Part 19 (1/2)
She smiled at that description. ”Avenall, why did you ask to court me?”
”Isn't that apparent?”
”Tell me.”
”Because I favor you.”
”But why? I am half-blooded. Is it I am so different?”
”A bit. I saw the mortal pa.s.sion in your heart when you witnessed the Dance.”
She bristled. That had been many years earlier. She'd snuck out to witness the Dance, something s.h.i.+nn had forbidden, for her father forbid more than granted.
”You did?”
”You reached out and touched the Dancer's hair as he spun past you. I know you wanted to touch the mortal.”
Surprised Avenall had stepped so perfectly into her thoughts, Gossamyr could but shrug and gaze into his delicious violet eyes.
”You don't care what others think of you,” he said. ”I watch when you stride through the Glamoursiege markets. You are strong and smart and beautiful. I admire you, Gossamyr. I always will, even after your father marries you to another man.”
”Don't say things like that.” For indeed, s.h.i.+nn had only days ago forbidden Avenall from courting her. His only excuse: he would not have a Rougethorn in the family. ”Let's be in the moment tonight, please?”
”Can you feel it?” He took her hand and placed it over his chest.
Indeed, his heartbeats were strong and, when Gossamyr concentrated, she thought surely they did beat in synch with hers. But even more, the hardness of his body beneath her fingers intrigued. She slid her hand up to the part in his sheered silk s.h.i.+rt and drew a finger along his flesh.
The wind of his wings, spread wide and full, schussed her face with a sweet breeze. Heliotrope; his distinctive scent. Gossamyr closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensations that stormed about her. Heartbeats increased. An urgency vibrated in her bones. She wanted him closer, next to her, inside her...
The weight of his hand sliding down her neck and parting her robe made her gasp.
”May I,”he whispered into her mouth ”touch you?”
”Yes.”
The air cooled her briefly as gentle, wide hands cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The touch making her buoyant, Gossamyr rose to her tiptoes. An unbidden mewl crossed her lips.
”They are so...large,” he said with a smiling t.i.tter.
”They are?”Gossamyr laughed. ”I had not thought them overlarge.”
”Fee women have nothing compared to this,”he said as he smoothed and tickled and then bent to lave at her breast with his tongue. ”They would hinder your flight, I imagine.”
”Pity, I've not that worry. So that is the only reason you fancy me?”
”Don't be foolish, Gossamyr.”
”I'm teasing.”
And that was all she could say for the sensation of Avenall's mouth and
teeth and tongue working at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s drew a shudder to her bones.
Gossamyr tilted back her head, lifting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s higher. It was then she noticed the flutter of Avenall's wings behind him. The pellicle wings, normally translucent, had deepened to a rich violet. Most remarkable!
”Your wings,” she said on a gasp. ”They are gorgeous. Why have they changed color?”
”That, my sweet-” He lifted his violet gaze to hers. A smile could not be erased. ”Is arousal.”
”Oh. Oh! I've never before seen the like.”
”Good. I should hate to discover you are overly familiar with male arousal.”
”Gossamyr?”
Ah! Might she not simply enjoy this moment before all crowded in and became a battlefield?
”Ohhh... Gossamyr?”
Ulrich's voice sounded strange. Unsure.
Wading to sh.o.r.e, she looked for her abandoned gown. What appeared a mushy rock was actually a tangled heap of wet wool.
”You might want to get dressed, Gossamyr!”
”You've a naked woman behind that windmill?”
She stiffened at the sound of a gruff male voice. Not Ulrich's. A chill clamped to her spine. Instinct shot to the surface. A bravo? More likely a vicious Armagnac. She had not been too alert. Fool!
Scrambling to untangle the wet gown, Gossamyr cursed her need to linger in the stream. Her hair, heavy and dripping down her back, clung like deflated eels.
”She's...my mother actually. In the name of King Charles VII, I beg you do not go back there!”
The s.h.i.+ng of steel alerted Gossamyr like an arret to the gut. No staff to hand, for it sat in the windmill. Not even a dry piece of clothing! She managed to untangle the gown and worked to open the hem.
”This should prove interesting,” another voice said. Not the gruff voice.
Nor, again, Ulrich's. But male. How many were there? ”You take him, I'll get the mother.”
”I don't think so!”
One of the men let out a yelp of pain. Gossamyr cringed, hoping upon hopes it was not Ulrich.
”b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” The gruff one. Another slash of steel sliced the air. A metal clang-armor?-and a groan akin to having the air punched out of one's lungs.