Chapter 10 | The Tale of Two Kingdoms

The next morning was awkward. Warin made a breakfast of fried salt pork and ash cakes, and the two of them sat by the fire in the early autumn chill and ate until he broke the silence.

"Do you still wish to stay?" he said tentatively. "I promise that last night won't happen again."

Emmae looked up at him with startled eyes. "Did I displease you?"

"What?! No! No." Warin laughed softly to himself. "Oh, no. I haven't had a night like that since--I don't think I've ever had a night like that. " He crouched in front of her and took her hands in his. "Listen to me. I would be lying if I said I didn't want you. The Lover knows, you're just..." He trailed off. "But I never want you to feel as if that's how you're paying your way. I want you in my bed because you choose to be. Last night, you were unsure. The next time we share a bed, it will be because you truly want to."

She nodded, wary, relieved and, if Warin could have seen into her heart, a little disappointed.

"Then," he said, "we'll begin teaching you what you need to know to live."

They soon discovered in the ensuing days that she didn't even know how to use a broom; she lifted the dust off the floor and into the air with her overly-determined sweeping until they both were coughing. She stamped her foot in frustration and threatened to burst into tears, but Warin spoke to her gently and showed her the right way. "I'll even make you your own broom, this one's a little tall for you." Emmae was no better at cooking, though Warin saw she worked harder to control her temper, taking it out on whatever unfortunate vegetable she was chopping.

But she turned out to be a clever seamstress already; mending clothes, they discovered she could sew beautifully. Warin went to the back of his cupboard and pulled out two bolts of fabric, one plain linen for underthings, shirts and aprons, and one of gray wool for skirts and bodices. Soon she had a full set of clothes and no longer sat by the hearth in the old smock, wrapped in a blanket.

Not a night went by that Warin didn't dream of Emmae's body under his. As for Emmae, she sensed his desire so acutely there were times she could swear his hands were on her, and she was hard-pressed not to surrender. But he kept his word, and she kept her distance. Warin didn't so much as touch Emmae after that first night until many days later, as he taught her to cook a proper porridge.

"But why do you have to stir it the whole time?" Emmae was complaining. She crouched over the pot hanging on the hearth crane, churning the contents half-heartedly. "My arm's getting sore and my face is hot."

"First rule of porridge: Stir it like mad for the first cooking, or it will be lumpy and it'll burn on the bottom," Warin replied over his shoulder. He went back to cutting out the leather for a pair of boots for her, only to drop it at a sharp cry from Emmae.

"What happened?" he said, running to her side. She backed away from the fire, gingerly holding her left arm.

"I-I burned myself on the crane."

"Let me see it," he coaxed. "You have to let me tend to it."

"I'm fine," she said nervously. But tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes, and the hand that cradled her arm shook.

"Emmae," he said more firmly. "Give me your arm. Please." Reluctantly, she let him take her hand. He led her quickly down to the stream near the cottage and put her arm in the cold running water until she fairly shivered from it, then took her back inside and sat her down on her stool. He rummaged on a shelf for the honey pot and his basket of bandages.

"Here," he said, putting the pot in her good hand, "hold this." He spread a thick layer of honey over the burn and then carefully wrapped it in well-worn but clean linen.

Emmae began to cry.

"Does it hurt badly?"

"Why are you so kind to me?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked in confusion.

She cried harder. "What kind of woman must I be? You found me naked, asleep in a forest!"

"Oh, Emmae." He fastened off the bandage and thought for a minute. "Not knowing your past--take it as a gift. Whatever you were, it doesn't matter. You can be whatever you want to be now. This is a place where you can start over, and choose for yourself. That's why I came here."

Her crying quieted, and she dried her eyes on her apron with her right hand. "Why did you come here?"

He stood up quickly, put the honey pot back on the shelf, then turned to the hearth and took the lid off the porridge. "The porridge is ready--and look, it didn't even scorch. Well done!" Emmae took the bowl he served up to her, and watched him thoughtfully as they ate. His soft brown eyes were troubled, but from the set of his mouth she decided it would be better not to ask why.

One morning, Warin returned from his traplines and led Emmae to a freshly killed brace of rabbits, hanging by their hind legs from a tree.

"Do I really need to learn how to do this?" she grimaced.

"Yes, if you want to eat dinner," Warin answered. He began to dress one of the little animals, explaining anatomy as he went. "Here. The liver. If you ever see spots, throw the whole carcass away. The animal was sick." He worked silently for a moment. "Hm."

"Hm, what?" she asked. "Spots?"

"No," he said, his eyes focused inward and on the movements of his knife at the same time. "Sometimes when I do this I think about when I was a soldier."

"You were a soldier?"

"Many years ago, when I was young and--when I was still with my family. See here? This is the most vulnerable point of the heart. If this little beastie were a man, and we were fighting, I'd have aimed right here. Instant kill. Or, if he'd had me on the ground, this line right here." He drew along the inside of the rabbit's thigh. "A quick, merciful death." He finished eviscerating the rabbit. "I hated being a soldier."

"Is that why you came to the woods?"

"No." He wiped his knife on the dead grass and rolled up the pelt for tanning, carefully avoiding her eyes. "This will make you a nice pair of mittens. Do a good job on the next one, and you'll have trim for a hood. Now," he said, handing her the knife hilt-first "Your turn." Emmae swallowed bravely and set about skinning and dressing the second rabbit.

That night they ate rabbit stew for dinner and sat by the fire afterwards. Warin was idly carving a little rabbit in the handle of the new broom he was making for her; he looked at her over the tip of his knife as she mended a stocking, concentrating so hard the pink tip of her tongue peeked out the side of her mouth. She had come a long way in a short time, he thought. Soon he would have to start searching in earnest for a way to lift her enchantment. He knew he must, and yet--Emmae's tongue slipped back into her mouth and a satisfied smile lit up her face as she finished a tricky spot in her darning. His heart swelled.

He pondered enchantment and this feeling come over him, and a shadow crossed his face. "Emmae," he said, "I must tell you one thing. It's very important." She looked up from her darning. "Never bring a mirror into this house. I cannot abide the sight of a reflection. I mean it, Emmae," he said at her questioning smile. "Never a mirror. I forbid it."

"I have no money, and you never take me out of the woods, so where am I to find a mirror?" she laughed. "But I promise," she added when he frowned at her, "if ever I can bring a mirror into this house, I shan't." She looked thoughtfully at the stocking in her hands, turning the darning egg this way and that. "But I must ask, why do reflections disturb you so? You're not at all hard to look at."

And indeed, Warin was handsome--tall, lean and strong, older than she was but not greatly so, his gentle brown eyes set in an angular face. He kept his long wavy hair in a braid and his beard neatly trimmed, and both were so dark they were nearly black. His skin was brown from the sun, though paling again with the shortening of the days. She had decided that his mouth was his best feature, its generosity contrasting perfectly with the planes of his cheeks.

"It has nothing to do with my reflection, and you'll not ask me again, Emmae," he said sharply. At his tone, Emmae nodded, disturbed, and returned to her mending. "I'm sorry," Warin said more gently, and he took the stocking from her hands. "All this forbidding. I don't mean to frighten you. Just know that I have very good reasons. Let's be off to bed."

"Bed" for the last few weeks had meant Emmae in the bed, and Warin still on a pallet near the hearth. He insisted he was used to sleeping on the ground, and Emmae tried not to feel guilty about it.

More to the point, she wondered if he'd go to sleep sooner were she to give him the bed. As it was, she could feel him lying awake across the room every night, wanting her. It often made sleep impossible for her unless he went to sleep first, and sometimes in the night she woke from an erotic dream of him to realize he was dreaming himself. Her awareness of his desire confused and frustrated her. Why did she feel it so acutely?

Some nights the desire was so sharp that it had taken everything she'd had not to call him into the bed. But she had resisted. She was still haunted by that first night, though her body still remembered and reminded her emphatically how good each kiss, each touch, each thrust had felt.

As the days passed, her own urges had come more and more. A strand of his thick, dark hair would fall across his face, and she had to stop herself from tucking it behind his ear. She would watch his strong hands as he went about his work, and she would shiver, remembering his touch just as sure on her body. She would wonder how those hands would feel around her waist, lifting her skirts, holding her down on the bed--how those long, work-hardened fingers would feel against the soft skin of her breasts, or the inside of her thighs.

It was getting harder and harder to keep herself from him, and though he didn't share her enchantment, he was a man, and he could sense it.

This night, Warin was particularly restless. Emmae sighed quietly and decided to at least pretend that she was asleep. Perhaps if he thought she was asleep he might drop off himself and end her torment early. She listened to the rustling of his bedclothes, all the while keeping herself still and her breathing even.

"Emmae?" Warin said softly. She didn't reply. He let out a barely audible groan. Carefully, she opened one eye and saw him silhouetted against the glow of the coals. She could just make out his hand, stroking down the length of his cock. "Oh, Emmae," he whispered. She felt the inward pull again, growing along with his hardness. He was indeed a fine-looking man, she reflected, and he had been nothing but kind to her, kind and patient. And here he was, sighing her name as he touched himself.

Emmae opened both of her eyes and watched as Warin pushed up into his hand, the banded muscles of his narrow hips clenching and releasing with each thrust. So beautiful. Oh, she wanted him.

She slowly sat up, not wanting to startle him. She wanted to keep watching him, to learn how he pleased himself. Warin's moves were slow and tension-filled. His head was lolling back, eyes tightly shut, but as his pleasure built, he raised his head and opened his eyes--and looked straight into hers. He let out a sharp breath. "Gods, I--"

"Don't stop," she said softly. Warin looked at her, stunned and a little slackmouthed. "Go on," she urged. He began moving his hand again under her gaze. "You're thinking of me, aren't you."

"Yes. I never stop thinking of you."

"I know." She stood up, stripped off her chemise and sat back down on the bed, naked, and he groaned again at the sight of her. "Come to bed."

"Emmae, if you don't want this--"

"I want it. Come here." He stood, then doffed his shirt.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked, taking her in his arms as he sat on the bed.

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea," she replied softly. She let the desire overcome her fully, and she leaned into him, nuzzling his neck. His long dark hair was loose, and he smelled of moss, clean dirt and leather. She let her tongue taste his skin.

Warin ran his hands in feather strokes down her back. Emmae felt each finger trace its separate path. Any one of them would have left her a bit faint, but all of them together sent her into a near-trance. She kept up her slow kisses along his neck and shoulder, absorbed in his taste and smell, until his hands finished their descent and finally cupped her ass. She let out a little cry into his shoulder, and her kisses turned to bites. He gripped her harder, encouraging her with his hands and breath.

Finally he pushed her onto her back, lying beside her. "It's been so hard not to touch you!" he whispered into her hair.

"Then do it! Please--please!"

She took his hand and put it on her breast. He kissed her urgently, his tongue seeking out every corner of her mouth while he kneaded and pulled at her breast. She kissed the top of his head as he moved to her nipples, taking them one by one into his mouth. Emmae had never felt such a wash of pure pleasure before as he suckled at her; each tug sent ripples through her that pooled between her legs until she writhed.

Keeping a nipple in his mouth, Warin brought a hand down to her mound, smoothing the silky curls and running his fingers along her inner thigh until she spread her legs wide for him. He slipped a pair of fingers inside and found her swollen, hungry and exceedingly wet. Emmae cried out at the feel of them against her inner lips, and then louder as they slid inside her and curved up, gently thrusting. She began to move her hips in rhythm with him.

Warin sat up. They both focused on his fingers as they moved slowly in and out of her. He shifted himself closer to her opening, as if he wanted a better look, and then, to Emmae's shock, he licked her. He never stopped his fingers, in and out, but now he was running his tongue over and over her thickened lips, moving in circles closer to her center until finally he flicked the tip of his tongue over her clitoris.

Emmae arched her hips up, and let out such a cry he was afraid at first that he'd hurt her, only to feel her contracting around his fingers. He smiled and flicked his tongue again, and again. She took great gasping breaths, grasping at his hair, until finally she called out incoherently and bucked against him. He lessened his movements inside her, finally pulling his fingers out, and licked softly all around her labia.

Warin moved up her body as she shook beneath him. He kissed her over and over, and she could smell and taste herself on his mouth. His heavy hair fell around them, curtaining off the world outside the bed. There was nothing but his mouth and his hands and the head of his cock slowly entering her.

Emmae spread herself as widely as she could, and he sank all the way into her. Braced on his elbows, he watched her face as he began to move, deliberately at first. But her mouth opened with each thrust, and her eyes lost their focus. Her dreamy expression, the flush on her cheeks--she was the very picture of voluptuousness and his control began to waver.

"Emmae," he muttered, "look at me. See what you do to me." Her eyes came back in focus and she took in his face. His eyes were gleaming in the low light from the hearth, and his face was open and vulnerable. She felt him begin to move in earnest now, his cock swelling inside her. He hooked an arm under her knee and pulled her leg up as far as he could. She cried out as the ripples began again, gathering into her center, focusing on him pounding into her. Her arms and legs drew up, up, all on their own.

"You do this to me, you make me--" Warin gave one last great thrust. She felt it deep in her womb, and she contracted around him, watching his face dissolve as he came in shuddering spurts inside her. The ripples reached their peak and exploded outward again, her climax forcing her head back in a long sighing scream.

When she regained her senses, he was still inside her, hard but finally softening, and he was covering her face in kisses. "Thank you," she whispered.

He laughed, softly at first and then joyfully before pressing her in his arms. "You thank me? My sweet girl! Oh, my sweet girl." They quickly fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.