Jack Whyte - Uther

"Are you . . . ?" She stopped herself, aware that the question would seem either foolish or patronizing. The boy simply stared, and she paused for the length of three heartbeats before continuing. "I startled you, forgive me. It was inconsiderate of me to approach so close without giving some kind of warning . . ."

"You knew I was here?" His voice, this close, was conversational and deeper, huskier than she had expected from the few shouts she had heard from a distance.

"No, of course not. How could I know that?"

His frown pressed a tiny crease between his brows. "Then why would you think to give warning of your coming?"

Mairidh smiled. "You are right, that was silly of me. I will leave you. Forgive me."

"Wait!"

She had drawn a deep breath and turned to go, moving slowly and giving him time to note the depth and shape of her bosom. Now she paused, half-turned and looked back over her shoulder towards him.

"Yes? What is it?"

He glanced about him frantically, looking for she knew not what, and then he looked at her again, perplexed. "Are you alone, Lady?"

"I am."

"But—" He stopped short, and she waited for three more beats before responding.

"But? It seemed to me you had much more to say than that when you began to speak." She smiled to take any edge of criticism from her words.

"You . . . you should not be alone out here. It is dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Still smiling, she looked about her. "How so, dangerous? I sense no danger here, and my senses are acute."

There was a log lying close by, its upper surface smoothed by years of long use by the boys who came to this spot to swim. Mairidh moved casually to it and sat down, gathering her skirts about her, and from that moment on, inexplicably, the tension departed, and the two of them began to converse easily. The boy began an attempt to explain the dangers that could lie in wait for an attractive woman travelling the woods with no one nearby to protect her, but since he himself was utterly innocent, he had no real idea of what those dangers might be, and he was soon floundering. Seeing his dilemma, Mairidh immediately and gently put him at his ease, provoking his embarrassment by appointing him her extempore guardian.

Thereafter, matters progressed smoothly, from Mairidh's viewpoint. She enjoyed his uncomplicated, admiring reaction to the sight of her every time she moved and took even greater pleasure from his blushes whenever she smiled at him or teased him gently. She had decided that she would have this boy, convinced that he was virginal. That conviction excited her almost unbearably, and now, knowing that she had his complete attention, she set about her seduction of the lad with great care, feeling the excitement flare and flicker in her in a way she had not known in years. She flirted with him blatantly there on the riverbank, taunting him gently and subtly, knowing intuitively that his modesty would not permit him to come out of the water, naked as he was. Drawn like a moth to a flame, however, and emboldened by her warmth despite his evident nervousness, the boy finally waded closer to where she sat, moving on his knees when he found it necessary to protect his modesty, and seated himself precariously on a stone in the river bottom where the silt-laden water was deep enough to cover his nakedness. He sat staring at her, his eyes fixed on her face, his arms floating on the surface of the water, which came up almost to his chin.

She told him much of the truth about who she was and why she was there. She had come to the region accompanying her husband, who was elderly—she had made that sound like ancient—and had weighty affairs to conduct in this part of the country. Those affairs, involving much talk and protracted dealings with local dignitaries and leaders, left his young wife with much free time by herself. She could have accompanied him in all things that he did, but she admitted that she found the endless talking and discussions of his errands wearisome and boring. And so she spent much time alone and in need of pleasant and amusing company.

By the time Mairidh rose to leave that afternoon, she knew that the boy's name was Merlyn—he pronounced it the old way, Myrrdin, in his lilting, lisping Cambrian tongue—and she knew he would be there the following day. For the entire length of that first afternoon she had exulted in the unguarded, wide-eyed way he looked at her; she had revelled in the awe with which he watched her every move and expression. And she had smiled at him often with her wide mouth and mobile lips, loving the knowledge that he was utterly unaware of his own beauty.

She rode out the following day in a light cart pulled by a single horse and found him awaiting her alone by the swimming hole, his face radiant with longing as he reached out his hand to help her down. His obvious delight and undisguised excitement at her arrival made it clear that he had not really expected her to come, and she had to breathe deeply at first to maintain her own composure. Her heart beat even faster as he gripped her hand tightly and then released it with great and evident reluctance. She looked about her then, pretending surprise that he had brought no friends with him, and he flushed with embarrassment, too unsure of himself to be confident that she had come to see him alone.

Sometime later she pointed upward to the place from where she had first seen him and asked him what was up there. When he told her it was no more than a flat, grassy spot high above the river, she asked if it was accessible, and then suggested that they climb up there to eat the food she had brought with her in the cart. He was quite startled to discover that she might actually want to make the effort to climb all the way up there, but when she insisted, he was happy to assist her in making the climb, holding her hand tightly every step of the way and bracing her manfully whenever she had to lean on him for support. Only once did she slip on the way up to the heights, and it was close to the top. She went ahead of him on the last stretch, lost her balance, teetered precariously and then began to fall, twisting towards him and throwing her arms about him, clutching the back of his head in apparent terror as she pressed her face into the sweet-scented softness of his neck.

Once she had assured herself that she was safe again, she showered him with gratitude for his rescue, flattering him outrageously and squeezing his arm, pulling him close to her as they made their way up onto the thick, mossy carpet that covered the flat ground at the top of the cliff. And there, three full hours later, on the lush green grass overlooking the river far below, she took him to herself after a long drawn-out seduction, savouring the delicious first fruits of his young manhood, glorying in her power to shape him, all unknowing, to her desires, rendering him speechless and awkward, and thrilling to the hard, clean strength of him and the growing confidence with which he rose over her eventually, once the first gushing outpourings of his initial fear and tension had abated.

And then, in the midst of their idyll, while they were lost in the exploration of each other, the brutal savagery of the attack had come—the succession of kicks and heavy blows raining on the boy from every direction and his helpless efforts to avoid them and protect himself; the bestial panting and the mindless, grunting, gleeful violence of their two assailants; and the sickening sight of the boy being whirled around by one of them, free of the ground, and then hurled off the clifftop down into the river far below . . .

Now, in her safe haven, as she watched the boy preparing their food, she flinched, recalling the horrible scene. The boy noticed the sudden movement and looked over. He stiffened, and a small frown appeared between his brows.