The Penwyth Curse (Medieval Song 6)

Please, God, let her awaken soon.

Oh, aye, she’d leap up and yell like a blooded witch, and all the ancient Druid spirits who still roamed the land would jump upon him and stuff him in a wooden cage.

He didn’t care. Even as his hands came over her back to hold her tight against him, he said, “Merryn.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Merryn, wake up.” He let his hands move down, nearly to her bottom. “If you don’t, I will simply take you right now and then it will be done.”

He lifted his hands off her. He shouldn’t touch her. That was madness, what with that curse hanging about, but it didn’t seem to matter because he did anyway. He was kneading her hips, wondering if he could just flip her over and take her. Yes, just come inside her, and it would be done. If he got her pregnant, would the curse still strike him down? Would the curse even know that he’d taken her? “Merryn, open your eyes. It’s morning. If you don’t, you’ll be under me in another breath.”

He’d expected her to jerk up, a scream ready to explode out of her mouth. But no. Slowly, so very slowly, she arched up, inch by inch, until she was above him, not six inches from his mouth. She was staring down at him even as his hands were kneading her, his fingertips going inward, his sex hard against her.

She said, surprise in her voice, “By all that is holy, that feels far too good not to be a grievous sin.”

That wasn’t what he’d expected. By Saint Gregory’s calluses, who and what was this young girl who’d already buried four husbands? Who was keeping secrets from him?

His hands kept moving, pulling her now tightly against his sex, so hard now he wanted to groan like a wounded man at the nearly painful pleasure. He continued to look up at her. “Of course it feels good. It’s supposed to feel good.”

“Is it a sin, do you think?” And then she eased down a bit, her breasts nearly touching his chest.

“Listen to me. You should be yelling at me, trying to jerk away from me and run.”

“Aye,” she said, her mouth even lower now, not more than three inches from his.

“When did you climb on top of me?”

She hadn’t realized she had. “Oh, my.” If she had turned any redder, she could have competed with a St. Ives sunset. But he also saw the excitement in her eyes. No, more than excitement—immense curiosity.

He said, “If you wanted me, why didn’t you just wake me up? A man can sport at a moment’s notice.” He pushed up against her belly, and at the same time his fingers were pressing in.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said, still not moving, her breath sharp, jerky now. “Mayhap you tugged on the rope and pulled me on top of you.”

“Nay, I’m not such a fool.” But evidently he was. He began pulling her gown up, knew what he was doing, knew he was a fool.

She stared down at him, just couldn’t look away. “If you keep doing what you’re doing, the curse might strike you dead.”

“Possibly, but why would you care? I might not tie you down in the rain when it comes if you tell me everything I know you’re keeping from me.”

She didn’t say a word, but her breathing was rough now. If he wasn’t mistaken, and he knew he wasn’t, she was more than interested.

“You deserve to be punished,” he said, sounding bored and indifferent, even as his fingers cramped and itched to touch her bare leg. “When it pleases you to remove yourself, it would relieve me.”

She said, looking down at him—no, she was still looking at his mouth, “You feel very different from me.”

He moved, just couldn’t help himself. He was harder than he’d been but a moment before, so hard he wanted to take her, fast, by the saints, very, very fast. He moved again. Then he just couldn’t bear it. He wrapped his arms around her back and quickly rolled her off him and came down over her.

She didn’t yell or curse him, she just lay there, her hands on his shoulders, and said, “I’ve seen naked men before. They didn’t look like you feel like you look.”

He laughed at that. He kept his weight on his elbows. Her hair was tangled around her head, her lips were slightly parted. This was mo

re difficult than having her on top of him. It would be so easy to pull up that damned gown of hers and come into her, hard and deep. Oh, God, yes, very deep and deeper yet until he touched her womb. He nearly groaned with the thought of that. He said, to distract himself, “Did you touch these naked men? Did you, a lady, touch these naked men here?” And he pushed against her, just to make sure, he supposed, that she was clear on what he’d said. He was killing himself.

“Nay, I meant that I looked at them and they didn’t look at all like you feel against me.”

“A man is a man,” he said, and felt himself puff up like a gamecock at her words. He grew even harder. Was she trying to seduce him?

“Well, mayhap that is true, but I did look and they weren’t at all like you.”