The Grail King (7 page)

“I’m no teacher,” he said gruffly.

“But—”

“I told ye—no.” The pain in his head pounded. His hands burned. He opened his fists and looked down.

His stomach lurched, his head spun. His fingers were red, as if they’d been dipped in blood.

He pitched forward. The ground rushed up to claim him.

Clara leapt as Owein’s large body tumbled from the chair. But she could no more have stopped his fall than she could have halted the plunge of an oak. He fell hard, his head striking the ground near the hearth.

She put all her strength into rolling him away from the fire. By the time she succeeded in heaving him onto his back and out of harm’s way, stars spun in her vision. His body was dead weight, solid and heavy with muscle. His face was deathly pale behind his beard. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.

Had the trance harmed him? It surely had frightened her—almost as much as the lewd image she’d seen in his mind. The thought of that scene filled her with shame, yet at the same time, it sparked a fire low in her belly. What kind of woman was she, to feel this way?

Tentatively, she picked up his hand. It was heavy and cold, and his skin was damp. How could the heat have gone out of him so suddenly? Was this the price of his magic?

How long before he recovered?
Would
he recover? Or would the darkness she’d sensed inside him rise? Panic clawed at her lungs. She’d been drawn to the black depths of his soul. For one frightening moment, she’d feared she would lose herself in his darkness. She might have, if she hadn’t been so shocked by his lewd thoughts.

She shook his shoulder, trying not to let her desperation show. “Owein?”

If he heard her call, he gave no evidence of it. She hesitated, then gave his shoulders another shake. “Owein!”

He uttered a low moan. Beneath closed lids, his eyes fluttered. She shook him again, and he moaned a second time. His arm flung out, nearly striking her in the face.

She jumped back. “Owein!”

He murmured something she couldn’t make out. He rolled to his side, facing her. His countenance relaxed. Clara’s breath slowed. In repose, he seemed much less formidable.

But in no way harmless. Her eye lingered on the muscles of his upper arm, then drifted across his powerful torso. When she caught herself staring at the bulge between his thighs, she jerked her gaze away. The dream image of him readying himself to thrust between her spread legs had been more than she could bear.

She shifted, trying to assuage a sudden ache between her thighs. Was this the feeling the kitchen girls giggled about when they thought she couldn’t hear? She’d never understood their giddy talk. Certainly, she’d shuddered at the thought of abasing herself before Valgus that way. She’d never understood what appeal lay in opening one’s legs to a sweating, grunting man.

Until now. For some reason, imagining herself yielding to Owein in that way didn’t inspire the same disgust. Much to the contrary. It brought a curious warmth to her belly, and below.

Owein grimaced and opened his eyes, as if he’d felt the heat seeping into her belly. He stared at her for several seconds, then an amused light flitted through his blue eyes. Belatedly, Clara realized she’d snuck a glance at the bulge between his thighs.

Her face heated.

“If ye dinna mind straddling me,” he said in a conversational tone, “I might try to accommodate ye.”

Clara blinked. “What?”

He lifted his torso on his elbows, then groaned and lay flat again. With a rueful smile, he nodded at a point lower on his body. Clara couldn’t help following his gaze. Her eyes widened. The bulge had grown considerably.

“One limb at least seems to be working,” he said.

Her gaze snapped back to his face. Despite his obvious humor, he looked haggard and weak. “Is it always like this?”

He chuckled. “Generally, when I’m near a fair lass.”

Clara’s cheeks burned so hot, she wondered her skin didn’t burst into flames. “I meant to say, are you always weak after a vision?”

His amusement died. “Aye. But it passes quickly.” Rolling to his knees, he placed a hand on the overturned chair and heaved himself to his feet. He swayed slightly, then planted himself as firmly as an oak. Clara scrambled to her feet. She felt far less steady than Owein looked.

She needed his help, yet even at his weakest he was frightening. He put her in mind of a lion she’d once seen at the arena games. The beast had fought to the death. She’d been moved to pity, but her father had scoffed at her sentiment. “Given the chance,” he’d told her, “that lion would tear you to shreds. Pity! Did Caesar show pity to Vercingetorix in Gaul? No. If he had, the Celt king would have destroyed him. One cannot coddle a lion.”

Clara regarded Owein through narrowed eyes. Perhaps it was true one couldn’t coddle a lion. But perhaps one could make use of its strength.

Owein righted the chair and sat. Clara seated herself on the bench opposite, studying him. Every line of his body was weary, yet she sensed his lingering magic.

“Did you See the grail in your vision?”

“Aye,” he said after a moment.

A surge of hope washed through her. “Do you know where it is? Who took it?”

“Nay. The place in my vision—’twas not of this world.”

Clara shut her eyes against a wash of disappointment. “Can you find out more?”

“I could seek a vision. Ask the Horned God for his aid.” His hard tone indicated his reluctance to do such a thing.

“I would pay you well,” she said. “I have gold and jewels in my satchel, along with some coin. I gathered all that I could—”

He shook his head. “I want no payment for my trouble.”

“But you will seek the vision? You’ll help me?”

“Aye.” His blue eyes shifted away. “For Aiden’s sake.”

“When?”

“ ‘Where’ is the better question, lass.”

“All right. Where?”

“Such an endeavor is best done in a place of power. A circle ordained by the Old Ones.”

“A ring of stones, you mean.”

“Aye.”

An unpleasant shiver ran through her. She’d been raised on tales of bloodthirsty Druids and human sacrifices made within those stone circles. She pushed such thoughts aside. “When may we depart?”

“
I
depart on the morrow. Ye will stay here.”

“Alone?” What if he didn’t return? What if he decided to keep the grail for himself? Aiden had declared Owein a man of honor, but what if he were wrong? Her father would die. “No. I’ll go with you.”

He shook his head. “ ’Twould be folly.”

“I won’t be a burden.”

He gave a short laugh. “Ye would be a grinding stone hung from my neck! A mountain in winter is no place for a woman.”

“Many women once lived in these hills.”

“Aye,” Owein said. “Celt women, not Roman ones. A Celt woman is strong and clever.”

“Are you saying I’m weak and dull-witted?”

“I didna say it, lass.”

“Clara,” she muttered. “My name is Clara. Not ‘lass.’ ”

He held her gaze for a moment, then snorted and looked away.

Clara’s anger surged. She gathered her pride like a mantle around her, straightening her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full height. “I’ll not be left behind. If you try to leave without me, I’ll follow.”

“If I were of a mind to lose ye, lass, ’twould be no challenge.”

Her hands fisted in her lap. “You won’t go without me.”

His lips pursed. “I willna carry ye.”

“You won’t need to. I give my word on it.”

“Ah, that’s fine. The word of a Roman. Forgive me, lass, if I’m nay overwhelmed with joy.”

Barbarian.
The thought rose sharply. She hadn’t realized she’d sent the word into his mind until she saw his eyes narrow. Again, they were joined. And just like before, she had no clear idea how the union had come about.

His swift rage seared her. She withdrew as quickly as she could, heart pounding.

He rose and stepped toward her, causing her to tip her head back. He towered over her, his blue eyes glittering. “Keep to yourself, lass,” he said evenly.

“I … I didn’t mean to do it,” she whispered. “I’ll try not to let it happen again. Please. Let me go with you. I’ll be no trouble.”

He stared at her for what seemed a long time. Then his expression turned calculating. “Perhaps I’ll take ye to the stones,” he said, “if ye agree to give me something first.”

Tiny wings fluttered in her belly. “Coin? Gold?”

“Nay. ’Tis something I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on ye. Worth more, I am thinking, than all the jewels in your wee bag.”

“What is it?” Clara whispered.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “A kiss, lass. I would have a kiss.”

“A … a kiss?”

Owein suppressed a snort of amusement. The expression on Clara’s face—wary and curious at once—brought to mind a kitten exploring dangerous ground. His fingers itched to unravel her braids and spread her glossy tresses about her shoulders. She was unaware of it, but a pin on the sleeve of her tunic had come undone, baring a swatch of creamy skin. If only one or two more clasps would break, the yellow wool would surely slip far enough to reveal the curve of her breast.

He captured her gaze. “Aye. A kiss.” He was crazed, perhaps. But it had been more than two years since he’d seen a woman, and he’d seen more of this Roman lass than he could bear. The strain of denying his desire had only grown. Just thinking of claiming Clara’s lips had his body tightening in anticipation.

He’d wanted her the moment she’d blinked up into his eyes. But now that he’d discovered she wasn’t so powerless as he’d first supposed, there was a more urgent purpose for his pursuit. He had to prevent her from dropping into that clear, calm state of mind that engendered magic. And there was no better way to achieve that end than to stir her emotions.

“I … cannot think why you would want to kiss me.”

“Drop your gaze a bit, lass, and ye’ll see why.”

Her gaze darted downward, then snapped back to his face. She took a step back, her face flooding crimson. He didn’t have to look into her mind to know that she was thinking of the rutting scene he’d planted there earlier.

She swiped her palms down the sides of her tunic. “Aiden said you were a man of honor.”

“Is there so much dishonor in a kiss?”

“No. I suppose not.” Her gaze moved to his mouth, as if drawn there by some invisible force. “But … you won’t take more?”

“Only if ye ask.”

Her eyes widened, as if such a possibility had never occurred to her. “I … I won’t.”

He laughed out loud. That startled him—he couldn’t remember when he’d last uttered such a sound. “I felt your interest when our minds were joined. Ye canna deny it.”

“No. It … it was disgust you felt.”

His grin widened. “A kiss, lass. That’s my price for taking ye with me to the stones. Otherwise, ye stay here.”

Her breath caught. For a moment, he thought she would turn away, but then her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “Very well, if that’s what it takes to gain your cooperation.” She lifted her chin and squeezed her eyes shut. “Go ahead.”

Owein crossed his arms over his chest. “Nay, lass. I didna ask if I could kiss ye. Ye must kiss
me.
”

Her eyes flew open. “I couldn’t.”

“Coward, are ye?”

“No.”

“Repulsed by my barbarian stink?”

She scowled. “No. You seem clean enough. It’s just …”

He spread his arms. “What? Surely ye’ve kissed a man before.”

Her blush crept to the roots of her hair.

His cock, already hard, strained the seam of his
braccas.
“Ye mean to say ye haven’t?”

She nodded.

He could scarcely believe it. “Are Roman men blind, then?”

She blushed harder. “No. It’s because of my father. He’s … formidable.”

“And ye’ve never slipped his yoke to go behind a haystack with a lad? Not once?”

She shook her head. “There’s one man I might have kissed, if he’d asked. But my father …” Her voice trailed off.

“Who was this timid lover, lass?”

“A young blacksmith. He’s very handsome. I see him each week in the market, and sometimes he remarks on the weather.”

Owein snorted.

Clara pursed her lips. “Once my maid dropped a basket of pears and he helped her retrieve them. So when he asked Father for my hand in marriage, I wasn’t unwilling.”

“So why are ye nay wed to this smith?”

“Because he
is
a smith. Father refused him.”

Owein frowned. “Can a smith nay marry a merchant’s daughter?”

“A merchant’s—oh!” For some reason, Clara would not meet his gaze. “Of course she could. But Father wants me to marry a Senator, now that he’s amassed enough property to secure such a match. He would never consider a tradesman for my husband.”

“Ye are virgin, then?” Owein had difficulty anchoring that thought in his mind. No wonder the image of rutting he’d put in her mind had flustered her so. He throbbed at the thought of being the first to slip into her woman’s passage.

He edged closer and tipped her chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. “One simple kiss, lass.”

Her dark eyes searched his face. He wondered what she saw there. It had been a long time since he’d seen his reflection in another person’s eyes.

Whatever she saw, it didn’t seem to frighten her. Or at least, not enough to back off. Her lips firmed as she placed her hands on his shoulders. She rose on her toes, but the difference in their heights was too great. She couldn’t reach his lips.

“Come.” He moved to sit in his chair. Taking her hands in his, he re-anchored them on his shoulders. The new position put her head slightly above his. The flash of relief in her eyes told him she was grateful for the small illusion of control.

He opened his knees wide and pulled her firmly between his legs until he felt the press of her body on his arousal. Her eyes widened. She went still in his arms, but he could see her pulse fluttering in her throat.

She smelled of flowers.

“One kiss only,” she whispered. “You won’t force me to give more.” It was half statement, half question.

“I prefer a willing woman, lass.”