Halcyon Rising (14 page)

“I want you,” he whispered. “I want you so much.”

“Then take me,” she breathed, opening her eyes to meet his gaze with tender welcome. “I’m yours, Sebastian. Only yours.”

He eased forward, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he sank into her tight sheathe. She felt so good. Almost too good. He was afraid to move, afraid to do anything lest he lose his mind and rut like an animal.

“Mmm.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, seating him even deeper within her. “It’s all right,” she told him huskily. “You won’t hurt me.”

With a low moan, he slid slowly out, then home again.

“Faster,” she whispered. “Harder.”

Unable to resist her sweet coaxing, he let himself go, thrusting mindlessly, pleasure streaking through him like wildfire. He had never felt anything like this. In Turkey, he had known passion, even pleasure, but it had always been dulled by opium and tempered by guilt and shame.

Rhoswen met him thrust for thrust, her soft voice urging him on until he exploded, his release rippling through him, wave after wave of ecstasy.

She cried out and tensed around him, milking him dry. He collapsed on top of her, relieved to know she had also found release, but too emotionally and physically spent to move.

After a long, long time, Rhoswen stirred and pressed her lips to his bare shoulder. “You’re crushing me. Can you move a bit?”

Abashed, he rolled off her, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe as he undid the scarves around her wrist. God, she was so beautiful, all flushed and rosy from his lovemaking. “Did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t hurt me.” She gazed deep into his eyes. “You gave me more pleasure than I ever thought possible.”

“Truly?” He smiled and pressed his mouth to hers in a tender kiss. She had been absolutely right. When he had made love to her he had never felt trapped.

“Oh, Sebastian. It was wonderful. The most wonderful experience of my life.”

He laughed and hugged her. She had calmed the raging beast inside his soul, and he wondered how he could ever let her go, now that he had found her.

No one else had ever understood him as she did. He had opened his heart to her and relished every moment of their conversations. The thought of returning to the darkness of his previous solitary existence shattered him.

As though she had once again read his mind, she returned his embrace. “Don’t think about the future. Let’s pretend tonight will last forever.”

He nodded and rubbed his cheek in the tender crook of her shoulder, determined to heed her words, feeling sated and happy for the first time in longer than he could remember.

“It has been six years since I have been touched by anyone but you,” he told her softly. “Not so much as a brush of someone’s hand against my own. I needed this more than you could ever know.”

He wanted to say more, to describe how much her tender lovemaking had meant to him, but the words remained locked in his throat. Besides, he thought she understood.

An incredible sense of rightness settled over Rhoswen as Sebastian pulled the covers around them, holding her tight against his chest.

Rhoswen cuddled closer, wishing she could crawl beneath his very skin. She had never imagined it was possible to feel so close to another human being. She had certainly never before experienced anything near to this level of intimacy.

Were all men on the Surface capable of such passion and tenderness? Somehow, she doubted it. Deep in her heart, she knew Sebastian was special. When she walked away from him, she would be losing something she’d never be able to recapture.

“How long until morning?” Her voice flooded with sadness at the thought of their time slipping away.

He glanced toward the narrow window, and she saw to her dismay that the sky was already lightening to the east. “Not long. An hour, perhaps.”

“Will you just hold me?” she whispered, her heart breaking for everything that could never be. “Hold me until dawn?”

“Of course.” He hugged her tightly, as though he never wanted to let her go. “Of course I will.”

An hour later, Sebastian slid out of bed, leaving Rhoswen sound asleep beneath the furs. He dressed in the chilly air, shivering as he pulled his robe on over his linen shirt and hose. The heavy folds enveloped him, refortifying the shield he had allowed Rhoswen to breach during the night. Feeling a bit more himself, he gave Rhoswen a last, lingering glance, wondering if he had the strength to let her go.

With a sigh, he turned away and forced himself to exit the tower. He strode across the bailey to the kitchen, grabbed a warm scone from a sleepy cook and then reluctantly headed for the courtyard. The crash and clang of metal signaled that Simon and his men were already practicing swordplay in the dim, morning light.

Sebastian had instituted the ritual on his return from the Holy Land, hoping to instill some discipline into the rudderless group of savages. To his surprise, Simon had supported the idea completely, and now the surest way to infuriate him was to miss training.

“You are late,” Simon snapped, as Sebastian came up beside him.

“I overslept.” Sebastian fought for a level tone, unwilling to be drawn into yet another argument with his brother. He had hoped resuming his usual daily activities would allay some of Simon’s suspicions.

Simon gave Sebastian a long, assessing look. “I doubt you slept at all. You reek of sex.”

Simon’s very tone cheapened the beauty of the night Sebastian had spent in Rhoswen’s arms. He took a deep breath, struggling to control his anger. “You are my brother, so I will forgive you for speaking of Lady Rhoswen in such a way. Once.”

A commotion in the bailey interrupted their conversation. Exchanging grim looks they dashed around the corner, only to find the village miller standing by the main gate, wailing and wringing his hands.

“What is it?” Simon demanded as he crossed to the man’s side. “What has happened?”

“’Tis the pestilence,” the man cried. “Half a dozen have fallen ill over night. And me little Maggie — she passed away in her mum’s arms this morning.”

Sebastian froze half a dozen paces from the distraught man, his heart thundering in his chest.
Holy Christ. The pestilence?
His healing skills were no match for the dreaded Black Death.

He had been a mere child the last time the plague had swept across Britain, and Hawkesmere had been spared the worst of it, losing only a handful of souls. But his mother, the earl’s first countess, had been away at court, and she had been taken along with countless others.

With supreme effort, he managed to tamp down the cold tremor of fear the man’s words had sparked. “Are you certain?” he questioned the miller gently, aching for his loss. “Have they the black pustules?”

The man nodded, dissolving into wracking sobs.

Simon turned and pinned Sebastian with a wild look. “Tell me true, brother. Do you think it has come again?”

“God help us if it has.” The plague would sweep through Hawkesmere’s people unchecked. If one in ten survived it would be a miracle.

He thought of Rhoswen, sleeping so peacefully in his bed. He could not bear to see her pale, perfect skin blacken with sickness and death.

“I will go and do what I can for the villagers,” he told Simon grimly. “But first I must warn Lady Rhoswen and see that she and her brother leave before the infection spreads to the castle.”

Simon shook his head, obviously aghast. “You would put the fate of this foreign woman over your own people? For all we know, she brought the sickness with her. No one else has been out in the world.”

Half of Simon’s men had just returned from the scouting mission that had resulted in Rhoswen’s capture. Sebastian opened his mouth to argue the point, determined to defend Rhoswen, but decided against provoking his brother further.

Simon had his faults, but his concern for the people of Hawkesmere was real.

“It will not take long,” he said, in an effort to calm Simon’s wild accusations. “I will see her on her way with all haste.”

“You would sacrifice anything, even your honor, for this woman?” Simon continued, as though Sebastian had argued with him, his voice rising with fury.

Sebastian’s patience snapped. “Once before I let my honor guide me,” he cried. “Were it not for my
honor,
I would have taken Meredith away from here. She might still be alive!”

His words rang out across the bailey, causing the gathered knights to look curiously at the drama playing out between their lord and his younger brother.

Simon took a step back, obviously stunned by Sebastian’s passionate declaration. “I do not trust her,” he said, after a long silence, his voice and manner gentling. “I do not want to see your heart broken again.”

“My heart is already broken,” Sebastian admitted with a bitter laugh. He lowered his voice so only Simon could hear his words. “My tonics and potions are worthless when it comes to the plague. But I will go to the village. I will offer comfort and hold the hands of those who are dying in order to give hope to the rest. All I ask is this one thing — that you allow me a few moments with Lady Rhoswen so I can go to my death knowing she still lives.”

Simon stared at him for an endless moment as he contemplated the danger Sebastian faced. “Then go to her. Say goodbye.” He clasped Sebastian on the shoulder, then turned and strode away. His fur coat swung in the chill breeze as he returned to his men and began barking the orders that would seal the castle against those unfortunates below.

With a weary sigh, Sebastian hurried back to the tower, relieved to find Rhoswen still sleeping soundly. Her fist was curled beneath her rosy cheek, her breathing soft and even. He gazed at her for a long moment, wanting to commit this moment to memory, this perfect image of domestic harmony he knew he would never be lucky enough to find again.

Sinking down beside her on the edge of the bed, he pulled her into his arms. The soft press of her sleep-warmed body made him harden painfully against her hip.

“What’s wrong?” She blinked up at him, still half-asleep but obviously sensing his unease.

“You must leave as soon as possible,” he told her, his voice low and urgent. “I will arrange for some supplies and horses to carry you and Trevelan back to the coast, but you have to go now. Within the hour.”

“What?” She sat up suddenly, letting the furs drop from her shoulders to pool around her waist. “What’s happened?”

His gaze dropped to the full curves of her breasts, her nipples hard and prominent in the cold room, and he knew a moment of stark grief at the thought of never touching her again. “Some of the villagers have taken sick during the night. We fear it is the plague. I must get you away from here before you are exposed.”

Rhoswen’s tired brain cleared with the abruptness of a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. She scrambled away from him in dawning horror. “There is sickness in the village?”

He gave her a grim nod. “Half a dozen, at least. I must go and do what I can for them, but I wanted to see you safely gone first.”

Fear sluiced through her. She’d never truly thought her old friend would go through with it, had thought the angry plan he’d mentioned before they’d Surfaced had been mere talk. But how could she ignore the evidence Sebastian had just presented her? Over a dozen years had passed since the last widespread outbreak. Impossible to believe the sickness in the village was a coincidence.

Trevelan must have released his virus before he’d been captured. If the disease was as virulent as he’d indicated, no one in Hawkesmere, perhaps no one in all of Britain, would survive. No wonder he had seemed so urgent when he’d told her they must leave quickly.

Her terrified gaze swept over Sebastian’s beloved face. It had been bad enough to think of leaving him here when she returned to Halcyon, but the thought of his slow, torturous death was incomprehensible.

“Do not fear.” He brushed her cheek tenderly with the back of his hand. “You will be fine. No one in the castle has been infected yet. As long as you leave now, you and your friend should be fine.”

His tender concern made her ache with longing. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him here to die with the rest, no matter what it cost her.

“You have to go with me,” she told him urgently. “These people are lost. There’s nothing you can do for them, and I can’t bear to think of you sharing their fate.”

“Miranda and I are the closest things these people have to physicians.” He gave a regretful shake of his head. “Perhaps it is not as bad as Simon fears. It could be any of a dozen things, not the plague at all.”

Not the plague that had come before, of that she was almost certain. Marcus’ version would be far worse. She only hoped the poor souls who’d already taken ill died soon and did not suffer overmuch. Surely, when Trevelan and Marcus hatched their plan, they’d at least had the humanity to make sure those who died would not have to go through the days of agony that characterized the plague.

She couldn’t allow their plan to succeed, but didn’t know what she could do to stop it. Perhaps there was a vaccine; otherwise, wouldn’t Trevelan have worried about contracting the disease himself?