Chapter 15
She honored her mother with her song. No wonder Ceridwen was so eager and insistent on playing outside. Drystan wasn’t entirely convinced that the spirits of those who passed could hear a thing from the Goddess’s hallowed halls, but if it gave Ceridwen comfort and kept her at his side longer, it might be worth the risk—as long as she didn’t go out at night without him.
That, he must insist on. It was a risk, given her penchant for snooping, and though he somewhat admired her tenacity, it put her at greater risk than she knew. Him too. Though, if she did learn anything of importance, hopefully he’d be well on his way to the capital before she left the manor and had time to spread such gossip.
At the moment, he was far less worried about that than her trying to flee or locking herself in her room in the wake of his fit. He’d tried too hard the last few nights, a vain attempt to make up time spent with her during the day. He pushed himself, and such a simple thing nearly caused a break in front of her. If it had happened, he’d have lost her for sure, and that he couldn’t bear.
One by one, he moved the candles away from the balcony entrance until only a splattering of cooled wax guarded the threshold to one of the double doors. Ceridwen had traded her slippers for boots, grabbed an extra shawl, and retrieved her flute while he worked.
He slipped his hand into a pocket and pulled forth a brass key.
Ceridwen raised her brows at him. “You just happened to have a key to my room in your pocket?”
He grinned, and for a moment, he forgot what she’d asked, lost in the sight of the slight disapproving scowl on her features. Why such a look should give him such pleasure, he couldn’t decide. Finally, he said, “It opens all the locks in the manor.”
“Oh.” She appraised the key with renewed interest, probably considering all the trouble she could get herself into with such a thing. She’d use it if she could, of that he had no doubt.
Drystan returned the key to its resting place within the pocket of his pants. “You know where to find it if you’re brave enough to get it.”
A soft gasp slipped from her lips as she looked away. He barely restrained the chuckle trying to break free.
Flurries blew into the room on a crisp burst of air as he pulled the glass door inward. Their boots crunched on the thin layer of soft powder as they strode onto the balcony. The cold didn’t bother him much. In some ways, it was almost as comforting as Ceridwen’s music. The sharp sting of a cold wind against his skin had often kept his inner turmoil in check.
Stars twinkled like little candles in the clear sky overhead, accompanied by the blue globe of the moon that lit the balcony and the manor. Puffs of smoke drifted away from Ceridwen’s mouth with each breath, but she seemed undeterred. Instead, her face shone with unguarded pleasure in a way that made his lower abdomen clench. Even so, he’d have to insist she stop after a song or two. It wouldn’t do for her to catch a cold.
Ceridwen’s song rang out into the night, strong and sure despite the cold air. The tune was beautifully tragic, full of depth and layers that moved even his dark spirit. How anyone could listen to such music and not be affected was beyond reasoning. Even without words, the rise and fall of the melody wove a tale that could pierce the heart, stitch it back together, and then rend it asunder once more.
At the end of the second song, a livelier tune that chased away the sorrow of the first, Ceridwen lowered her flute. Her cheeks were pink. A few flakes clung to her hair, and she had to be freezing.
“Your songs are lovely, even when your hands are numb,” he remarked. “Perhaps some gloves would help?”
She smiled at him. “It’s hard to play in gloves.” She traced her fingers over the holes in the keys. “If we cut off the fingertips, that may work, but it’d be such a waste of a good pair of gloves.”
Always worried about the cost. He admired that, even when a pair of gloves was nothing to him. “I’ll see to it.”
“But—” she started.
“Don’t worry about the price. Consider it a gift.”
She dipped her chin, the flush along her cheeks rising. “That’s very kind.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, though it was clear to her it meant a great deal. He should have thought of it sooner.
“I love to watch you play,” he admitted. There was something magical about it, even more than the enchanting tunes she wove into the night. “To see the way you lose yourself so completely in the melody. The softness of your face. The flutter of your eyelids as the song lures you somewhere far away from me.” He closed the distance between them and swept a gloved hand down her cheek. “The gentle pucker of your lips.”
Her gaze snapped up to his, wide-eyed and mesmerizing. “Drystan.”
He cupped her cheek, savoring the soft inhale of her breath.
“Perhaps we should go inside.” She stepped away, aiming for the balcony doors, but he caught her about the waist.
She whirled around at his bold touch, her flute a last barricade between them as he drew her close. “W-What are you doing?” she stuttered.
When she didn’t try to flee again, he tugged her even closer, his forehead leaning in to nearly brush hers, the fog of their breaths mingling together. “What I’ve wanted to do for days.”
He thought she might pull back then, turn away from him again, but when she blinked up at him, leaning ever so gently against his chest, it was all the invitation he needed. The warmth of her breath swept across his lips moments before he claimed them with his own.
So soft. So warm.
He felt her stiffen under his palm, but it was quick, gone in an instant before she relaxed again, her body pliant and willing in his embrace. Her lips brushed his in the gentlest touch, nearly breaking something within him.
The ice encasing his spirit melted in a rush of fire, flowing outward from his chest. Drystan groaned as her lips moved against his own, a tentative answer to the initial question of his kiss.
Her flute pressed awkwardly between their bodies, but he guided her closer until she was encased in his warmth, the floral notes of her scent stirring up the desire buried deep within him and setting him aflame. She dug her hand into the material of his shirt, so warm and insistent in contrast to the chill night air against his back.
It was the greatest gift and the most agonizingly delightful torment, one he thought perhaps lost to him forever. He didn’t deserve to kiss someone so lovely, so innocent.
Drystan forced himself to relinquish her kiss, to let her go before he lost himself in her completely. Her eyes fluttered open, her heavy breathing and dilated pupils making his cock strain painfully against his breeches.
“I thought you might whack me upon the head with your flute,” he teased. It would have been worth it. So worth it.
She glanced away, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. The act nearly had him groaning in pleasure.
“Is that what you wanted?” Ceridwen glanced at him from under her lashes, as if she couldn’t bear to fully look at him. In truth, if she did, he might lose the last of his resolve and kiss her again.
“No.” He flexed his hand against her side, unable to relinquish that last bit of connection. “You’ve already given me so much more than I’d dared to hope.”
“Why me?” She glanced away again.
A fair question. He was noble, she a commoner, and the two rarely mixed, but their status had little to do with desire. In fact, he’d gladly give whatever shred of status he had left to linger with her. “You enchant me.” He slid a hand up her side, eventually cupping her cheek and angling her face toward his. “Your songs, your spirit, they show me a glimmer of the person I used to be.”
She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite decipher.
“I’d almost forgotten him, lost here inside my lonely tower,” he added.
Ceridwen ran her fingertips along his shirt, the brief and fleeting touch stirring up more emotion than she could know. “Who were you?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Her mouth parted, questions sure to follow, and Drystan pulled away, heading into her room. Ceridwen followed, quick on his heels.
“Who were you?” she asked again.
He glanced at her sidelong. “A failure of a man who made poor decisions.”
Too many of them to name. More than he could bear to share with her. He’d been a fool, trusted the wrong people, and done things that still made him wake in a cold sweat at night.
“But what—”
“Ceridwen.” At the use of her name, she stopped, staring at him from just within her bedroom, the darkness of night spilling in behind her. “Let it lie. Please.”
“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders drooped. “If I can help…”
You do. So much.“Someday…maybe…” He shrugged as if it mattered little, but it was anything but.
“Good night, Ceridwen. It’s late, and I shall leave you to your rest. Be sure to keep the balcony closed.” Drystan gave a short, stiff bow before striding across the room to the open hallway door. Gripping the handle, he halted, looking back once over his shoulder. Ceridwen still watched him, so many unspoken questions lingering on her parted lips.
If only he could tell her everything. But that would ruin whatever they had, this tentative bloom of something, and he wouldn’t risk it. Instead, his gaze swept over her form, savoring one last look before he turned and forced himself out into the dark hallway.