Chapter Four

Exhausted as she had been, Myrina could not sleep. Each time she dozed, the sound of his voice roused her back to consciousness. Nothing stopped it-not the pillow over her head, a recitation of all the verses she knew, thoughts of her mother-nothing. When tossing and turning and a co-mingling of fear and desire rising within forced her from bed, she went to stand at her window. Lifting her flushed cheeks to the night breeze, inhaling the scent of wild sage and pine drifting through the air, she realised the voice had become even stronger, the entreaty much harder to resist.

He called her beautiful, said he meant no harm. The loneliness and longing inherent in every word tugged at her heart and filled her with yearning.

Before she could even think on it, she was downstairs, putting on her cloak and shoes. With one last look to ensure her mother slept, she slipped out the door and ran.

Gottreb said he had searched the woods for the glade, but never found it again. Myrina, who knew only the area around her own house and the path to the village, found herself drawn in an almost straight line back to the hollow. Following his voice, the inexorable pull of her fantasy, was both exhilarating and terrifying. The moonshine turned everything to a study in silver and black, deepening the shadows while making even the smallest stone stand out.

On and on she ran, feeling him grow stronger, becoming breathless as mystic desire gave wings to her feet. Enchanted Enchanted, she thought. I have been ensorcelled. I have been ensorcelled. But the knowledge no longer had the ability to frighten. Too deep was she in the dream, in the magic. Fear and regret may have their day, but not now. The night belonged to her unknown, untouched, lover. But the knowledge no longer had the ability to frighten. Too deep was she in the dream, in the magic. Fear and regret may have their day, but not now. The night belonged to her unknown, untouched, lover.

Suddenly she was there and felt his joy. And something deeper, stronger even than the pa.s.sion reaching out to caress her in waves. Heart pounding, she stopped at the edge of the clearing, feeling the world fall away with the ease of a cloak discarded. It would be there when she returned-all the sorrow and worry waiting-but here was a barrier it could not cross. In her secret trysting place, it had no power.

"Tell me your name, beautiful one. Tell me what to cry aloud in my pa.s.sion."

The words twisted through her, leaving sparks and plumes of heat in their wake.

"Myrina," she whispered, moving away from the trees, toward the thicket on the other side of the glade. It seemed lighter, less tangled than it had earlier in the day, the stone in the middle of it more exposed.

"Myrina. A name worthy of such loveliness."

The sound of those deep, pa.s.sionate tones rolled into her blood, set her very bones singing. Curiosity and the ever-present desire drew her closer to his hiding place.

"Tell me yours."

"Ryllio."

"Ryllio," she repeated, tasting it on her tongue, with her heart, and finding it perfect. Hearing him murmur in approval, she said it again, but slower, letting her voice convey all the secrets she did not yet have the courage to confess. "Ryllio."

He sighed, a heartfelt sound. "I never thought to hear my name spoken again, or knew the sound of it would make me so happy." "I never thought to hear my name spoken again, or knew the sound of it would make me so happy."

Inexplicably, Myrina felt tears sting her eyes. "Where are you, Ryllio? Why can't I see you? Are you but a spirit?"

"Worse." His sorrow was like a living thing, moving in her mind. His sorrow was like a living thing, moving in her mind. "Come closer and see." "Come closer and see."

At the edge of the thicket, she stopped and in the moonlight could see what she had thought a rock was in actuality a statue. A beautiful marble representation of a man, kneeling, the lower part of his body hidden in the brambles, with the face she had seen in her fantasy earlier that day.

"How can this be?" she cried, reaching out instinctively, leaning into the thicket, trying to touch the harshly handsome lines of his face.

"Be careful, there are thorns."

Unable to span the distance between them, Myrina withdrew her hand, sorrow clogging her throat. In her mind he was alive, a creature of flesh and blood. To see him thus, cold and inert, was enough to break her heart.

"How did you come to this pa.s.s?"

For a long moment, Ryllio was silent, and Myrina thought he did not intend to answer. When he did, regret weighed heavy in his tone.

"I came upon the king and queen of the Fey while they indulged in love-play. I knew I should not watch, should leave them to their privacy, but I did not. Instead I stayed and spied upon them in their most intimate moments, and in their anger and disgust they condemned me to this fate."

"Oh, how cruel!" cried Myrina, aghast at so horrible a punishment for the crime committed.

But Ryllio's voice sounded only resigned. "Cruel, perhaps, but to them also just."

Myrina studied the marble face, seeing in it a hint of arrogance, a touch of stubbornness in the firm lines of jaw and mouth. "It was not right, what you did, but I cannot agree the punishment was just."

"It is done," was his only reply. was his only reply.

Pulling her cloak into place beneath her, Myrina sank onto the gra.s.s, tucking her legs under, not taking her gaze from his face. "How long have you been here?"

His sigh echoed through her mind like the cry of a mourning dove. "A very long time-from the days when Paltheius ruled." "A very long time-from the days when Paltheius ruled."

Try as she might, Myrina could not remember an emperor by that name, for history was never a favourite subject of hers at school, and this she confessed to Ryllio.

"No matter," he replied, he replied, "for it is all in the past. I am interested only in the now, here, with you. What benevolent trick of fate brought you to me?" "for it is all in the past. I am interested only in the now, here, with you. What benevolent trick of fate brought you to me?"

Heat rushed through Myrina's body at the question, and she knew, even in moonlight, her blushes would be noticeable. Squirming slightly, she looked down at her hands where they lay on her lap and considered how to answer. Ryllio, she thought, had been honest with her, and she wanted to be the same with him, so in a low, halting voice she relayed her conversation with Elawen, and her friend's advice. But she did not confess her thoughts on being ensorcelled and led to his grove for fear of hurting his feelings. Perhaps she had been enchanted at first, she reasoned, but the return to him now was her own doing.

For a long time Ryllio said nothing, and Myrina began to wonder if he thought less of her, but his next words were rea.s.suring.

"I can't help thinking your friend was only partly right."

"In what way?" Myrina asked in surprise.

"There are some things you can learn on your own, but others only a lover can teach."

"What kinds of things?"

Ryllio's voice grew low, caressing. "The touch of your own hands is unlike the touch of another. What you do to yourself cannot feel the same or give the same sensations as when a lover gives you pleasure." "The touch of your own hands is unlike the touch of another. What you do to yourself cannot feel the same or give the same sensations as when a lover gives you pleasure."

Myrina shivered, her skin p.r.i.c.kling to life, body growing warm and liquid inside. Words failed her, for she remembered the imagined ecstasy of his mouth on her quim, wondered if it could have been even better in reality.

"And," he continued in the same low, seductive tone, he continued in the same low, seductive tone, "each lover is different, is inspired to do different things, or the same loving actions in different ways. It is only in the moment you can know whether these new sensations are pleasurable or not. But Elawen also was right. There can be no harm in learning your body's desires for yourself." "each lover is different, is inspired to do different things, or the same loving actions in different ways. It is only in the moment you can know whether these new sensations are pleasurable or not. But Elawen also was right. There can be no harm in learning your body's desires for yourself."

Flushed with arousal, yet also embarra.s.sed, Myrina thought it best to leave, but could not bring herself to go. It was not just the desire holding her in place, but a bone-deep reluctance to abandon Ryllio now that she knew of his lonely existence. There could be no harm in staying for a while, in being with him during this moonlit night, in asking him some of the questions burning in her mind.

It took some courage, however, to finally reply, and her voice faltered from her throat. "Are lovers so different, one from the other, then?"

"Yes, and you will be different with each one too. What one man will do to you without hesitation, another would never consider doing. And what you enjoy with one man, you will find repulsive if another tried."

Considering his words, Myrina realised he must have had many lovers before his punishment began, and a spark of something akin to jealousy came to life deep in her belly. It made her voice stronger, with a bit of a snap, when she spoke. "What kinds of things would a lover such as yourself never do? Surely there cannot be many?"

But when he replied, his words doused the flame of her anger, even as they ignited a flash-fire of pa.s.sion.

"For you, with you, I would do everything, give you every liberty over my body, take whichever you would give in return. There is nothing I wouldn't try in my quest to give you pleasure, to satisfy you, to make your desire burn so hot it incinerates us both with the ecstasy of our joining."

There was no need to ask what he meant, for in her mind she saw them together, in flickers of images conjured by his imagination. He was bent to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, lips curved to receive her straining nipple-kissing her back, hands stroking her belly-kneeling between her legs, his hair dark against her thighs-curled around her from behind, the head of his c.o.c.k poised for entry into her hungering body. She was tied, naked, to a bed-then he was likewise held immobilized for her pleasure. He was behind, in front, between-in her quim, her mouth, her hand, her a.r.s.e. She was over, under, beside him, her hair unbound, trailing over his skin. Gentle here, masterful there-in control and ceding control-kissing, stroking, licking, sucking places Myrina never thought another would touch.

She pressed trembling palms to her cheeks, trying to rise, wanting to flee, but finding her legs too weak. The images were so real they left her gasping, burning-t.i.tillated and confused.

"I've shocked and frightened you." His voice was rueful, but filled with such harsh longing the desire rampaging through her body climbed even higher. His voice was rueful, but filled with such harsh longing the desire rampaging through her body climbed even higher. "I'm sorry. You are more innocent than I realised. Please-" "I'm sorry. You are more innocent than I realised. Please-" he added, as Myrina once more tried to rise, he added, as Myrina once more tried to rise, " "-don't go."

She subsided, quivering, drawing her cloak closer around her as though it could protect her from the unfamiliar swirl of emotion between them. His words and images were like an iron chain, binding and drawing her further into an unknown world she desperately longed to explore.

But there was also a sense of shame for being so ignorant. Jecil had been her only lover, coaxing until curiosity and the knowledge he would soon be leaving convinced her to accept his attentions. She had been tired of hearing Elawen's stories and not having any of her own to share. Tired too of not knowing what it felt like to be held, caressed, loved. Now she realised she was still almost as naive as before Jecil breached her maidenhead.

"You think me silly-like the old biddy Elawen accuses me of being."

"No, Myrina." Sincerity gave his words a gentle edge. Sincerity gave his words a gentle edge. "Your inexperience is not something to be scorned." "Your inexperience is not something to be scorned."

"How can you say that when I could hardly understand what you showed me?" Tears p.r.i.c.kled behind her eyes, and she hugged her knees beneath her cloak. "When I can hardly understand what I am feeling?"

"What do you feel?"

How could she describe the heated sensitivity of her body, the need washing through her in rough, tempestuous waves? How to explain to Ryllio just the sound of his voice, the vision of his fantasies, had ignited a pa.s.sionate conflagration within? In its light all other sensation dimmed, cast into insignificance.

Gently, as mist creeps over the warmth of a slow flowing river, he cast a picture into her mind. Holding her cheeks, he tipped her face up so the deep green eyes with their slumberous lids and amorous gleam looked deep into hers.

"So lovely," he murmured, fingers tracing the lines of her brows, the curve of her lips. he murmured, fingers tracing the lines of her brows, the curve of her lips. "So beautiful." "So beautiful."

The feathery sensations came from her own hands, but still Myrina allowed the love-dream to pull her deep, gladly sinking into the drowning pleasure, leaving reality behind. Ryllio's voice, tender and enthralling, guided her to discard constraint along with her cloak, inhibition with her shift.

Loosening her hair to toss the heavy ma.s.s behind her shoulders, Myrina combed fingers through it as she raised her face to the star-flung sky. The movement lifted her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-an offering made to love's primacy-and the puckered tips, kissed by moonlight and the warm night air, ached. At Ryllio's sighing moan, the last of vestiges of reserve fell away, and she felt reborn-a woman desired and desiring, confident of her allure.

Taking her time, Myrina stroked neck and b.r.e.a.s.t.s, belly and thighs-making contact with fluttering touches and sure, strong caresses. Ryllio's whispers entreated her to search out and delight in the softness and sensitivity of her skin, the supple firmness of the muscles beneath.

She felt like a wild thing, unfettered by rules and expectations, open only to the satisfaction of the moment. In the cradle of the night, Ryllio's voice enfolded her, sheltering and freeing all at once.

Bending her knees, Myrina let her hands drift toward her quim and then away, closer and closer each time, feeling need spiral up and up, threatening to sweep all before it. Holding it at bay a little longer intensified the sweet, torturous yearning. There was a desperate tone to Ryllio's voice, the words all but unintelligible, a jumble of sighs and pleas and praise. Surrendering, Myrina finally touched the outer lips, discovering the silken texture, softness and heat. Slowly, teasingly, she slipped her fingers deeper, into the most intimate core, creating a shudder of erotic pleasure. As she explored the torturous climb to bliss, the incipient release bowed her body back, back.

"Now, Myrina, now!"

The shock of his hoa.r.s.e command took her fingers, unerringly, to the point where all sensation centered, and the first circling rub made her cry aloud in relief. A blinding wave of ecstasy took her body beyond control, made it writhe and shake, hips jerking to wring every joy from the sublime moment.

Shattered, she stared up at the sky, entwined by the scent of wildflowers and pine, air rasping from her throat, the sound mingling with Ryllio's rough breathing. A puff of breeze rushed over her body, chilling against the overheated, sweat-dampened skin. Suddenly her nakedness no longer felt as natural as it had only moments before, and she gathered up her shift, tugging it over her head with shaking hands.

Reaching for her cloak, afire now with embarra.s.sment rather than pa.s.sion, Myrina wished only to run away. Fear clawed its way into her heart, for she was adrift, lost in world beyond her understanding.

With a whisper, Ryllio stilled her flight.

"Stay, Myrina. Stay, just a little longer."

Chapter Five

She was now quite sure she was enchanted.

Each day Myrina awoke and swore she would stray no more into the woods to visit the stone statue. Yet every night, as soon as she was sure her mother slept, Ryllio's call became irresistible, and she would run through the forest to him. Once there, all inhibitions fell away, and she sank into a desire-born dream which lasted almost until the rising of the sun.

If it were only physical abandon found in the hollow, perhaps she could have stayed away, but there Myrina discovered more than just the true meaning of desire.

Ryllio fascinated her in a way she had no way of defining. Wrapped in the warmth and tenderness of his voice, she would drowse in the afterglow of pa.s.sion as they shared thoughts and dreams and stories.

He spoke of his time in the woods, of the faeries who had sometimes come to the glade, but came no more. Told her of the king and queen of the Fey and Kestor, who loved nothing better than to spy upon the royal couple. When she asked about his life before, he was reticent, as though unwilling to share that part of his past, speaking only of his love for his parents, his sorrow at not being a better son. If she pressed him, asked questions of that life, Ryllio used the strange connection between them to divert her.

And she was pitifully easy to distract. Entering her mind with increasing ease, he guided her to heights of ecstasy, filling her imagination with hitherto unimaginable pa.s.sion. Yet each successive encounter left Myrina a little less fulfilled, a little more dissatisfied. And her need to know more and more about him grew.

Wearily making her way home in the cold of the pre-dawn damp, sore and exhausted, she would once more swear not to return, even then knowing she was playing herself false.

The weather turned autumn bl.u.s.tery, grey and damp, suiting Myrina's mood implicitly. The clouds seemed almost to brush the tops of the trees, and the leaves, now gold and red and brown, blew from the branches to spin and caper across the ground. Soon, when the weather got colder, she would be unable to reach Ryllio, and the knowledge twisted into her heart like a blade.

There were other pressing concerns. As the days pa.s.sed Myrina realised her mother's mind was beginning to wander. Oft-times her wit was as sharp as ever, then suddenly, between one moment and the next, she would ask the whereabouts of her husband, or call for others also long gone.

It was now only a matter of time, Myrina realised, before the end would be upon them, and she treasured each moment they had together. Yet still she thought of Ryllio, worried for him, longed for him, even as she berated herself for a fool. There could be no future with a marble statue, no matter how he made her feel. No matter that she now knew no living man could match him in her heart.

"What ails you, daughter?"

Myrina turned from the window to look at her mother and forced a smile. "Nothing at all, Mama. Why do you ask?"

A gentle smile tugged at her mother's lips as the older woman shook her head. "I know you worry about me-I can see it in your eyes when you think I am not looking-but there is something else too." Holding out her hand, she beckoned her daughter close. "We may not have much more time together here. Won't you tell me what it is that plagues you so?"

How Myrina's heart was wrung with renewed agony to hear her mother say out loud what she most feared to be true, and she could not stop tears from filling her eyes.

With a little sob, she rushed to kneel and rest her head on the frail lap, just as she had when some childish injury had caused her hurt and she sought succour.

And as her mother's hand caressed her hair, Myrina wished with all her heart she could share her woe, but of course she could not. The desire she felt for Ryllio, her enchantment with a man turned to stone, was not something she would ever think to speak of. To the woman who gave her life least of all.

As though understanding her reticence, her mother simply held her and crooned timeless words of comfort.

Indeed, the story was not one she could share with anyone, not even Elawen who, knowing something was wrong, tried to press Myrina into confiding. Letting her friend believe it was worry for her mother was the easiest way out of the tangle without lying.

As though all that were not enough, one afternoon, walking down to the village to deliver some squash from her garden to Mistress Hennesey, Goodwife Harbottle's sister, Myrina was surprised to see a familiar figure striding jauntily toward her.

"Jecil!"

Delighted to see him, she laughed as he picked her up and swung her around, planting a loud kiss on her cheek as he did. But when he tried to kiss her lips, she turned her head away. Jecil only laughed as he set her down and tugged at his military jacket, setting it back to rights.