THE WARRIOR QUEEN (The Guinevere Trilogy Book 1) Page 4
“Maev was a Warrior-Queen, who commanded an army of thousands, who subdued in battle the hero they called the Hound of the Ulstermen. The blood she spilled carved valleys in the land. She had four consorts and eight sons. She rode into battle, and men talk of her tearing down lines of her enemies with her sword. They don’t say much about her beauty,” I replied, coldly. Maev of Cruachan had been my father’s grandmother, and I knew I had her blood in my veins. I did not have to give in to anything.
Arthur took another step towards me and reached out to lift the crown off my head. I felt my skin burn where his hands brushed it, lifting it off, and I was yet unsure if this was revulsion, or the wine, the heat of the fire, or something else. He walked back away from me and set it down beside his own, and took another sip of his wine. Mine was still in my hand. I tipped it up for the dregs, and set it down on the floor beside me. I could feel the nervous tingling all over my body, the tension in the air between us. Neither knew what the other would do next. He walked back over to me. His eyes still had all the excited eagerness of a boy, but I was not so eager for him as he was for me, and I kept my face still, and cold.
“Guinevere, I think you and I together can make this kingdom great. I know we are strangers, but...” He reached out his hand and laid it gently against my waist, then slowly slid it upwards, to stroke my breast. I caught him by the wrist, hard. “Guinevere...” He was firmer this time, and though he did not move his hand any further, he did not lift it away. I could feel the power in his arm under my grip. He could have pushed me away. He did not sound as patient as he had before. I knew it would wear thin fast. “Believe me I have been warned that brides can be nervous.”
“You are but a boy, Arthur.” He was shocked by my sharpness, and clearly he had not noticed as I had that he was younger than me. He thought himself all grown. The hint of an arrogant smile chased across his lips.
“But I have had more lovers than you, my Lady Guinevere.” He slid his arm around my waist, lifting it easily from my grip as I had suspected he could, pulling me up tight against him; the other he buried in my hair, winding his fingers in it, turning my face up towards him. I could feel the power of his body, his strength, all the way around me, and although in my mind I was resolved, resolved to resist until I had forgiven him and his people the loss of my own, to my frustration something in my body was responding, against my will. I did not like him yet, but despite myself I liked the feel of his strong arm around me, his hand rough in my hair, and it only made me angrier. I did not want to like it. “Unless there is something your father should have told me.” His eyes gazed right into mine. I could not tell if he felt himself to be being playful. Our faces were close, close enough that I could see the fine shadow of gold stubble against his chin catch in the firelight. I felt the touch of his breath against my lips. I was not repulsed as I thought I would be by the feel of him this close to me, our bodies pressing together, and the desire to refuse was leaving me, my desire to resist weaker than I had expected, but I was stubborn by nature, and I had come decided to resist.
“Oh no, my lord,” I hissed, “I am intact.”
“Well, then.” He leaned just a little closer, and I felt our noses brush. I felt my heart beat faster, my breath come quicker. I felt my body preparing to fight. “I do not think you will find me disappointing, despite my youth. I know what I am doing.”
He kissed me roughly, his hand on the back of my neck pulling me closer against him. I had been kissed before, in Carhais by the man I was supposed to marry, just once before he left, under a plum tree in the orchard. I could not honestly have said that I liked it much; it had been wet and clumsy and playful, a children’s game, nothing more, though he had been older, then, than Arthur was now. Nothing like this. This rough kiss was leading me somewhere. I felt his fingers at the back of my neck, growing soft now, almost tender and felt myself weaken, just a little, at their touch. No. If I relented I could not go home. I tried to push him off, and for a moment it caught him by surprise, but he pushed back and we slammed against the bolted door. A little gasp of pain escaped me. I could feel, against my thigh, that he was hard.
We were both breathing fast, and rough, pressed tight against each other, up against the door. I was sure he must have been able to feel my heart, pounding in my chest. He had not loosened his grip on me, but I could see that his gaze on me was soft.
“Guinevere... this is how it has to be. We are married, you are my Queen. I don’t wish to force you –”
“Perhaps you could not. Perhaps I would kill you,” I whispered, cold and threatening. But I no longer felt it. I was no longer sure I meant what I said. He smelled of the stables, clean straw and the homely scent of horses, his strength about me was almost overwhelming. I could feel my lips were hot from his kiss, and tingling, wanting more despite myself. The closeness of his body against mine was clouding my thoughts.
He laughed a soft, little laugh.
“I chose well, looking for one like Maev, then. But, Guinevere, this has to be,” he whispered. “Please.”
I said nothing. He leaned down to kiss me again, this time softly at first, and then when I did not push him away a second time, harder. I felt my mouth open under his, the instinct within me that I had denied waking through me. I had never been kissed like this by a man before, had never imagined it would be matched in me by my own desire. Arthur’s passion was rough, but it was also compelling. His hands were in my hair, unwinding the tight plaits, throwing the pins to the floor where they fell with a soft tinkle. I felt my heavy curls fall about my shoulders as he leant to kiss my neck. I felt my knees weaken a little, and I knew it was not the wine. I did not have to know him, or love him, to enjoy him. I had heard the women of my father’s court say that enough when they thought that I was not listening. I could not pretend I did not like the feeling of his strength. I was beginning to wonder if my stubborn resolve to go home wasn’t childish. This must have been what it was to give up childhood and become a woman.
Arthur unlaced my outerdress at the back and pushed it up fast, and pulled it over my head. One of the sleeves tore, but he did not seem to notice. He pulled me to him once more and kissed me again, his hands searching the undershift for laces, a way in, found instead my breasts and there he brushed my nipples gently through the thin fabric, and I felt a tingling go through me; a desire to be free from the underdress. My body responded, pressing back against him, and he made a low noise of excitement when he felt me yielding, just a little. He pulled his own shirt off, and his breeches. He had a young man’s haste. I reached out, unconsciously, to touch the bare skin so suddenly before me, irresistible. I had seen a man before, but if I were honest with myself no man as fine as him. Old men, my brothers when I was a child; we were not prudish about our bodies in Carhais. But still I had never before felt what I did now, at the sight of Arthur naked before me; a flutter of something enticing and unfamiliar in the pit of my stomach. I let my fingertips trail softly over the muscles of his chest, down across his stomach. I could feel the blood high in my cheeks, and his eyes on my face, and I knew he was excited by the sight of me, looking at him.
He reached for me again, fired with desire, his kisses more insistent. This time found the laces of the underdress, deftly undid them, and pushed it off my shoulders. It fell to the ground around my feet, and I stepped out of it. He took a step back then, and looked at me, for a moment, naked in the candlelight. From his lips escaped a tiny groan of pleasure and lust before he grasped me by the hips and threw me down on the bed. I felt my heart thud, and I was not sure it was fear. It was new, and dangerous, but exciting. I stretched out under him as he climbed onto me. His hands were all over me, strong, but gentle, yet demanding. I felt a delicious haze of it spread up around me, through me, and I was lost in it. My body responded with its instinct, following the heat of his touch. His kisses were hot and strong, first on my mouth, then neck, then my breasts and nipples and down my body until he found that place that made me cry ou
t sharply, but quiet, with pleasure, and surprise. I felt at the centre of a hot, bright swirl of heady sensations, deliciously lost, and my body seemed to know what I wanted better than I did. At last, he entered me, his face hot against my neck, one hand tangled in my hair, the other at the small of my back holding me tight against him as we moved together. He was rough, but he did not hurt me, and I found I liked the feel of his bare skin against my own, his lips against my neck, at my ear, his powerful movements on top of me. There had been a sharp pain at the start, and I felt the patch of blood beneath me against my leg, but as Arthur groaned deeply, and with satisfaction, into my neck and rolled off me, I thought that it was nothing like I had been warned it would be, by Christine, who had been married and widowed before she had come to me. Unpleasant, but soon over, she had told me.
Arthur turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, to face me. He reached out his other hand and gently smoothed the red curls back from my damp brow as I stretched out beside him, feeling the warmth of the wine and the pleasant ache inside me spread through me. He said nothing, and I said nothing, but this was a new kind of saying nothing between us. He leaned over and kissed me once, tenderly. The last candle guttered out as he gathered me into his arms, and we fell asleep.
Chapter Five
When I woke, for a moment I didn’t remember where I was. The sunlight winked under my fluttering eyelids, dazzling and lovely, and for a moment I could have been anywhere. I could have been home. But home was gone. Camelot. I was in Camelot. And I remembered last night with Arthur. I slowly opened my eyes, and pushed myself up onto my elbows. He was there beside me, and it was real. This was my life now. Last night I had become his queen, and it had not been a dream. It was done now, and I was a wife, and I would not run home. I could not.
I looked at him, still sleeping, with the soft gold touch of the sun glancing and lighting in his golden hair. His rough, masculine features relaxed in sleep, but still those, unmistakably, of a man who had forged his kingdom through war. He was handsome, I supposed. People always said that about their rulers, but Arthur did have a rough, primal charm to his looks that was undeniable. Besides, he had told me that he had had many women before, so I could not have been the only one who thought so. I was not sure, then, if I cared or not. Arthur groaned softly as he woke beside me, sensing my wakefulness, perhaps. With one strong arm he reached for me, rolling onto me, gathering me under him. Still sleepy, he rubbed his face – newly rough with a night’s growth of beard – into my neck. I could not suppress a little gasp of surprise as he thrust himself inside me again. It was slower, this time, less hurried, gentler. I was surprised that it already felt familiar, and my body, seeming to know, followed his. His mouth found mine with a deep, slow kiss, the heat of which seemed to mingle with the heat already rising in my body. I ran my hands down his strong arms, feeling, too, our legs brush against each other, his skin hot from sleep against mine. As I felt the breaths come to me quicker, the heat within me spreading, I reached my arms around his broad back and pulled him tighter against me. He gave a deep moan of pleasure at this and sighed against me, rolling aside and gathering me into his arms as he had done the night before. Between my legs I felt the warmth of where he had been, and the slickness that promised something distant of new life. In Arthur’s arms I felt small, small and fragile, but safe. I was a tall, strong woman, with my own lean and competent muscles from a lifetime of running and hunting in the woods, but beside Arthur I was little and frail as a bird. His arms and shoulders bore the thick, corded muscles of a short lifetime’s training with broadsword and shield, of wearing the heavy armour. He was not sinew but brawn, the blood of conquerors, for sure. Across one side of his chest ran the thin, white line of a scar, running from the centre, above the nipple towards his shoulder. I traced a finger along it as I lay with my head on his shoulder. His eyes followed my finger.
“That one was the gift of the King of the Vale.”
“What happened to him?”
He smiled slightly, a little proud, a little pleased with himself. I supposed he had a right to be.
“Well, there is only one King of the Britons now.”
“Hmmmm,” I agreed, quietly. In that soft, morning light, with Arthur’s warm, bare skin against my own and a warm bright soft feeling spreading through my limbs from his touch, I was not sure how I felt. I had not wanted to come, I had not wanted to be wed, but all of a sudden, against every expectation I had had, I felt happy. I spread my hand out in the middle of his chest, feeling the skin, feeling the strength beneath it.
“So I am not so bad, my lady Queen?” Arthur reached out and gently brushed his fingers against my cheek, and I looked up to meet his gentle smile with a small, tentative one of my own.
I rolled on to my front, propping myself up on my forearms to look back, deep into the eyes that – I had not noticed before – were dark steel-grey and serious beyond his years. Thoughtful. Not the eyes of a brute, I reproached myself. He also looked less like a boy to me now, more like a man. I supposed that I had seen, in my anger, only what I had expected to see.
“Not so bad.” I reached out to, gently, tentatively, touch his cheek, and he laid a big hand over mine, drawing me closer with the arm still wrapped around my back, for a soft and tender kiss.
“And I? Was I as like my ancestress the Witch-Queen Maev as you had hoped?” I teased.
Arthur laughed softly with what seemed to me like embarrassment. Perhaps he had not meant to speak of it last night.
“Oh, far less frightening, and far more beautiful.”
“That’s not always what a lady likes to hear, you know.” I gave him a playful smile and he wound his fingers deeper into my hair. I liked the feeling of his fingertips pressing my scalp, the power of the hand that wound there. I sighed softly into it. My body still felt hot from having him inside me, and hungry. He pulled my head back, gently, and, rolling back over me as he turned me onto my back, kissed the soft skin under my neck, beneath the ear. I sighed softly with pleasure, and he took one breast in his hand, brushing the nipple lightly until I pressed myself up against him for more and, as I felt the longing in my body for him again, his slid his other hand under my back and, pulling me towards him, entered me again. I wanted it as much as he did now, more even perhaps, and I found myself lost in the lovely whirl of desire. This time I moaned softly as he did and he buried his face in the thick hair at the side of my neck, moving against me as I pressed closer to him. I wrapped a leg around his back and he grasped it by the thigh, holding me faster against him, closer, harder as I felt the pleasure rising within me, the heat in my stomach, then at my heart, at my face. I felt the hot, sweet clench of it at the centre of me and the heat go out of me, suddenly, with a sigh, as Arthur groaned above me, and was still for a moment, breathing hot and fast against my neck, and then slid away. Slowly, I stretched my arms above my head and turned my face, eyes closed, to the sun pouring in at the window, to feel its soft red touch on my closed eyes, and then, opening my eyes, I reached for Arthur and laid my head softly on his chest. I felt sleepy again, but I did not want to sleep. I had not expected to like being with Arthur. I had assumed he would be clumsy or unkind, but I had been wrong. He stroked my hair with one hand, and with his other arm down my back, cradled me close.
“Look at all this fire,” he said thoughtfully, running a hand through my hair.
I kissed softly the skin of his chest, where I was resting.
“Did you always know you would be a king?” I asked. I had been raised all my life in the knowledge of who I was – what I was – but Arthur had fought for his throne. I wondered if he had had a sense of it, in his blood. I had no idea what it must have been like, not to know who you were.
“Me? No. No. Sir Ector raised me, and his wife. I hoped I would be a knight like my older brother Sir Kay. I never thought I would be here. I’m not sure if I would even say I wanted it. But I found out it was mine. The will of God. I was... I was squiring for Kay in thi
s tournament, but he had forgotten his sword – I think he did it on purpose to annoy me, because Kay never forgets anything or misses a chance to play a joke on his friends – so I went to get him one. I didn’t want to go all the way home because I knew if I wasn’t back in time that stubborn old Kay would fight anyway with just his shield and get himself wounded. People said that there was a sword in the church in the town and I thought I would just borrow that one. There it was, resting in a block of stone in the church. I didn’t know then it was covered in writing. I couldn’t read then, so it could have been anything – pictures, numbers. I just put my hands on the sword and it flew out. I really was a boy then. Thirteen, maybe. Anyway, I took it to Kay, and my father – no, Sir Ector – was so shocked, I didn’t understand it. He kept asking Kay how he’d got it, and then everyone else around was shouting and demanding to know where he got it from, and eventually when my witch Merlin, who was not my witch then, came out of the crowd and asked him, Kay told everyone I had brought it to him. They made me take it in and out of the block of stone again and again and Merlin told me the stone said “Whoever pulls this sword from this stone is rightwise King of England”, and that was me. He told me that Uther Pendragon, the just-dead king, was my father, and the Lady Igraine was my mother.” He paused, for a second. “That was the saddest day of my life.”