Part 34 (1/2)

When the tide that carried her had receded, he lay beside her again and held her, drawing up the sheet. Lunete kissed his mouth cautiously, then warmly.

”Mmmm,” Dewar murmured, thinking what a fool Ottaviano was, a journeyman half-educated in other things than sorcery. ”Are you pleased, Lunete,” he whispered.

”Oh yes. Was I supposed to do-”

”Whatever you like, as long as you enjoy it,” he a.s.sured her, smiling, embracing her. ”I would please you,” he added, his mouth behind her ear.

”You did. Oh, Dewar . . . That was so- It wasn't at all like when-”

He put two fingers on her lips and stopped her. ”It's always different,” he said. And, he thought, a lady never makes comparisons; her inexperience was sweet, appealing of itself.

”Is it?” Lunete asked, and smiled, brilliant-eyed.

Dewar smiled slowly and said, ”Yes,” and they set out to establish that as true.

”Different?” he asked, a husky whisper in her ear. He kissed her neck, nibbled the tender lobe.

”Ohhh.” Lunete arched her back.

”I shall take that as a yes.”

”Yes, do.”

The fire was nearly out. Lunete turned onto her stomach and lay flat, smiling, her chin pillowed on her hands. Dewar 294.

ttizabetk stretched beside her and held her, and soon she fell asleep as he knew she would, smiling still.

He considered how he would depart. The hour was late; doors and windows would be locked. He had not planned to be in the castle so long, nor to make love to her. Carefully, he sat up and reached down to the floor for his s.h.i.+rt. As he pulled it over his head, it brushed Lunete and she woke with a start.

”You're leaving.”

”I must.”

She nodded and turned over, pulling the bedclothes to her chin as she sat up. Dewar pulled them down and kissed her.

Lunete pressed her lips to his cheek. ”Don't go,” she whispered.

”I shall go, for your countrymen speak against women who please themselves,” Dewar said. He trailed his fingers up her spine and moved a lock of her hair from her cheek. ”I cannot stay; it would be held to your blame, Lunete, and I will not contribute to your harm.”

She smiled reluctantly. ”I beg you pardon a woman's weakness. There's reason in what you say, reason and good sense.”

He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it lightly, then bent and found more of his garments. Lunete put out a hand and took her golden smock from the foot of the bed. She pulled it on to cover her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her pale smooth shoulders.

When he was dressed save for his boots, she said, ”Dewar,” and he looked again at her dark eyes in the candlelight. ”When might I see you again?” she asked softly.

Dewar thought of one answer, then another, and then a third which pleased him well, and he said, ”Tomorrow night, if you will it so. I cannot tarry after that, but tomorrow . . .” He let his voice fade.

”Yes,” she said. ”Shall I send for you? Where do you stay?”

”I will not tell you, nor shall you send for me. I'll come to you as I did this night.”

Sorcerer and a Qtntl&man 295.

”Very well. At the same hour?”

”As tonight. Do not look for me; 1 will be here.” He smiled.

Dewar watched Lunete's maids disrobe her, watched Lau-dine brush out her hair and plait it. The Countess was in a mild humor, or her women more adroit; no reprimands were uttered. There was a tray with a bottle and a goblet on it on top of a chest near the fire tonight, Lys wine. Lys did not grow much wine, but some of the southern river-valleys had produced locally-salable stuff.

After her women left Lunete alone, Dewar stood silent and still, looking at her. She had risen from the bed and gone to stand at the fire. He watched the light play on her face from four paces' distance, and when she glanced away he stepped quietly over to stand behind her, slipping his arms around her waist.

”Lunete,” he murmured, stilling her startled gasp with his hand. He kissed the back of her neck, whispering; his body s.h.i.+mmered into visibility again.

”Dewar,” she said, turning in his arms and embracing him ardently, and they said hardly a word more for several hours.

Then they lay cheek-to-cheek on the pillow, agreeably exercised, and watched the flame of the thick honey-scented candle consume wick and wax.

”Are you real?” Lunete said lazily, lifting her head.

”Yes,” Dewar answered, lifting his eyebrows. He moved a strand of her hair out of his eyes.

”You appear and disappear like one of the wood-spirits my nurse used to warn me about,” she said, smiling as she reached down and stroked his thigh, ”out of the darkness, into the darkness, perhaps changing into a stag or a bull. . . .”

”I promise I am no incubus, but a sorcerer.”

”It's the same thing.”

”It certainly is not,” he retorted, ”although,” he continued thoughtfully, ”some of the superficial characteristics 296 -^ 'E&zafctfi 'WUtey may be similar.” And he moved her hand and lifted her hips, s.h.i.+fted his body under her. ”There?” he suggested, and began to rock.

”Oh,” she said, and bent to kiss him, and they swayed together as her ”Oh” became a low, throaty moan.

Later, beside a shorter candle than before, they rested again, wordlessly kissing and touching. Lunete stretched, her body tingling and tired, and then sat bolt upright.

”Someone's in the solar!” she whispered.

Dewar threw her nightdress at her and rolled out of the bed, s.n.a.t.c.hing at his own clothing strewn here and there. Lunete pulled the s.h.i.+ft over her head. Footsteps and a murmur of voices were audible on the other side of the door.

”Under the bed!” she whispered. ”Quick!”

Dewar didn't argue; the door handle moved. He hit the floor and rolled.

Lunete flopped down, bedclothes over her, and feigned sleep. Dewar saw that one of his boots was visible still, reached out to s.n.a.t.c.h it under the bed with him. The floor was cold and gritty. He'd slid to the side farthest from the candle's light, with no time to don a st.i.tch.

A light glimmered on the floor. Footsteps. A male sigh. Rustle.

”Lunete,” said Ottaviano softly.

Dewar stuffed his s.h.i.+rt in his mouth, stifling his snort of laughter. The cloth smelled of Lunete. He stifled another reaction, and then more laughter at himself.

”Otto? Ottaviano! What are you doing here?”