In the aftermath, they clung together, sweat-soaked
and breathing hard. Merwenna lay against Dylan’s chest, listening to the
thunder of his heart – and wished that she could stop time.

There could be no more perfect moment than this
one. She did not want it to slip away.

***

Merwenna traced her fingertips across Dylan’s
chest, following the whorls of crisp, dark hair. She inhaled the warm, musky
scent of his skin and propped herself up on one elbow, so she could look at
him. He was dozing – in that dreamless state between sleeping and wakefulness –
and she was loath to disturb him.

“Dylan,” she said softly, tracing the line of his
jaw with her fingertips. “I should go.”

Dylan’s eyes opened and their gazes met. Merwenna
felt the same fire as earlier kindle in the pit of her belly. This man had cast
a powerful spell over her. She could not look at him without being stripped of
reason and will.

“Why?” he murmured. “Stay here with me tonight.”

“But folk will notice my absence – they will talk.”

“Let them, I care not.”

Merwenna gazed at him, taking in the chiseled lines
of his face. “You don’t?”

“No,” he gave her that slow smile that made her
tingle all over, and reached up to stroke her face. “What good is it being the
ruler of Powys, if you cannot do as you wish under your own roof? This hurts no
one.”

“I’m not sure your kin see it that way.”

“They will see it as I tell them to,” Dylan’s smile
turned cocky and he ran the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “Your mouth
is like a rosebud,” he murmured, making it clear he wished to focus on other
matters.

Merwenna smiled, aware of the heat rising between
them again. She was not difficult to convince. There was no place she would
rather be than lying naked on the furs with this man. Their limbs were still
entwined, and she felt his manhood stiffen against her belly. The sensitive
flesh between her thighs began to ache in anticipation of what was to come.

Dylan answered her smile with a kiss. His fingers
tangled in her hair, pulling her down to him. Moments later, all thoughts of
leaving the prince’s bower, and returning to her bed outside Heledd’s bower,
were a distant memory.