Siege And Seduction

26

I was immensely proud that I was a strong, independent woman who could live her life without the help or involvement of a man. With that being said, having a break from endless responsibilities sounded enormously appealing—a time and place where I was safe to surrender those tightly held reins. It would be liberating, to say the least. My body seemed to recognize Knight as trustworthy hands in which to place those reins because I responded to him in ways I didn’t with others. The savory taste of the meat along with the pulsing arousal of having his fingers in my mouth ripped an unsolicited moan from my throat. With a responding growl, Knight dropped the skewer and was instantly on me, his lips colliding with mine as his hands angled my face up toward his. My head had already been spinning from the wine, but the kiss sent me into another universe. Our tongues met in a dance of discovery as my hands traced the heavenly planes of his chest and broad shoulders. For countless minutes, we explored one another, lost in the haze of the wine and the thrill of the forbidden. Knight pulled back and studied my slitted eyes. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” I found his words absurdly funny and broke into a fit of giggles. “Only as drunk as you are. We both drank the wine.” “Right, and that’s why I’m the one laughing so hard, I can’t sit upright.” He reached behind me to grab my shirt from the cave wall, and I leaned in to sniff along his body. “Mmmm … you smell so good—like man and rain,” I murmured with my eyes closed. The hour must have been late because I found it increasingly hard to keep my eyes open. “That’s because I’m a man, and it’s raining out.” “No, no. It’s more than that—rich and earthly like pine needles in winter…” I trailed off, not sure where I had been going. “All right, Shakespeare. Lift your arms.” I did as he told me, eyes still shut, and gasped as the cool fabric touched my skin. “Sorry about that. It’s not totally dry, but it’s better than it was. You’ll need to wear something tonight as it gets cooler and the fire dies.” He carefully wove the shirt over my head, then directed my arms into the sleeves. As soon as the shirt was in place, I rested my head down on my pack and curled into myself for warmth. The welcoming embrace of sleep wrapped itself around me, but just before I was swept into unconsciousness, I imagined the gentle sweep of a hand across my forehead and the warm press of lips against my flushed cheek. The darkness sucked me under into a place I knew to be a dream but refused to acknowledge as such because I wished so desperately for it to be real. I was in a garden outside the city walls, one I knew well as it had been my favorite place to be after the loss of my mother. She had been gone for a number of years, and my life had moved on, even though it pained me to admit. Every detail of the dream was crisp and clear because it derived from a memory. The vibrant rows of herbs and flowers swayed gently in the warm summer breeze. The garden was a large shared project, tended by a number of us who lived inside the Seelie city of Avalon. When I had time, I would bring my basket and collect herbs while I trimmed dead buds and battled the incessant onslaught of weeds. I loved the peacefulness of working in the garden. I felt alive with my hands in the cool, moist soil and the warm sunshine pressing against my back. The queen had scoffed at me any number of times for the dirt that stained the underside of my nails, but I didn’t care what she thought. My mother had instilled in me at an early age how important the natural world was, and I wasn’t about to forget the lesson now that she was gone. Gardening made me feel good, and that was all that mattered. I had gone out that particular day to help assuage the ache that had resided in my chest ever since my half brother, Arthur, had been attacked a week earlier. We had shared a father, but Arthur was much older than me, and we hadn’t met until I arrived at court. He had welcomed me graciously, and I had been happy to befriend him. He was essentially the only family I had left. I had Merlin, but my anger at him never subsided. As soon as I became an adult, I’d gone out on my own. I embraced that freedom and began to feel like a new woman, which was precisely when Arthur had been attacked by the traitor Mordred. He was alive but just barely. I felt like the world had plotted against me to keep me on my knees, half broken. I walked through the routines of my daily life, entombed in a cocoon of numbness, unsure life was worth living. When I ventured out to the garden where the sun could warm my bones, it was the first glimpse of hope I’d seen in a week. I found a particularly overgrown section, kneeled down, and began to devote all my attention to the plants. I sat back to assess my progress after what felt like mere minutes to find the suns low in the evening sky. Shaking off the clippings and dirt from my skirt, I stood and stretched my cramped legs. When I turned, I discovered with a start that I wasn’t alone. A man stood leaning against a large fruit tree, not far from where I had been working. Not just any man—this man was familiar. Lancelot du Lac. He was Arthur’s second in command of the Wild Hunt, which Arthur had formed after having a falling out with Guin and leaving the Seelie Court. When the men who served under Arthur pledged their continued allegiance to him, they formed an autonomous brotherhood and asserted their independence from the court. Since that time, Lancelot had been Arthur’s emissary inside the palace. I had seen him a number of times with the queen, looking noticeably … intimate. They were rather striking together. Her red hair and ethereal beauty were the perfect complement to his thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. He had always caught my eye even before I was of an age to notice such things. Now that I was grown, my gaze was drawn to him even more frequently. I didn’t recall him ever noticing me, but all alone outside the city, there could be no mistaking his attention. “Can I help you with something?” I asked awkwardly, unsure what to make of the situation. “You’re Morgan, Arthur’s half sister, is that correct?” he inquired from his perch against the tree. At my brother’s mention, my head lowered, and my shoulders curved in a fraction as the gnawing ache made itself known again. “Yes,” I offered softly. He pushed off the tree and began to saunter toward me. “There are rumors you were responsible for Arthur’s injuries. That you gave Mordred information on Arthur’s whereabouts.” His voice was hard as chiseled stone, his accusation unapologetic. The combined effect of his words and merciless tone sent a flood of panic racing through my veins. “What are you talking about? Who would say such a thing?” My words rushed out as I dropped my basket at my feet.