Chapter 3 #4
Merewyn walked on by herself for a while, enjoying the sun-filled afternoon and the peaceful flow of the river, remembering the match between Alex and his father. Deep in her thoughts, she nearly bumped into Maugris, who suddenly appeared in front of her.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I did not see you.”
The old seer greeted her with a smile. “Good day to you, Mistress Merewyn. I see you still carry your bow and wear the apparel of one of Rhodri’s archers. Your shooting today amazed all.”
“You are kind to say so, Maugris.”
She meant to pass by, but he held up a hand. “A word if I might.”
“Of course,” she said turning to face him.
“Remember, the archer controls the bow and not the bow the archer.”
She blinked twice. Whatever does that mean? The wise one was known to speak in riddles and this bit of advice was beyond her understanding. Did he know of her conversations with her bow? After all, he knew things no one else did.
At her puzzling look, Maugris smiled, his face a sea of wrinkles and his blue eyes twinkling. “Do not discount the words of an old man. I have faith in you,” he said as he turned to go.
“I will try and remember that,” she said to his back. What vision had he seen that caused him to speak so?
Still pondering his words, Merewyn strolled back to the manor and climbed the stairs to her chamber, thinking to please Lady Serena by changing into a gown for what would likely be another feast, this one to celebrate the tournament’s champions.
She entered the dimly lit room, closing the door behind her, and set her bow and arrows on the table.
“You did well today,” she muttered to her bow, “but you need not look so smug.” She walked to the window and threw open the shutters.
The afternoon sun flooded the chamber and a pleasant breeze caressed her face as she looked beyond the river curling around the palisade to the green hills beyond.
Turning into the chamber, she froze. On the far side of the chamber, asleep on her bed was Alex, curled up on top of the furs with his back to her, his long black hair free of its leather tie a dark cloud on her pillow.
The sunlight falling on his long lean body made her think of a sleeping Hercules.
She looked toward her bow. Silently, it warned, “Do not trust him! Remember his reputation.” The bow spoke the truth. She could not allow anyone to find him here for they would think the worst. And if he remained in her bed she might be tempted to succumb to his seductive charm.
Walking to the bed, she gently prodded his still form. “Alex, what are you doing here?” she whispered, afraid someone might hear. “You must leave!”
Alex rolled over to face her, one gray eye barely opening under a dark arched brow. “Have you come to join me?”
He smelled of ale and his words were slurred. Drunk. She might have known he and his friends would be celebrating the matches they’d won. Did he even know where he was? “Alex, you are in my bed, not your own.”
He closed his eye and sighed contentedly. “I am merely resting and I like it here.” He rubbed his cheek against her pillow. “It smells very pleasant.”
His measured breathing told her he had gone back to sleep.
She took in his masculine form. Even at rest he appeared formidable and so sensual that a part of her wanted to crawl in beside him. Shaking off the scandalous thought, she shook his shoulder. “You must wake up!”
This time both his eyes opened and he reached for her, his powerful arms pulling her onto the bed and drawing her tightly against him. “I do like you in your bowman’s attire,” he said, nuzzling her neck. He inhaled deeply. “You smell like a field of flowers.”
She tried to wiggle free of his embrace but his strength held her to him. “Alex! Stop this at once.”
“Do not scold, Merewyn,” he said, tightening his grip and brushing his lips over her neck. “I like having you here. So soft. Can you not stay?”
It would have been laughable had she not been concerned about what others might think and where this could lead if she did not stop him. “This is my bed, not yours, you fool!”
Ignoring her protest, he rolled on top of her and brought his mouth down upon hers.
The moment his warm lips kissed her, she forgot her scolding.
She could not bring herself to refuse what she had longed for.
He tasted of ale, his warm lips easing hers apart.
Slipping in his tongue, he gently explored her mouth.
’Twas alarming and wonderful at the same time.
Small ripples of pleasure coursed through her and an ache formed deep in her woman’s center.
With any other man she would have reached for her bow, but this was Alex.
She did not fear him, as she would have another man.
She threaded her fingers through his thick raven hair, finally able to touch what she had so long admired. In a moment, she would pull away, she told herself.
He wiggled his hips until they parted her thighs. His hard arousal pressed between her legs, moving against her woman’s flesh. Only his hosen and hers separated them. “I want you, Merewyn.”
He knows who I am! Reason came back to her. She would have to be the one to stop this. Reining in the passion rising within her, she placed her hands on his shoulders and hissed, “Off! You must get off! This is unseemly.”
He took her hands from his shoulders and raised them above her head, threading his fingers through hers. Pinned by his body and secured by his hands, she could not move.
His mouth sought the tender flesh of her neck where he trailed kisses down her throat, the stubble on his chin tickling her sensitive skin.
“You do not want me to get off, I can tell,” he muttered.
His speech was still slurred and she was not certain he was fully awake.
But when his hips pressed into her causing her to sink deeper into the soft bed cushion, desire threatened to intoxicate her as surely as the ale had robbed him of his wits.
“You are so warm and soft and smell so good,” he murmured against her throat.
His words roused her from the fog into which she was slipping.
“And you smell like the bottom of an ale barrel,” she said shortly.
Afraid she would soon succumb to his seduction if she did not move this instant, she brought her mouth to his ear.
“Alex, ’tis my bed you are in and you were not invited. ”
She must have reached him in his stupor, for he raised his head, looked into her eyes and blinked. “Not invited?”
“Nay,” she insisted as firmly as she could, meeting his startled gaze.
“Oh.” Shaking his head, he let go of her hands and pushed his weight from her to sit on the bed, leaving her aching and wanting for his touch, but resolved to see him gone.
As soon as she was free of his body, she pulled her legs beneath her and scrambled back away from him on the bed.
He flung his legs over the side and turned to look back at her, blinking again as if trying to focus. Casting a glance around the chamber, he spoke in a clear voice. “ ’Tis not mine.”
“I have been trying to tell you that, you drunken sot.” She was not really angry with him. Drunk, he had stumbled into the wrong chamber, but his nearness had stirred her senses, his kisses made her want more and her heart hammered in her chest with the excitement of touching him as a lover might.
With a deep sigh, he got to his feet and walked to the door. Turning to look at her, he said, “You are beautiful when disheveled, Merewyn, but ’tis quite apparent I am not wanted.”
He opened the door to leave and she bit her lip to keep from speaking.
He could not have been more wrong.