A Saturday Offering... Chapter Three of 'The Gift'...

As previously stated, this is a work of fiction, I own nothing except my plot and my OCs.

Chapter Three: Blood and Voices

I took a moment to calm my breathing. I rested my hands against my face, feeling the heat of my flushed cheeks against my fingers. It was unfair! I had never hungered so much for a man as I did now for this elf, and I could do nothing about it.

There was a trunk against the far wall which I opened, rummaging around until I found something vaguely masculine for Lindir to cover his nakedness with.  More by chance than by choice, some of my late husband’s clothes were in there; a pair of soft brown trousers he’d worn for hunting, a dark blue tunic. I shook them out and folded them over my arm before going back into my bedroom.

I didn’t look at Lindir; I kept my eyes averted as I held out the garments, but his fingertips beneath my chin tipped my face up so that I had no option but to meet his eyes.

‘Le fael, Kovalia.’

He released me and took the clothes, and I turned away, intending to sit on the bed and compose myself.  But what I saw simply enraged and distressed me further.

The covers had spilled off the bed and in the centre of the mattress where Lindir had lain, amongst the wreckage of chains and leather strips, was a streak of blood. Not a huge amount, but a significant stain, fresh, and I felt sick. No wonder he had flinched away when I had had tried to draw down the covers.

Briot! Oh, my brother would pay for this! My anger burned white-hot and I felt tears of rage stinging my eyes. I tore my gaze away.  I couldn’t breathe.

Crossing to the window, I opened it and took huge gulps of the night air. It was dry and bitter, not sweet like a spring meadow after rain, but it cleansed my heart and helped clear my head and my fury began to subside.

‘Kovalia?’ Lindir touched my shoulder lightly, his voice soft. As I turned towards him, he laid his finger on my lips and tipped his head in the direction of the small room beyond mine where my maid slept.

Lindir’s hearing was obviously far better than my own, for I’d not heard anything, but suddenly he pulled me back from the window, his eyes urgent, and he pushed me onto the bed, hastily joining me and gathering the covers from the floor to throw over us both before reaching to douse the lamp.

Outside, I finally heard a sound, the softest of clicks, my maid’s door and I felt my heart hammering in my chest. Her voice, hushed, enquiring, and the rumble of a man replying; I knew that tone, it was Briot. My anger flared in me again, but I tried to make myself stay calm; the more enraged I was, the easier it would be for Briot to best me. I made myself do what I had been doing ever since I had been widowed three years earlier; I paid attention.

To everything.

I strained my ears and caught fractions, half words.

‘…lord, It’s…’

‘…just do what I…’

Beside me in the bed, Lindir had tensed and I knew he, too, recognised Briot’s voice.  I really didn’t want to think why, especially not now, when I needed to concentrate.

What was he asking my maid? I’d recently become aware of a change in her, but had thought her loyal… had she known about the drugged wine?  I tried to imagine what I would look like, had I actually drunk it and fallen asleep, and I spread my limbs accordingly, making sure Lindir was covered properly so that, were anyone to glance into the room, the lack of leather collar around his neck would not be noticed.  The clothes I’d found for him lay abandoned on the floor on the far side of the bed where they wouldn’t be seen from the doorway.

The voices were louder now, or my hearing had sharpened.

‘…my lord, she’s barely had time to taste him, never mind the wine…’

So my maid had known. Even though I’d half-expected it, it still felt like a betrayal.

‘Well? Do whatever it is maids do.  Knock, or something! See if she’s asleep yet. I want to get him out of there…’

And then what?

All I could think of doing was to move, to cover Lindir with my body in such a way that moving him would seem impossible to do without waking me.

He flinched, but I had not chance to murmur reassurance because then came the soft tap at my door.

‘My lady?’

The door opened a fraction and a line of light from the hall spilled in.

‘Did you call, my lady?’ she had the cheek to ask.

Of course, if I told her to leave me alone, that would scupper whatever plans Briot might have, but the decanter was standing on the table, almost empty, and she might notice. 

Instead, I stirred slightly, lifting my head and mumbling something indistinct, making sure I became even more entangled with poor Lindir.

The door was pulled to, the line of light narrowing.

‘She’s just about off, my lord. But she’s wrapped all around him worse than the bedding!’

‘Better wait until the drug deepens, then. So.  What can we do to fill in the time, do you think?’ His voice lowered as he made suggestions too quiet for me to hear. ‘Hmm?’

The maid giggled, but made only a token protest, one that did, however, have me longing to fly from the bed and bury the fruit knife in one of Briot’s eyes.

‘Oh, my lord! You want me to do what for you? When you’ve been inside him? There? I’ll have to wash you first! ’

She giggled and the door closed. I heard them move off down the corridor; of course, Briot would want her in his own rooms, not in her little chamber.

As soon as I was sure they were gone, I untangled myself from Lindir and slid away from him in the bed, hoping he understood I’d only been trying to protect him.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked. 

Having put out the lamp, the room was very dim, but I was loath to relight it in in case Briot came back, so I couldn’t see Lindir’s expression. I’d heard elves could see perfectly well in the dark; was that so? I hoped so, I hoped he could see in my face that I was worried about him and that I hadn’t intended anything other than to protect him.

‘I’m sorry; I didn’t know what else to do… I was only...’

Lindir laid his finger briefly on my lips and drew close to me. He shivered in the darkness and it was natural that I open my arms to him. Perhaps it was equally natural for him to respond by leaning in so that I could put my arms about him.  I squeezed gently, my hands on his back trying to comfort and soothe him, and then his body was on top of mine, his lips seeking my mouth. I submitted, surrendered to the kiss, ridiculously grateful for this morsel of affection.

But instead of breaking the kiss, he deepened it, sliding his tongue into my mouth, shocking me with the heat and need from him, and his hands came to tangle in my hair as his body pressed against me and I felt the iron length of him against my thigh.

My hands slid down his back to glide over his hips and he released my mouth, and my hair, to lift his head and look down into my face with radiant eyes and now, even in the darkness of the room, I saw his full smile and it was every bit as wonderful as I had expected.

‘Kovalia?’ Lindir whispered, and there was a tremor in his voice, a plea, and I welcomed him into my arms, and although we couldn’t understand a word each other said, our bodies understood a different language, and they spoke it very well indeed.