aching. He put his cheek against the silky round top of her head.
Her tears stopped, but still they stayed as they were. Arthur felt her against him, so soft and warm, the very heart of his own being. He turned his cheek so that his mouth was against her hair.
She let out a long, uneven sigh and sat up, looking at him, her face very close to his. There were still tears on her cheeks and he touched one with a careful, delicate finger.
“Morgan,” he breathed. Her eyes were so dark and yet so luminous. He leaned his face closer and, very gently, his mouth touched hers.
It was a very soft kiss, very tentative. Close as they had been for all these years, they had never before done this. Their lips parted and two pairs of eyes, one dark and one light, searched each other. Then, with one accord, they moved again into each other’s arms. He kissed her mouth this time with trembling fierceness, and she reached her arms up around his neck, and her hair streamed like a silken mantle down over his wrists and spilled on the wooden planks of the tree-house floor.
Chapter 6
O N the far side of the river Camm, at the very northern border of Avalon, lay the forest. Morgan often went berrying there, bringing back to the villa baskets of blue and red and purple berries for the cook to bake into breads. She also gathered herbs for the medicines she was becoming so adept at making. The only stipulation Merlin made was that if she went to the forest, Arthur was to go with her; and he was to bring a knife.
The berries were particularly good that spring, and Arthur and Morgan were coming back through the forest with laden baskets one especially warm afternoon, but the harmony that usually prevailed between them was absent this day. Arthur kept glancing at Morgan worriedly as they made their way in silence to the river. The small boat they used to cross the river was tied to a beech tree, and both youngsters jumped into it with the ease of long practice. Arthur picked up the oars and in less than two minutes they were on the opposite shore. Arthur tied the boat to a wooden stake and lifted out the baskets of berries.
“We don’t have to go back right away,” he said over his shoulder to Morgan as he performed this task. “We have time.”
She nodded and sank to the grass. “I think I have a stone in my shoe,” she said, and proceeded to remove her rawhide moccasin. She turned the shoe upside down, and then, instead of putting it back on, removed the other one as well and wiggled her bare toes with pleasure. Her feet were small and narrow, with high-arched insteps. They were dirty from the trek through the woods. Her short-sleeved saffron-colored tunic was dirty as well. Arthur came to sit beside her.
“How many scratches did you get?” he asked, and held out his forearm for her to see the long red lines that marred its deep tan. Morgan lifted her own arm in reply and showed him two deep crimson marks that scored the silken white flesh above her wrist. He circled her wrist with his fingers and looked into her eyes. “What’s the matter?” he asked softly. “You’ve been unhappy all day.”
Her eyes slid away from his. Her expression was somber, astonishingly mature, very different from the face she showed to the adults at home. “In another month,” she said, “you will be sixteen.”
He let out his breath. “We can’t stay children forever.” He tried to keep his voice light.
“I wish we could.”
“I don’t.” The lightness was gone. His voice now was intense, almost fierce. “Don’t you understand?” he said. “Don’t you feel how hard it is to be young?” His hand on her wrist tightened. “There’s everything I want, everything I’m ready for, and I’m too young.”
She looked at him, her brown eyes grave. “Yes,” she said at last. “I do understand. But I haven’t your courage. I’m afraid . . .” She shivered and the hand on her wrist pulled her closer, and then she was in his arms.
Her tears stopped, but still they stayed as they were. Arthur felt her against him, so soft and warm, the very heart of his own being. He turned his cheek so that his mouth was against her hair.
She let out a long, uneven sigh and sat up, looking at him, her face very close to his. There were still tears on her cheeks and he touched one with a careful, delicate finger.
“Morgan,” he breathed. Her eyes were so dark and yet so luminous. He leaned his face closer and, very gently, his mouth touched hers.
It was a very soft kiss, very tentative. Close as they had been for all these years, they had never before done this. Their lips parted and two pairs of eyes, one dark and one light, searched each other. Then, with one accord, they moved again into each other’s arms. He kissed her mouth this time with trembling fierceness, and she reached her arms up around his neck, and her hair streamed like a silken mantle down over his wrists and spilled on the wooden planks of the tree-house floor.
Chapter 6
O N the far side of the river Camm, at the very northern border of Avalon, lay the forest. Morgan often went berrying there, bringing back to the villa baskets of blue and red and purple berries for the cook to bake into breads. She also gathered herbs for the medicines she was becoming so adept at making. The only stipulation Merlin made was that if she went to the forest, Arthur was to go with her; and he was to bring a knife.
The berries were particularly good that spring, and Arthur and Morgan were coming back through the forest with laden baskets one especially warm afternoon, but the harmony that usually prevailed between them was absent this day. Arthur kept glancing at Morgan worriedly as they made their way in silence to the river. The small boat they used to cross the river was tied to a beech tree, and both youngsters jumped into it with the ease of long practice. Arthur picked up the oars and in less than two minutes they were on the opposite shore. Arthur tied the boat to a wooden stake and lifted out the baskets of berries.
“We don’t have to go back right away,” he said over his shoulder to Morgan as he performed this task. “We have time.”
She nodded and sank to the grass. “I think I have a stone in my shoe,” she said, and proceeded to remove her rawhide moccasin. She turned the shoe upside down, and then, instead of putting it back on, removed the other one as well and wiggled her bare toes with pleasure. Her feet were small and narrow, with high-arched insteps. They were dirty from the trek through the woods. Her short-sleeved saffron-colored tunic was dirty as well. Arthur came to sit beside her.
“How many scratches did you get?” he asked, and held out his forearm for her to see the long red lines that marred its deep tan. Morgan lifted her own arm in reply and showed him two deep crimson marks that scored the silken white flesh above her wrist. He circled her wrist with his fingers and looked into her eyes. “What’s the matter?” he asked softly. “You’ve been unhappy all day.”
Her eyes slid away from his. Her expression was somber, astonishingly mature, very different from the face she showed to the adults at home. “In another month,” she said, “you will be sixteen.”
He let out his breath. “We can’t stay children forever.” He tried to keep his voice light.
“I wish we could.”
“I don’t.” The lightness was gone. His voice now was intense, almost fierce. “Don’t you understand?” he said. “Don’t you feel how hard it is to be young?” His hand on her wrist tightened. “There’s everything I want, everything I’m ready for, and I’m too young.”
She looked at him, her brown eyes grave. “Yes,” she said at last. “I do understand. But I haven’t your courage. I’m afraid . . .” She shivered and the hand on her wrist pulled her closer, and then she was in his arms.
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