WYVERN (4 page)

"For Angus," she said. "May your spirit live young all the days of the world, grandfather."

The fiddle sprang to life beneath her bow, and she played while she cried. A tune of love and nostalgia, its plaintive notes flooded the moonlit pathways carved into the cliffs. The flames of her campfire flickered in rhythm to the song. Elsbeth closed her eyes, lost to the music and the bright images of her childhood.

The tune segued into another and then another, and her memories changed, turning again to Alaric and that blissful summer nearly a decade earlier.

Despite her initial reserve, she'd fallen for him. He'd won her, not with florid compliments or boasts of great deeds, but with things more prosaic. After that first reluctant dinner invitation, Alaric had returned a half dozen times to eat with her and Angus.

Elsbeth was taciturn at first; content to let conversation between Angus and the bard flow around her while she served their meal. The fact he ate her food, not with barely suppressed distaste but with gusto, astounded her and delighted Angus. He didn't look like he was starving, and it was the only reason she could think of that might inspire someone to wolf down her cooking so enthusiastically.

He was at ease in their humble house. Other, wealthier families had hosted him, their homes far more gracious than Angus's. But Alaric had sat with Angus at their beaten table, shared a smoke, told his fascinating tales and listened, enraptured, when Elsbeth played her fiddle.

And she observed his interactions with her fellow villagers. No idler content to find a shady spot and watch others work, he often volunteered his help to work in the fields and on the threshing floors. Once, at a barn raising, a brawl almost broke out between the younger village women over who would sit near him at lunch. Elsbeth had not joined in the competition, satisfied to admire him from afar.

She'd invited him for supper a second time at Angus's urgings. Alaric accepted, unhesitating, though his smile was rueful. "And you, Beth. Do you want me there?"

Elsbeth didn't pretend coyness. She disliked it in others. "Yes," she said before walking away.

"You warm my heart with your eagerness, Beth," he'd called after her in a laughing voice.

And you frighten mine with your charm, storyteller.

Dinner had transformed after that. Her food was still burned or undercooked. Alaric still had two or more helpings. She played her fiddle for him afterward, but he no longer shared a pipe with Angus. Instead, he escorted her around the edge of the village, making idle talk as they admired the summer moon.

The villagers, ever curious of their neighbors' doings, soon talked of Alaric's courtship of Elsbeth.

Theirs wasn't an incorrect supposition. Talk soon turned to kissing in the concealing shadows of the village's neighboring stand of trees. Tentative at first, she'd finally shed her reserve and returned Alaric's kisses with a passion long hidden. Elsbeth, on the cusp of spinsterhood by Ney standards, had experienced her share of kisses and more, but none like these. Alaric kissed her with his body, not just his mouth. He was generous in his affections but not overwhelming, always taking what she gave him, only asking for more in small portions.

"You are too good to be true," she teased him one evening. They sat together on a flat rock overlooking the stream that gave her village its name. Elsbeth savored the warmth within the circle of his arms. His chest was a solid wall against her back, his heartbeat a faint and soothing lullaby.

"You mean I didn't live up to your first assumptions." His voice was somber, no reciprocal teasing lightening his tones.

Elsbeth shifted so she could see his face. The play of moonlight brought his features into high relief, accentuating the cut of his cheekbones and line of his nose. He stared at her with eyes that drank the light.

"No," she said, her face heating at the mild rebuke in his tone. "You didn't. And I was wrong to make such assumptions." She stroked his neck, the hollow of his throat. "I hope you'll forgive me. I judged you by the behavior and crimes of others before you."

"And yet, I follow their path, Beth. I sit here with a village woman in my arms, one with no protector save an old man half-crippled with a bone sickness." Alaric slid a finger under her chin and tilted her face to him. "I won't lie, Beth. I want you. Want to make love to you, want to mount you here on this rock, feel your legs around me as I take you." He smiled briefly at her wide-eyed surprise. "I'd tell you I loved you if I thought you'd believe me. But loving you won't keep me here, no matter how much I wish it otherwise. I can only be what you first condemned me with in your eyes--a man wanting a woman so badly he can taste her, and no future to offer her. I will leave Ney-by-the-Water in two days."

Elsbeth, caught in a tangle of emotion, closed her eyes. Desire, despair, anger, elation--all these things ran through her at once. His words, seductive in their graphic honesty, made her ache. She wanted those things, too, wanted more than to recline here in his arms. Her elation over his oblique reference to loving her fell before the knowledge she had only two more days with him.

The fates are laughing now, she thought. Elsbeth Weaver, so proud, so sure of her own heart and intelligence that she'd not be taken by the smooth charm of a handsome nomad, had fallen deeply in love with one. Knowingly, willingly. And she did not regret it for a moment.

Elsbeth turned fully in Alaric's arms so that she faced him on her knees. "You're not like them," she said. "You've seduced me with your honesty, not your lies." She smiled when his eyes flared. "You can't give me a future. But are you willing to give me two days?"

He didn't return her smile, but his hand rode her back, pulling her closer until she fell against him. The intensity in his voice made her shiver. "We can live a life in two days, Beth." He stared at her. "Do you understand what you're saying?"

"Yes."

She kissed him then, taking slow delight in the curve of his lips against hers, the taste of his mouth--mulled wine she'd served with dinner. Alaric groaned, opened his mouth more to deepen her kiss. Elsbeth sucked on his tongue, passed hers along his teeth and the roof of his mouth. She wanted his taste, his scent, all of him. Her hips rocked, pelvis setting a slow grind against him. His cock, swollen and stiff, rubbed against her cunus, and Elsbeth moaned into his mouth.

There was a flurry of heat and hands, of tangled clothing and ripped seams. Alaric suckled her breast, his tongue laving her nipple in short and long strokes. Elsbeth held his head close, fingers weaving abstract patterns through his silky hair as he almost brought her to climax.

She returned the caress, trailing kisses down his neck until she reached his small nipple. A delicate kiss, a warm teasing breath that made him hiss in anticipation. His fingers dug into her hips when she took it into her mouth, swirled her tongue over the tip, promised with every silent stroke she'd do the same to his cock.

Alaric pulled her away from him. "Beth," he said in a tight voice. Sweat beaded his forehead. "Not slow this first time. I won't last for slow." His hands shoved her skirts up around her thighs, even as hers were busy unlacing his trews. "Later, I will savor you."

Elsbeth couldn't agree more. She moaned her approval, when finally freed from his trousers, he filled her hand. He was hot and hard and smooth to her touch. Trickles of semen smeared her fingers as she touched the head of his penis. Alaric sucked in a breath, lifted her and spread her thighs.

He lay back on the rock. Moonlight gilded him silver. "Ride me, Beth. Hard."

She sank down on him and moaned her pleasure. The slow slide of swollen cock into her wet cunus sent a tingling heat racing down her spine and over her legs. Alaric gripped her hips in hard hands, guiding her until they set a quick rhythm. There were few words between, only an occasional gasp, the wet sound of skin meeting skin as she rode him.

Alaric pulled her head down, mimicked the thrusts of his cock with his tongue in her mouth. His hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts. "Gods, Beth. Two days. I could fuck you a lifetime. I need more than two days." With that, he rolled, putting her neatly on her back while still retaining their connection.

Elsbeth whimpered and clutched at him when she felt him withdraw. "No, don't."

He reassured her with a hard thrust, he was going nowhere. Elsbeth eased her legs over his shoulders, desperate to pull him deeper. He was a big man, endowed with both length and girth to please any woman. Her need to bring him closer went beyond the physical but was limited to it.

Alaric slowed his pace, turned his head and kissed her right shin, then her left. He cupped her cunus in one hand, looked down to where his shaft, glistening from their combined pleasure, thrust in and out of her body. He spread the outer lips of her cunus, exposing her clitoris to his touch and his gaze. Elsbeth gasped when he licked his lips.

"This," he said in a voice gone hoarse, "this is what I've longed to taste." Alaric's gray eyes blazed silver. "For now, I'll simply touch."

"Simply touch" was an understatement. He drove Elsbeth mindless with the play of his fingers on her clit. She panted and thrashed against him, sure she'd incinerate in the heat of her approaching climax. Alaric pumped her hard, bending her legs until she was curved fully against him and could see herself impaled on his thrusting cock. Could see his fingers delving into her curls. Sweat dripped off him onto her, sliding across her belly and breast. His face was thinned, drawn tight, as if he hovered on the brink of ecstasy. It was enough to drive her over the edge.

"Now," she groaned. Her back arched, her legs tensed against his shoulders. A spiking heat thundered through her, centered between her legs where his fingers played, and his cock filled her.

"Yes," he said in a breathless voice. He thrust twice more, hard enough to drive her across the rock, and climaxed. Elsbeth tightened her legs and moaned her approval at the slick warmth pulsing within her.

Her legs slid off his shoulder. She was a boneless heap of sweating, quivering muscle, no longer capable of thinking much less speaking. When Alaric collapsed on her, she made only a token protest. He adjusted his position so as not to crush her.

His face, revealed in moonlight, was peaceful, satiated. Elsbeth smiled. "You look like a cat who's found the cream crock." She caressed his back with lazy strokes.

"I believe I just put cream in the crock." He clutched her hips when her laughter threatened to push him out of her. "Careful, lass," he said. "It's a touch of paradise in there. I'm not ready to leave it just yet."

He stroked her face with gentle fingers. "Two days, Beth. I hope you have nothing else to do because it'll be me occupying your time. Take care of Angus, weave your rugs, but I'll have you to myself every spare moment." He glided a hand down her side and hip. "I'll have my cock in you in every way, too." His kiss was hard, possessive. "A claiming, Beth. I for you, you for me. I need the memory to carry with me."

Elsbeth shivered in his arms, from anticipation and no little trepidation. She wanted him in all ways; just some were more unfamiliar than others. Still, she trusted him, knew he wouldn't hurt her. And she needed a memory as much as he did. She caressed his hair, never tiring of its silkiness against her palm. "Then why are we talking? You're wasting precious time, storyteller. Give me that lifetime you promised."

She played until her arms ached, and her jaw felt permanently attached to the fiddle's chin rest. Perspiration dampened the hair at her temples and made her neck itch. Elsbeth lowered the fiddle and took a deep breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto her dusty boots. She wiped them away with a grimy hand.

"I will offer you the wealth of kingdoms if you but play once more."

Elsbeth screamed and dropped the fiddle and bow. The voice, resonant and deep, surrounded her. She grabbed her crossbow and shield, pointing the crossbow in a slow sweep before her. There was no true target for her to aim at, and terror coursed a river through her veins. It was a futile exercise. Even with the moon illuminating miles of farmland and the cliffs' pathways, she could see nothing beyond the periphery of her campfire. All was obscured by darkness thicker than treacle. Elsbeth's nostrils flared as she hid behind the shield. That gloom carried a distinct scent, brittle and sharp like the morning air after the first frost. For some strange reason, it made her think of Alaric.

"You've not much respect for so fine an instrument when you drop it on the ground in favor of that sad toy. What are you hoping to kill? A vole?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw something shift, a blacker shape among shifting shadows. A sibilant hiss, like sand sliding against sand punctuated the entity's question. Elsbeth swung the crossbow to the spot where the sound was loudest.

"Who are you?" She cringed inwardly at the warble in her voice. "What do you want?"

Laughter that was more a steady growl made the ground vibrate beneath her feet. "I might ask you such questions." Dry humor laced her visitor's words. The sand-slipping sound grew louder. "What is a solitary woman doing on the cursed cliffs of Maldoza dressed in armor and playing a fiddle?"

The heavy darkness lightened, revealing fingertips of moonlight that skated along curving black scales. Elsbeth whimpered and backed away, trying to merge herself with the rocky shelter as a monstrous reptilian head loomed above her and regarded her with eyes the size of silver serving platters.

"Dragon," she whispered.

The great head swung to and fro in the murky darkness. Its elliptical pupils dilated, reflecting back the pale moon. Elsbeth swore the bony ridge of metallic scales running the length of its snout wrinkled in a frown.

"Hardly," it said and snorted its disdain in a puff of blue smoke belched from its nostrils. "I am a wyvern."

What was the difference? Elsbeth wondered but didn't dare ask, afraid the creature might be insulted by her question.

The spell-born mist cleared completely, revealing the wyvern in all its majesty. It was enormous. Like her grandfather's description of the dragon he'd slain, it sported a pair of giant bat-like wings tucked tight against its back. Teeth longer than her arm and sharper than sabers gleamed ivory in the firelight. Scales rippled as its claws carved furrows into the hard ground. Unlike the dragon of Angus's adventure, this beast possessed no back legs. Its serpentine body rippled with muscle as it wrapped a grasping circle around the stony outcropping, trapping Elsbeth within its confines.