Awaken (5 page)

Gently, as mist creeps over the warmth of a slow flowing river, he cast a picture into her mind. Holding her cheeks, he tipped her face up so the deep green eyes with their slumberous lids and amorous gleam looked deep into hers.

“So lovely,”
he murmured, fingers tracing the lines of her brows, the curve of her lips.
“So beautiful.”

The feathery sensations came from her own hands, but still Myrina allowed the love-dream to pull her deep, gladly sinking into the drowning pleasure, leaving reality behind. Ryllio’s voice, tender and enthralling, guided her to discard constraint along with her cloak, inhibition with her shift.

Loosening her hair to toss the heavy mass behind her shoulders, Myrina combed fingers through it as she raised her face to the star-flung sky. The movement lifted her breasts—an offering made to love’s primacy—and the puckered tips, kissed by moonlight and the warm night air, ached. At Ryllio’s sighing moan, the last of vestiges of reserve fell away, and she felt reborn—a woman desired and desiring, confident of her allure.

Taking her time, Myrina stroked neck and breasts, belly and thighs—making contact with fluttering touches and sure, strong caresses. Ryllio’s whispers entreated her to search out and delight in the softness and sensitivity of her skin, the supple firmness of the muscles beneath.

She felt like a wild thing, unfettered by rules and expectations, open only to the satisfaction of the moment. In the cradle of the night, Ryllio’s voice enfolded her, sheltering and freeing all at once.

Bending her knees, Myrina let her hands drift toward her quim and then away, closer and closer each time, feeling need spiral up and up, threatening to sweep all before it. Holding it at bay a little longer intensified the sweet, torturous yearning. There was a desperate tone to Ryllio’s voice, the words all but unintelligible, a jumble of sighs and pleas and praise. Surrendering, Myrina finally touched the outer lips, discovering the silken texture, softness and heat. Slowly, teasingly, she slipped her fingers deeper, into the most intimate core, creating a shudder of erotic pleasure. As she explored the torturous climb to bliss, the incipient release bowed her body back, back.

“Now, Myrina, now!”

The shock of his hoarse command took her fingers, unerringly, to the point where all sensation centered, and the first circling rub made her cry aloud in relief. A blinding wave of ecstasy took her body beyond control, made it writhe and shake, hips jerking to wring every joy from the sublime moment.

Shattered, she stared up at the sky, entwined by the scent of wildflowers and pine, air rasping from her throat, the sound mingling with Ryllio’s rough breathing. A puff of breeze rushed over her body, chilling against the overheated, sweat-dampened skin. Suddenly her nakedness no longer felt as natural as it had only moments before, and she gathered up her shift, tugging it over her head with shaking hands.

Reaching for her cloak, afire now with embarrassment rather than passion, Myrina wished only to run away. Fear clawed its way into her heart, for she was adrift, lost in world beyond her understanding.

With a whisper, Ryllio stilled her flight.

“Stay, Myrina. Stay, just a little longer.”

Chapter Five

She was now quite sure she was enchanted.

Each day Myrina awoke and swore she would stray no more into the woods to visit the stone statue. Yet every night, as soon as she was sure her mother slept, Ryllio’s call became irresistible, and she would run through the forest to him. Once there, all inhibitions fell away, and she sank into a desire-born dream which lasted almost until the rising of the sun.

If it were only physical abandon found in the hollow, perhaps she could have stayed away, but there Myrina discovered more than just the true meaning of desire.

Ryllio fascinated her in a way she had no way of defining. Wrapped in the warmth and tenderness of his voice, she would drowse in the afterglow of passion as they shared thoughts and dreams and stories.

He spoke of his time in the woods, of the faeries who had sometimes come to the glade, but came no more. Told her of the king and queen of the Fey and Kestor, who loved nothing better than to spy upon the royal couple. When she asked about his life before, he was reticent, as though unwilling to share that part of his past, speaking only of his love for his parents, his sorrow at not being a better son. If she pressed him, asked questions of that life, Ryllio used the strange connection between them to divert her.

And she was pitifully easy to distract. Entering her mind with increasing ease, he guided her to heights of ecstasy, filling her imagination with hitherto unimaginable passion. Yet each successive encounter left Myrina a little less fulfilled, a little more dissatisfied. And her need to know more and more about him grew.

Wearily making her way home in the cold of the pre-dawn damp, sore and exhausted, she would once more swear not to return, even then knowing she was playing herself false.

The weather turned autumn blustery, grey and damp, suiting Myrina’s mood implicitly. The clouds seemed almost to brush the tops of the trees, and the leaves, now gold and red and brown, blew from the branches to spin and caper across the ground. Soon, when the weather got colder, she would be unable to reach Ryllio, and the knowledge twisted into her heart like a blade.

There were other pressing concerns. As the days passed Myrina realised her mother’s mind was beginning to wander. Oft-times her wit was as sharp as ever, then suddenly, between one moment and the next, she would ask the whereabouts of her husband, or call for others also long gone.

It was now only a matter of time, Myrina realised, before the end would be upon them, and she treasured each moment they had together. Yet still she thought of Ryllio, worried for him, longed for him, even as she berated herself for a fool. There could be no future with a marble statue, no matter how he made her feel. No matter that she now knew no living man could match him in her heart.

“What ails you, daughter?”

Myrina turned from the window to look at her mother and forced a smile. “Nothing at all, Mama. Why do you ask?”

A gentle smile tugged at her mother’s lips as the older woman shook her head. “I know you worry about me—I can see it in your eyes when you think I am not looking—but there is something else too.” Holding out her hand, she beckoned her daughter close. “We may not have much more time together here. Won’t you tell me what it is that plagues you so?”

How Myrina’s heart was wrung with renewed agony to hear her mother say out loud what she most feared to be true, and she could not stop tears from filling her eyes.

With a little sob, she rushed to kneel and rest her head on the frail lap, just as she had when some childish injury had caused her hurt and she sought succour.

And as her mother’s hand caressed her hair, Myrina wished with all her heart she could share her woe, but of course she could not. The desire she felt for Ryllio, her enchantment with a man turned to stone, was not something she would ever think to speak of. To the woman who gave her life least of all.

As though understanding her reticence, her mother simply held her and crooned timeless words of comfort.

Indeed, the story was not one she could share with anyone, not even Elawen who, knowing something was wrong, tried to press Myrina into confiding. Letting her friend believe it was worry for her mother was the easiest way out of the tangle without lying.

As though all that were not enough, one afternoon, walking down to the village to deliver some squash from her garden to Mistress Hennesey, Goodwife Harbottle’s sister, Myrina was surprised to see a familiar figure striding jauntily toward her.

“Jecil!”

Delighted to see him, she laughed as he picked her up and swung her around, planting a loud kiss on her cheek as he did. But when he tried to kiss her lips, she turned her head away. Jecil only laughed as he set her down and tugged at his military jacket, setting it back to rights.

“Still the shy maid, I see.” He lifted his brows, brown eyes twinkling, “But surely not still with me?”

Myrina knew her cheeks were red, but could nothing to halt the telltale blush. Before she could find an answer, Jecil gave her a cocky grin. “Still blushing too! I’m glad to see nothing has changed since I left.”

And as though indeed nothing had changed, he threw his arm about her shoulder and started walking—talking so much of his time in the city she never had need to answer.

Already his commanding officer had recommended him for promotion. He had come back to Kessit only to sell the land his father had given him before being sent to his next posting.

“And,” he said with a sly sideways glance at Myrina, “to see old friends.”

Myrina looked away, uncomfortable with the way he held her close to his side. “I’m glad to see you, Jecil, and looking so well.”

Clad in a smart red-and-blue uniform, his long blond hair pulled into a tidy club at the back of his head and tied with a ribbon of the imperial colours, he was a fine sight indeed, but one that left her unmoved. Myrina felt a sinking in her belly as his arm tightened around her shoulders.

“I’m glad you think so, sweetheart, for I have missed you sorely while I was away. Will you take pity on me while I am here?”

There was no mistaking the meaning behind his crooning words. Myrina stopped walking and pulled back from his embrace. She had no wish to hurt his feelings, but could not even contemplate renewing their affair, however briefly. Just the thought felt like a betrayal of Ryllio.

“I’m sorry, Jecil, but I can’t be any more to you now than a friend.”

Jecil shook his head, amusement alight in his face. “You wound me, darling, to say that is all we are! Let me come to your house tonight and we will slip away together as we used to. There can be no harm in our enjoying this time we have, although it is so little.”

“No!” At Jecil’s look of surprise, Myrina took a deep breath, forcing her tone back to normal. “No thank you. It wouldn’t be right.”

The change in his expression was gradual, moving from humour to disbelief, and then to narrow-eyed malice. “There is no need to play the coy maid with me. Perhaps the rest of the village will still view you that way, but we know the truth. And if you’re refusing me, I’ll wager at least one other person does too.”

Shocked by the naked venom in his voice, Myrina gasped. “What do you mean by that?”

Mouth downturned in a petulant frown, Jecil crossed his arms. “If you’re no longer interested in me, then you must have found someone else. I pity him, whoever he may be, for you know nothing about pleasing a man.”

Stung and angry, she turned and began walking away, ignoring him when he called after her, not even looking at him when he fell into pace beside her and begged her forgiveness. By the time they neared the village square, Jecil had fallen into sulky silence. Elawen waved at Myrina and crossed the crowded street to join them.

“I heard you were back, Jecil Conrow.” Elawen’s shrewd gaze travelled back and forth between their faces, and she grinned. “And still strutting around like cock-o-the-walk. At least now your feathers are a little finer.”

“Shrew,” Jecil snarled. “Can’t you think of anything better to do with that cheeky mouth of yours than make fun of one of the emperor’s men?”

Elawen’s grin grew wider as she slipped an arm through Myrina’s. Letting her eyelids droop, she licked her lips and hummed deep in her throat. “I’ve been told my mouth is one of my best features, for I use it with such skill. That’s something you’ll never know for sure, and you’re the poorer for it.”

“And you’re the poorer for not getting a chance to prove your talent,” Jecil replied with a smirk, drawing a screech of outrage from Elawen. They began to argue so vociferously that Myrina was able to slip away to deliver her squash without them even noticing.

After spending quite some time with Mistress Hennesey, Myrina cut through the fields toward the Harbottle farm, hoping to find Elawen returned from the village. At least in her friend’s company, Myrina could find a smile or laugh—forget for a while the strange conundrum she found herself in.

A cool gusty wind by turns swirled in her face and pushed her along. The ground was rough with grain stubble and already hard, although they were yet to have autumn’s first frost. Grey, sere, the landscape provided a true reflection of Myrina’s mood. Hither and yon, cold and fickle as the wind, blew her melancholy thoughts.

Jecil was right, of course—she really knew nothing about how to bring pleasure to a lover. Ryllio had shown her how to find it for herself, giving her visions of what a man could do to please her, but she still didn’t know how to satisfy a man in return. It made her feel sad and less of a woman than she should be.

Yet Ryllio was more of a lover to her than Jecil had ever been. Even though she had never felt his hands upon her skin, nor been able to touch him in return, she knew him in a deeply intimate way. Could the giving of her body to another man ever be more personal, or more intensely arousing, than allowing Ryllio into her mind, sharing his passionate visions? Surely she would never find another man to entice her as he did.

That thought brought her spirits even lower, for how could Ryllio, cast into stone, unable to share anything but thoughts, ever truly satisfy a flesh-and-blood woman? Yet if Ryllio were, somehow, to return to life, how quickly he would tire of her company!

One night, lost in the rapture of being with him, she had wished aloud for his release from Mab’s spell. For a long time he was silent, leaving her to wonder what he was thinking, and eventually only sighed and spoke of other things.

Although free to come and go as she pleased, Myrina felt equally imprisoned. The enchantment of being with Ryllio never seemed to completely fade, but bliss turned to melancholy whenever they were apart. How she longed to find a way to release him. Even if it meant he would eventually leave her, she would gladly suffer that pain to know he was once more at liberty.

Pausing in the field, Myrina experienced a wave of sorrow and loneliness so acute that tears sprang to her eyes. As though in response, there was a moment of calm—the wind dying away to just a soft ruffle—and borne on the silence, she heard him, felt him reach for her.