Dragon of the Island (28 page)

Aurora reached the edge of the circle and
stepped out into a cool, still world. The dew on the grass made her
ankles wet, and the bright moon lit up the landscape with a solemn,
ancient glow. Aurora shuddered. She didn’t know what to do—whether
to return to Caer Eryri alone or go back into the circle. She
didn’t want to go back, and yet she didn’t want to be alone either.
She could hear the voices of the spirits all around her—the whisper
of the wind in the grass, the smell of water in the air, the
crackle of the consuming fire behind her. She stood still, waiting.
It seemed she had turned to stone and would wait forever on this
moon-chilled plain.

Her trance was broken when she saw a
movement in front of her, and a dark figure advanced toward her. As
the creature approached, Aurora saw the towering horns and
gasped—it was the stag man. Aurora stood trembling, afraid to run.
Was it a man after all, playing the part of the stag? Or was it a
god, who had died and come to life again?

As the stag man neared her, Aurora saw the
gashes on his body from the hunters. The wounds no longer bled, and
the streaks of blood had dried to black stains upon his glistening
skin. Her eyes were drawn to the rest of his body. The breechcloth
was gone, and Aurora could see the stag man’s erection clearly. He
was just a man after all, Aurora thought with relief.

The stag man advanced steadily, making no
sound. Aurora tried to see his face, to discern the eyes that
looked out at her from the leather mask, but it was too dark.
Perhaps it was better this way, she thought, with the man unknown,
faceless. Aurora could feel the fever of desire burning within her.
She wanted this man-god. She wanted to lick his salty wounds, to
stroke the hard muscles beneath his sweaty skin, to feel the
crushing weight of his strong body pressing down upon her.

When he was but a few feet away from her,
the stag man stopped and gestured toward her clothing. Aurora
looked down at herself in the soft sheen of moonlight. The thin
silk was saturated with sweat, clearly outlining the curves of her
body. She might as well be naked. Aye, it would be better to be
naked. Aurora smiled. She wanted to please the stag man, to make
him want her. She began to undress slowly, languidly, as he
watched. She undid the tie at her waist and draped it around her
neck. Then she slid the gown down her body, baring her breasts. She
cupped them in her hands, feeling their silken fullness, caressing
the nipples, which appeared dark against her fair skin in the full
moonlight.

She slid the dress down further, pausing
tauntingly at her hips. She stared expectantly at the stag man. She
could not see his face, but she saw the trickles of sweat down his
broad muscular chest and heard his harsh gasp of passion. The dress
tumbled carelessly on the ground, and Aurora’s body was bare,
shining like marble in the pale light. She pulled her long hair
forward, draping it over her, as if to cover her nakedness. The
stag man shook his head, and Aurora smiled teasingly at him. She
couldn’t believe that she was doing this—it was as if the spirits
had entered her!

The stag man stood still, his proud,
battered body gleaming even in the half-darkness. The sound of
music came hauntingly from the circle of fire, and Aurora began to
follow the faint rhythm, swaying her hips slightly to the beat of
the drums, then moving faster, her shoulders picking up the melody
of the pipe player. The stag man didn’t move, but Aurora could feel
his eyes upon her, hot and searing. She moved even faster, turning
now to display the shape of her buttocks as she writhed with the
music, tempting him with the promise of the ecstasy she could offer
him with her blazing, naked flesh. Her long hair twirled around
her, wilder and wilder. She was on fire, she was aflame, and this
man-god represented the watchers, the worshipers. Soon he would try
to leap through the flames, and she would catch him, and pull him
down into her fiery, passionate heart!

The stag man moved closer, close enough to
touch her, but still far enough away so that she could not see into
the eyeholes of his mask. He reached out to grasp her, stopping her
furious dance with an iron-like grip around her waist. Aurora
closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her, to take off his mask
and let her see his face. No kiss came. Instead, he stroked her
gently, moving his gloved fingers along her body. The texture of
the leather on her skin made Aurora swoon. Now
he
was
teasing
her
! She wanted to feel bare skin upon her own, and
she pressed herself to his hard, sweaty chest desperately, burying
her face against his skin, tasting him hungrily.

He seemed to take pity on her, for when next
he caressed her, his fingers were bare, flicking over her in tense
exploration. Aurora sighed rapturously, and moved to kiss him, but
still the mask blocked her way. She reached up, as if to pull it
off, but he took her hands firmly in his own and pressed her
down—down, down, softly, onto the wet grass. She took him in, all
of him, heedless of the mask and the dampness beneath her, unaware
of anything except his powerful hardness within her. Her body
seemed to split open in flashes of light, echoing deep within her.
She was a cave of mystery, opened for the first time. She felt no
fear, no pain—only stark, profound pleasure.

The thought of Maelgwn nagged at her, but
she pushed it away. Aurora could hear the harsh breathing of her
lover close to her ears, and felt the tension within him increase
with each convulsive breath, each violent lunge within her. She
reached to touch his face, and caressed bare, slippery skin—the
mask was finally gone. But Aurora could not open her eyes and look
upon her lover yet—the excitement was growing within her own body
once again. Aurora spread her legs wider, desperate for the deep
probing touch of the stag man, silently begging him to take her to
oblivion, to pierce her heart with his passion. She felt her body
exploding into another flash of white, hot light. This was it....
she had reached it... something...

Aurora collapsed onto the soft earth and lay
breathless and still. She was afraid to open her eyes and break the
spell that held her. She knew the stag man was still there; his
low, rhythmic breathing was very near. Aurora opened her eyes. The
mask was gone, and she could see the face of a man next to her. His
eyes were closed in exhaustion, and his hair was wet with sweat.
Aurora started as she realized she was looking at her husband.

Her eyes swept over the figure beside her.
Why hadn’t she known? How could she
not
have known? The
lean, splendidly muscled body, the tapering, sensitive fingers,
even the slight angle of his erection—it had been Maelgwn’s body
that filled her with such strong desire. No wonder it had been so
good, a part of her mind seemed to say—he was the one... the one
she loved.

Even as she watched him, Maelgwn’s eyelids
fluttered and he opened his eyes to stare back at her. His face
wore the mask that she had seen so often before—cold, ironic,
inscrutable.

“So, you prefer the god to the man,” he said
softly.

His mocking voice unnerved Aurora, and all
tenderness and lingering desire left her. “You tricked me!” she
said accusingly.

“Aye, and it was not hard to do. You were so
eager for me to be Cernunnos—the horned one. You were so eager for
me to be someone besides your husband.”

Aurora stood up abruptly and began to look
for her clothes. “Do not come to me as a god again,” she said
coldly as she pulled on her gown. “Do not come to me at all,” she
whispered in a harsh, choking voice.

As Aurora disappeared into the darkness,
Maelgwn felt the sharp pain of regret. He had not meant to hurt
her. Nor had he meant to trick her. After his part in the ceremony
was over, he had wanted only to find Aurora before some other man
claimed her. He had been so relieved to find her alone in the
darkness, and she had stared at him with such awe and naked desire
that he had forgotten himself and decided to play the role of
Cernunnos a little longer.

It had not mattered that she surrendered to
him thinking he was a god. It had been his body which made hers
quicken with pleasure, not the god’s. What had passed between them
was as intense and passionate as ever. But now she was angry,
bitter, as if he had betrayed her. Oh, how he wanted to call her
back and explain his feelings. But he dared not. He would not risk
her mocking contempt again.

Aurora guided the horse down the path past
the village. She had forgotten her cloak and been soaked in a
sudden rain shower as she rode in the valley. Even though she was
in a hurry to get back to the fortress and change her clothes, she
could not resist riding past the cluster of rude huts, hoping for a
glimpse of the blond woman called Morganna.

Aurora sighed. She wondered if Maelgwn still
went to Morganna. He had not shared Aurora’s bed since before
Lughnasa, and although Gwenaseth told her that the king slept on a
cot in his office, she could not be sure it was true. Why did she
care? It was only a matter of time until Maelgwn sent her back to
Viroconium anyway. The marriage was over. Maelgwn avoided her
completely. She didn’t even see him at meals anymore. Perhaps that
was just as well—she wouldn’t have been able to touch a bite with
her husband in the room.

The sick longing began again in her stomach.
It was true. She cared for her husband, maybe even loved him. She
dreamed about Maelgwn almost every night. Sometimes she woke and
cried when she found herself alone. She made excuses to go places
in the fortress where she would see him—even though the very sight
of him made her stomach pitch and her body ache with desire.

Aurora shook her head. It was too late. She
had ruined things with Maelgwn, and she had no idea how to make
things right.

“Good day, Queen Aurora.”

Aurora started as an old woman stepped in
front of her on the narrow pathway. She nodded back politely and
flashed a warm smile.

The old woman did not move off, but remained
firmly rooted, blocking the pathway. Aurora would either have to
turn back or confront the old crone and ask her to move.

“My lady,” the woman spoke in her strange
voice again. “Your gown is wet—won’t you come and dry yourself by
my fire?”

“It’s but a short ride to the fortress,”
Aurora protested, pointing up the track.

“Someone so young and pretty should not risk
catching cold. Come, my fire is already blazing, and I will make
you some warm broth.”

Aurora studied the woman carefully. Her
cheekbones had a distinctive, foreign cast, and her dark eyes were
as bright as jet. But despite her riveting gaze, she seemed frail
and sickly. Her body was tiny and stooped, her face, thin and
weary. Aurora decided that there was no harm in accepting the
pitiful creature’s hospitality.

“I guess I could stop for a while,” she
answered.

She dismounted and tethered her horse to a
tree, then followed the old woman across a muddy, offal-strewn
clearing to a small wooden hut. Aurora felt a shiver of
apprehension as she stared at the tiny door. She would have to bend
down to enter, and she could not help recalling childhood stories
of ancient fairy folk who lured unsuspecting mortals to the
underworld.

Despite her doubts, Aurora pushed the hide
door aside and went in.

She was surprised to find that the dwelling
was tidy and comfortable. The room was furnished with a small bed,
a table and two stools by the fire. Aurora wondered where the
furniture had come from. Perhaps the woman wasn’t as
poverty-stricken as she had appeared. Aurora noticed that the walls
were hung with bunches of dried herbs and flowers, and she
recognized some that were used for healing. Perhaps the woman made
her living selling herbs, she mused. Then a darker thought crossed
her mind-—the little creature might be a sorceress who used the
herbs to cast her spells.

The woman seemed to sense Aurora’s
nervousness.”Don’t be afraid, Lady Aurora,” she said as she pointed
to a stool by the fire. She turned to tend to her cooking pot and
in a few moments held out a cup of steaming broth.

Aurora took the offered cup and smiled back
uneasily.

“What is your name?”

“Justina,” the woman answered in her clear,
bell-like voice.

“That’s a Roman name.” Aurora said in
surprise. “Do you have Roman blood?”

Justina laughed. “Aye, you might say that.
My grandfather was a Roman soldier who stayed behind when the
legions left Britain, and my mother grew up near Deva, at the old
Roman fort there.”

“But why are you here? Most Romans left this
part of Britain years ago.” Aurora stopped, realizing that her
question was rude. It was none of her business where this woman
chose to live.

“I was once in love with a man who lived
here—a Cymru—and after he died, I decided to stay.”

“I’m sorry,” Aurora said sympathetically.
“Did he die in battle?”

“It was a fever that took him.” The old
woman’s face had grown misty and strained, and Aurora thought it
best to change the subject.

“And now you live here alone?” she asked
politely.

“Aye—but don’t feel sorry for me. I am free
to do as I please. How many women can say that?”

“Not many,” Aurora agreed bitterly. “Most
women are little better than slaves to their husbands.”

The woman smiled. “Aye, I had heard that you
were not happy in your marriage.”

Aurora got up abruptly, as if to leave, and
the old woman made a reassuring motion. “Don’t worry, I didn’t ask
you here to speak of your relationship with the king. There is
something else I wish to talk about.”

Aurora sat down nervously, wondering what
this woman could possibly have to say to her.