Rhiannon (9 page)

She had been about to say something, but the feel of Simon’s
lips put it right out of her head. This was not the first time he had kissed
her; there had been formal exchanges in greeting and parting, but this was very
different. There was a physical urgency in the force of his kiss and in the
quivering intensity of his arms around her, although he was not holding her
tight. Rhiannon was in no condition at the moment to analyze anything, but
later she understood just how skillful Simon’s “assault” on her was. To other
women, a crushing grip would signify passion, but Simon knew it would mean restraint
and compulsion to her. So he held her close enough that their bodies touched
and she could feel his tense eagerness, but loosely enough that she could break
away if she chose.

Thus, it was Rhiannon who pressed closer, one arm around
Simon’s neck and the other around his hard-muscled back. This encouragement and
the deep, sighing breath she took led Simon to experiment further. His left arm
still encircled her shoulders, but his right hand began rhythmically to stroke
her back, dropping lower and then lower until he was caressing her
buttocks—caressing and pulling her closer. Simon knew what Rhiannon must feel
each time he drew her tightly against him. Since he was dressed for the heat of
August, only in a silk tunic and thin woolen chausses, his engorged manhood
must be clearly apparent to her.

It was, and her perception of his violent desire heightened
her own. Behind her dammed lips, Rhiannon uttered soft, excited cries while she
pressed forward on her own. However, like his father, Simon was an unusually
tall man. Simple forward pressure merely pushed Simon’s shaft into her abdomen,
and that excited her further without giving her the smallest relief.

Rhiannon had always been a creature who responded to
physical sensations. She was extremely sensitive to all such stimuli—the warmth
of the sun, the feel of wet grass beneath her bare feet, the kiss of the wind,
and the damp caress of the rain. She knew, also, all the facts concerning
sexual union. However, the intimate connection between the senses and the act
had only been known to her through assumption—by the reminiscent pleasure in
her mother’s eyes and by deduction from what others had said. Her own
experience was limited to the restless uneasiness she had felt from the time
she sent Simon away in the spring.

Now her body knew. Sensation flowed over and through her,
spreading from wherever Simon had intimate contact with her—from her lips, from
the skin and muscle where his hands held and stroked her body, most poignantly
from the mute messenger of his own desire. Passion warmed, then burned, hot and
urgent, centering in her own loins, which demanded further sensation that was
denied by her position.

Instinctively Rhiannon pushed up as well as forward,
wrapping both arms around Simon’s neck and rising on her toes in her attempt to
satisfy her need. Failing, she sank back momentarily to a less strained
position, but the urge was irresistible and she pushed upward again. Simon
groaned softly, and that excited Rhiannon even further. She let herself drop
again, preparing for an even more strenuous effort.

Although Simon was also extremely excited, there was little
new in the physical sensations for him. His thinking processes were somewhat
blurred but were by no means extinguished. He had, after all, considerable
experience keeping his wits about him while making love. Rhiannon’s innocent
abandon was making this more difficult than usual by the moment, but the more
difficult it became to think and the more violent his desire, the more
determined Simon became that this was the woman he wanted as a life companion.
Through the pulsing pleasure that racked him with every movement Rhiannon made,
one conviction held firm. Somehow he had to convince Rhiannon to marry him.

Equally urgent was the satisfaction of his desire. Yet, if
he satisfied himself by coupling with Rhiannon, he would be confirming a
liaison on her terms—and he was not at all sure what those terms were. He could
not take the chance that he would truly be playing bull to her heifer, that she
would feel free to go after another bull any time she wished. There was,
however, an easy solution to this problem. Simon pulled Rhiannon even closer,
both hands on her buttocks now, and assisted her rising and falling motion,
twisting her a shade to one side so that he could thrust a thigh between her
legs.

At this application of pressure where she most desired it,
Rhiannon made a low sound that was a cross between a moan and a purr of
pleasure. She clung tighter, twisting and shifting and, with each movement of
her body, rubbing against Simon’s swollen shaft. Normally he would have
distracted himself from that sensation as best he could to ensure the
satisfaction of his partner, but he was not sure he could content Rhiannon in
this strange way, and he was not even sure he wanted her content. Thus, he let
his body have its way and he came to climax in moments.

Finished, he pulled his mouth free, automatically
straightening his leg and gripping Rhiannon harder, flat against him to stop
her motion. She protested with wordless sounds and struggled to move, seeking
to regain the pressure she desired, but Simon’s strength was too great for her
and she cried his name, sobbing with frustration.

“Hush, love, hush,” Simon soothed, shifting her gently so
that she was not pressed so hard against him.

This was by no means what Rhiannon wanted, but Simon
persisted, kissing her forehead and cheeks, patting her back, and murmuring
soothingly. Soon she calmed. Her arms loosened and slipped down from his neck;
she sighed deeply and then stood away from him.

“Why?” she faltered. “Why did you not take me? I am
willing.”

“Because I love you,” Simon replied. “A man does not
take
a woman he loves. You know without my telling you that I have taken many
women—all willing. I do not need to force a woman. But I did not love any of
them—nor did I say to them that I did. I will not despoil you, Rhiannon—no
matter what you think you want.”

She stood looking at him, puzzled still but with a trace of
suspicion in her clear eyes. “Then why did you begin to make love to me—to whet
my appetite?” The last words held a dangerous sharpness.

“No,” Simon protested, and began to laugh. “Did you think I
did that apurpose? Rhiannon, I have said more than once that I love you. You
are very beautiful. I have been a long time without a woman. All the way here I
held you close in my arms. I am afraid I was not thinking at all when we came
down from Ymlladd.”

“Then what started you thinking again?” she persisted.

Simon could not tell her of his satisfaction or she would
become too furious to listen to anything else he had to say. Besides, he had
decided not to consummate their lovemaking before that had happened; he would
not be lying, then, if he did not mention it.

Still smiling, he replied, “Two things. One is this cove you
chose. Is there a place where we could lie down? Sharp rocks are no good bed
for a maiden to bear her first man.”

That made Rhiannon smile also as she looked around. Then she
glanced sidelong at Simon, suspicious again. “How is it that you noticed the
rocks? I did not.”

“It is not my first time of desiring,” Simon pointed out
with candor. He would never have said such a thing to another woman, but
Rhiannon’s honesty demanded honesty in return, when the truth would not lead to
so false an impression as to amount to a lie.

Rhiannon considered that answer and nodded acceptance,
beginning to smile again. “And your second reason?”

“Your very great willingness. No, do not grow angry before
you hear the rest. I was
not
disgusted by your forwardness. It was a
delight to me. I very nearly forgot the rocks and everything else; otherwise I
would have stopped sooner.” He stepped back a little so he could take her hands
and raise them to his lips, after which he held them against his breast. “My
love, my love, you are as innocent as a young doe, knowing the need of your
body but not considering anything beyond it. I cannot grasp at that and forget
all else. If you do not think of your own good, I must.”

The rigidity that had come over Rhiannon at Simon’s first words
passed. She bent forward and kissed his hands, which were holding hers, then
lifted her head and smiled at him. “You are very dear and very kind—but very
wrong. I do, indeed, desire the satisfaction of my body…” Her voice faltered
slightly over the words as they brought back the throbbing excitement she had
felt. “But I assure you, I have given the matter much thought. Truly I have,
Simon.”

“Rhiannon—”

“No, you must listen. I have gone wrong about this matter
with you. I knew you would not understand, and—and I misjudged you also,
thinking you would take eagerly what you desired and what I offered freely.”

“But I do not
only
desire you, Rhiannon,” Simon
interjected.

A slight shadow passed over her face, but she shook her
head. “I do not understand you. All else of me you may have as freely as any
other person. What is it you want?”

“What I want, you do not offer to any person, except,
perhaps, Kicva. Give me your inmost thoughts, your willingness to lay your life
in my hands as I willingly lay mine in yours for all eternity. No, I do not
mean you should never think a private thought, only that when you wish to share
a thing you would not dare tell another person, you will tell it to me. This is
what—” He stopped because Rhiannon was shaking her head.

“Eternity is a very long time,” she said. “Especially long
to a young man of two and twenty—”

“And very short to an ancient grandmother one year younger?”
Simon interrupted teasingly.

“No. It is even longer to me. How long is your eternity,
Simon? Until you return to Pembroke? A month longer? A year? Beautiful one, let
us both take joy of each other in this brief eternity—and when it is over, let
us part with fondness and liking, never having promised each other more.”

“No.” Simon’s bright eyes were almost black with pain, but
his voice was steady. “That is all I ever had with any woman and all I ever
wanted until I saw you. I tell you, I love you, Rhiannon. I do not want a
little easy pleasure. I want you for a life companion.”

“
Now
you do,” she sighed.

“But Rhiannon,” Simon said, brightening as he realized that
all her objections seemed to center on the fact that he would not be steadfast,
“if you wish to hold me, all you need to do is agree to marry me. Then I will
be stuck fast, will I, nill I.”

“Are you mad?” she cried, recoiling and pulling her hands
free with a shudder. “Such a life is an abomination! Do you think I could
endure to hold a man on such terms? Am I so poor a thing—”

“Rhiannon, Rhiannon,” Simon exclaimed, following her and
repossessing her hands, “I was only jesting. How could you think otherwise? You
will need no bonds and no lures to keep me faithful. That you are Rhiannon is
enough. My love, you have set a
geas
upon me that I will never break.”

“No! I did not ‘call’ you! I—I do not think I did.”

“Call me? What do you mean?”

For answer, Rhiannon took her hands from Simon gently and
turned toward where his stallion still stood quietly lipping at the sparse
grass. “Ymlladd,” she called in a peculiar soft, singing tone, “Come, Ymlladd.
Come. Come. Come to me.”

The animal raised his head and snorted softly. Simon tensed,
preparing to jump in front of Rhiannon if the warhorse decided she was a threat
and charged.

“Come, Ymlladd,” she called again, her voice hypnotic with
its singing croon.

And the horse came! Simon held his breath as the stallion
dropped his head to nuzzle Rhiannon’s hand and butted gently against her to
demand attention when the hand with which she stroked him paused. Simon blinked
and blinked again. Was this Ymlladd, who for years tried to savage the grooms
who had tended him? True, Ymlladd never tried to kill Simon himself and would
accept tokens of affection from him with grave dignity—but the stallion was
acting like a colt!

“Enough,” Rhiannon said softly, and pushed the horse away.

She turned to Simon, smiling at his stunned expression but
with worry deep in her eyes. “That is calling. I was told it was Angharad’s
skill. My mother does not have it. She—she reads people. I can call almost any
animal—but it does not work with people. Men and women have minds and wills—”

“So do horses, and I never met one with a stronger will than
Ymlladd,” Simon said, but his eyes were glittering with mischief and laughter.
“So you
did
set a
geas
on me!”

“No!”

“Yes you did. As soon as I saw you—you were singing to
Prince Llewelyn—I was called and held.”

Rhiannon laughed. “You devil! You are trying to make me feel
guilty. I did not even notice you.”

“Nonetheless,” Simon teased, “you have ensorcelled me. See
how I returned resistless, even after you yourself sent me away. I am
enchanted.”

“You are enchanted with your desire to have your own way,”
Rhiannon replied tartly. “Do you think I am an idiot and do not remember that
you just told me you were Pembroke’s messenger?”

But she was not angry, and Simon laughed with her. “How
inconveniently honest you are,” he complained. “Any sensible woman would be
delighted with the idea that she could bewitch a man—”

“And especially you!” Rhiannon exclaimed.

“Do not offend my modesty,” Simon retorted, grinning, then sobered.
“But it is true nonetheless—oh, not that you bewitched me but that I loved you
from my first seeing and that each time I see and speak with you that love
grows. Rhiannon, you say you do not love me… Do you love any other man?”

“No! Nor will I ever.”