The Conqueror

“Oh. Pagan.”

He felt it begin. The sudden freeze of her glorious body, the tightening of her fingers in his hair, the senseless, jagged whimpers, caught short as if on a sob. Her passion-drugged eyes slid open and locked on his.

“Tell me, Raven, does it please you?”

She shuddered over the edge. Her head jerked backwards as her body exploded in thudding tremors that undulated along his shaft, and he lost himself too. Hard, hot spasms of orgasm surged through him. He propped himself on his elbows and their bodies hammered together for plunge after plunge of hot, wild thrusts. She was calling his name, crying. Something never before felt, picked Griffyn up. It sent him hurtling through walls of denial, toppling old convictions of aloneness, crushing his commitment to mistrust, and sending him spiraling headlong into some heretofore unknown sentiment. He did not dare name it.

She just held his face in her hands and cried into his mouth. “Aye, aye, aye.”

It took a long time for their hearts to slow again. He held her the whole time, and when she quieted, he lifted himself and lay down beside her. She turned towards him, satiny inner thighs curved around his, still quivering. Her mouth planted hot, aimless kisses along his neck and jaw.

He closed his eyes and ran his palm over her hot hair, murmuring nothing. Finally her whisperings quieted.

They lay this way for a long while, their bodies spent and sweaty, entangled and enflamed, and tried to catch their breath while their minds tried to register the import of what had just happened.

A few minutes later Griffyn pushed himself up on one elbow. He looked down at her, searching her eyes for a reaction. But they were closed, her lips parted in a faint smile as she slept.

Chapter Nineteen

Before dawn, Griffyn was striding through the clearing in front of the Saxon fortress, surrounded by men preparing to mount up. The light was sullen and grey, and the clouds hunkered low, creating a sopping wet blanket that leaked fat drops of rain on the helms and tunic-clad bodies walking in circles and beating their hands on their thighs to keep warm.

Griffyn walked through the centre of the group, with a word here and there to his men, talking quietly and clapping arms. A red-eared, white-furred cat followed him, winding between his legs as he strode through mud puddles.

“Ruadgh.” He muttered the cat’s Celtic name in faint irritation when he and the feline got entangled in one particularly muddy leap. She smiled up at him, her blue eyes closing slightly, her tail stuttering back and forth in feathery twitches. She rubbed up against his boot-clad leg, leaving a silky thatch of fur on his breeches. He sighed and ran a hand over her arching back.

“Nuisance,” observed a gruff voice.

Griffyn turned.

“She’s a devil-cat.” Hervé Fairess expanded on his opinion crossly, then reached down to run his calloused palm over her back. She purred happily, rolled over, and sunk her claws into his hand.

“Arrgghh!” He leapt back, clasping his hand to his chest, and glowered at the creature. “Devil-thing,” he growled.

Griffyn smiled and ducked his head beneath Hervé’s horse’s neck, heading towards Alex.

“All is ready? Well-good. I will join you at the Wareham docks within a day.”

Alex shot a brief glance at the upper window of the building. “After Saint Alban’s?” Griffyn nodded silently. “Is that wise?”

Drawing in a half-formed breath, Griffyn pursed his lips and looked at the sky. “Quite possibly, no.”

Alex looked at him sharply. “Does she know who you are?”

Griffyn slowly arched a brow. “Do you know who I am?”

Alex ignored the oblique threat. “Because you know what could happen if she revealed who—or where—you are, correct?”

Certainly he knew. Death. Dismemberment. All sorts of nasty things.

Griffyn scowled, primarily because these very real considerations were not what had stayed his tongue with Guinevere. In fact, cold, vengeful satisfaction had counseled revealing his identity. Something much more tender had persuaded him to hold his tongue.

“Pagan, all I am saying is that if this goes badly, it could go very, very badly.”

“I am not seeking counsel on it, Alex.”

Alex lifted the flap of his hauberk and looped it into place over his shoulder. “As you will. My lord.”

Griffyn nodded. “I’ll meet up with you before the horses are loaded on the ship.”