"Anora," he whispered huskily, raking her body with his heated gaze, "you are truly a vision of the gods." Her satiny skin, pale as alabaster, gleamed in the moonlight. Pink nipples, hardened by the cool night breeze, seemed to cry out for his touch. Leaning over, Wulfgar captured one of the rosy peaks within his mouth, his tongue flicking gently. Startled by the new sensation, Anora tensed suddenly in his arms, moaning softly.
"Do not be afraid, my love," he murmured reassuringly, caressing the arch of her back. "It is my only wish to give you pleasure this night." Gently, and ever so slowly, he began to caress her silky skin with a feather-light touch. Anora shivered, her mind reeling with the delicate sensations. Wulfgar's lips, warm, searching, trailed a burning path across a delicate shoulder and once again found her breast. He traced a circle of molten fire around the raised nipple with his tongue, suckling gently. His strong hands moved over her body, caressing and stroking her flat abdomen and the slender curve of her hips, only to linger teasingly at the silky mound between her thighs.
Writhing under his touch, Anora gave herself over to the heady waves of passion that rippled through her body. All conscious thought fled from her mind, and she was overwhelmed by a burning ache of desire as old as love itself. She moaned in wild delight. Her slender hips moved instinctively against the pressure of Wulfgar's hand, betraying her inner desires all too clearly.
"That will have to wait for another night, my love." Wulfgar gasped, fighting to control the searing flames of desire in his loins. Encircling Anora in his strong arms, he sought her mouth in a crushing kiss, stifling her cries as his fingers explored the soft, moist core of her. Gently he probed the satiny folds, searching for her most sensitive point.
Suddenly Anora arched against his hand, her body trembling uncontrollably. Wrapping her arms about Wulfgar's muscled back, she pulled him to her, entwining her delicate fingers in his black curls. He deepened his kiss, all the while stroking and teasing the delicate bud of her desire, exulting in her passionate abandon.
Bathed in a fine sheen of perspiration, Anora felt a mounting tension of pure, unbridled ecstasy building within her, spiraling upward and upward until it reached a pinnacle of burning desire. Crying out Wulfgar's name, she felt a roaring wave of molten pleasure explode in shimmering lights and piercing sensation.
Wulfgar held her close within his arms for long time, savoring the warmth of her slender body against his own. He gazed down at the perfection of her delicate features. She had fallen asleep almost immediately, but he was loath to leave her side. She was so beautiful . . .
Aye, there will be many more nights like this, he thought, consoling himself. Nights when we will both find release in each other's arms. Lingeringly and ever so gently, he kissed her love-bruised lips. "Sleep well, my only love," he whispered, covering her with the coverlet. He stepped out of the bed and quietly pulled on his clothes. Then, after one last, tender kiss, he silently left her room.
Chapter 7
"Anora, wake up!" Gwendolyn whispered urgently, shaking her sister's shoulder. Deep in the midst of a dream, Anora merely yawned and rolled over onto her side. Her long hair lay in wild disarray on the eiderdown pillow, and her delicate features lay in peaceful repose, a gentle smile curving her lips as she slept.
Gwendolyn felt a twinge of guilt at disturbing her sister's sound slumber, but the feeling was short-lived. Realizing that drastic measures were needed to awaken her, she climbed onto the wide bed and began to jump up and down on the mattress.
Rudely awakened by the sudden jarring, Anora opened her eyes, a startled look on her face. "Gwendolyn, what are you doing?" she asked dazedly, her mind clouded from sleep and faint memories of her dream.
Gwendolyn plopped down beside her sister. "Forgive me for waking you so, Anora," she whispered apologetically, "but you promised we would go to the grotto this morning. Have you forgotten?"
Sorting through her jumbled thoughts, Anora groaned inwardly. Aye, she remembered all too well the promise she had made the day before, and how much it had meant to Gwendolyn. If only she weren't so sleepy . . .
But one glance at Gwendolyn's hopeful expression was all she needed to rouse herself. Anora knew she could not refuse her sister —it had been her idea to visit the grotto in the first place. Besides, if they left right away they would surely be there and back before the morning meal. Yawning, she threw back the coverlet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Well, we'd best be going if we want to see the sunrise," she said, stretching her arms above her head. She smiled warmly. She felt such a great sense of well-being and contentment this morning.
Gwendolyn squealed delightedly at Anora's announcement, then quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. She jumped off the bed, grabbed the silken camise lying crumpled on the floor, and handed it to her sister. Shivering, Anora pulled the garment over her head, then hurried over to the chest at the foot of the bed.
Suddenly she gasped. On top of the chest, glinting at her in the glow of the candle held aloft for her by Gwendolyn, lay one of Wulfgar's gold arm bands. Memories of the previous night came flooding back to her, and she flushed heatedly. Those memories had seemed only a dream when she had awakened . . . a breathless, swirling vision of passion and moonlight. Yet now, holding the arm band in the palm of her hand, the bright gold warming from her touch, she knew the dream had been real.
Gwendolyn's eyes widened in surprise. "Was Wulfgar with you last night?" she questioned softly, although Anora's blushing cheeks told her all she needed to know.
"Aye," Anora answered simply, ignoring her sister's startled look. She lifted the heavy lid of the chest and set the arm band inside, covering it with clothing. Pulling out a plain linen tunic and a heavy woolen mantle, she dressed quickly. At last she turned to Gwendolyn, who was still standing by the chest dumbfounded. "We will speak of this later, Gwendolyn, but for now, we must hurry." She grabbed her fur cloak from a wooden hook by the door and wrapped it about her shoulders, fastening it with a silver brooch. "Ouch!" she exclaimed suddenly.
"What happened?"
"The pin on the brooch pierced my finger," Anora winced painfully, examining the tiny drop of blood on her fingertip.
"Perhaps trousers would be a more suitable attire for a walk in the woods!" Gwendolyn suggested, chuckling softly. Dressed in a woolen shirt and trousers, a wide leather belt, sturdy leather boots, and a fur-lined jerkin, she looked every inch a young huntsman. Her short hair was covered by a fur cap, and her hand rested on the engraved handle of a large hunting knife strapped to her belt.
"Aye, maybe if I had more daring like you," replied Anora, somewhat wistfully. She quickly wrapped her wound with a small piece of linen. The thought of herself in men's trousers made her giggle, her sore finger forgotten.
"Are you almost ready?" Gwendolyn asked impatiently. It was at least an hour before dawn, yet soon the servants would be up and about their morning duties.
"Aye, just one more moment," Anora said, running an ivory comb through her tangled hair. She hastily donned a pair of sturdy leather-soled slippers. "There, I am ready."
Opening the door, Gwendolyn moved stealthily down the wooden stairs with Anora close behind her. At the foot of the stairs they stopped and peered down the darkened corridor. All was silent and still. With Gwendolyn's candle lighting the way, they hurried along the corridor, their footsteps making little sound.
Pausing for a moment at the top of another flight of stairs that led to the kitchen area, Gwendolyn listened for any noise. Hearing nothing but the snores of sleeping servants in the room adjacent to the kitchen, she beckoned to Anora and they ran quietly down the stairs.
"Do you have the key?" Anora whispered as they tiptoed through the large kitchen. The room was lit by the smoldering embers in the stone hearth. Gwendolyn nodded, holding up a heavy iron key.
When they reached the door of the root cellar, they found it slightly ajar. "Let me go first," Gwendolyn whispered, holding her candle in front of her. Squeezing through the narrow opening, she was assailed by the dank, musty smell of the earthen cellar. "Come on!" she hissed. Once her sister was through the door, Gwendolyn shut it firmly behind them. The iron hinges creaked in protest, and they froze in their steps, listening. But to their relief they heard nothing.
Gwendolyn swiped away the spider webs draped from the low, wooden beams of the cellar and stepped over to several large kegs resting against the far side of the room. She pushed aside one of the empty kegs, revealing a narrow wooden door that barely reached her waist. She fit the key into the rusty lock and turned it sharply. The little door swung open and a strong gust of fresh air surged into the cellar.
Coughing from the dust, Anora gingerly crawled through the open door on her hands and knees. When it was her turn, Gwendolyn blew out her candle, plunging the cellar into pitch-darkness. A chill went down her spine and she quickly followed on Anora's heels. Once outside, she firmly shut and locked the little door. Hewn from the same logs as the high walls of the stronghold, the door fit so snugly that it matched exactly the grain of the surrounding timber. Invisible to even the keenest eye, only Gwendolyn's familiarity with the door's location would enable her to find it again.