‘Twas a heady feeling, knowing that he hungered for her touch. Instinct told her that she alone could bring him to this state of helplessness. Her excitement increased at the realization. She leaned forward to run a hand across his chest. Her breasts shifted against the soft linen of her chemise, pebbling her nipples into hard points. She moved again, just to feel the delicious jolt of lightning that streaked from her nipples to her womb. The motion released a flood of liquid to pool between her legs.

  Who would have thought that giving pleasure could be so arousing?

  Rising, she teased him deliberately, taking her time in unlacing her gown. She held his gaze, willing him not to break eye contact, leaving him striving to follow her actions with his peripheral vision. Aye, he knew what she was doing, for when her bodice fell to her waist, baring her breasts and revealing her taut nipples to the warmth of the sun, he whimpered.

  “Please!” His voice was harsh with strain.

  “In a moment,” she soothed. “I want us both to be naked.”

  “Aye. But hurry. I am fair to bursting with need.”

  She pushed the gown down and stepped out of it. Wearing naught but her short boots, she carefully folded all their garments, turning her back on Cyrus to bend over and place them carefully on a nearby stone. She peeked at him between her knees before straightening and was pleased to see his attention riveted on her curves.

  And he thought he was close to bursting now?

  A smile played about her mouth. She turned to face him and squatted to unlace her boots. Her knees spread wide, she treated him to an unobstructed view of her cleft. As she bent to one side to remove her footgear, she felt the curls part and cool air wash across her wet folds. The earthy fragrance of her arousal enveloped them both.

  Cyrus gave a strangled cry.

  She placed her boots alongside their garments before returning to kneel and take him again in her hand.

  Cyrus growled in the back of his throat. His cock, harder and thicker than she’d ever seen it, leapt in her grasp.

  Acceding to his wishes, she bent over to lick across the plump head, feeling his slick seed spread under her tongue. The taste was more intense than before and she reveled in it. This was his essence. Another large drop welled up from the slit and she lapped it up. He was hot velvet under her lips, the soft texture of an expensive weave she’d once fingered in the marketplace.

  She turned her attention to exploring the shaft, running her tongue down into the nest of pale hair while she rubbed the tip with her thumb.

  Cyrus moaned and thrust upward with his hips. He implored her, “Hurry!”

  She held his hips still by sitting on his legs. He shuddered and growled, bucking against her in a futile effort to hurry her along. Feminine power sang through her veins, a delicious counterpoint to the Power she raised when she cast the circle. Both were strong; both were undeniable in their appeal; both were part of her.

  She traced the slit and the rim of the head where it joined the shaft. When she dipped her tongue into the hole at the top of the slit, he moaned and threaded his hands in her hair, holding her tightly. She opened her lips and sucked his cock inside, widening her jaws to encompass the large head.

  “Ah, sweet Drey, you feel so good.” He sighed. “Take all of me, please!”

  She laved the head with her tongue, scraping her teeth gently across the sensitive underside. The clench of his hands and the hitch in his breath told her when she found a spot or a touch that drove him wild. He thrust with his hips, almost fucking her mouth as his hands moved her head where he wanted her. She twisted and turned until she found a position that let her take him in deeply, until the soft tip nudged the back of her throat and she could only breath between his thrusts.

  Taking her time, restraining him with the simple expediency of her weight, she lapped and nipped and suckled until his cock was pulsing beneath her touch. When the stones in his sac retreated, she readied herself for the spurt of his seed.

  The force of his climax unseated her. He thrashed and jerked in her mouth, shooting pulse after pulse down her throat. She swallowed as fast as she could, exulting in his musky, acrid flavor.

  He lay as one dead, limp and spent. The only sign of life she could detect was the slight rise and fall of his chest.

  She stretched out beside him on the soft grass, watching him as he recovered his strength. When at last he opened his eyes, she voiced her opinion. “I think mayhap you were not completely recovered from the exertion of pleasuring me this afternoon.”

  He grinned. “Never underestimate the abilities of an elemental. Give me but another hour or so and I’ll show you what I can do.”

  “Will you, now?”

  “Aye.” He drew her close, wrapped an arm around her and breathed into her hair. She melted against his warmth. “You feel perfect, soft and warm.”

  “So do you.” She found herself unaccountably shy, ducking her head. After all they’d shared, why was she reluctant to face him? To give herself something to do, she began to relace her clothing and boots.

  He stopped her, turning her to him and lifting her chin. His blue eyes, now free of clouds, were tender. “There’s no need to hide from me. You summoned me; we have no secrets.”

  Except for the fact that she might be falling in love with him.

  Except for the fact that she was torn between helping him return to his world and keeping him here with her, forever.

  How could she consider imprisoning him, keeping him bound to mortal form? That was no proper sentiment for a lover. Love shouldn’t be selfish but she found herself wishing nonetheless that they could stay right where they were, as they were.

  To hide her confusion, she buried her head in her chemise. When she emerged, she was composed enough to raise her head and look him squarely in the eye.

  “I thank you for your compliments.”

  “They are nothing more than the truth.” He bent to pull up his braes. “There is nowhere I’d rather be at this moment, other than here with you.” He spread his hands out to indicate their surroundings.

  She turned to survey the glade. The sun had passed its zenith and lengthening shadows took over the western half of the clearing. She turned and took his hand. “Thank you for showing it to me. This is lovely. I had no idea any place like this existed in these woods.”

  “I know. This is one of those hidden wonders mortals have yet to discover.” Cyrus drew her into his arms again. “Thank you, sweetling, for showing me another mortal wonder.”

  She smiled and ran her fingers through his silky hair. The silver strands tangled, ensnaring her hand as he had ensnared her heart.

  Dear Goddess, what was she to do?

  Love him, her heart said.

  Free him, her head responded.

  She couldn’t do both. Certainly not at the same time. Mayhap she must be content to love him now and free him when she could.

  *

  Together they set out, hand in hand, around the mountain. When they reached the edge of the fields cultivated by the villagers, he sat with his back against a stile and pulled her down to sit beside him. He freed her hand and bid her, “Play for me, please.”

  Putting her pipes to her lips, she blew a few random notes before beginning a lively jig.

  “Watch,” Cyrus instructed.

  He turned his face up and whistled a note almost beyond her hearing. She raised a brow in inquiry and he gestured to the field in front of them.

  At first she saw nothing out of the ordinary. A lone yellow butterfly flitted among the early flowers at the edge of the field. A few bees droned back and forth. Another butterfly, this one white, joined the first. Before long a whole cloud of them began to gather, pouring in from all corners of the valley. As she played, the colorful mass danced and swirled in time to her music.

  Cyrus gestured again and the butterflies broke into two groups, one mostly yellow and one mostly white. They twined around and flowed through each other in a brilliant pageant.

  Drey could contain her delight no longer. She found she couldn’t both play and laugh. Laughter won. As the music ceased, so did the synchronized display.

  “Thank you!” She managed to gasp when she gained control of her breathing enough to speak. “That was truly lovely. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  “I have.”

  She turned to see shining in his face the same tender, deep affection that Robert wore when he looked at Jenny. Her heart echoed the feeling.

  Dear Goddess, she’d found the one she’d wished for, someone she could love enough to build a life together with. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She’d found him in a wind spirit, not in a man.

  Chapter Five

  “I think you should try to release me.”

  Drey’s heart plummeted at the thought. She was still torn, for she both wanted him to stay with her and yet knew of his impatience to return to his normal form. Since it was her fault that he was trapped, how could she refuse his request?

  “Let’s go up to the meadow,” she agreed with an inward wince. She had no confidence she could return him to his natural form but she owed it to him to try.

  The noon sun warmed her shoulders as she walked in front of him on the path. The willow basket containing her candles and cauldron and herbs banged against her legs with every step. Her heart thumped in her chest, as much from trepidation as from the climb. What if she failed again? Even worse, what if something went wrong and an unforeseen disaster occurred? Her haphazard history with working magick did not make her confident she could send her lover back to his own world.

  Cyrus dawdled behind her, trailing the length of yarn. Mousie still chased it, although the fat fellow was huffing and puffing by the time they reached the meadow and her circle.

  With a heavy heart, she laid out the items on the altar. Then she took up her athame and began to cast the circle. As she went through the now-familiar routine, she tried to keep her thoughts on Cyrus and his plight and how he might feel as a free spirit soaring across the vast sky. She imagined so well she also felt a longing to take to the air. The cliff called to her, begging her to leap and let the currents bear her aloft. She shook off the urge and set about her task.

  And so she closed the circle, again both hearing and feeling the snap of it springing shut. Approaching the altar, she began the chant she’d been working on. She took a deep breath and hoped she’d worded it correctly.

  “All unknowing I wrought a charm,

  Meaning you and no one harm

  Now may you in your own form fly

  Returning to your world, the sky.

  An I will, so mote it be.”

  She finished with a flourish and turned to point at Cyrus as she broke the circle. There was another audible pop.

  Her basket soared aloft and disappeared.

  Cyrus began to chuckle as the Power of the circle dissipated. “An impressive display but it’s still not quite right.”

  “Will I ever set you free?” she wailed. She swept the altar contents into her skirt. It would be a long and uncomfortable trip down the mountain with her hem hiked high.

  Mousebane came to bump his head against her knee. Cyrus came to place his arm about her shoulders.

  “You’re getting closer. At least something made it to the sky.”

  She turned to regard him with a solemn expression. “You’re making the assumption that my basket is now winging through the air. It may have gone elsewhere or become something else.”

  He pondered that for a moment. Indeed, he’d not like to be turned into a clod of earth or a tree but becoming a bird wouldn’t be a terrible thing. “At least you raised the Power. I felt it. You must have as well. That’s a big step in the right direction.”

  She shrugged, clearly unimpressed by his logic. Together they trod down the mountain in silence while he sought something to say to lighten her mood.

  Drey put her tools away with a heavy heart. She had just set her small cauldron in its place on the shelf when a timid knock sounded at the door.

  “Come!” she called.

  Mara stood in the doorway with one arm around the shoulder of little Lysbet, Wentil’s youngest daughter, from the outermost holding in the valley. The tiny lass stood in the doorway and twisted her hands in her skirt. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  “I found her crying in the lane. She lost her way,” Mara explained.

  Drey stooped and spoke to the child. “Lysbet, what’s the matter?”

  “Please, missus, will you come? Me mum is took real bad.” Lysbet hiccupped. “She was fine last eve but, this morning after we broke our fast, she fell in a heap. Me da’s put her to bed but she’s pale and breathing quick like and can’t speak.”

  Before the lass finished, Drey rose and went to gather together herbs and a few pots of unguents. She lifted down a new basket and filled it.

  Cyrus came to stand next to her. He took the basket after she tucked a cloth over the contents. “I will accompany you.”

  She blinked at him. Mortals were outside his ken. Why should he care about Lysbet’s mama? She kept her tone low, to avoid being overheard. Thus far, Cyrus had not come to the attention of her neighbors. “I will appreciate your company but what can you do to help?”

  “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps much. In this form, I am the stuff of magick, am I not?” He too spoke softly as he regarded her with a steady, clear, blue gaze. “You may have need of me. In that case, I would prefer to be at hand.”

  “Aye. Mayhap you could be of help.” She didn’t understand just how but then she didn’t yet know what she would face. She admitted to herself that whether he could provide help was immaterial; his company was always welcome. “Come,” she said, taking Lysbet’s hand and heading out the door. “Lysbet, Mara, this is my friend, Cyrus. He is going to come with us.”

  Lysbet ducked her head and tightened her grip on Drey’s hand.

  “‘Tis nice to meet you, sir. I’m worried about Lysbet’s mama but my da’s waiting for me.” Mara said, heading back toward the village. She called over her shoulder, “Good luck, and may the Goddess guide you.”

  Drey acknowledged Mara’s blessing with a wave while her thoughts raced ahead of them. What could have taken Betsy so suddenly? Two days ago, Drey had passed by their holding on her quest for wild herbs and moss. Betsy had paused in her labors long enough to exchange a greeting. The woman had looked as she always did, bustling about her chores. She’d had a tired smile but who wouldn’t with seven children, none of whom had yet seen ten summers? Her color had been good and she’d moved normally, giving no sign of any pain.

  Betsy was the strong glue that held her family together. Her husband Wentil never smiled or had a kind word for anyone. He was a hard man and a harder worker. Word around the village was that, in his business dealings, he was exacting but unfailingly fair. He cared for the fields and any business that had to be done, leaving everything else to Betsy.

  They turned away from the village, hastening toward the foothills as fast as Lysbet’s short legs could carry her. It wasn’t until the slopes rose around them and concealed her cottage that Drey realized Cyrus easily kept pace behind them. She gave herself no more time to consider his presence or her response to it; she only knew it was comforting not to be entirely on her own.

  In short order, they reached Lysbet’s home at the convergence of two streams. The large, tumbledown cottage had clearly once owned by more prosperous folk. Drey clung tightly to the railing of the footbridge and picked her way carefully through a maze of loose boards and gaping holes. The stream wasn’t deep but a dunking would only delay her. How long had Lysbet wandered before Mara found her?

  Betsy lay wheezing on a pallet in a corner of a dark, airless back room. Wentil sat clutching her hand, staring intently at her. He ignored his children, huddled in the deep shadows. Their frightened eyes were huge in their pale faces. Drey’s heart went out to them. Their mother held the family together, often by sheer force of her will. Their father, hard worker or no, appeared to be of little use in a crisis.

  Flinging open the nearest window to let in more light, she winced when one of the shutters crashed to the ground outside. Cyrus took over and wrestled open the other window in the room. Spring sunshine streamed in, brightening the worn blanket that covered Betsy and highlighting the dust and clutter in the corners.

  Drey shot him a grateful look before moving to examine Betsy. Wentil never acknowledged her presence. Betsy’s pallor was bad and her ragged breathing echoed in the room. The air hung heavy with the smell of fried onions and old apples. With a sinking feeling, Drey sat across from Wentil and clasped Betsy’s hands in hers.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated.

  Betsy’s ample form took shape in her mind. Drey’s apprehension increased as she noted the large dark areas in the chest and head. While she watched, they spread.

  Her potions and herbs would be useless against the wrongness that began in Betsy’s head. She had seen this before.

  Wentil still had not given any sign he knew she was there. Turning to face the children, Drey prepared to give them the bad news. She found the words stuck in her throat. What would happen to this family without their anchor, their support? Casting about for something to say, some way to ease the blow, she found that instead she had picked up the basket and clutched it to her like a shield.

  Cyrus came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Is there aught to be done for her?” he whispered.

  “Nay,” Drey breathed. Although Wentil gave no sign of hearing their conversation, she was loath to distress him or the children until she had no choice. From the looks of them, they already knew the situation was dire.

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Then make it appear that you are trying. I will help.” Prying the basket from her numb fingers, he opened the cloth she’d tucked on top and began laying out her herbs and pots.

  With an effort, she forced her mind from speculation and to the task at hand. Doing something, anything, was better than dwelling on the situation. In action she found an anchor for her roiling emotions. Grief for her friend, and this family, gave way before a determination to do what she could to help Betsy, however futile it might be. “Lysbet, fetch me some clean water.” The lass jumped to do her bidding. “You,” she pointed to the biggest lad, almost Lysbet’s height but more sturdy in his build. “Find me a brazier. With coals.”

 

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