Love Through the Years

Chapter 6

"Please let me do something!" A few days later, Huw's recovery had reached the whining stage, Selene noted two days later with a mixture of satisfaction and grief. In another day he'd be walking about. Within three, he and Rhodri would be riding away, never to grace her cottage again.

"Do you read?" Rhodri was out hunting, as he had each morning, and Selene was desperate to find something to entertain the lad, who insisted on flirting with her constantly otherwise. While she'd come to like the pleasant young man, he was far too young, and - well - not Rhodri. She sighed with relief when he nodded. "Then sit still. I've just the thing."

This must be why her father had sent her the manuscript, and Selene blessed his gift of uncanny foresight. She had a few precious books, but most of them were in Latin or Greek, which she'd ascertained Huw couldn't read, nor Welsh to her surprise. As he had grown up largely in Richard of England's army, he spoke mostly French, and the Ballad of Tam Lin Selene's father had sent was in that language.

She left him to read while she tended to her laundry. It was not an onerous task, but a hot and sweaty one, and by the time the linens were drying on a line, Selene felt a powerful need for a bath of her own. Since she was over-warmed already, she didn't bother heating more water, she grabbed her soap and a fresh kirtle before walking down to the stream.

The cool water felt heavenly on her skin, and Selene wished she dared remove her shift and let the soothing fluid caress her bare flesh. But with the knight about, and no one to stand guard, she couldn't chance it.

Just thinking about the Earl of Llyan made her skin heat again, even in the coolness of the stream. She'd met more handsome men before; she was sure of it, but for the life of her she couldn't think of one. The man's rugged good looks and strength of character combined to make her head spin and her skin tingle. She slid her hands under her shift to wash, rubbing the soap on her skin. She nearly moaned aloud at the feel of her own hand on her tender, aching breasts, and she did whimper when her hardened n****e rubbed against the cloth. The soft linen abraded the sensitive bud like coarse burlap.

Another ache centered low in her stomach, as though her very womb was begging to be filled. She'd thought she knew lust, had grown moist betwixt her thighs at the sight of the brawny blacksmith working without his shirt, but she'd never felt anything that approached this. Just the mental image of Rhodri had her practically panting with desire.

It was more than just a physical longing. She knew that, though she hated to admit it, even to herself. Somewhere during the last three days, she'd fallen in love with the earl, foolish wretch that she was.

She also knew, though, that she could never keep him. He had obligations and duties that far superseded the wants of a lowly village healer. Once his friend had mended, he would be gone. And Selene would never love another man in her lifetime.

She continued to wash, wishing it was his hands on her flesh. What would it be like, just once, to feel a man's touch, to kiss his lips and lie beneath him? Selene could barely imagine the wonder, but only if the man was Rhodri. If she let him ride away, she'd never know what it was like to be a woman fulfilled.

Rhodri finished gutting the pheasant he'd snared and decided a quick stop by the stream was in order before returning home. No! He stopped himself mid-thought. Selene's cottage was not his home, though it felt more like it than his drafty castle ever had.

It was a crime that a gem like her had never married, never borne children. He could easily see her with a babe at her breast and another tugging on her skirts. If ever a woman was born to be a mother, it was she.

But Rhodri could never be the man to give her those babes. He remembered a day when he'd joyously anticipated fatherhood, but it had all ended in smoke and tears. Now, thanks to a vicious curse, he was forever damned to be alone. No power on Earth could tempt him to risk passing his vile secret to another generation. Far better it die with him.

Inexorably, the new moon approached, no more than four or five days away by his estimation. The power and hunger coiled and rolled in his belly, throbbed in his manhood when he thought of Selene. He wanted her more than he ever had any woman. Even Zara. His wife.

He stripped off his tunic as he approached the stream, folding it and laying it on a mossy patch of ground. He hadn't bothered with tabard or surcoat while staying with Selene, the formal trappings seemed to have no business in this tiny pocket of paradise. He tugged off his boots and sat them alongside his sword belt and bow. He'd never seen another soul by the gentle river, but he'd grown too wary in his years to allow his weapons to be far out of reach. With one last look around, he pulled off his braes and waded into the chilly current.

The splashing sound took him by surprise, as did the startled, "Oh!" that followed it. The noise came from just around the bend in the stream, so Rhodri waded over to see who it was, peeking cautiously around the tall weeds that hid the next section of river.

He stood frozen at the sight that met his gaze, his jaw hanging, and eyes unblinking. Holy Mother of God, it was Selene. She was bending over with her back to him, but he'd know that delicious rump anywhere. Only now it was hidden by naught but a thin layer of wet linen, which molded to every curve and dip of her flesh.