called it Sgoil Dhubh —or Black Schooling. I concentrated the charm in a rowan branch, which I placed across all the paths of entry. Any who step over the twigs come under my spell.”
She looked impressed, which pleased him. “That’s some trick.”
“Aye.” He sipped his whisky. “It was one of many martial feats I learned as part of my warrior training.”
Again, she looked confused. “Did you say martial feats ? How does that differ from martial arts ?”
“Martial arts refers to weapons training.” He continued admiring her figure through her filmy nightgown. “The use of staves, swords, spears, and the like…while feats describes the many forms of sorcery a warrior can use to defeat his foes.”
“And none of these feats, so called, has any more effect on your queen than your other magic?”
Pulling his gaze away from her form, he looked down at his glass. “I only wish they did.” He turned the glass with his fingers. “As long as I wear the torque, I am bound to Queen Morgan.”
“What about when you’re a gyrfalcon? Does the torque still work?”
“I could turn myself into a beetle and the torque would still have its power. It’s an embedded enchantment, Jenna—and unbreakable.”
“What about when you leave on your quest? What will happen then?”
“She will adjust the binding magic accordingly.”
The conversation ceased. Gazing at the fire, he sipped his whisky while trying to decide when to give her the ring. Would it be better to do so now or after their ride?
“Axel…can I ask you something?”
“Aye. You can ask me anything you wish.” With a teasing smile, he added, “I might choose not to answer, but you can always ask.”
She returned his smile while running her hand up his thigh in a most distracting manner. “If you could break her hold over you, would you?”
“An interesting question.” He fingered the ring beneath his tunic. “But let us not waste the evening talking of things that can never be. Our time together is short. Let us spend it on more productive pursuits.”
When she opened her mouth—to argue, presumably—he seized her by the back of the head and pulled her mouth against his. She tasted of whisky, longing, and hope. She also tasted of powerful magic. Hungry for more, he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, seeking admittance. As the gates parted, he slid his probe inside her mouth, gliding it against hers in a slow and sensual dance of seduction.
The longing he had fought to keep under control all day snapped its tethers. Desire flowed through him, frightening in its power. A fast-moving wildfire, it set his blood ablaze, melted his bones, and charred his resolve. For one searing, insensible moment, he let it swallow him up. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her closer, mashing her breasts against the wall of his chest. Sandwiched between them, the ring around his neck burned into his flesh.
Among other runes, he had carved Kenaz , the torch, into the talisman. Kenaz was the rune of inspiration and regeneration; of passion, lust, and sexual love. Growling against her mouth, he pushed her down on the couch. He wanted to woo her, but, just as much, he yearned to be inside her. To feel her tight scabbard encasing his steel. To stab and stab until he exited this world, this life, in a blaze of glory.
She voiced no objection—not that she could with their mouths locked together as they were. Her tongue was too busy saying yes to say no; her fingers were too entangled in his tunic to push him away. Her negligée was bunched between them and their pelvises were writhing together. These were not the actions of a woman who wanted him to cease and desist.
Still, he should, he should. This was not the way for a knight to behave with his lady. His gallantry retreated when she clawed his back and lifted her hips in invitation, grinding her mons against his erection.
If she wanted him, far be it from him to deny her.
She looked impressed, which pleased him. “That’s some trick.”
“Aye.” He sipped his whisky. “It was one of many martial feats I learned as part of my warrior training.”
Again, she looked confused. “Did you say martial feats ? How does that differ from martial arts ?”
“Martial arts refers to weapons training.” He continued admiring her figure through her filmy nightgown. “The use of staves, swords, spears, and the like…while feats describes the many forms of sorcery a warrior can use to defeat his foes.”
“And none of these feats, so called, has any more effect on your queen than your other magic?”
Pulling his gaze away from her form, he looked down at his glass. “I only wish they did.” He turned the glass with his fingers. “As long as I wear the torque, I am bound to Queen Morgan.”
“What about when you’re a gyrfalcon? Does the torque still work?”
“I could turn myself into a beetle and the torque would still have its power. It’s an embedded enchantment, Jenna—and unbreakable.”
“What about when you leave on your quest? What will happen then?”
“She will adjust the binding magic accordingly.”
The conversation ceased. Gazing at the fire, he sipped his whisky while trying to decide when to give her the ring. Would it be better to do so now or after their ride?
“Axel…can I ask you something?”
“Aye. You can ask me anything you wish.” With a teasing smile, he added, “I might choose not to answer, but you can always ask.”
She returned his smile while running her hand up his thigh in a most distracting manner. “If you could break her hold over you, would you?”
“An interesting question.” He fingered the ring beneath his tunic. “But let us not waste the evening talking of things that can never be. Our time together is short. Let us spend it on more productive pursuits.”
When she opened her mouth—to argue, presumably—he seized her by the back of the head and pulled her mouth against his. She tasted of whisky, longing, and hope. She also tasted of powerful magic. Hungry for more, he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, seeking admittance. As the gates parted, he slid his probe inside her mouth, gliding it against hers in a slow and sensual dance of seduction.
The longing he had fought to keep under control all day snapped its tethers. Desire flowed through him, frightening in its power. A fast-moving wildfire, it set his blood ablaze, melted his bones, and charred his resolve. For one searing, insensible moment, he let it swallow him up. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her closer, mashing her breasts against the wall of his chest. Sandwiched between them, the ring around his neck burned into his flesh.
Among other runes, he had carved Kenaz , the torch, into the talisman. Kenaz was the rune of inspiration and regeneration; of passion, lust, and sexual love. Growling against her mouth, he pushed her down on the couch. He wanted to woo her, but, just as much, he yearned to be inside her. To feel her tight scabbard encasing his steel. To stab and stab until he exited this world, this life, in a blaze of glory.
She voiced no objection—not that she could with their mouths locked together as they were. Her tongue was too busy saying yes to say no; her fingers were too entangled in his tunic to push him away. Her negligée was bunched between them and their pelvises were writhing together. These were not the actions of a woman who wanted him to cease and desist.
Still, he should, he should. This was not the way for a knight to behave with his lady. His gallantry retreated when she clawed his back and lifted her hips in invitation, grinding her mons against his erection.
If she wanted him, far be it from him to deny her.
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