SPRITE OF SPRING

a Covington Cross FanFic by Linda S. Oleksa

 

Rating: R

 

Disclaimer:  The following is a work of fan fiction, and is not intended to infringe on the copyrights held by ABC Television, Gil Grant Productions, or any other holder of Covington Cross copyrights.  No profit is being made from this story.

 

Feedback greatly desired  to: [email protected]

 

Author's Note: This story is a companion stand-alone story in my endless “Sea Change” series.  If you haven't read the others, all you need to know is that Meg is Armus‘ wife, and that she’s considerably pregnant with their first child.  (Armus is Cedric’s older brother)  If you’d like to read the whole series, please go to http://www.geocities.com/covingtonfans/fanfic.html

 

More Note: Cedric has been getting rather the short end of the Hurt/Comfort scale in my stories.  Hope this makes up for it. 

 

***

 

Sound and fragrance filled his head, and Cedric woke reluctantly.  It was dark, and he was face-down in the dust, his head turned to one side.  Just there, at the edge of the road, lilies of the valley hung like tiny glowing bells, white against the dark grass.  A freshening breeze ruffled them, and the tiny bells rang.

 

He closed his eyes.  Flowers did not ring, no matter how much they looked like bells.  The tiny tinkling must be his imagination. 

 

It was very comfortable, there in the dust. 

 

He could not, for a moment, begin imagine what he was doing there.

 

He heard the hooves of a horse.  No, he decided, he was not hearing them so much as feeling them through the earth under his ear.  They were far away, further with every pace.  Cedric sighed.   It was warm.  The dust was soft, dry. 

 

His head hurt.

 

The breeze came again, shaking the trees all around him, making the flowers ring again, the very faintest of sounds.  He opened his eyes.  It was dark.  It was, he remembered now, night.  Yes, it was night.  He was headed home.  There was a storm blowing in  . . . 

 

Summoned by his remembrance, lightning flashed to his left.  The instant of illumination showed him trees on both sides, low clouds dark over him.   He still could not remember how he’d come to be laying in the road.  He was sure it had something to do with the horse. And the pain in his head.

 

Gingerly, he moved his arms, and then his legs.  They seemed to be in order.  He raised his hand to where the pain was worst, on the left side of his head.  It was damp there, and very sore; he knew even before the next flash of light confirmed it that his hand was covered with blood.  He waited a moment, trying to think, staring at the blood he could barely make out.  Then he turned his head, rolling the blood in the dust.  The resulting mud, he hoped, would staunch the wound. 

 

Cedric let his eyes drift closed.  Head pain, blood, horse.  The storm.  He’d been headed home, easily ahead of the storm.  And his horse had stumbled, then limped.  Picked up a stone in a hoof.  Common enough.  He stopped the horse in the road, dismounted, drew his dagger, bent beside the horse and lifted the hoof  . . . 

 

And then lightning.  And the horse kicked. 

 

Cedric groaned.  “It’s not my fault,” he said aloud. 

 

The horse was gone.  He would have to walk from here.  He opened his eyes.

 

He rolled the rest of his body to its side.  Bent his knees and tried to roll up on them.  It didn’t work.   Instead of standing, he found himself on his hands and knees, gasping at the pain in his head, and now in his neck and shoulders as well.  He stopped moving, fighting for breath.  He had to get up.  Had to walk home.  Meg would know what to do, and she wouldn’t mind that it was the middle of the night.  He just had to stand up and walk home.

 

His arms collapsed first, and he landed face-first in the dust. 

 

“I’ll just rest a minute,” he said slowly, licking the dust off his lips.  “Just a minute, and then I’ll go.  That’s it.  Just a little rest.”

 

His cheek was suddenly damp.    

 

Cedric frowned.  He didn’t think he was crying. 

 

Then his neck felt damp as well.  He reached up and touched it.  It wasn’t sticky, like blood.  It felt like water.

 

He looked straight ahead, at the dust of the road.  Fat gobs of rain splashed down, making wide wet spots on the dry road.  Individual spots at first, and then more, until everything was wet and the dust turned to mud. 

 

He closed his eyes again.  “Meg,” he said quietly, “please come and get me.”

 

***

The lilies tinkled again, and a woman chuckled, her laugh no louder than the ringing of the flowers.  “Is she your lover then?” she flirted.

 

Cedric opened his eyes.  He was sitting up, his back against the trunk of an oak tree, his legs stretched out in soft grass.  Though he could hear the rain, none came through the leaves that covered him.  His head throbbed.

 

“Is she?” the woman insisted, her voice still soft in laugher.  “Should I be oh so terribly jealous?”

 

The woman’s voice was strange and pleasant.  He turned his head, very slowly, but could see no one.  She spoke as if they’d been speaking for some time.  Which, as far as Cedric knew, they had.  “Who?” he asked carefully.

 

“Meg.”

 

“What?“

 

“You keep calling for Meg.  Is she your lover?”

 

Cedric couldn’t tell even where the voice was coming from.  Behind the tree, maybe?  He couldn’t turn to look.  His head throbbed with every motion, and even sitting up was making him bilious.  “No,” he answered.  “Where are you?”

 

“Why do you call her, then?”

 

“She’s my brother’s wife.”

 

“Ooohhhh,” the voice purred in salacious understanding. 

 

“Not like that,” Cedric protested.  The pitch of his own voice made him wince again.   And the very notion – once, a long time ago, he’d thought of Meg that way, but that was before he even knew her name.  Not now.  He’d as soon crawl into bed with Eleanor.   “She’s a  . . .  a wise woman.  You know, a healer.”

 

“A healer,” the unseen woman answered with skeptical amusement.

 

“She is,” Cedric insisted, his pain driving him frantic.

 

“I could heal you.”

 

“Where *are* you?”

 

“I’m here.”

 

“Where?”

“In the forest.”

 

Cedric closed his eyes.  Maybe he was dreaming all this.  Imagining it.  Hallucinating.  He had a head wound, after all.  Best to just be still and wait.  His horse would return home; they would look for him soon.  Just be still and wait.

 

“I’m here,” she said, her voice very close.

 

He opened his eyes, and she was kneeling in the grass beside him.  A young woman, small and trim, her hair wispy blond and free around her shoulders, down to her waist, her skin so pale as to glow in the night, her eyes wide and water-colored.  She wore something floating and deep green, her arms bare to the shoulder.  She was achingly beautiful, so beautiful that Cedric forgot to breathe.

 

He closed his eyes again.

 

“I’m here,” she said again, puzzled.

 

“I know,” Cedric sighed.  “And you are far too beautiful to be real.  I got kicked in the head, you see, by my horse, and now I’m imagining you.“

 

He felt a cool little hand slip under his.  “I’m here,” she said for a third time, squeezing his hand.

 

Cedric’s eyes flew open.  She nodded encouragingly, smiling now.  “You see?  I am real.”

 

He shook his head before he remembered how bad an idea that simple gesture was.  When the urge to scream subsided, he sighed.   “No.  You’re not real.  I’m certain that you’re not real.  But oh, sweet Lord, you are a beautiful fantasy.”

 

She gazed at him for a long moment.  “If I am not real, then I should go and not trouble you further.” 

 

She started to draw her hand back.  Cedric closed his hand, held her tightly.  “No.  Please.  Stay a bit.  I know you’re only a fiction, but stay.  Keep me company until they come.”

 

“Your Meg will come?”

 

Cedric chuckled.  “She’s not *my* Meg, and no, she won’t come.  She can’t leave the castle.  But she’ll send my brothers.  They’ll find me, in just a little while.”

 

The woman tilted her head, looking quizzically like his falcon.  “Why may she not leave the castle?  Is she a prisoner?”

 

“No.  Well  . . .  sort of.  She’s pregnant.  She’s *very* pregnant.”

 

“And?”

 

“And pregnant noblewomen do not go roaming around the countryside.  Or attend parties, or climb stairs or  . . .  oh, there must be a hundred things they don’t do.”

 

A little smile played over the woman’s face.  “I am glad, then, that I am not a noblewoman.”

 

“What are you?” Cedric asked frankly. 

 

“Apparently I am but an imagining,” she answered sweetly.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“You are my creator.  What do you want my name to be?”

 

Cedric considered.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know any words for a creature as beautiful as you.”  Around them, the storm grew stronger, thunder rumbling, wind stirring the leaves.  Yet no rain came through the canopy.  “Rain,” he said with wonder.  “Shall I call you Rain?  Only with an ‘e’ at the end, so it’s not common.  Raine.”

 

She nodded her acceptance.  “And what should I call you?”

 

“Cedric.  I’m Cedric Grey.”

 

“Cedric Grey,” she repeated carefully.  “I think you are very beautiful, too.”

 

He chuckled.  She was a strange one, this dream woman of his.  Intriguing.  But his head throbbed.  Lightning stabbed at his eyes in pain.  He thought he might faint.  Even Raine could not distract him from that pain.

 

“I can make it go away,” she whispered.

 

“What?”

 

“Your pain.  I can make it go away.”

 

“No, you can’t.”

 

“I can,” she promised.  “And I will.  But first you must promise me something.”

 

“Anything,”

 

“I can cure your pain until the morning.  But only if you will promise to spend this night with me.”

 

Cedric grinned as best he could.  “Well, now, that’s a problem, sweet lady.  For if you can’t cure my headache, I‘ll be of no use to you tonight.  And if you can, I’ll stop hallucinating and you’ll be gone.”

 

Raine shook her head.  “One night.  Until sunrise.”

 

“All right.”

 

“Promise.”

 

“I promise.”

 

She put her free hand on his head, directly over the wound.  “Close your eyes,” she murmured.  Cedric did.  He felt her move, felt her lips on his forehead.  And then -- nothing.

 

He opened his eyes.  The young woman was gone.  So was the pain in his head.  Both of them, completely vanished, as if they had never been. 

 

He sighed.  “Well, I did tell you,” he said to no one.  He stood up, checking himself over.  A few bumps and bruises, nothing more.  He touched the side of his head carefully.  No wound, no mud, no blood.  Not so much as a bruise.  Nothing.  “Thank you, Lady Raine,” he called into the night.

 

And then, in case he was imagining this cure as well, he headed back to Covington Cross.

 

***

 

“So this is how a gentleman keeps his promise, is it?” her voice teased warmly.

 

Cedric spun.  Raine stood barely five paces behind him, leaning against another oak tree, laughing.  The dress ended in draped, uneven layers just below her knees, nicely displaying her pretty ankles and bare feet.  The wind pressed the skirt close to her, giving him a perfect outline of what the dress scarcely concealed. 

 

“Raine,” he breathed, entranced anew and more deeply, now that he did not suffer.  “I thought you were gone.”

 

“You promised you’d stay with me,” she teased.  “And the moment I’m out of sight, you’re hightailing it for home.”

 

Cedric took a step toward her.  “I’m not, Lady, I swear I’m not.  If you are still here, then I am yours as promised.”

 

“Truly?”

 

“Until sunrise,” he repeated.  “Or until I die, if that is your wish.”

 

Her smile grew dark.  “Perhaps they are the same thing.”

 

He took another step and caught her hand, brought it to his lips.  “If they are, then I shall die in the presence of the greatest beauty I have ever known.”

 

“You are very smooth of tongue, aren’t you?.”

 

“I am utterly sincere.”  He drew her closer, leaned toward her.  “You are, without question  . . .  “

 

She stood on her toes and kissed him, her lips light as butterflies on his.  Then she drew away and fled.

 

“But  . . .  but  . . .  Raine!  Don’t go!”

 

The girl turned back, laughing.  “Catch me, Cedric!”  And then she disappeared into the woods.

 

***

 

She moved across the forest floor like a deer, her bare feet light and sure.  She leapt over fallen limbs and brush as if they were her dance partners.  Cedric stumbled after her, feeling the awkwardness of his heavy leather boots.  He thought about stopping to take them off, but he was afraid he’d lose her in the darkness.  And, too, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t help; nothing in the world would help him run as she did.  Her whole body flowed as she ran, as if she were a part of the forest, as if she were the breeze. 

 

No rainfall reached them still, but the air was heavy with water, the ground damp and slick.  Leaves and branches slashed at Cedric’s head as he ran; brambles caught at his sleeve and tore it, quite unnoticed.   It didn’t help any that he was too busy watching the girl to watch where he was going.  He narrowly avoided one low branch, and promptly smacked into another.  He stopped, momentarily stunned, cursing under his breath.

 

Raine stopped as well.  She turned back, laughing, and waiting.  “Well?  Will you catch me?”

 

Cedric grinned.  “Oh, I will catch you, Lady, if it’s the last thing I do.”  He started after her with renewed vigor.  Raine turned and bolted.

 

Despite his determination, he could not catch up with her.  He could not, in fact, even narrow the gap between them.  She was too at home in the forest, too fast, too skilled.  Even as he ran, Cedric tried to think.  He couldn’t catch her this way.  He couldn’t run her down with sheer strength.   But as Richard would say, there was more to the hunt than speed.  There was also cunning.

 

Cedric caught a dead branch with his toe and fell, hard.  He groaned and rolled onto his back, tried to rise and fell back again, groaning still more loudly.      

 

Raine paused again.  Then she trotted back to him, stopping a wary five paces away.  “Cedric?  Are you hurt?”

 

He groaned a third time.  “Raine  . . .  help me  . . .  “

 

She ran to his side, dropped to her knees beside him.  “Oh, my lord, I didn’t mean  . . .  “

 

Cedric’s arms shot out, closed around her waist, held tight.  “Caught you,” he murmured.

 

Raine laughed; the sound of flowers in the wind.  One tiny hand came up to caress his cheek.  Then she lowered her lips to his.  “So you have, my lord.  And you shall have your reward.”  She kissed him long and deep.

 

Cedric drew her body closer still.   The dress provided no barrier; he could feel the smoothness of her skin beneath it, under his hand.  She was cool everywhere, delicious cool, like a patch of shade on the first hot day of summer.  Her mouth tasted of buttercups and fresh-mown hay, and her lips were soft as water and insistent as a thunderstorm  . . . 

 

And then she pulled away from him.  “Come with me,” she said, climbing to her feet.

 

Cedric frowned in confusion, reaching to pull her close again.  “Raine  . . .  “

 

“Come,” she said again.  “I want to show you something.”

 

The young man groaned in earnest this time.  But he let her pull him to his feet, and then lead him into the forest.   At least walking beside her was more pleasant than chasing her.   “Where are we going?”

 

“I will show you a great treasure.  The greatest treasure of your life.”

 

“I thought I was already looking at it,” Cedric answered, with great sincerity.

 

She turned, startled.  And smiled.  “Oh, but you are a sweet one,” she whispered, touching his face again, kissing him.  “Come.”

 

***

 

They walked in silence for a bit.  The brush was thick here between the trees, and Cedric stumbled a bit after her, never releasing her slender hand.  Then abruptly there was a path.  A game trail, Cedric realized with gratitude.  It was not wide, but at least it was clear.  He walked very close to the girl, half behind her, half beside, and never, never releasing that hand for fear she would vanish.

 

Above him, he could hear the thunder roll nearer.  The high branches waved wildly in the storm wind, and he could see flashes of lightening between the gaps.  The air was thick with rain, and still none fell on him.  Cedric shook his head.  Enchantment, this was, or fancy.  It could not be real. 

 

Raine glanced back at him.  She smiled, shrugged, as if she had heard his thought and had no answer to it.  But now Cedric wanted no answer.  If this be fancy, he would enjoy every minute of it.  And if it be enchantment, devil’s work, well, he would enjoy that, too, and worry about the consequences later.

 

Another glance, another smile.  She *was* hearing his thoughts.

 

The trail began to climb, at first gently and then quickly more steeply.  The brush between the trees thinned, and the ground grew rocky.  Cedric began to breathe more heavily, but Raine moved upward as if it were no effort at all.  “Shall we rest?” she finally enquired, with gently mocking solicitation.

 

“Oh, no,” Cedric panted.  “I’m fine.  Please.  Lead on.”

 

“We’re nearly there,” she promised.  She leaned against his chest and kissed him, and suddenly it was harder to breathe, though for entirely different reasons.  “Nearly there,” she said again, and this time it sounded like a promise.

 

Cedric swallowed hard.  Knowing that she heard his thoughts, he tried not to think about the heat her presence sent through his body.  Her voice, her scent, her cool body under that gossamer wrap.  Her strong arms, and lean legs . . . 

 

Raine laughed out loud.  Then, without comment, she turned back up the path.

 

In another hundred yards, the trees broke into a flat, rock-strewn meadow at the crest of the hill.  Raine led Cedric to the far side, and pointed.  There, beyond the trees, beyond the road and the trees that lay on the far side of that, and beyond the river, there stood his home: the Castle at Covington Cross.

 

It shown like a jewel against the dark night, a diamond set in the center of a green-black field of grass.  Every window shown with light and glimmered with warmth, as if every torch had been lit, every candle and lamp, and a fire laid in every hearth.  The sight of it caught Cedric’s breath.  He had never seen his home like this.  So beautiful, so distant – so much to be desired. 

 

For a moment, he wanted to be there.  He ached, he longed to be there, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

 

Raine shifted at his side.  “I will send you there,” she murmured, “if it is your wish.”

 

With some effort, Cedric turned from the vista to look at her.  “I gave you my word, Lady.”

 

“I release you.”

The young man straightened.  “No.  I gave you my word.  I am yours until the dawn.”  And in speaking the words, he felt a great warmth grow in him, knowing this: now, or at dawn, or ten years from now, he would always have Covington Cross to go home to.  It would always be there for him, as shining and splendid as it was at this moment.  He could easily stay a night in the forest, easily travel to the Crusades or anywhere else.  His home would always endure. 

 

The woman smiled, radiantly.  “Good sir.  I knew I had chosen well.”

 

She released his hand and drew closer.  Cedric slipped his arms around her waist, pulled her tight against him, and lowered his mouth slowly over hers.  Her lips parted at once, and again he tasted the sweet wildness of her.  Her tongue flitted like a hummingbird against his, until he caught it with his own, caressed it with the languor of a summer afternoon.  Their bodies seemed to melt together; he parted his hands, one higher between her shoulders, the other rounding the curve of her taut buttocks, both pressing her closer still against his own body.  The dress concealed nothing.  She was all but naked under it, and Cedric ardently wished he was, that he could feel her skin against the length of his . . . 

 

“Stand away!”

 

Cedric jumped, spinning, all instinct now, sweeping Raine behind him with one arm, drawing his sword with the other even before he had even seen the source of the voice.

 

The man stood a bare ten paces from them, his feet wide apart, one hand on his hip, the other dangling a sword at his side.  He was small and lean, shorter than Cedric, dressed from head to toe in the same deep green that Raine wore.  His hair hung in long unruly waves halfway down his back.  His face was young, and stern, and angry.

 

“It’s the Green Man,” Cedric murmured to himself.

 

And then, in his next breath, he knew he shouldn’t be surprised.  There were no hills this high near Covington Cross.  And even if there were, the castle would never glow like that, unless it was burning down.  The girl was too impossibly beautiful – and willing – to be real.  And the rain.  The storm raged all around them, and they were in a clearing, away from the trees, and yet no rain fell on them.  It was fancy, all of it.  He was, no doubt, still lying injured and face-down in the road, having a lovely dream while he waited to be rescued – or run over by a passing coach in the dark.  All fancy, all of it. 

 

But the sword felt real enough in his hand, and Cedric shifted his grip with a fierce joy.  “Well, then, I *fancy* I can best you easily enough,” he said, more loudly.

 

The man in green frowned.  “I have no argument with you, son.  It is time for her to come home.”  He nodded toward the woman.

 

Raine stepped out from behind her protector – but not so far that she couldn’t quickly retreat.  “I will come home at dawn.”

“You will come home *now*.”

 

“I don’t believe the lady wants to go with you,” Cedric said, bold and secure in his fantasy.  “I think you should go now.”

 

“You will not do this,” the man told Raine, ignoring Cedric entirely.  “You belong with your own kind.”

 

“For this night, I belong with him.”

 

“Never!  You will not pass this night with him!  You will not bring another half-breed into our tribe!”

 

“I will do as I wish,” Raine replied.

 

“There will be hell to pay if you do this!” the man bellowed.  “Have you no thought for the rest of us?  It is forbidden, and forbidden for good cause.  You cannot do this!”

 

“I will do,” Raine repeated firmly, “as I wish.”

 

“You will come with me.  Now.”

 

The green man took two long strides toward him.  Cedric took a single step to his right, putting himself between the two.  His sword remained low, but its tip waved at the ground warningly.  “Leave her alone.”

 

The intruder checked his stride.  His own sword tip came up a bit.  “You would cross swords with *me*?” he asked, incredulous.  “Over *her*?”

 

Cedric shrugged.  “You’re only a figment of my imagination, anyhow.”

 

The man attacked with both speed and strength that were astonishing, even for a figment.  Cedric barely blocked the blow with his own blade.  He retreated a step, then another.  He waited, then, until a glance told him that Raine had also retreated safely out of the way.  Then, with a grin, he launched his own attack.

 

The green man blocked, then swept his blade under Cedric’s and thrust.  Cedric danced back again, then forward without hesitation.  Startled, the other man stumbled a bit.  He recovered, retreated a bit further, and circled warily. 

 

“You’re quite right, you know,” he told Cedric.  “We are mere imaginings.  I am, and she is.  Not worth fighting over.  Certainly not worth dying over.”

 

“Perhaps,” Cedric allowed.  “But I have no intention of dying here.  Do you?”

 

The man attacked.  Cedric blocked; the man pushed, until they were practically on each other’s toes, blades upright between them, hilts touching.  “She is mine,” the man insisted through gritted teeth.

 

His breath, Cedric noted, smelled exactly like Raine’s.  “She does not wish to be yours.”

 

“You have no right.”

 

“She has the right.”  Cedric pushed with all his strength.  The man was smaller than he, but remarkably strong.  But Cedric had fought with his brothers, both of whom were bigger, and Armus was much stronger, and he had bested them both – occasionally.  The lessons he had learned came back readily.  Without warning, he stopped pushing and stepped to one side.   Like Richard, like Armus, the green man stumbled past him.  Cedric wheeled and slapped the man‘s rump with the flat of his sword as he passed.

 

The man wheeled, his face snarled in rage.  “How -- dare -- you!” he spluttered. 

 

Cedric shrugged eloquently.  “I have brothers.”

 

As he’d expected, the man’s next attack was more anger than style, and he easily parried the blade away.  The next attack was even more reckless, and the third caused the man to stumble nearly at Cedric’s feet. 

 

The young man moved then, swiftly laying his blade along the fallen man’s neck.  “I don’t honestly want to shed your blood, friend.  Leave the lady and I, and be on your way.”

 

The green man snarled over his shoulder.  “She is not for you!”

 

“She says she is,” Cedric answered calmly.  “And she is until she says otherwise.”

 

They stayed still for a moment then, Cedric’s hand firm and unshaking on his sword’s hilt, the man in green chewing on his fury.  Then, with a nod, the man climbed to his feet.  “All right,” he said, a whisper of rage.  “All right.  But mind your heart, boy.  You will never see her after this night.” He took the blade of Cedric’s sword between his fingers and pushed it aside.  And then, with a nod to Raine, he simply vanished.

 

Cedric stood perfectly still for a moment more.  He had known the man was merely an imagining – but he had not imagined he would vanish like that.  Shaking his head, he put his sword away.  He was, he was sure now, still unconscious in the mud somewhere.

 

Raine came to his side.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t think he would follow us here.”

 

“Who is he?” Cedric asked, backing a step.  He knew if he let her get too close he would have to kiss her, and if he kissed her all his questions would vanish into air. “Your brother?  Your husband?”

“Neither.  Or both.  He is of my tribe.”

 

“Was what he said true?”

 

A shadow crossed her perfect face.  “That you will never see me again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Cedric sighed, his head dropping as his shoulders sagged.  “But I love you.”

 

“And I you, my sweet lord.”

 

“But then . . .  “

 

She closed the space between them, stopped  his protest with her lips.  And when she had kissed him silent, she answered, “But we have until the dawn, my love.”

 

He looked up at the sky.  The clouds were low and black; the storm continued around them.  But he had a sudden sense that time had passed.  Dawn could not be far off.  “But, Raine . . .  “

 

She drew back.  “Cedric.  My Cedric.” 

 

Raine turned and walked away, and Cedric watched her go, confused and overwhelmed.  She stopped at the very crest of the hill, at the center of the clearing, and turned back.  “Do you want to leave now?” she asked.

 

The wind blew his dark hair across his eyes, and he brushed it back impatiently.  “I said I would stay until dawn, and I shall.”

 

She nodded.  Her hand went to the shoulder of her dress.  Tugged.  And the dress fell away to her feet.  She stood before him entirely naked, utterly unashamed.  Luminous in the dark.  Perfect in form.  Inviting.  “Come to me.”

 

Cedric would have, gladly, if he could have moved at all.  But he was frozen, utterly transfixed.  He could not think, he could not breathe, much less move.  Or speak.  “Raine . . .  “ he groaned.

 

She smiled again, reached her arms out to him.  “Come to me,” she urged.

 

He took a step toward her.  The outstretched hands wavered; one came up in a gesture to stop.  “What?” Cedric begged in desperate confusion.

 

Raine merely tilted her head, still smiling gently.

 

Cedric understood.  He stayed where he was and began shedding his clothes, as quickly as he could.  It was horrible, clumsy work.  He could feel her eyes on him, feel her waiting.  He had so many clothes, and they were so awkward.  And finally he was down to those last few things, to where one more item cast aside would reveal his full-blooded passion for her, and he hesitated.  And looked at her again. 

 

She had not moved, except that she seemed to be leaning toward him even more.  “Come to me,” she said a third time. 

 

Cedric felt dizzy for an instant.  He stepped out of his hose and walked to her.  He felt, on one hand, ridiculous, stark naked on a hilltop in the middle of the night.  And on the other hand, he felt a deep thrill of excitement.  Walking toward her, his manhood going ahead of him like the point of a lance, completely revealed to her.  No need for pretense, for small talk.  For shame.  No illusions.  Just his body, and her body.  Her skin against his.   His skin ached for the touch. 

 

She reached for him.  Her slender arms went around his neck and his waist, drawing him tight against her cool body, his warmest part grasped gently between her cool thighs.  He swept one hand down over the perfect smoothness of her buttocks and upper legs.  His free hand turned her face to his, and when he had captured her lips with his own, strayed to cup and caress the perfect small roundness of her breast.  He could feel her fingers frantically tangling in his hair, feel her tongue restless against his, but he refused to be rushed.  Fully aroused, but also fully in control, he forced her to adopt his pace of deep kisses and slow caresses. 

 

Raine brought her hand down to stroke his chest.  She tried to reach lower, but Cedric pulled their hips tighter together, not allowing it.  Her touch grew almost frantic.  “It’s nearly dawn,” she panted, her breath hot with frustration.

 

“We have time,” Cedric assured her.  He ached to be within her, but also to prolong this, to enjoy every touch and taste, every moment.  Her urgency delighted him deeply.  She positively quivered in his arms.  He wanted, and he wanted to wait.

 

With a shift of his weight, he lowered them both to their knees on the ground.  A quick glance showed him that there were no rocks here; he wondered if Raine has chosen this spot for that reason.  He pushed against her shoulder, supporting her with the other hand, and lowered her onto the deep grass.  She writhed from her feet to her shoulders, reaching for him.  “Cedric, please . . .  “

 

“We have time,” he repeated. 

 

Her knowing little hand closed around his manhood, squeezing, urging.   Cedric felt his eyes roll back in pleasure.  But he was not ready to give in to her.  Not quite yet.  He closed his hand over her wrist and pulled  her hand away.  Then he gathered both of her little wrists in one hand, pushed them over her head, and held them pinned to the ground.  She squirmed, but made no serious attempt to escape.

 

He rested his free hand on the flat of her stomach and for a moment, just a moment, he simply  looked at her.  She was not real, or at least not mortal.  Her face was small and pointed and frankly elven.  Her eyes were wide, imploring, and her pupils were huge and dark.  Her lips, bruised red, danced on their own with desire to be against his.  And her skin, so white, so clear, cool to the touch even now.  Cedric studied her, committing every angle and line and breath to memory.  He wanted to have her forever.

 

And then he could not resist.   He kissed her lips first, not gently now but crushing and hard, his tongue finally as frantic as hers.  And then he broke from her, trailed kissed down her throat, across the elegant hollow of her shoulder.  He caught one pointed nipple between his teeth, held it gently, sucked hard.  Kissed his way to the other and did the same.  Leaned across her to sprinkle tickling kisses on her ribs.

 

His free hand brushed down her belly, across her thigh, and back up to the fine blond floss at the juncture of her legs.  Raine moaned, her hands fighting for freedom, but Cedric held her, tasted her, caressed her at will.  Her legs parted, and he found her moist center, the single spot on her cool body that was not cool at all.  She cried out as he touched her there, her body heaving against his restraint.  He rained kisses on her, stroke her body until she cried out in earnest.  His lips found hers again. 

 

“Cedric, please please please,” she breathed.

 

She smelled like grass after a spring rain. 

 

He released her hands, and moved between her legs.  Her body writhed toward him, her arms reaching to draw him to her.  He entered her in a single, slow thrust.  Raine’s body convulsed in pleasure at once.  Cedric drew back and thrust again.  He wanted to take it slow, wanted to make it last.  Until dawn.  Until dawn . . . 

 

Her hands slid down his back, grabbed his butt firmly, guided him, urged him on.  Her body gripped him in ripples, insisting.  And her lips, her voice, her scent.  Her frantic urgency, and her absolute pleasure.  She could not wait – again – and he could not wait at all.

 

And when it was over, when he rested yet in her body, his weight on his elbows, the two of them quiet at last, when her lips parted from his with a last lingering kiss, he asked, “Why doesn’t it rain on us?”

 

Raine laughed in absolute delight. 

 

And the rain fell.

 

***

 

He woke with a single word on his lips.  “Raine!”

 

“Easy, love,” a voice murmured.  A woman’s voice, but not Raine’s.  No tinkling of lilies.  “Open your eyes.”

 

Reluctantly, Cedric opened his eyes.  He flinched, blinking at the bright sunlight that filtered into the room.  His head hurt horribly.  His clothes were damp and cold.  Something smelled like mud and horse dung. 

 

“Raine,” he whispered.

 

“It rained all night,” Meg confirmed, stroking his forehead.  “But it’s stopped now.  You’re home safe.”

 

He groaned.  “Oh, Raine,” he said.  Then he closed his eyes again.

 

Frowning, Meg pushed herself out of her chair and went to the doorway. 

 

“What did he say?” Thomas asked worriedly. 

 

“Rain,” she answered briefly.  “How long until the physician gets here?”

 

“Richard’s gone for him,” Armus answered.  “They shouldn’t be long.”

 

“It’s serious, isn’t it?” Thomas asked.

 

Meg shrugged.  “Well . . .  yes.  But the wound’s scabbed over, it must be hours old.  If it was going to kill him, it would have done it by now.  I think.”

 

“You think.”

 

His daughter-in-law shrugged.  “I *think*.”

 

“Of course,” Eleanor offered, returning with a clean nightshirt, “he might still take fever and die.”

 

“Thank you, Eleanor,” Thomas replied drily. 

 

“He won’t take fever,” Meg answered firmly.  She took the nightshirt back to the bed, then hesitated, looking at the sleeping young man and then at her considerably rounded belly.  “Armus?  Can you help me?”

 

“No,” he answered rather sternly.  He took the shirt away from her.  “I’ll change him.  You can supervise.”

 

His wife smiled.  “That was mostly what I meant.”

 

“I know.”  He flipped the blankets off his brother’s feet, and reached for his boots.  “That’s curious.” 

 

“What?”  His father was standing at his shoulder.

 

“Well . . .  his boots are on the wrong feet.”

 

They looked at each other, bewildered.  Finally Thomas shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I don’t think I want to know.”

 

“Raine,” Cedric murmured.  He rolled on his side and went back to sleep.

 

 

THE END