Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (31 page)

He grunted, his jaw tight. Amused, I rocked faster. “She tasted me with her mouth.”

He let out a strangled moan.

I grabbed his tunic and braced my feet on the bed, riding him hard. “I liked it.”

His face contorted with tension, and he growled like a caged bear. The power of his climax shuddered through his body. He collapsed back onto the bed.

“Enjoy yourself?” I smirked.

“Dear gods. You are the most exciting woman I have ever known.”

“After everything that had happened with Eadfrith, I thought you’d be furious.” I remembered Angharad telling me that men enjoyed it when women pleasured one another. I wondered if he’d like to watch. My body roused at the thought.

“How could I be?” He looked at me and then shook his head. “She had you bound tighter than a cranked spring. Play with your friend as often as you like. I will be ready whenever you are done.”

I marveled at the man before me. We’d been angry, both of us. We’d yelled—well, I had yelled; he had brooded in quiet consternation. But now, safe and enveloped in each other’s arms, it seemed there was nothing we could not accomplish, nothing we could not overcome as long as we were together. I thought of Muirgen’s prophecy. Had I somehow circumvented the darkness? Averted the wedge driving Alrik and me apart? I could have left Wales at any point. I could have departed with the priests for Francia. But instead, I had chosen Alrik and had come back to stand by his side. I felt vindicated, as if I’d somehow outrun or outsmarted my fate.

My stomach growled, interrupting my introspection.

Alrik sat up and stretched overhead, grabbing his satchel. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a small dinner of cheese and bread when we stopped near Lampeter.” I looked at the cauldron on the hearth. “There’s potage.”

He lifted the leather flap, producing with a flourish a package wrapped in linen. “I have something better.”

“What is it?”

“Dessert.”

He unraveled the fabric, presenting a honeyed cake, dripping with divine sweetness. He tore off a piece and held it up. I leaned forward, expecting him to pop the morsel in my mouth, but he stroked it along my bottom lip. My tongue darted out to lick the sticky sugar.

Apparently, he was hungry too, for he absconded with the morsel and ate it. He tore off another piece.

He brushed my top lip with the cake and pulled it back when I tried to snare a bite. “You must learn to be patient. Some things get better with the waiting.” He leaned back against the headboard and tossed the second piece in his mouth.

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought your concern for my welfare meant you were going to share.”

He put a finger against my lips. “Close your eyes.”

Little ripples of anticipation burbled along my skin. The hair on my arms rose like long grass in a cool lusty wind. I did as bid and waited, hands clasped demurely in my lap. A moment later, I could smell the honey and sense his hand close, but he waited. When the bread finally touched, it was so light and unexpected that I jumped. I had no idea my lips were so ticklish, but his feather touch set them on fire.

I heard his gentle chuckle.

“Something amusing?” I asked, still eyes closed.

“I like watching you.” He teased, brushing the cake back and forth. “I like tasting you.” His tongue swept over my lips.

I inhaled sharply and leaned closer, eager to skip dessert and sink my teeth back into the main course.

He pulled back, and I opened my eyes. He flicked the other piece of bread into the air, and caught it in his mouth. He smirked as he chewed.

“That one should have been mine.”

“Since you were such a good girl.” He held out another crumb, keeping it an inch away from my lips.

Was he going to let me have this one or was it another trick?

“Go on.”

I attempted to grab it, but he dashed it away and was chewing before I could form a protest. I leapt forward, snatching at the cake, but he held it high above his head. “Hungry?”

“You know I am.” I climbed on top of his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Though no longer for cake.” I rubbed my pelvis against him until he was hard. The blue in his eyes deepened.

He lowered his arms and broke off another piece. “Not hungry for cake? Pity.” He placed half in his teeth. I took the other half in mine. The moment we both swallowed, my lips were on his, devouring him.

I weaved my hands through his hair and gripped hard, pulling him closer. His hands clamped onto my backside, kneading and encouraging me to rub against him. My arousal climbed like a hungry flame licking at dry wood. I moaned with abandoned pleasure as his tip slipped inside me. He remained still, letting me determine the depth and speed of my descent. I rocked, my hips undulating—rising and sinking.

I didn’t think I could ever get enough of him. I marveled at the way we fit together. He filled me completely, and my body responded by hugging and gripping his length. I craved his touch, and each stroke, each caress, stoked the fire of my passion, making me hungry for more.

He quickened the pace, his strained breath urging me on. Friction set off a thousand sensations, and I gripped his shoulders. My chest arched as he pulled and lifted, rocked and pushed. I held his gaze, watching him watch me come undone. I fell apart as his own climax crested, pulsing and ebbing within me.

I collapsed onto his chest. My head rested against his shoulder. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

He drew his fingernails up and down the length of my back, making me shiver. “I handled this all wrong. I know that now.”

I didn’t argue with him.

I felt the rumble of his laugh. “Not going to disagree, I take it?”

I smiled. “No.”

“I do not blame you.”

“You tried to do the right thing. It wasn’t. The right thing, I mean. But I know where your intentions came from. I can’t blame you for that.”

He brushed the hair off my back and settled his light caresses on my neck. My body quivered. I scrunched my shoulder to my ear, trying to block his progress.

“Thank you.” He kissed the tip of my nose.

I lifted my chin and sought his lips with mine. He tasted sweet and delicious.

He smiled against me. “Let me get you something to drink.”

I relented, and he disentangled himself from my clinging limbs. He strode to the table and grabbed the wine while I admired his backside. He passed me a cup and the uneaten honeyed cake.

I sat back, crossing my legs. A bouquet of flowers and berries tickled my senses as he unstopped the pitcher and poured the clear honeyed liquid. I brought the wine to my nose and inhaled. A mild tingling prickled near my chest. I pushed the odd sensation away, clinked my cup to Alrik’s, and lifted it to my lips. The tingling turned into hot, searing pain. The crystal pendant Angharad had given me to protect against evil burned into my skin. I jumped. The wine sloshed over the edge, splashing into my lap and Alrik’s.

I gripped the crystal with one hand, trying to pry it away from my chest. My skin puckered and blistered. I dropped the cup on the bed in my struggle.

Alrik hovered over me. “What is it?”

I managed to tear the crystal away, letting out a small whimper. The stone had turned a muddy yellow color. “It burned me.” I could feel the tight itchiness of the raw blisters.

“How?”

I looked at my cup and then the pitcher. “Don’t drink that.”

“Why?” He peered into his drink.

“I think it’s been poisoned.” I threw on my underdress and kirtle and opened the door. I tossed both our cups and their noxious contents into the hedgerow. They hit wood, and the glass shattered, landing in the dirt.

I handed Alrik the crystal and then grabbed the pitcher. I searched the room for something I could empty the wine into.

I poured some of the liquid into one of the bread trenchers and motioned Alrik closer. “Hold out your hand. As close as you can, but not touching.”

He did as instructed. After a few seconds his eyebrows drew together; then he hissed and dropped the crystal.

The yellow color blended into the hay and rushes underfoot.

I peered into the half empty pitcher and then turned it upside down, emptying the last dregs onto the bread. A mole’s carcass, curled into itself and rendered even more grotesque minus its head, plopped onto the trencher with a splat.

I retched.

Alrik’s face drained of color.

I opened the door to the cottage and tossed the mole and trencher, wine and all. One of the many stray dogs that hovered around the manor flew out of the cover of the bushes and snatched at the bread. I ran after it, desperate to get it to drop its quarry, but it snapped and devoured its catch, licking its lips before slinking away. It was a mangy thing, skinny and long, its coloring all brown save a white smudge across its snout. I wanted rid of the poison, but I hadn’t meant for an animal to get to it.

I surveyed the manor. A few people glanced my way as they set about their work. I nodded and smiled, encouraging them to shuffle on. It was overcast and blustery, and the wind whipped the hair around my face.

“What is it?” Alrik asked.

“The beast got hold of it.” I pointed to the creature, hunched and watching us from the cover of the sparse vegetation near the edge of the manor.

He frowned. “I will get something.”

I nodded and waited, standing guard over the last of the poison-soaked bread. I noticed with considerable disgust that the portion with the mole was gone.

When Alrik returned, he scooped the vile mash into a wicker basket. “I will toss this into the refuse pit.”

“I didn’t think.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “There is nothing to be done now. Perhaps we overreacted.”

As if on cue, the dog edged out of the trees and started pacing in frantic short bursts. Its ribs heaved with rapid panting. Foam frothed from its lips.

The odd behavior caught the attention of several people, and a group of onlookers gathered near the treeline.

I watched in a detached haze. Time looped and fell back on itself. The anguish and suffering continued until the dog crumpled onto its side, straining to draw breath. Its eyes dimmed. Its life ended.

I looked at Alrik. That had been meant for us.

I paced the floor. “Angharad and I have put a plan in place to perform a ritual.”

“Avelynn.” Alrik locked his arms across his chest.

I held up a finger, warning him. “Taking back your declaration so soon?”

He pursed his lips. “I want you to be safe.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Angharad is in charge of getting me something of Marared’s for the ceremony. I do not plan on hurting her.” Though the gods knew I was well within my rights for retaliation. “I will use the ritual to try to counteract any ill omens she tries to set upon us. It will not stop her from attempting acts of violence, but once Sigy squirrels her away in Bangor, maybe this madness will finally end.”

Alrik nodded. “This business with Rhodri will end on the morrow. If your ritual can block her evil deeds against us until then, we will be far enough away that she cannot harm us.”

I wasn’t sure if there was a distance beyond which magic became ineffective, but at least while we were safely ensconced on Raven’s Blood, she wouldn’t be able to poison us.

I thought of Ingolf, one of Alrik’s men who had told Halfdan I was a Saxon spy. With the Viking camp reunited and Raven’s Blood moored in Llanbadarn’s bay, I wanted to make sure nothing would impact our swift departure. “Marared cannot poison us as long as she doesn’t find a way to undermine your position. Could she get on board? Poison the water supply?”

“Half the crew guards the ship at all times, but I will warn them not to accept any goods or supplies while we are here. We can get more from the land of the Picts if needed.”

A knock on the door interrupted our conversation, and Alrik answered the summons.

“I have the lady’s belongings.” It was a page from St. Dogmael’s.

Alrik opened the door wide. “She will need the small box. The one with the gold painted serpentine around the lid. Bring the remainder to my ship.”

“Take them all to your ship.” I interrupted. “I can do this without the book.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I need only a few things.” Throughout the night, between euphoric waves of coupling, I’d lain wide awake while Alrik dozed beside me. I settled on a mishmash of ideas, coming up with a rough outline for the ceremony. I felt confident I could do it without the book. I followed the lad out to the wagon and waited until he respectfully removed himself from my side. I slipped the key out of my satchel and opened the chest a crack, pulling out my bag of chalk. I tucked it into my satchel. After locking the chest and making sure all of my possessions had in fact made it back from their circuitous journey, I slipped back inside the cottage.

“Do you need anything else?” Alrik asked.

“No. Angharad should be along shortly.”

“Speak and she appears.”

I smiled as a pair of arms reached from behind and settled around my waist. Her mouth hovered near my ear. “I’ve brought everything.”