25
Surrender
The four companions emerged from the Great Forest on the outskirts of Ildagarth with Hela and Sarel impressed by and just a little breathless from Rubyn’s enchanted mode of travel. Rubyn whispered his thanks to the trees but if the Forest replied, they could not tell.
He deferred to Cyrus. ‘What’s our next move?’
The soldier’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the land ahead. ‘It’s nearing dusk. I’d recommend we head into the city and take some rooms for the night. We’ll make better decisions on a full stomach and after a good sleep.’
Hela smiled her approval at Cyrus, admiring, not for the first time, his fine looks and stature. In just the short time they had known one another, she found she was helplessly drawn to him. True, he had looks any woman would admire, but his appearance was not what truly attracted her. There was something else. Something about his closed manner as well as his direct gaze and the strength which she detected bubbling just beneath his calm exterior.
‘I’m presuming none of you have visited Ildagarth?’ he asked.
They shook their heads.
‘Then you are going to enjoy this city. It is the most beautiful in all of Tallinor with a rich history and culture.’
They entered the wondrous city as night fell and Cyrus suggested they wait by an especially ornate fountain which seemed to be a popular meeting spot. There were sufficient people milling around that the strangers would not be noticeable. In any event, Cyrus noted, Ildagarth received hundreds of curious visitors each year. A few more new faces would not register as odd.
‘Let me make some enquiries,’ he said, nodding at Rubyn. ‘Keep a sharp eye out, boy. Sarel is our precious charge.’
Rubyn made no move in acknowledgement but something obviously passed between the two men and Sarel presumed they spoke across the Link. It fascinated her as much as it irritated that they had this private skill.
They watched Cyrus stride away, Hela noticing something new and attractive about him in the arrogant gait and the way he carried himself, so tall and straightbacked, head high.
‘You two seem very close,’ Sarel said quietly to Rubyn as they waited.
‘He is the dearest friend I have. More than friend, in fact,’ Rubyn replied, not elaborating as he reached into the cool water of the fountain to rinse his face.
Sarel knew precisely what he meant by his careful choice of words. She followed suit, dashing refreshing water on her hands and face. ‘I never knew my father.’
Rubyn said nothing.
‘But you knew the intense love of a mother, child,’ Hela offered. It was the most gentle of rebukes.
The Queen smiled shyly, realising the clumsiness of what she had said and how perhaps it might affect Rubyn. She glanced towards Hela who made no more of it. ‘I hope that now you are returned to Tallinor, Rubyn, you will enjoy many years making up for all that was lost but is now found. You have two parents in your life again.’
Again she looked towards Hela who smiled her approval, not wanting to acknowledge the hollowness of such words when she considered what Rubyn, Cyrus and their friends were up against.
If Rubyn knew it, he shared nothing. He only nodded briefly. ‘Cyrus comes.’
‘Good and bad news,’ the former prime said in his usual direct manner. ‘We can get rooms at a decent establishment called The Rose and Thorns but I’ve heard that the Cipreans were recently through here enquiring not so gently about two women who go by your description.’
‘I see,’ Hela said, hoping he had a suggestion. ‘Is it still risky then?’
‘I would prefer not to take any risk with you ladies. I have an idea but it may not be to your liking.’
‘Sir. Anything which offers us protection from danger is welcome,’ Sarel said.
He inclined his head towards the Queen. ‘Of course, your majesty.’ This was said in a whisper to prevent any passers-by from hearing. In a more level tone he outlined his idea.
‘You can disguise your appearance a little if you each cover your hair with a scarf. I’m suggesting that Hela and I arrive and book in as man and wife. I can be a soldier on leave bringing my lady on a special trip north to see this wondrous city. We can carry such a story off without trouble. It will be harder for the two of you,’ he said turning to Rubyn and Sarel. ‘Can you pretend to be brother and sister? You are travelling through Ildagarth on your way to meeting family at any one of the northern towns…let’s say, Saddleworth.’ He noticed Hela’s astonishment at his suggestion out of the corner of his eye but deliberately ignored her.
‘And where are we from?’ Rubyn asked.
Cyrus considered this. ‘Mexford,’ he said. ‘You’ve taken the slightly longer journey because you preferred not to travel through the capital and instead wish to see Ildagarth.’
They both nodded. ‘Who are we?’ Sarel asked, frowning.
He could see Hela would have her protest and did not answer the Queen immediately.
‘Light! Are you mad all…of you?’ Hela hissed. Then spoke in a harsh whisper. ‘Do you think I’m going to let the Queen of Cipres sleep with a stranger?’
‘But I see you are not protesting at sleeping with one, Hela. Please fret not either for my modesty or my chastity. Rubyn will respect both.’
There was that haughty Queen’s tone. Hela’s jaw gaped open at what was just short of a dismissal. Rebukes flew to her lips but none escaped. She reminded herself this was no longer a child to be admonished for her cheek. This was a Queen about to reclaim her throne.
Cyrus could see he needed to calm troubled waters and made a point of looking around. ‘Ah, there’s an excellent restaurant called The Tapestry here which is a favourite of mine. We can nut out a proper background for ourselves over our meal. Everyone hungry?’ He glanced at them all but eyed the elder woman. He needed to help her claim back some status. ‘Hela, what do you think?’
‘Again, a most suitable plan,’ she said softly.
He offered her his arm and Hela took it. ‘For the purposes of The Tapestry, we are family travelling together. I’ll do the talking,’ he said.
Later, with their bellies full and stories rehearsed, they had also hatched a new plan—much to Hela’s added despair—to stay in separate establishments overnight after Sarel had mentioned that they might be notable by their lack of luggage.
‘A single couple arriving at an inn without bags may be swallowed. Two apparently separate couples travelling without luggage and checking into the same inn on the same evening could draw attention,’ she had suggested. Cyrus had nodded sagely, looking uncomfortably towards the Queen’s companion.
‘She’s right,’ he responded, hating to add to Hela’s woes.
They were all surprised when the maid agreed. ‘I know she is. We must do whatever we can to protect her life.’
Cyrus glanced towards her, glad that she had wrestled with her objections and found them wanting. She had followed sound advice; done what was right despite her heart, and indeed head, begging differently. She enjoyed his soft, fleeting smile of pride in her decision and felt a tremor of helpless excitement now that she would be sharing a room and a night alone with this man.
Not long after seeing Rubyn and Sarel wave to confirm the successful booking of a room with two beds at The Rose and Thorns, Cyrus was smiling at the innkeeper’s wife at the The Lily Pond…another highly reputable establishment.
‘Just you and your good lady for tonight, sir?’
‘That’s right.’ He smiled graciously for the woman’s benefit.
‘I imagine you’ll be wanting the double bed then, sir, rather than the two single pallets.’
Cyrus’s smile hesitated. The single beds would be far better.
‘Of course,’ Hela intervened. ‘I had forgotten how cold the nights can be in the north.’ She winked at the lady behind the counter.
‘Oh my, my, sir. You’d better have our best room then, the one with the fire and armchairs.’ She tapped her nose suggestively.
Cyrus had to fight back the urge to glare at her as an old pride flared up until he reminded himself that he was no longer anyone of status in this Kingdom. No longer Prime; no longer the revered head of security and protector of the King. Instead he was pretending to be an officer on leave, bringing his wife on a short holiday to the north. He forced the smile to return to his face.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll have our lad send your bags up, then.’
‘No bags,’ he replied, perhaps a little too quickly.
‘Oh?’ the woman said, confused. ‘I thought you were taking a holiday in these parts, sir?’
‘We are,’ Hela said, intertwining her arm through that of Cyrus. She had noticed his face darkening. For someone who was going to do all the talking, he really was not very good at deception. ‘Do you know, madam, our luggage was lost on our way from the east?’ She lied smoothly and convincingly.
‘No.’ The woman’s eyes widened with disbelief.
‘Yes indeed. I am mortified, for how am I to travel without my clothes and toiletries?’
‘Stolen?’
Hela shrugged. ‘It matters not how they’ve disappeared, that we don’t have them is what troubles me.’
‘Well, quite,’ replied the woman, warming to her guests’ plight.
Hela giggled coquettishly. ‘I shall need no clothing for tonight, madam, of course,’ she said, glancing towards Cyrus who looked aghast, ‘but tomorrow I’m afraid I shall have to do some damage to my husband’s fortune and replace all my goods from your beautiful city.’
Cyrus squeezed Hela’s arm. ‘The coachman said they may still turn up on the next journey north, my love.’ He smiled through slightly gritted teeth.
‘This is true,’ she agreed.
‘Is there anything I can send up for you good people then?’ the lady asked.
Hela smiled back. ‘I hear Ildagarth is famous for its drink known as zabub?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘Have a carafe of Morriet sent up too,’ Cyrus said, wresting back control of the conversation.
‘Right away,’ the woman replied. She handed them a large key. ‘It’s at the end of the landing on the top floor. The climb is worth it for the view over the city,’ she said, adding, ‘but don’t tire yourself, sir. Your wife has plans for you.’ She returned the wink to Hela and left, giggling to herself.
Cyrus sensibly chose to keep his irritations to himself and Hela wondered if she had overstepped the mark for as soon as they were out of sight up the stairs, he untangled himself from her arm.
‘I hope I did not offend?’ she asked and received only a grunt for her enquiry.
They climbed the next two flights of stairs in stony silence but the ascent was worth the effort when they finally entered their spacious room and unlocked the shuttered windows. They were rewarded with a magnificent view across the city of ruins lit by the moon and smiled upon by thousands of twinkling stars in the clear night skies of the north. The balcony was framed by beautifully carved pillars—it reminded Hela momentarily of Cipres.
‘Forgive me for any indiscretion. I merely wanted to keep our disguise authentic. This was all your idea, after all, and you seemed to be having difficulty convincing the curious innkeeper’s wife.’
‘I understand,’ he said, holding a lighted taper to the fire’s kindling which caught immediately. ‘It is cool outside,’ he added distractedly.
She turned around to face him. They both looked at one another and then towards the double bed as if in concert but Cyrus immediately looked away and busied himself with poking at the flames. Hela took a deep breath and was pleased to hear a soft knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ she called.
A serving girl entered, balancing a tray. ‘Your zabub, madam,’ she said, looking towards a small table. ‘And your wine, sir. May I set it here?’
‘Of course,’ Hela replied. ‘Thank you.’
The girl left almost as soon as she arrived and Hela found herself back with the difficult silence of Cyrus.
He finally cleared his throat. ‘I can rest on these chairs pulled together.’
She did not know what to say. How best to put him at his ease again with her. ‘Can I pour you some wine?’
‘Thank you.’
She cringed inwardly at their stilted words and responses. For his part, Cyrus watched her move towards the table and made himself pull his gaze from Hela’s lovely shape. He knew he had made her feel awkward and felt compelled to say something conversational. ‘You should enjoy your first taste of the famous zabub.’
‘I intend to,’ she replied, handing him his glass of wine.
There were two armchairs and they settled back into them, facing one another. She watched Cyrus sip his wine and was quietly amused by the contented look which stole across his face at its taste. His expression relaxed as he closed his eyes to savour the Morriet.
‘I can see it’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed such fine wine.’
‘Indeed,’ he murmured, taking another mouthful but not opening his eyes.
She sipped her own drink. It was surprisingly potent but its taste was nonetheless rich and exotic. ‘Mmmm,’ she said, helplessly. ‘Incredible.’
‘Told you,’ he said, his voice much softer.
‘Are you tired?’
‘No, just enjoying a simple pleasure and my own thoughts.’
‘Would you prefer me not to talk?’
He said nothing, which just served to confuse her further and so Hela kept her peace, sipping her zabub which was truly delicious. The silence lengthened and although she realised they should light a candle or two, she dared not disturb his peace and in fact began to wonder whether he had fallen into a doze.
She hated the silence; could no longer help herself. ‘Are you married, Cyrus?’ Hela stunned even herself with the sudden asking of such a personal question.
‘Once,’ he replied, his eyes remaining closed.
‘Oh?’ She found herself studying the lines of his face in the glow of the firelight. He must have been a handsome young man she decided, but life’s events were now etched on his lovely face and their lines disappeared into the moustache and beard he kept trimmed very close. Life had definitely made his handsome face far more interesting. She realised he had offered no further information.
She pressed on doggedly. ‘What happened?’
‘She died.’
She had not expected this and Hela now felt terrible for asking. ‘I sense you carry that sadness still,’ she said gently.
‘No other women?’
‘Plenty.’
‘Ah,’ she answered reflexively to his direct response. Her thoughts were roaming and she found herself erratically wondering what it might be like to be his lover. His body looked hard and fit and she also noticed his hands were meticulously cared for; in fact everything about him was neat and ordered, smart and precise.
He surprised her by saying more when she thought the conversation was over. ‘None who could touch my heart.’
‘I have never known a love as deep as that.’
‘Love of this nature should be treated with caution. It can mean pain more than joy, as in my case.’
‘Would you prefer not to have known her, then?’
His eyes opened now and she felt impaled by the hard grey gaze of Kyt Cyrus; a look which used to strike fear into his men. ‘No.’ The single word seemed to chill the room.
‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I meant nothing by it.’ She felt her cheeks burn. She had done nothing but apologise to him since entering this inn. Light! This man was unnerving. His eyes were closed again and his glass empty. She took the chance of tiptoeing to the table, fetching the carafe and refilling his glass. She also took the opportunity to light a single candle which cast new shadows around the room.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.
‘And family?’ She hoped this was safer territory to tread. They had a whole long night to get through and conversation was clearly all they would share.
‘A son.’
‘Is he grown?’ She sounded surprised. How could he have left his own child to raise someone else’s?
‘He died with his mother…soon after his birth.’
Now Hela wanted to bite her own tongue out. She gulped down the zabub, scalding her mouth. When she looked back at him, he was staring at her.
‘I have made you uncomfortable.’
‘Yes, you have.’
He looked suddenly amused. ‘It is a special gift I have.’ She found herself grinning despite her discomfort.
‘I’ll recover,’ Hela finally said, liking that this enigmatic man could amuse her at the height of such awkwardness.
He sipped. ‘Perhaps we should start again. Why don’t you tell me about your life while I finish this carafe of Morriet?’
And she did. She described her early life in a sleepy hamlet of Cipres before she ran away from home with a man who turned out to be no good. The promise of marriage disappeared as soon as their money did and Hela explained that she was fortunate to have been taken pity on by one of the courtiers at the palace. He wanted her body enough to find her a position on the Queen’s personal serving team. She told Cyrus about life on Sylven’s staff, describing how over the years she had climbed the ranks of the servants to become a personal maid to the Queen and finally her aide and companion.
‘We were close and I know she would have liked you, Kyt Cyrus,’ she said.
‘Why is this so?’
‘Because you are something of a mystery.’ She noticed how he smiled at that. ‘I think most women would find that compelling, but as much as Sylven would have loved to unravel your secrets, I believe she would have been mostly engaged by your complexity. It is a quality many women can find threatening, to be honest.’
‘But not Sylven.’
‘No. She would have thrived on it.’
‘Do you find me threatening, Hela?’
She was cross she hesitated. ‘No. I find you to be remote.’
‘Is that so?’ he said, opening his eyes and turning towards her. She felt her heart skip. Slumped in his chair, his long legs stretched towards the fire and his shirt slightly undone, this man looked very desirable indeed and the conversation was headed towards dangerous territory. Behind him was the double bed towards which her eyes flicked uncharacteristically nervously now, betraying her thoughts, her desires.
She took a deep breath. ‘But I think it’s contrived, sir. I don’t believe for one moment that you are not a warm and affectionate man.’ She shrugged. Might as well say it all. ‘I just think you deliberately hide behind a wall of remoteness, and layers of mystery. It’s safe. Your wife and son died. Your heart broke. You believe you can never mend that heart and give it to another and so you make love to many but love none. It ensures you can remain at a distance from women.’
She held his gaze and noticed his eyes had strangely darkened.
‘You seem to know a lot about me.’
‘I know only what my own senses and instincts tell me, sir.’
He stood. ‘Time for our rest, I think. You take the bed. I’ll go out for a walk until you are settled.’
Hela felt disappointed with herself. She had not handled him at all well and men were her specialty. She liked this one; not that she expected anything to come of it but she genuinely felt she had somehow failed him this evening. Their mission was dangerous and small pleasures such as quiet conversation, perhaps just getting close to someone, would be brief, if even at all possible. Tonight was a chance for her to forget their perilous life and simply get to know more about an intriguing person and yet all of her charms with men had abandoned her.
‘Damn him!’ she muttered. He had made her feel like a cheap whore. And yet he did not even want her. When it boiled down to it, what was truly frustrating her was that Kyt Cyrus had showed no sexual interest in her whatsoever. She watched him leave without another word and felt hollow. She knew men desired her. If Hela had to describe herself the word ‘worldly’ would spring to mind together with ‘provocative’ and ‘erotic’. It disturbed her greatly that these qualities appealed not to Kyt Cyrus.
She stripped, washed her undergarments and blouse and hung them discreetly on the balcony to dry for the morning. She untied her hair, lamenting the lack of a brush and fingered through it to loosen it. Slipping beneath the fresh sheets, she thanked her luck that Cyrus had good enough taste and purse to ensure such a decent inn for them—a small consolation after a desolate evening—and then fell into a fitful doze awaiting his return.
Cyrus had to get out of the room. He inhaled the crisp night air and walked, no particular direction in mind. He linked with Rubyn who said they were fine but not especially sleepy. Cyrus felt the companionship with Sarel was good for Rubyn.
Be careful, lad. Remember you are in the presence of a Queen.
See you in the morning, Rubyn replied and cut the Link.
The old soldier was rarely troubled by his charge’s contained manner. Rubyn had been like this since he was old enough to talk; nothing had changed. If anything he rather admired Rubyn’s manner; it sometimes reminded him of himself. However, he would be the first to admit that the boy needed to grow and experience the world. They had led such a quiet existence all of these years that he realised both of them desperately needed to mix with people again, women especially. Which is why he found himself strolling the beautiful streets of Ildagarth—he had been intimidated by a woman and that was a new experience for Kyt Cyrus, the self-assured, arrogant and brilliant former commander of the Tallinese army. Men and women had worshipped him in his glory days but he had called no man friend—except perhaps Torkyn Gynt—and had only ever loved one woman. She had departed his life without warning, leaving him bereft, he now realised, of the ability to love another.
He had permitted Gynt to get under his skin but they shared more than friendship. They shared the Heartwood and its secrets and now they shared Rubyn. Although Cyrus never allowed himself to admit it, Rubyn was as good as a son. He had cradled him as a newborn in his arms and since that day, Rubyn had rarely been out of his sight or his care. They were as close as a father and son could be and yet Rubyn belonged to another man who had recently come to claim him and put him in danger. That alone was alarming.
And the conversation with Hela had served to unsettle him far more than he had first thought. He had initially decided to leave her because he thought their conversation was headed in a direction he might regret. It was obvious the woman was lonely, desperately in need of some male companionship, and all it would have taken was a smile or a look from him and they would be rolling between the sheets right now. He hated his having deliberately set out to undermine her, make her feel uncomfortable, but he realised she was more than just one of the vast array of women he had bedded in his time. Hela possessed a razor-sharp mind and she had countered his comments and come back quick as lightning with her own, which took his breath away.
Why? Because she was right. Hela had nailed his uncertainties and insecurities as effectively as Corlin had once nailed him between two trees. For all his posturing as a brave son of Tallinor, Cyrus knew he was a coward. A coward when it came to affairs of the heart, that is. The pain experienced at the loss of his wife—a woman so gentle, so serene and so perfectly matched to him—had been too much for him to bear and so he had ignored his agonising memory of her. Locked it away. Never allowing it to surface. He had almost forgotten the curves and lines of her face.
He knew he had never really resurfaced into the light of day from the moment of her death, for ever walking within a private haze of darkness—her legacy.
He enjoyed women but kept them purely as objects of lust. Once he was satisfied, he was courteous and always gallant but he rarely saw the same woman twice and despite knowing it might hurt her feelings he never looked back nor made any apology for his ways.
But Hela had touched him somehow. Learning her story he had to admire the tough exterior she too had built around herself for different reasons. She was so different from the courtly, elegant young women who had all but thrown themselves at him when he was Prime. From such a young age Hela had needed to fend for herself and she was courageous and loyal —qualities he personally admired so much he had to look away from her when she was retelling the story of their escape from Cipres and later from Goth. It was Hela who had kept Sarel strong and Hela who would hopefully restore the Queen to her rightful throne. The Cipreans owed much to this small, resourceful and very desirable woman.
That he desired her was not in question. Her dark features and petite, curvy build spoke to him of satisfactions between the sheets he had perhaps not experienced. It would be so easy, but Hela seemed to look into him; saw him for what he was and that was unsettling. To share a deeper touch such as a kiss and all that it might lead to frightened him and Cyrus was not a man to be easily frightened. And so he walked without purpose for more than two hours until the moon was fully risen, the people on the streets thinning and he found himself standing on the landing outside their room once again.
He hoped she was sleeping. Hoped they had nothing more to say to one another and could start afresh in the morning knowing the circumstances they found themselves in this night would probably not be repeated. He opened the door with caution and stepped soundlessly inside. Cyrus held his breath but he let it out quietly as he could see Hela asleep; her dark hair loose and tousled on the pillow. He could hear her rhythmic breathing and relaxed. All was well. No demons to confront this night.
The fire burned gently now and would die to embers very soon. In its soft glow he studied her face. It was not arrestingly beautiful like Alyssa’s, nor did it have the high, superb cheekbones of his wife which had given her a serene, chiselled look.
Instead her face seemed to be a collection of nice enough features which formed a pretty arrangement. And yet the darkness of the features was extraordinary. Long lashes lying against her cheek; the hair soft, shiny and long; the sleeping eyes feline and dark—so dark as to be almost black.
He sighed softly and then, watching her face for any sign of waking, dragged together the two armchairs—wincing at any noise—not very comfortable but it would do. He pulled his shirt over his head and stretched tall, turning away from Hela now to gaze from where he stood by the fireplace out of the long windows.
Hela had always been clever at deception. Pretending to be asleep was one of the easiest of all ruses and she knew she had capably tricked Cyrus or he would not be so relaxed in front of her. She opened her eyes to slits and stared at him stretching. She had been right. His body was hard and muscled, still very lean for an older man and no sign of the paunch of age and prosperity around his belly. For one of the few times in her life, she was confused over a man. What to do? She wanted to somehow put things right between them but she did not know how and Hela did not want them to go to sleep on the awkwardness which lay between them. To do that would mean waking within the same unresolved atmosphere and, with all that was ahead for them, she could not bear the thought of it.
So Hela turned to her cunning. She used her best attribute and hoped it might win the day. Stirring, pretending not to notice him she sat up in bed and stretched herself, allowing Cyrus a perfect view of her full breasts as she pulled her hands up over her head and then allowed her hair to fall lazily down her back. She could hear his sharp intake of breath and knew he was trapped and semi-naked himself now by the fire. She continued the pretence of not realising he was there, faking that she was sleepy and still in a dreamy state as she moved her legs from the bed to the floor.
She pushed the sheet away, feeling very vulnerable in her full nakedness but determined to see where this might lead. Hela yawned and sat there a moment or two, swaying slightly as though still needing to find full consciousness and then she stood.
This was it. He would either give in to her or cut her to the quick by making some sharp comment which would have her rushing back to her sheets and covering up. She was ready for it.
He said nothing. The silence was deafening but she ignored it.
Hela took the chance, opened her eyes, still not turning towards the fire, and walked to the small jug of water near the window. She knew now she was giving him full view of her delectable back in all of its curvy, naked loveliness and she let him enjoy it for as long as she considered one might possibly linger over a few sips of water.
And then she turned, seemingly fully awake now and made to shriek at seeing him standing there and looking directly at her.
‘Hush, Hela,’ he said softly. ‘It is Cyrus.’
‘What are you doing standing there in the dark?’ she said, trying to cover herself with her hands and hair but deliberately failing.
‘Forgive me. I thought you were asleep.’
‘Were you watching me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you want me to.’
She was glad it was too dark for him to see her blush at the truth of his comment. ‘That’s a stupid answer, Cyrus. Why were you compelled to stare at me in my sleep?’
‘Actually I did all the staring whilst you were awake and showing yourself off to your best advantage.’
Did she see a trace of a smile there? Perhaps not. Too hard to tell as he had moved into a shadow.
He repeated himself. ‘My apologies, Hela. I will leave again.’
‘No!’ she said, loud enough to startle him as he turned to walk to the door. ‘Don’t leave,’ she added very softly now.
He sighed, not looking at her. ‘Hela, I can’t.’
‘Not can’t. More like won’t,’ she said, her voice a little harsh.
He cleared his throat and leaned one long, muscled arm against the mantle but made no further move to leave. Suddenly in the dying glow of the embers he really did look the fully sad man that he was. Proud, strong, impressive but nonetheless vulnerable.
Hela moved swiftly to stand next to him. ‘Look at me,’ she said. It sounded like a command. ‘Please,’ she added.
And he did.
‘Is it so wrong that you could desire me?’ she asked with feeling.
His eyes never strayed from hers. His voice when he finally spoke was soft. She had not heard that gentleness in it before. It melted her. ‘Not wrong at all. What is wrong is that I would use you and you deserve better.’
‘It is my choice. I’ll take the risk.’
‘No.’ He shook his head slowly.
‘Then you take the risk!’ she said a little angrily now. ‘Risk it, Cyrus. Chance that you might actually like me. Your wife is dead—long dead by the sound of things. Step back into the light and allow yourself the opportunity to love someone. I’m not naive enough to believe it may be me but risk that it might be. What is so wrong with loving each other for a night?’
She saw his grey eyes soften and mist a little. This was hurting him. And he was so controlled. So strong. Most men would have at least reached for her naked body by now, helpless against such temptation—but not him.
‘Touch me, Cyrus. I want you to. And I will risk that in the morning you will not want to touch me again. But tonight enjoy me as I will enjoy you. We are two lonely people with no one to love except a child each, neither of whom are ours. We are kindred spirits you and I. And we are walking directly into danger, perhaps death. Who knows? I do it gladly for that same young woman I love. You do it for a young woman you had never met before now. You risk so much for a stranger…why not risk your emotions for someone you know and holds you to no obligation?’
He hesitated and in that moment’s uncertainty she reached for his hand and when he did not resist her, she laid his elegant fingers against her cheek and at his touch let out the breath she had been holding. When she took her own hand away from his, she felt her heart surge when his other hand moved from the mantle to cup the other side of her face.
He held her there for a moment as he looked deeply into her eyes and then he leaned down; Cyrus faltered just for a second and then, as though letting go of all his internal protests, he touched his mouth to hers and for a blissful period forgot everything—from his long-held heartache to his fears about what they faced.
The former prime could no longer distinguish his surrounds— everything was Hela; all he could feel were her hands on his body, the smell of her lingering spicy fragrance, the touch of her tongue, the taste of her smooth skin. He cast away doubt and released years of passion, allowing his hands to roam over the small, lithe body and his mouth to search hers—sometimes gently, sometimes more forcefully.
Wrapping her legs about himself, Cyrus effortlessly lifted and carried her to the bed where he laid her down, but she refused to let go of his neck, refused to allow him escape from her kiss and so he lowered himself gently and finally surrendered to the intimate pleasures of her body.