Night Birds' Reign(134)
“I don’t want to spend the night, if that is what you are worried about,” he said shortly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It is not a ridiculous assumption,” she pointed out, stung. “After all, we’ve spent a few nights together before.”
“True,” Gwydion said a gleam in his silvery eyes. “But this journey is hardly the time or the place to continue such meetings.”
“I didn’t think it was,” she said shortly.
“Didn’t you?” he asked, his brows raised.
“You—”
“I meant Amatheon,” Gwydion explained. “What are you trying to do, Angharad? Curious to compare brothers?”
She flushed, if only because part of her had been entertaining that notion. She lashed out, raising her hand to slap his face, but he caught her hand before she could.
“Don’t even think about hitting me, Angharad,” he said evenly.
“And don’t even think about telling me what to do,” she said between gritted teeth as she snatched her hand from his grasp. “What is this all about, anyway?” she asked in a calmer tone. “We are friends, Gwydion, who have been, on occasion, lovers. Since when do you care who I sleep with?”
“Since the man in question is my brother.”
“And that matters because?” she asked, her brows raised.
“Because I think he might be in love with you.”
Angharad’s breath caught in her throat. She had not thought of that. Surely Gwydion was mistaken.
Gwydion, correctly interpreting her expression, went on, “I know what I’m taking about. I know my brother. What will you do, if I am right?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly, after a moment of silence. “I really don’t.”
“Ah,” he said, the scowl melting from his face. “I see.”
“You see what?”
“I see that loving my brother back is not out of the question.”
“How do you know that?” she asked brusquely.
“Because if it was out of the question you wouldn’t still be contemplating sleeping with him tonight.”
They were both silent for a moment. Then Gwydion went on, in a gentler tone. “What will you do, Angharad?”
“I really do not know,” she said slowly. “But I can promise you, Gwydion, that I will be careful.”
“Than that is enough, I suppose. Good night, Angharad,” he said as he raised her hand to his lips and turned it over to kiss her palm. “I wish you a pleasant evening.”
She watched him walk down the corridor and turn the corner. She stood for a moment in her doorway, thinking on what Gwydion had said.
She knew that the wisest thing she could do would be to turn away Amatheon at the door. She was the Captain of the warband of the Queen of Ederynion, and that was the most important thing in her life. Her experience of men indicated that they wanted to be the most important thing. That was why she had long ago decided that a permanent relationship was not for her, for she would not put up with a man who demanded that he be the center of her world.
She slowly shut the door and returned to the edge of the bed, picking up the comb again and absently running it through her hair. It would be best to send Amatheon away. She knew that now. She had no wish to hurt him, and no intention of becoming permanently involved.
She answered the door, her comb still in her hand. It was he. His blue eyes were alight with desire. Before she could even speak he reached out and caressed a thick, silken lock of fiery hair that cascaded over the front of her robe, drawing his breath in sharply as he did so.
“Amatheon,” she whispered. And then she drew him into the chamber, her lips on his, closing the door behind him.
Meriwydd, Disglair Wythnos—early afternoon
THE PARTY DREW near to the gravesite in the bright afternoon. The mound lay just on the fringes of the forest, surrounded by delicate aspens whose golden autumn leaves shook and whispered in the slight breeze. Sweet white alyssum sprouted through the stones of the mound, so thick that it seemed that the grave was covered with a delicate snowdrift.
Angharad made to dismount her horse but Amatheon was already there, lifting her from the saddle and setting her on the ground, his hands spanning her slim waist. The others tried to hide their grins, but Angharad didn’t really mind that at all. She felt like grinning herself, for her night with Amatheon had been truly wonderful. He had been passionate, as his brother had been, but he had also been tender and loving, for his deepest feelings were involved. And this was as unlike Gwydion as could be. Their lovemaking had been the best she had ever had—and she had had many men. But never one like Amatheon.