In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) by Sarah Zettel Page B
Authors: Sarah Zettel
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are.”
Slowly, as in a dream, Harrik touched his lips to the tip of her finger. The wine tasted sweet, like honey and her skin beneath was soft and warm. She sighed at his kiss, her eyes closing in pleasure. He took her hand between his own. It was light as the petal of a white rose and smooth as silk. Like silk, it was sensuous to the touch, inviting the hands to caress it, to press it, to wrap one’s whole self in its luxury.
She opened her eyes and all her pleasure of him seemed to shine in the sparks lit by the fire.
“Take what you want,” she whispered to him. “It is all before you, and then I will be yours and you will be mine. Come, Harrik my love. Hold nothing back.”
Her words undid him. Harrik laced his fingers in her golden hair and pulled her to him, kissing her hard. Her mouth opened eagerly to his, her tongue touching lips and teeth even as she made a sound like a laugh and threw her arms around him. She tasted of wine, salt and myrrh. Harrik felt himself rise and harden and his blood sang as the whole of her body pressed against him, rubbing, teasing, promising, ready. He could think of nothing else, desired nothing else but the silken warmth of her skin, the salt and sweet of her body. The thought of her surrounding him aroused him as if he were a youth again, and as she laid herself down onto the furs, he knelt as if in fealty and followed willingly where she led.
Daylight faded from the world with painful slowness. Risa lingered over her sewing while the rushlights and the hour candle burned low around her. She sent Aeldra running for wine, for a posset, for a lavender-rinsed cloth for her brow, pretending that a headache kept her from seeking sleep.
At last, because she could think of nothing else, she sent Aeldra for a bed warmer. Alone, she tried to think. Risa did not want to tell Aeldra any more than she already knew. When the household discovered Risa gone, Aeldra would be the first one questioned, and Aeldra would not lie to her lord and lady. To do so was to risk being turned out of the hall to fend for herself in the hedgerows. Which left the question of how Risa could send the maid away long enough to make her escape. She could not even allow herself be put to bed in her nightclothes, because she would have to dress alone and in the dark afterwards. It would take an age when every second would be precious.
Aeldra, however, solved her dilemma for her. She returned, not with the bed warmer, but with a brown cloak draped over her arms.
“If my lady were to choose to wear this,” Aeldra said quietly. “Anyone who saw her might think they were seeing one of the serving women instead.”
Stunned, Risa accepted the cloak, a lump rising in her throat. “They will question you.”
Aeldra folded her hands in her familiar way. “And I will say my mistress said she went to meet young my Lord Vernus in the charcoal burner’s shed by the well of St. Ethelrede.”
“It will be a lie,” Risa whispered.
“Not if you say it now.”
Slowly, Risa repeated her maid’s words. “I’m sorry, Aeldra,” she said, laying the brown cloak in her lap. “I knew you were my friend, but did not realise how true a friend.”
The maid’s smile was kind. “Young women seldom understand such things. Especially when the friend is apt to be exacting and sharp of tongue.”
Risa glanced at the slash-marked candle beside her bed. It had been burning for three hours, and had been lit at twilight. “Is it safe now, think you?”
Aeldra leaned toward the door and put her hand to her ear in a practiced gesture. “I hear no one.”
Risa drew the cloak about her shoulders. A full handspan of her dress showed out underneath it, as she was some inches taller than Aeldra, but hopefully no one would be able to discern the color or quality of the exposed fabric from one swift glance in the dark.
Aeldra fussed with the carved bone clasp and then, unexpectedly kissed Risa on the cheek. “God be with you, my
Slowly, as in a dream, Harrik touched his lips to the tip of her finger. The wine tasted sweet, like honey and her skin beneath was soft and warm. She sighed at his kiss, her eyes closing in pleasure. He took her hand between his own. It was light as the petal of a white rose and smooth as silk. Like silk, it was sensuous to the touch, inviting the hands to caress it, to press it, to wrap one’s whole self in its luxury.
She opened her eyes and all her pleasure of him seemed to shine in the sparks lit by the fire.
“Take what you want,” she whispered to him. “It is all before you, and then I will be yours and you will be mine. Come, Harrik my love. Hold nothing back.”
Her words undid him. Harrik laced his fingers in her golden hair and pulled her to him, kissing her hard. Her mouth opened eagerly to his, her tongue touching lips and teeth even as she made a sound like a laugh and threw her arms around him. She tasted of wine, salt and myrrh. Harrik felt himself rise and harden and his blood sang as the whole of her body pressed against him, rubbing, teasing, promising, ready. He could think of nothing else, desired nothing else but the silken warmth of her skin, the salt and sweet of her body. The thought of her surrounding him aroused him as if he were a youth again, and as she laid herself down onto the furs, he knelt as if in fealty and followed willingly where she led.
Daylight faded from the world with painful slowness. Risa lingered over her sewing while the rushlights and the hour candle burned low around her. She sent Aeldra running for wine, for a posset, for a lavender-rinsed cloth for her brow, pretending that a headache kept her from seeking sleep.
At last, because she could think of nothing else, she sent Aeldra for a bed warmer. Alone, she tried to think. Risa did not want to tell Aeldra any more than she already knew. When the household discovered Risa gone, Aeldra would be the first one questioned, and Aeldra would not lie to her lord and lady. To do so was to risk being turned out of the hall to fend for herself in the hedgerows. Which left the question of how Risa could send the maid away long enough to make her escape. She could not even allow herself be put to bed in her nightclothes, because she would have to dress alone and in the dark afterwards. It would take an age when every second would be precious.
Aeldra, however, solved her dilemma for her. She returned, not with the bed warmer, but with a brown cloak draped over her arms.
“If my lady were to choose to wear this,” Aeldra said quietly. “Anyone who saw her might think they were seeing one of the serving women instead.”
Stunned, Risa accepted the cloak, a lump rising in her throat. “They will question you.”
Aeldra folded her hands in her familiar way. “And I will say my mistress said she went to meet young my Lord Vernus in the charcoal burner’s shed by the well of St. Ethelrede.”
“It will be a lie,” Risa whispered.
“Not if you say it now.”
Slowly, Risa repeated her maid’s words. “I’m sorry, Aeldra,” she said, laying the brown cloak in her lap. “I knew you were my friend, but did not realise how true a friend.”
The maid’s smile was kind. “Young women seldom understand such things. Especially when the friend is apt to be exacting and sharp of tongue.”
Risa glanced at the slash-marked candle beside her bed. It had been burning for three hours, and had been lit at twilight. “Is it safe now, think you?”
Aeldra leaned toward the door and put her hand to her ear in a practiced gesture. “I hear no one.”
Risa drew the cloak about her shoulders. A full handspan of her dress showed out underneath it, as she was some inches taller than Aeldra, but hopefully no one would be able to discern the color or quality of the exposed fabric from one swift glance in the dark.
Aeldra fussed with the carved bone clasp and then, unexpectedly kissed Risa on the cheek. “God be with you, my
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