Jack Whyte - Uther

Left alone, Ygraine crossed her arms on her breast and looked about her. There was no place to sit down, but the air was cooler here outside the tent, for the site was pleasantly sheltered by the thick leaves of the surrounding trees, and so she lingered, looking up to the western sky. A heavy thundercloud had rolled in and now towered upwards for miles, flickering with lightning, an ominous tower of dark blue, black and purple, shot with malevolent highlights of yellowish brown. She stared up at it for a long time, trying to discern the direction of its drift, wondering if it would blow by or sweep closer to them and unleash its burden on their heads. She was still standing there with her head raised and her eyes closed, breathing deeply and slowly, when Uther arrived. She heard his approaching footsteps and opened her eyes just in time to experience one of those moments that are remembered forever by those who witness them. He was less than four paces from her by then, his surprised pleasure evident in his eyes, and seeing her look at him, he began to raise his hand to greet her or to question her, but then the world turned white in a blinding flash that seemed to explode directly between them with a solid, yet somehow silent concussion, like the mute crack of a mighty whip. They both felt the force of the explosion physically, and it left them stunned and badly frightened, their nostrils filled with a strange, almost salty smell, as though the very air had been singed. And then, before either of them could even begin to recover, a solid deluge of ice-cold rain hit them, soaking them instantly and depriving them of what little breath had been left to them.

Uther was the first to recover. He stepped towards her, scooped her up into his arms as though she were weightless and carried her into his tent in three long strides. He lowered her feet to the ground as soon as they were safely inside the tent and made to step back, but Ygraine clung to him, whimpering in her throat and quivering with what he took to be terror. In fact, she was shaking with an instantaneous resurgence of the same raging lust that had assailed her earlier, and it had consumed her so thoroughly that she shuddered with the strength of it.

Uther held her awkwardly in his arms, peering over her head into the dimness of the tent, highly aware of the soft pliancy of her body beneath the thin stuff of her gown and of the way her thighs pressed against his own, and debating foolishly with himself on what he ought to do. His eyes had still not recovered from the blinding white flash of the thunderbolt that had struck so close to them, and what remained of his hearing was overwhelmed by the drumming roar of the heavy rain on the leather roof panels above their heads. Ygraine moved again, almost writhing against him, and he distinctly felt the changing shape of the soft flesh of her thighs. He coughed, clearing his throat with embarrassment, and tried a second time to push himself away from her, but she clung more tightly to him than before, and he stopped, wishing that he had had the foresight to wear his armour, or at least a leather cuirass and studded loin guard that would have stopped the shape and softness of the woman from impressing itself against his body. For the first time since capturing her, he had become acutely conscious of her femaleness, and he raised one arm, cupping the back of her head in his open palm and holding her face gently against his shoulder. As he did so, however, she pulled her head back and looked up at him, her eyes enormous and her mouth open as though to speak. He dipped his head towards her and waited to hear what she would say, but she said nothing and simply continued to stare at him with those huge eyes. And as he gazed back at her, he felt her lean back further against his encircling arm, the movement, deliberate and unmistakable, pushing the lower half of her body against him, enflaming and engorging him, and he knew he had to get away from her. He reached up with his free hand to disengage her arms from about his neck, but as he did so, she rose upon the tips of her toes and grasped his head in both hands, pulling him down to where she could kiss him, her mouth closing over his and her tongue thrusting against his lips.

His surprise was a fleeting thing, real and startling and huge, but vanquished instantly by the urgency and reality of what was happening. He was lost within heartbeats, all his resolve and all his fine, noble intentions swept into nothingness by the unexpectedness of what had occurred and by the moist, living heat of her lips and mouth. Ygraine, for her part, had passed beyond any possibility of self-restraint the moment Uther had swept her up into his arms out in the rain, and in the searing, starving beauty of that first kiss she had, for a single evanescent moment, consciously sneered at herself for ever having thought that she could live without what she was feeling. Giving herself up completely to the storm inside her, she wrapped both arms around his neck and let herself go limp, her dead weight pulling him forward and off balance. On the point of falling, however, Uther rallied himself and looked around the tent, and then he half pulled, half carried her to the sturdy table that held the wash basin and ewer. He swept the tabletop clear and leaned her back against the edge of it, his hands on her waist and his mouth seeking hers again, and within moments her clothing seemed to have dissolved and her legs closed around his waist as he took her to him.

Their coupling was short and furious, to the accompaniment of drumming rain and heralded at the climax by a continuous chorus of thunderclaps, and when he had finished he remained standing in front of her, quivering all over, his body bent forward from the waist, his forehead between her breasts, while she lay back beneath him. her head dangling from the end of the table as she stroked the damp hair at the back of his neck and kneaded his hips gently and rhythmically between her knees.

Finally he sighed and braced himself up on one arm, reaching out with the other hand to cradle the back of her head.

"Lady," he said, his breathing still uneven, "I did not know that was going to happen."

"I know you didn't. I didn't either, until today."

He cocked his head on one side. "Today? When?"

"Earlier, when you gripped my arm."

"When I . . . I don't remember gripping your arm. Oh, yes, I do now. What was so special about that?"

She smiled at him. "It was . . . significant, and I'll say no more. Ah—!" The last sound was a tiny bleat of complaint at the unheralded withdrawal of his flaccid phallus. He grunted and moved his pelvis closer as though to reinsert himself despite the immediate impossibility of doing so, and she stirred against him.

"More," she murmured. "I want more of that."

He nodded, pretending to be serious. "That should be possible in a little while."

"And then I'll want more again after that."

He smiled and shook his head. "But I have things to do, lady, concerning your own plans. You charged me with certain duties, and I've not had time to do them yet. I still have not spoken to Popilius Cirro . . ." He paused, reflecting. "Still, I could talk to him tonight in the refectory when we go to eat. . ."

"No." She heaved her body lasciviously beneath him. "Go now, talk quickly and briefly, do whatever else you must do, and then come back here to me."

He cocked his head again, grinning down at her. "I thought you wanted to be alone tonight?"

"I did and I still do, you blind man. I want to be alone with you."

"Do you, indeed? That is wonderful. It's almost incredible, in truth, but I'm delighted to hear you say it. Now one more kiss, and I'll go and put old Cirro's mind to rest. After that, there's nothing else for me to do other than to tell Nemo that I mustn't be disturbed, and as soon as I've done that, I'll be back here."