Song of the Fairy Queen (25 page)

Kyri gazed up at him, anticipation rushing through her.

The strong muscles of his chest and arms were taut, his blue eyes were as brilliant as the hottest fire. He looked magnificent, rampant and glorious, every muscle limned in sunlight and shadow.

Desire exploded through her.

In answer to his call of her name Kyri smiled gloriously and Morgan drove deep, burying himself in her. Her eyes widened and her smile warmed as she arched to take him.

Her thighs opened wider, her legs wrapped loosely around his as her hips rose to meet his. He plunged deeper, more deeply than he had into any other, as she closed around him. She was so hot, so tight, so wet and so deep. All Morgan could do was drive into her, wallowing in the incredible pleasure of her, so tight around him.

That smile…

Deliberately he drove hard and deep, shifted his hips to go deeper, searching for more, for the depths of her. She gave it to him, opening as he drove deeper… She met him as she arched upward.

Kyri’s control was gone, shattered by the beauty of it, by her pleasure in having him inside her as she opened to take him and he pounded into her.

Pleasure exploded and Kyri cried out, shuddering in his arms as her hips pumped, her inner muscles pulsed around him.

Morgan drove deep one last time, her release driving his. It raced through him, erupted, emptied, as he poured into her.

Elated, content at last, they sank into each other’s arms.

Morgan wrapped her close. She still trembled. If he’d known it would have brought him such pleasure and such peace, he would’ve made love to her sooner.

And Kyri?

He had only to look at her stunned expression, her ecstatic smile as she curled into him, to know she was as satisfied and gratified as he.

Eyes closed, deeply relaxed but curious, he explored her slowly, softly, stroking his hand over her shoulders and down over her back, there to find her wings.

Curiously, wonderingly, he touched them carefully, gliding his fingers over the long, surprisingly downy feathers, softer and warmer than silk. He traced the strong arch of a wing where one folded tightly over the other.

Kyri shivered a little with pleasure at the touch. She made a sound in her throat that was very like purring as her hand brushed over his chest, at the crisp hairs there, her cheek nestling against it.

He laughed a little to hear it as he played lightly with her feathers.

The wing twitched a little, resettling the ones he’d touched automatically.

For some reason that made him smile.

“Would you like to see it?” Kyri asked, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her face.

He ran a finger down her silken cheek.

Her wing opened… Slowly, it arched over them.

In wonder he watched it pivot, unfold and unbend, stretching out over and above them. The long feathers spread to catch the light of a sunbeam, glistening brilliantly, rainbow shimmers caught in the feathers.

His throat locked.

It was amazing to see up close, her great wing curved over them like a fragile canopy, each feather transparent, shimmering, iridescent, delicate feather laid over delicate feather.

Morgan reached up to touch the arc of that incredible wing in awe. He caressed the curve of it, the muscles there strong beneath his hand. He shook his head as he traced those fragile feathers with his fingers yet again. Amazing. So beautiful. Light filtered through them, sparkling, ephemeral. Gossamer wings.

It was astonishing.

The touch of his hand on her this way, a way no other had touched her he knew, was somehow incredibly intimate.

There was simple wonder in his expression, in his clear blue eyes…and Kyri’s heart caught anew…

For the first time since she’d known him, she saw Morgan’s face at peace, truly at peace. The strong lines softened a little, his eyes lost some of their sharpness.

With a smile, she sighed, feeling much the same as she stroked her hand over his strong shoulders, his broad muscular chest – more solidly so even than Fairy – and relished the simple contact of skin to skin. He wasn’t the only one who’d needed this. As her hand drifted over him, his skin was like smooth sun-warmed satin, the curve and ripple of muscle beneath her palm was firm, solid.

He was beautiful.

It was amazing to her.

He was amazing to her.

Morgan looked at her, seeing an odd, sweet wistfulness in her eyes.

“What?” he said, touching her cheek and lifting her chin.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me,” she said, her eyelashes lowered, with a wry smile. “And never like this.”

That simple statement touched him to the core, his heart twisting. He brushed her hair back from her face, the soft, tight curls rippling through his fingers. His throat tightened as the realization dawned.

“Then I’m honored.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his and her mouth twitched.

Not lessening the sentiment any, she said, “As you should be, but Morgan, next time,” reaching with one hand to her shoulder to point, arching a brow, “there are ties…”

He saw them then, thin silk ribbons.

Laughing, he said, “Sorry,” going warm at the thought of a next time. “Next time, I’ll remember.”

And there would be a next time. And another after that. Both of them knew it.

With a sigh, the same thought occurred…

To lighten the moment, Kyri said, “It seems unlikely this is what you called me for…”

“No,” Morgan shook his head. He hadn’t dared even think it, consider it. And already he wanted to make love to her again. “I have a plan to free Philip. We need to meet with Oryan.”

Before that, though...

Morgan rolled her gently onto her back, looking down at her in stunned amazement, stroking the backs of his fingers along one smooth alabaster cheek. Shaking his head, as astounded by the wonder in her eyes as she looked up at him as by the wonder he knew was in his own, he lowered his mouth to hers for one more kiss.

Kyri sighed gratefully, twining her arms around him, and drew him down to her again.

Morgan spread out the drawing of the castle gates, the two platforms, the buildings around it and the open area of the square itself, flattening it across Oryan’s table. He, Oryan, Kyri, Galan, Detrick, Corvin of Dorset and young Jordan were all standing close to study it.

“They couldn’t do this in the castle proper, there wouldn’t be enough room for the numbers Haerold wants to attend,” Morgan said, his eyes on Jordan in concern – the boy had gone slightly pale. “But he wanted it close, with the walls and his archers looking over it. There’s enough room between the castle itself and the buildings beyond to fit a good number of people. He’s built another platform, with seating, to watch from.”

Gesturing, Galan said worriedly, “What can’t be seen from the ground, was clear from the air. Here, here and here are good places for archers.”

With the archers on the curtain wall surrounding the castle, they had the entire square covered.

“They’ll be there, too. Have no doubt about that. Basically,” Morgan said. “It’s a killing field.”

How Galan had spotted them from so high in the sky, Morgan didn’t know. He’d asked the Fairy Healer to keep out of sight and he had, as Morgan didn’t want Haerold even thinking of the Fairy more than he did. That was the one view, though, that they couldn’t get from the ground – the rooftops, the places where Haerold might hide his people. Kyri would have done it but she had been practicing a far harder task to see if it could even be done. She’d done it, if not easily.

Without Galan it would have taken a lot more time and opened them up to the threat of exposure far more quickly than asking Jacob to scout them physically.

Oryan looked to Kyri and Galan. “Thank you for the loan of Galan, by the way, Kyri. Galan, we appreciate what you’ve done.”

“The good thing is that, now that we know about them, we can do something about them,” Morgan said.

Quickly and silently, but he kept that to himself.

“I suspect they’ll be manned early, perhaps even the evening before,” he continued.

Oryan nodded. “Haerold will take no chances. And he’ll believe we won’t know about them not knowing we have eyes in the sky.”

The truth was dawning on young Jordan, a small spark of hope. “You think it can be done?”

Giving him a cautioning look, Morgan said. “It’s risky but possible. It will depend on a lot of factors. And, we’ll need a diversion, as smoke screen.”

He had something in mind for that. Caleb was seeing if what he needed could be done by a nearby blacksmith.

“If it works,” Morgan said, “it will look like magic. However, we don’t yet know how the Hunters will be deployed. Or where Haerold’s wizards will be positioned…”

“And we have yet to gain wizards of our own,” Oryan said.

Kyri and Galan glanced at each other.

She took a breath. “We may be able to help with some of that, although our magic is more Fairy magic than wizardry, but we do have some magic beyond Healing. We can create more of the talismans such as Morgan wears, but each one is keyed to the person who made it, as well as the one who wears it.”

“Is that how you find me when I call?” Morgan asked, curious.

Kyri answered with a smile, her eyes flickering to him, warmth in them.

“No, the call itself helps, we can home in on it, but as we’ve grown to know you better, you become like one of us and we can simply sense you. Cold iron and earth are the only things that might get in our way of finding you now.”

It was an oddly comforting thing to know.

“So,” Morgan said, “here’s the plan…”

“Knowing,” Oryan interjected, “that every battle plan is only good until you meet the enemy.”

Morgan nodded in agreement. “So, we try to plan around every contingency that we can. And we’ll still find that there’s one we missed.”

He gave everyone a dry look.

“Some of the rebels from Dorset have agreed to help us,” he said, giving a nod to Corvin. “And Detrick from the south. His people are the best trained.”

Detrick grinned, but nodded sharply. “Training is what keeps you alive.”

Actually, the Dorset rebels had been planning their own rescue of their liege lord, but Morgan had managed to convince them to agree to aid his plan instead.

“They’ll provide the diversion we’ll need,” he said, “drawing off some of the Guard and Hunters, even perhaps some of the wizards. Their only aim is to do that, hit and run, pulling those forces away and causing a disruption. Drawing attention away from the Square, making them believe there’s a concerted effort to penetrate the city.”

He gave both men a steady stare. “No heroics. Get in, get out, provide protection, cover and distraction as needed once we have Philip out.”

Corvin, a barrel-chested man with thinning blonde hair nodded.

“No heroics,” Detrick promised.