Lady of Conquest (33 page)

His words were muffled. “If you leave me tonight, Gelina, then you leave me forever. Nimbus has offered to take you away from here. I cannot bear to have you so near to me and not be able to touch you. It’s killing me. If you’re going to leave me, go now . . . or I fear I shall never let you go.”

Hardly daring to draw a breath, he waited for the slam of the door. Gelina remembered another night, Conn’s head bowed in defeat as he faced a skinny, frightened orphan. She had been driven to her knees and sworn allegiance to him that night. She had learned to withstand many things in her young life but Conn in defeat was not one of them.

A hand brushed his hair. Then two hands gently pulled his face upward to meet sweetly parted lips. A maelstrom of emotions broke loose in him as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her between his knees in an embrace as painful as it was satisfying.

She was drowning in his kiss, dying in his arms, and she did not care. Even when his arms slipped beneath her knees and lifted her to the bed, she could not pull her mouth away from his tender onslaught. His kiss deepened as he felt her body move beneath his. She moaned in protest as he pulled away from her.

Her eyes fluttered open. Conn drew back, his face shadowed by the firelight behind him. She fought the fear that threatened to rise in her throat, remembering another night, a face in darkness and driven, relentless hands. As if sensing her fear, he reached out and took the softness of a velvet curl between his fingertips. He explored her face with gentle fingers, soothing away the tense lines around her eyes. His thumb traced the outline of her lips. Feeling the warm flesh part beneath his hand, he lowered his lips to hers, drinking of a wine sweeter than nectar. He pressed her into the feather mattress with the hard length of his body.

She turned her face away from his with a sharp intake of breath as his hand glided beneath her skirt to rest against the silky skin of her inner thigh. She felt the restraint curled in his every muscle as he sat up and straddled her, pulling off his tunic with shaking hands. Her fingertips moved with childish curiosity to trace a lingering path from the dark, curly mat of hair on his chest to his abdomen. His muscles contracted violently from the curious caress.

His voice was as gentle as his hands as he worked apart the worn linen frogs that held her dress together. “I thought I could hide your beauty beneath these rags. But I was wrong.” His lips nuzzled her throat. “I never wanted you more than I did the first time I saw you march into the great hall, garbed like a slave and carrying yourself like a queen.” His breath came faster as the ugly linen fell away to reveal a gossamer silk shift that Gelina had hoarded from a better day.

She stared up at him with wide eyes as his hands caught in the delicate silk. With a roguish grin and a neat twist of his wrists, he parted the sheer material.

Gelina gasped. The hands that flew up to cover herself were caught in Conn’s gentle grip.

He collapsed against her throat with a shaky laugh. “Child, child . . .” He raised his head and met her wide-eyed gaze. “You render me weak-kneed and inarticulate with your beauty. Don’t be shy with me.”

Her head twisted to stare at the hands that held her captive. “I shall surrender if you will.”

His hands flexed, then opened. She met his wary gaze. Her hands lay pale and still in the shadow of his. She kissed the line of his jaw and cupped his neck in trusting surrender. Conn buried his face in her curls, her name a whispered prayer of thanksgiving on his lips, before raising his eyes to a body kissed to a roseate glow by the firelight.

Gelina felt lightheaded as all the blood rushed from her cheeks and followed the burning trail Conn forged with his mouth. Her hands caught in his hair as his lips brushed the aching peak of her breast. Her skin quickened beneath the teasing caress of his warm, rough tongue. Her hands caught his shoulders as a shudder wracked her body. His mouth slanted across hers again, enslaving and freeing, taming and taking with the slaking motion of his kiss.

His hands worked to free them of the last restraints of clothing that held their sprawling limbs reluctant prisoners. His eyes burned like twin coals of blue fire as his hand traveled the length of Gelina’s trembling body until his fingers brushed the warm softness of her. He covered her mouth with his, silencing her tortured moan. His hand explored her, stroking out a sweet pattern until she was damp and writhing, her body spread beneath his like a wanton angel’s.

Her breathing grew ragged. His kisses no longer silenced the small noises she made deep in her throat. He parted her legs and slipped between them. At the exact moment her world exploded, he drove himself deep within her. Her world diminished to the feel of his sweet thrusts rendering her captive in the firelit night. He emptied himself into her and collapsed, his face wet with sweat and tears. He buried his face in the curling tendrils of sweat-dampened hair that clung to her throat, and slept.

A faint light glowed through the east window as Gelina struggled to open her eyes. From somewhere in the fortress came the hollow bark of a dog. As she tugged the fur coverlet over her shoulders, she felt a warm hand stroking her waist. She rolled over to find Conn propped on one elbow, regarding her intently.

“You are leering at me, sire,” she accused, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

“No. I am marveling at you.” His hand traced gentle circles at the small of her back. “Did you sleep well?”

“I wasn’t aware I had the chance.” Stretching like a sated lioness, Gelina let one hand fall on his chest. She studied the darkly furred area with wonder, allowing one teasing finger to follow the crisp mat of hair to his lower abdomen. She felt his muscles tighten beneath her fingertip.

Drawing in a quick breath, he caught her hand and grinned. “Now I am leering at you, milady.”

“Oh,
no. Not again,” she groaned, drawing the coverlet over her head in mock dismay.

Conn laughed, his gentle hands guiding her over until she lay on the smooth, flat planes of her stomach. She tossed the coverlet back and stared over her shoulder at him, her eyes comically wide.

He kissed her freckled nose. “Tis early yet, my love.”

When Gelina awoke again, the bright fall sun of late morning cast its beams across the bed. She groaned as she opened her eyes. The bed beside her was cold and empty. Raising her head, she could see the last embers of the fire dying into darkness. She shook her head, wondering if the night had been only a poignant dream. That thought was vanquished as she sat up, discovering pleasant pains in muscles foreign to her. She grinned sleepily and rested her head on her knees.

The click of efficient sandals in the corridor sent her into a panic. She scanned the room for a hiding place. The door opened a crack, and she plastered herself flat on the bed and pulled the coverlet over her head. She held her breath as the swish of bustling skirts and the clang of dishes came from across the room.

“Good morning, Gelina. I left yer breakfast for ye.”

“Thank you, Moira,” she replied, trying to sound as dignified as she could under the circumstances. The coverlet did not stir.

After the door closed, she dared to poke out her flushed cheeks. Placing her bare feet on the cold floor, she slipped into Conn’s shirt so carelessly discarded the night before. She padded to the small table where a golden tray held a plateful of pastries and pancake crisps. As the sun hit the tray, diamonds of light sparkled across her eyes.

She picked up the shining object around the goblet of goat’s milk and caught her breath. The burnished gold of the
niam-lann
was beaten to a fineness so thin she could bend the tiara around her forehead with two fingers. The emeralds captured the sun’s light and sent it flashing across the room like shattered glass. She dropped it guiltily as a sharp rap sounded on the door.

“Come in,” she cried gaily, trying to hide her discomfort at inviting anyone into the king’s chambers.

Audren’s blond head appeared in the doorway. “I was told to fetch these for ye. May I enter?”

“You may,” Gelina answered, stuffing a pastry into her mouth to avoid further conversation.

To her acute embarrassment, Audren entered, followed by four girls, their arms loaded with mountains of silk, satin, linen, and wool. One of them cradled a long mantle trimmed with otter fur. Gelina choked down the pastry, her throat going dry.

“Whatever are you doing, Audren?” she asked, licking cinnamon from the corners of her mouth.

The girl curtsied. “We’re here to measure ye for yer new garments.”

Gelina pulled her to a standing position by tugging gently on her ear. “Do not bow to me, Audren. One does not bow to slaves.”

Audren shrugged and held up a bolt of lavender silk to Gelina’s chest. “One bows to the best-dressed slaves.”

Moira rescued her from their good-natured poking and pinning hours later, herding them out of the room with firm hands, not oblivious to Gelina’s thankful glance. She closed the door behind the giggling girls and turned to Gelina, who stood in the center of the room wearing only a thin silk shift. A flush rose to Gelina’s cheeks under Moira’s knowing perusal.

Sensing her discomfort, Moira bent and gathered an armful of satin. “This material will not do ye a mite of good tonight, but I've a trunk outside with something that might.” She bustled to the door. With one hand on the handle she turned to Gelina and looked her straight in the eye. “I’ve known him since he was a lad. He was a good boy. He liked to fight, but he never fought unless he was provoked and he always fought fair.”

Without another word she closed the door behind her, leaving Gelina to stare after her, a small smile playing around her lips.

The sun faded in the west, leaving behind an evening that remembered summer in the warm, cloudless twilight that fell over Tara. The great hall was deserted. Its occupants spilled out of the fortress onto a field glowing with torchlight. The Aonach had begun. Ale flowed freely from tapped barrels as the stars claimed their places in the night sky one by one, competing with the brilliance of the smiles gathered below at the great fall fair of Tara.

At the center of the meadow played the king’s musicians. Their sweet airs floated on the breeze to the foothills and beyond. Dancers locked hands and cavorted around the woven baskets stuffed with bread and cheese. Conn and Mer-Nod wove through the crowd, dodging dancers and jugglers.

“You look well,” Mer-Nod shouted, struggling to be heard over the shouts of the crowd.

Conn’s dark beard parted in a blinding smile. “I feel well. I feel wonderful.” He kissed a crying child held in his path without breaking his stride.

Mer-Nod trotted to keep up with him, only to trip over a small object and stumble to his knees. The small object was Nimbus, who received a murderous glare for his trouble. The jester fell in behind them, his short legs pumping up and down with exertion. Conn’s path toward the fortress never swerved. As they neared the massive doors, the cause of his haste became apparent.

Framed in the open doorway by the light of the torches stood a lone figure. Her eyes searched the meadow, their emerald depths exactly matched by the hue of her smock. Mer-Nod heard someone take in a quick breath and knew without glancing beside him that it was Conn. Looking down, he was surprised to find that Nimbus had vanished, immersed in the line of dancers that passed within inches of them.

Conn stepped forward without his usual self-assurance until he stood in the light of the torches. Gelina’s lips curved in a dazzling smile as her eyes lit on him. Gathering the sweeping velvet folds of her skirt, she started forward, only to stumble as one sandal caught in the golden hem of her smock. With an apologetic shrug, she kicked the sandals off, sending them flying through the air to land upon the head of a farmer who was sober enough to eye them curiously and glare at the sky. Mer-Nod coughed into his hand, hiding a smile.

“Good evening, milord.” She curtsied. The burnished gold of the
niam-lann
gleamed beneath the curls laid artfully across her forehead.

“Good evening, Gelina,” Mer-Nod replied.

Conn continued to stare at her with hungry eyes.

Mer-Nod cleared his throat. “I must attend to those damned poets. They’ll have Queen Maeve making war over a sheep instead of a bull if I don’t keep an eye on them.” He excused himself, feeling invisible as neither Conn nor Gelina acknowledged his departure with a word or a glance.

Conn wrapped his hand around Gelina’s and pulled her through the throng of people. She felt curious eyes on them as they passed. A woman turned to the shepherd beside her, whispering and pointing. Two hefty soldiers lay in the grass, muscles bulging, arms locked in combat as the group gathered around them tossed gold pieces in their midst. The larger of the two glanced at Gelina as she flew by, breaking his concentration long enough for his opponent to pin his arm with a tortured groan. The huge face cracked in a grin. Gelina smiled back at Goll MacMorna.

Conn pulled her around the corner of the fortress, and they nearly trod upon a couple locked in a passionate embrace in the tall grass. He jerked open the ivy-covered door in the wall and ushered her into the secluded garden. The music faded to a sweet echo as he closed the door behind them.

He let go of her hand and took a step backward, his eyes drinking in her features. He pushed a hand through his hair and let out a ragged breath, looking as nervous as Gelina had ever seen him.