The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (47 page)

“Anyway.” Dessia turned to look at the room. “I’m so happy to be here, to finally feel safe. And certainly I couldn’t ask for a more luxurious place to spend the night.” She gazed around the room, astounded by the extravagance of the furnishings. The room was almost as opulent as Conla’s guest chamber. Thick colorful rugs covered the floor, and a glowing brazier sent toasty warmth into the room. Dessia gazed longingly at the huge carved wooden bed covered with a beautiful plaid blanket in shades of red and blue. And then she noticed the tapestry hanging above the bed. She drew nearer to examine it, marveling at the forest scene it portrayed. Among the thicket of swirling green threads, she spotted the golden blaze of a small fox, a shy doe hidden behind a thorn bush and a multitude of birds, so detailed that she could almost see their feathers. “It’s so . . . real,” she said, “so alive.”

“My mother’s work,” said Bridei

“It must have taken her months, nay years, to create such a thing.”

“Perhaps months, aye. But she loves it. She oversees every detail, from the dyeing of the wool to the spinning of the thread, to weaving the background cloth. Then she sits down at her table in her workroom with needle and thread, and creates a world as vivid as any tale I might tell. Indeed, her tapestries are very like tales. You were too probably too distracted in the hall to notice, but there’s one on the far wall that tells the story of her and my father’s life together. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

“To someone who can barely wield a needle well enough to hem a gown, her skill is awe-inspiring.”

Bridei widened his eyes at her. “You can’t sew? I’m horrified. What sort of wife will you make?”

She poked him playfully in the chest. “I can’t wield a needle, but I wield a sword well enough. That’s a much more valuable skill for a queen than sewing.”

“Oh, aye, it is.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. “We’re even then. My abilities with a sword are limited, which some would say doesn’t make me much of a man. But I try to make up for that lack with my other gifts.”

“Oh, aye, your other gifts.” She pressed herself against him, smiling teasingly. Bridei kissed her deeply, then nuzzled her neck. Dessia felt her body responding. Her nipples tingled and her lower body filled with a melting heat that made her legs weak. She let out a sigh of pleasure, all thoughts of sewing, swordplay and everything else vanishing from her mind. “It’s so warm in here,” she whispered.

“Aye. Perhaps we should remove our clothing,” Bridei responded, his voice husky.

He released her and Dessia hurried to undress. She felt breathless with desire as she stripped off her cloak, then started on her gown, shift, shoes and stockings. In moments she stood naked before him. He’d removed his tunics and shoes and was now unfastening the leather tie holding up his trews. Finally undoing the knot, he let them fall. Dessia let out her breath in anticipation. It had been so very long since she’d seen him completely naked. He was so beautiful. So perfectly, tantalizingly male.

“Do you like what you see?” he whispered.

“Oh, aye,” she murmured. “Speaking of gifts,” she added in a throaty voice as she stared pointedly at his up-thrust manhood. He smiled one of his beguiling smiles, then approached her and guided her hands to his phallus. Dessia sighed with delight. It felt so wonderful to touch him. To feel silky warm skin overlaying firm, solid flesh. She cupped the soft tip, and daring thought came to her. It had almost undone her to have him kiss and tongue her nether parts. Why could she not do the same to him?

Kneeling down on the plush rug, she brought his heated flesh to her mouth. She licked the flushed engorged tip. He tasted warm and alive, faintly sweet. Intrigued, she took him in her mouth. Just the tip at first, then, closing her eyes, she drew him deeper. He filled her mouth with a delightful and tantalizing sensuality, and she sucked upon him as if he were a ripe fruit full of juice. Hearing his gasp, she leaned back so only the tip of his manhood was in her mouth, then opened her eyes and gazed up at him. His eyes were closed; his face wore an almost agonized expression. Yet it was not pain he felt, she knew, but pleasure so intense he struggled to endure it.

She swallowed more of him, entranced with her sense of power. Now it he who was in was thrall to her. He who was helpless.

She cupped his ballocks gently and drew as much of him into her mouth as possible, enjoying weight and pressure against sensitive skin. He filled her to bursting, satisfying her in a way she had not known she yearned for. Slowly, she drew back until the tip of his phallus was like a ripe succulent plum between her lips. Opening her mouth wider, she grazed him with her teeth, then sucked hard. She heard him moan. His fingers grasped her hair and he eased her away from him. “By the Goddess, but you torture me!”

“Don’t you like it?” she whispered.

“Aye, I like it. If I liked it anymore I’d expire from sheer pleasure!” When she tilted her head and smiled teasingly, he murmured, “Oh, you are a sorceress. And I’m your helpless victim, ensnared in your spell.”

Their eyes met. Dessia felt she could drown in the depths of his gaze, like the darkest midnight sky. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I love you,
cariad
.”

“Show me. Make love to me.” Her voice was pleading. She was wrong; she could never have power over this man. Even when she pleasured
him
, it only inflamed her own desire.

He drew her near and whispered into her hair, “Ah, my darling, I thought you would never ask.”

He held her against him, cupping her buttocks, then sliding his fingers down to the wet, aching flesh between her legs. Lightly, he caressed her, until she sighed and shivered and her legs seemed too weak to hold her. As she swayed against him, he wrapped his arms around her torso and lifted her. Still holding her, he carried her over to the bed and sat her down on the edge of the straw mattress. Before she could lie down, he grabbed her splayed thighs and pulled her toward him, impaling her on his engorged cock.

Overcome by the sensation, she let out a half-scream.

“Hush, sweeting,” he murmured against her hair. “You don’t want anyone to think I’m hurting you.”

“Oh . . . my . . . ohhhh!” She gave another wordless moan. She felt as if she were being rent asunder. His erection was huge, so deep within her that she felt as if he possessed her very essence. As he began to move, she was carried away on a giant wave of pulsing pleasure until her body surged into an explosive peak.

He held her tight, his sweaty face pressed against her shoulder, his breathing labored. She felt a choking rush of love. He was so dear to her, so precious. This beautiful, glorious and magical bard. Oh, how she loved him.

“I guess you liked that,” he said as he caught his breath.

“You could say that,” she said with a half laugh. “How many more delightful ways are there for a man and a woman to make love?”

“At least a dozen,” he said. “Well, perhaps there’s more, but that’s all I’ve tried.”

“And how many women have you tried these things with?”

He disengaged himself from her and lay on his back beside her. “There are some things that are better not discussed. Just consider how fortunate you are that I learned so much before I met you.”

“That’s true, I suppose. But I can’t help wondering about all the other women you’ve pleasured.”

He shook his head. “Don’t wonder. I may have given other women pleasure, but I never gave any of them my heart. You’re the first, and last, woman to ever get this close to me.”

“Do you regret it?” she couldn’t help asking. “Do you wish you hadn’t fallen in love with me?”

“I didn’t get to choose. The gods chose for me, when they answered my plea and sent the storm that brought me to the shores of your lands.”

“You believe the gods sent you there?”

“Aye. When I first lay eyes upon you, I was beguiled. And then, when I held you in arms in the Forest of Mist, I knew there could be no other woman for me.” He smiled. “I worried when my plea to the gods was answered and the storm came. I thought I might have conjured my own end. And in a way I did. For the storm brought me to you, and in your arms the old Bridei died, to be replaced by a new and different man. One who loves you and would give his life, his heart and his soul for you.”

“I suppose I knew you were my destiny the day you walked into the hall at Cahermara,” she answered. “For that was the day I had my first Seeing. As I gazed at you, I saw behind you the image of your father’s banner. The golden dragon on a background of deep red. And in that instant, I think I knew our futures were entwined.”

“Entwined. They definitely are now,” Bridei said, gently stroking her faintly swollen belly.

“My lord Bridei! Are you awake?” Bridei sat up in the luxurious bed. The female voice called out again, “My lord. I’m sorry to wake you. But your father requests your presence in the hall.”

“And when the Great Dragon requests something, one must obey,” Bridei mumbled grimly as he climbed out of bed.

“What is it?” Dessia asked in a sleepy voice. “Is something wrong?”

“Not a thing, sweeting. Go back to sleep.”

No need for her to get up. This was his battle to face. Besides, she must be exhausted after everything she endured yesterday, ending with their passionate lovemaking.

He dressed quickly, splashed his face with water from the ewer on the table, then went out. The maidservant waiting for him was young and sweet-faced, but unfamiliar. He told himself she would have been a small child when he left Deganwy, so there was no reason he would recognize her. She smiled at him tentatively and gestured. “This way, my lord.”

As he’d guessed she would, she led him to his father’s office—the Dragon’s Lair, he’d heard it called. He’d been there before, of course, as a child. Back then he hadn’t been afraid of his father. Now he was. He couldn’t explain why. Perhaps because falling in love with Dessia had forced him to face what he felt rather than burying it away. There was a part of him that wanted his father’s regard. A part of him that yearned for his father’s love.

But he wouldn’t die if he didn’t get it, he told himself. He still had Dessia, and that was what mattered. With that thought to fortify him, he entered the office.

The place hadn’t changed much after all these years. On one wall were shelves with manuscripts. On the other side, a parchment map of Gwynedd was pinned to the timber supports. His father sat at a table by the window. He turned to look at Bridei, his expression unreadable. As the moments passed, Bridei observed the small changes in his father, the evidence of ten years passing. To his surprise, the awareness of his father’s aging distressed him. He didn’t want to think of his father as mortal. He’d always seemed so formidable, so powerful. He was the Dragon, a beast found only in stories.

“You’re much changed,” his father said. “Taller than I expected. You must have grown two hand spans since you left here.”

“Aye. I was a puny child. Perhaps that’s why I was always so arrogant and difficult. I felt I had to do something to gain attention. How else was I to compete with my great, tall brother Rhun?”

“Was that it, then?” Maelgwn rose from his chair and approached Bridei. Bridei saw how slowly he moved, the toll a lifetime of riding and fighting had taken on his body. “You did those things to gain attention? To compete with Rhun?”

“I suppose so,” Bridei answered. He wondered if his father was doing this intentionally, standing over him, trying to intimidate him with his height. Then he had the sudden awareness that his father had drawn near so he could see him clearly. There was a vague filminess in Maelgwn's blue-gray eyes, suggesting his sight was no longer sharp.

His father sighed heavily. “Your mother told me that. I should have listened. But I didn’t . . . I don’t know why.”

He turned toward the window, shaking his head. Then he faced Bridei again. “Nay, I do know, although I’ve never admitted it to anyone, never said it aloud. You see, there were things about you that reminded me of my sister, Esylt. You have her coloring, and the kind of charm, the allure, that she did. When you hurt that girl, I was afraid you had her cruel nature, too.” He sighed and shook his head again. “Esylt was cold and manipulative, cared for nothing but her own self. I feared you were the same, and so . . . I sent you away.”

He turned and walked back to the table, fidgeting with a manuscript there. “I convinced myself that you’d done something only a man can do—raping a woman—and so that meant you were a man. But you weren’t a man. You were a boy. A child. To send you away was . . .” He sighed again, “. . . unforgivable.”

Bridei felt his throat grow tight. His father was doing what he’d never imagined he’d do. Maelgwn the Great was saying he’d made a mistake.

“By the time we had any more news of you, it seemed you’d managed well enough.” his father continued. “You were a bard. Chieftains and kings paid you to perform for them. You were as successful and admired for what you did as any man in Britain. I thought then that I’d been wrong in every way. Wrong to think you were like Esylt. And wrong to despise myself for casting a boy out into the world alone. I wanted you to come home, but I was too proud to beg you to do so. I thought your love of your mother would eventually bring you back. And seeing how missing you wore on her, I started to resent you and mistrust you all over again.”