The Lord of Illusion - 3 (17 page)

“I… collapsed before it could touch me.” He would not tell her that the scepter had spoken to him. Nor that the other scepters had reached out from as far away as Wales to cause his fit. For he sensed he was close. So very close to gaining Camille’s love. And would not such a revelation make any woman fear him?

“You could not produce an illusion?”

He half-smiled. “Not even with the threat of death, my lady. I told you my magic is erratic.”

“Then you cannot have cast a glamour upon me.”

“No.”

Drystan watched her struggle with that knowledge. And waited in turn.

She set down the glass of liquor, her back to him. “Then these feelings I have for you. They are truly mine. I think of you all the time, not just when I am with you.”

His heart leapt at her words; strength flowed back into his body, his encounter with the elven lord all but forgotten in the sudden joy of her confession.

She turned and faced him. “You have seduced me with your stories and poetry. With your kindness and concern. For the first time, I yearn for a man’s touch. I cannot sleep for thinking of you.”

Tears glistened in her eyes with the battle that waged within her. She wanted him, yes, but still feared him as well.

Drystan held out his hand to her.

She stared at it in alarm.

“Will you come to me, Camille?”

She shook her head, but reached out and clasped his hand.

Drystan did not want her to fear him. Did not want her confused or reluctant. He wanted to erase all of the memories she had of abuse and replace them with the joy of physical pleasure that two people could share when they loved each other. He wanted to show her the power she held over him.

Her memories would fight her body’s inclinations until then.

And above all else, he desperately wanted intimacy between them, and wished fervently he could somehow gain it.

The room shimmered, a golden haze replacing the gloomy winter evening.

Ah, at least his unpredictable magic would not fail him now.

The illusion he conjured surprised him, though. It must have come from his collection of stories from
Arabian
Nights
, for suddenly a tent surrounded him, his bed replaced by a large round cushion, gauzy drapes comprising the walls of the tent.

Incense spiced the air; small braziers burned beyond the cocoon of the tent. Smaller pillows of bright-colored silk lay scattered about him, and intricate woodcarvings comprised the ceiling above. He lay completed naked, but the air felt warm to his skin, as if desert heat had replaced the chill of winter.

The bindings around his wrist and ankles surprised him most of all.

Drystan glanced above his head, where Camille still gripped his hand, then down at his feet. The silk ropes had been secured to iron posts firmly planted into the ground. He tested them, muscles bulging at arms and legs. He could not escape them to save his soul.

He smiled.

Camille gasped. A thin veil covered the lower half of her face, so he could clearly see only her lovely eyes. They widened with surprise, and then her gaze traveled down his body, studying him for a very long time.

“You are beautiful,” she finally whispered, the veil moving with the breath of her words.

Drystan felt his shaft harden as he studied her new outfit. Her gown of pink roses had been replaced by a strip of sheer cloth about her breasts, long silk pants down her legs, leaving her torso bare. The lacy cap she’d worn over her coiffure had been changed to a golden string about her head, small round coins dangling from the ends of it over her forehead. Her ivory hair lay loose about her shoulders and fell down the length of her back.

“What story are we in, Lord Hawkes?”

He shifted, aware that her gaze had fixed upon his groin and the growing proof of his desire for her. “
Arabian
Nights
. It is a collection of stories from Islam.”

She trailed her fingers down the inside of his arm, making his skin tingle. “I would like to read it, sometime.”

“Not now,” he groaned.

“No.” Camille smiled beneath her sheer veil. A radiant curve of her lips that for the very first time reached her eyes. She stared at him boldly as her fingers trailed down his chest.

“I would pay a fortune if you would kiss me,” he whispered.

She looked into his eyes. Drystan struggled against his bindings in genuine frustration. He wanted to touch her, to hold her in his arms. But his magic knew what she needed, even if he did not like it.

“I have to beg, you see.”

“I see.”

She leaned forward, placed her mouth upon his, the thin fabric between them making him long for the softer skin of her lips. Camille reached up, removed the silk string from about her forehead, the attached veil sliding off her face with it. She stared at the coins, jingled them in her hand, then tossed the headpiece aside. “The book will be interesting, I think.”

Drystan smiled. She caught her breath, and after a timeless moment, leaned down once more. Her lips felt as warm as sunshine, tasted like honey and dark wine. He tried to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away. Letting him know who had control.

As if he needed the reminder.

She continued her exploration of his body, fingers touching him in places that made him groan, made her smile. Thank heavens she did not touch his shaft, for surely he would splinter into a thousand pieces.

“I would…” Drystan caught his breath. “I would like to touch you as well. Since that is beyond my ability at the moment, I would see you, Camille.”

She raised an ivory brow, as if considering his request as a favor she would grant in her own time.

His magic would kill him.

Camille slid her leg over his hips, sat gently on top of him. Drystan gritted his teeth as her weight added additional pressure on his shaft. It took all of his willpower not to buck against her. But she easily distracted him as she untied the laces of the cloth covering her breasts, allowing the small garment to slowly fall off her shoulders, revealing portions of her skin so slowly Drystan felt transfixed.

Her breasts were more perfect than he could have imagined, small and firm, with nipples the color of pale roses. He wanted to touch them. The ropes tightened about his wrists as he tried to match thought with action.

Camille smiled, and he watched with avid fascination as she ran her hands over her breasts. He imagined his own following the same path. Drystan groaned, and she seemed to take pity on him, leaning forward to press her upper body against his chest, allowing him to feel the taut nipples, the soft warmth of them.

He angled his head down to kiss her, relieved when she decided to allow it. She stretched out fully on top of him, somehow sliding off the loose coverings on her lower body with one hand.

The feel of her skin covering his made Drystan long to hold her closer. To never let her go. When she pressed her tongue into his mouth, he suckled it, showing her the pleasure he could bring to her, if only she would undo his bindings.

But Camille appeared to be enjoying herself. And she did not fear him. His desires would have to wait for another time.

When she broke the kiss, Drystan took a long, arduous breath. “I love you.”

She frowned. “I believe you.”

“Then make love to me, Camille. Allow yourself to feel the pleasure I can give you. Take what you want of me, freely given.”

She pushed herself slightly upward. Her pale hair flowed across his chest, tickled his sensitive skin. She spread her legs, knees beside his hips, and opened herself to him. He felt the inner folds of her against his shaft as a hot, pulsating wetness. Slowly she began to move up and down, rubbing her most sensitive area against the full length of him.

He lost himself in the rhythm of Camille building her pleasure to a peak. Drystan needed no encouragement of his own, for he had felt poised over a precipice from the moment she slipped her body over his. Instead he strove to hold himself back, to allow her the time to take what she needed.

He felt her tremble. Watched as she threw back her head, the beat of her heart pulsating in her throat. She slid swiftly against him now, slick and smooth, her breath coming in pants that near matched his own.

He knew when she reached the beginning of her climax, for she slid herself over him then, fully encasing him inside of her as tremors wracked her body.

And he could not hold back any longer. He did not want to. For they came together as one, Camille grinding against him as deeper tremors shook her, Drystan unable to tell whose pleasure shook him the most.

Hers, or his own.

Camille collapsed on his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin.

They lay together for a timeless moment, Drystan daring not to move. Not to speak. He had dreamed of making love to Camille for so very long, his mind conjuring different scenarios until his need overwhelmed him. But he had never imagined such a scene. Had not realized how truly glorious it would actually be.

Then the tent began to shiver, the bindings on Drystan’s hands and feet disappearing, until he could finally lower his arms. His shoulders ached and his fingers tingled, but it had been worth it.

When he wrapped his arms around Camille, moving as slowly and tenderly as possible, she did not flinch. Indeed, she burrowed even closer to him.

“What happened to the illusion?” she asked, a shiver accompanying her words as the chill of an English winter crept over their naked bodies.

Drystan hauled his bed coverings over her. “You do not need it anymore.”

She glanced up at him, smoothed his cheek with a confident hand. “No. I suppose I do not. Lord Hawkes—”

He took a breath. He wanted her to know his true name, damn it. “Drystan. Faith, I think you can call me by my given name now.”

Her head snapped up, a frown marring the tranquility of her delicate features. “Drystan? But many of your letters refer to your given name as Duncan.”

He shifted, moving one hand down to her bottom, exploring the smooth perfect roundness of it. Their closeness made him feel confident enough to reveal this much, at least. “That is my younger brother’s name. I assumed his identity, you see, to gain entry to the palace.”

“But why? And if you are the elder, why do you not rightfully hold the title?”

“Because I do not exist.”

She rolled off him, and he allowed her to go, knowing he could never force Camille to do anything she did not wish to. Above all considerations, he must prove that she had rights and freedoms of her person.

She sat up and held the blankets to cover her chest, much to his dismay. He enjoyed looking at her body. Indeed, he rather thought he could spend the rest of his life filling his eyes with the resplendent sight of her nudity.

“What do you mean?”

“Mean?”

She huffed. “That you do not exist.”

“Ah.” Drystan reached out and gently stroked her hair, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Apparently I showed promise of too much magic, and fearing my testing, my parents hid the fact of my birth and sent me to Wales.”

Her rainbow-colored eyes widened as she realized the trust he had just placed in her by revealing such a secret. “So that’s where you get that odd accent. But why Wales?”

Camille might care for him but had not resolved herself to loving him. Yet she trusted him with her body, and he owed her the truth. He would not withhold any answers to her questions, even if it meant losing what little ground he had gained.

“It is where the Rebellion sends the children to hide them from the elven lords. Perhaps it is the natural barrier of the mountains, but the elven lords’ magic does not extend into Wales.”

He watched her face as she worked through the implications of what he told her. “But that means you must have shown the promise of great magic.”

Drystan scowled. “Apparently my parents were mistaken about the strength of my elven blood. I was told by… my tutor that I have the capability for strong magic, but without the training—or perhaps because I’ve been so long parted from the magic that flows within England—I may never gain my true potential. It does not bring back my missing childhood with my family, however.”

“No. I suppose not. But… you have not lived the life of an aristocrat, then? That would explain much.”

He folded his arms behind his head. “Meaning?”

“You are not so involved with your own interests. You do not toss orders about as if you expect us lesser beings to obey. You are a scholar with interests beyond gaming and drinking.”

He cocked a smile at her, enjoyed her reaction to it. She unconsciously leaned closer to him.

“Thank you,” he said, and sat up, unable to resist the impulse any longer. He covered her mouth with his, and she eagerly returned his kiss, breathing a small sigh of delight into his very lungs. Drystan wished he could make her a part of him forever. Indeed, he vowed to do so.

He broke the kiss to allow her to breathe but did not pull away from her. Instead he laid his cheek next to hers, enfolded her thin shoulders in his arms, and whispered in her ear. “I have shared one of my secrets with you, Camille. Now you must share one of yours with me.”