The Dragon’s Daughter and the Winter Mage by Jeffe Kennedy

~ 14 ~

That got his attention. “What?”

“Your brother, Wilhelm. Wim.”

“I know who my brother is,” he snapped, irritation rising at the image of his Briar Rose swooning in Wim’s bandy arms. Though he’d likely filled out since Isyn last saw the brat. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?” Now. While I’m incapacitated, lying like a helpless turtle on my back and wishing for this humiliation to end.

“I was going to have sex with him,” she confided thoughtfully.

He groaned and let go of her hand, slapping his over his eyes as if that would help him unsee that image. “Please don’t tell me anything else about this,” he begged her.

“I think it’s important for you to know.” She tugged his hand from his eyes, waiting until he opened them. “I was going to have sex with him, and he was kissing me, but my head wasn’t in it. I kept trying to enjoy it, but—and I know this is terrible to say—I was sort of bored. And I think he sensed that because he started kissing my neck and then my breasts and—”

Isyn’s pained groan came out like a snarl, and Gendra gave him a curious glance but didn’t relent. “I was making an effort to go with it and all, figuring I’d catch up and start feeling the passion I was supposed to at some point. And then this painting across the room attracted my eye. A misty island shoreline and ocean, a forest filled with animal shapes.”

“I painted that.” The words burst out of him with the shock of recognition. He’d left that painting, and so much else, far behind in the dim past, and it was disorienting to think of her looking at it only days ago.

“Ah.” The sound came out like a dreamy sigh, and her soft gaze fastened on him admiringly. “I wondered if you had. I loved that painting, Isyn.”

“I can’t believe Wim put it in his rooms,” he admitted, faintly pleased. Wim had never seemed to care much about his art.

“Um, I think we were in your rooms.”

The pleasure swiftly drained into rising irritation. “Do tell.”

“Well, I know we were. Your former rooms,” she corrected. “Wim said that he and Marjie wagered for who would get them, he won, and he hadn’t redecorated because it annoyed her so much.”

Despite himself, he laughed. He had no reason to disbelieve her, but that sounded exactly like the terrible twins. And to be fair, he’d left Erie with only vague ideas of returning. Castle Marcellum wasn’t so big that they could simply let the rooms sit empty.

Gendra smiled widely. “A real laugh. That’s lovely to hear from you.”

“Can I get up now?”

Her fingers dug into him lightly, almost like the pinprick of claws from an affectionate feline holding your hand in place for additional petting. “Would you indulge me and listen to my story?”

“Do I have to be on my back on the floor?”

“No,” she conceded. “Not if it hurts you. I know you don’t want me to ask about that.”

“I’m not in pain,” he said. Then, as she raised a dubious brow, he added, “no more than I would be sitting up.”

“If you don’t mind, it’s easier for me to talk about it this way. You’re less intimidating.”

Moved, he put his hand over hers again. “I thought I didn’t scare you.”

“I may have overstated.” She blushed lightly. “But this isn’t easy for me to say, and I don’t want to chicken out.”

He squeezed her hand, feeling that surely she’d have to sense all the love for her pounding through the heart under her hand. “Tell me.”

“Well, and now it occurs to me that there’s not much more to tell. Wim was kissing my breasts, and I was looking at the painting—and I realized that looking at the painting was much more exciting than his kissing me.”

“My poor brother,” Isyn murmured. How the lovely Gendra’s disinterest must have stung.

“He was a gentleman about it,” she assured him. “I taught him to play kiauo instead.”

“On my set, no doubt.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to be.” It amused him, in truth, to imagine Wim, deprived of bedding Gendra and forced to play kiauo instead, a game he’d always loathed. “But you play kiauo?”

“Passably, but that’s not the point of my story.” She looked shy, not quite meeting his gaze but turning her hand to hold his. “Isyn, I think just looking at your painting touched me in a way that all of Wim’s caresses simply couldn’t. And when you kissed me just now, it was… everything. I wasn’t bored in the slightest. In fact, I couldn’t seem to assemble any thoughts at all. I was barely aware that you’d picked me up until we fell.”

Ah, yes. Isyn the great romantic. Seducer of innocents. Slayer of throw rugs. “I obviously wasn’t thinking either.”

“Were you…” She studied their joined hands as if they held the answer to a critical question. She took a breath and blew it out. “I am not good at this.”

“That’s all right, I—”

“Were you going to carry me to the bed and make love to me?” she interrupted in a rush, then blushed furiously, wrenched her hand from his, and clapped both of hers over her face. “Oh, please be kind with your answer.”

Utterly charmed by her artless honesty and laid bare himself by her bald question, he internally kicked himself. He also levered himself to a sitting position while the opportunity lasted to reclaim some small morsel of his dignity.

“I, ah, did have an impulse that direction,” he confessed, unable to see her face, or much of her at all, cloaked as she was in her long veil of shining chestnut hair. He reached out to stroke a soothing hand over it, but the visceral memory of how touching her affected him had him rethinking the wisdom of that. “As you noted, I was carried away in the impulse of the moment. I’ve been…” He let out a long sorrow-filled breath, studying his hands. When had they become so gnarled? They’d become his grandfather’s hands. “Too much away from civilization. I behaved like an unmannered beast, and I’m truly sorry.”

Somewhere in that mess of words, he’d said the right thing, because she lifted her head to gaze at him, not tearfully as he’d expected, but eyes sharp and discerning. “Why are you sorry?”

“For offending you.”

“But I’m not offended. I am not sorry you kissed me or that you wanted to make love to me. I’d have initiated those things myself, except I don’t have much experience that way.”

Wonderful. She truly was an innocent. The virgin awaiting true love’s kiss. “Briar Rose,” he said helplessly, giving in and stroking a hand down her cascading hair, a caress she leaned into, her lovely eyes wide and hopeful. “You can’t mean that.”

Those lovely eyes narrowed with annoyance and wary suspicion. “I think I know my own mind, Isyn.”

He held up his hands in a gesture of peacemaking. If he could stand, he would—but his staff was too far to reach, and he didn’t see himself asking for her help at the moment. “I am far too old for you. We both know that.”

Her lips parted in surprise. In this light, the deep blue of her eyes took on that violet glimmer. With a sudden and fierce desire, he realized he wanted to paint her. An exhilarating impulse he hadn’t experienced in decades—quickly followed by the crushing reality that he had no supplies. He couldn’t even sketch her effectively. Or could he?

“But I don’t know that,” she said, momentarily confusing him.

“I am an old man,” he argued, feeling foolish at having to point out an obvious and uncomfortable truth.

“Oh, you are not.” She actually rolled her eyes at him.

“Look at me.” He held out his hands. “I’m gnarled, bent, and aching. I can’t even walk on my own.”

She took his hands, holding them firmly in her sweetly soft grip. “Weathered. You work outdoors, ice fishing in harsh conditions, people get weather-beaten. And you’re injured. Weren’t you swinging a sword just weeks ago?”

“Months,” he corrected. “This bone is taking forever to heal.”

“Not surprising, as it’s the biggest bone in the body,” she informed him crisply. “And I’m going to help you with the bent-up and aching part. Stop being so stubborn. I wonder if the extra bath water is even still hot?”

Uncoiling to a crouch with elastic grace, she held out her arms as if to embrace him. “Let me help you up.”

He eyed her slender form dubiously. “I could crush you.”

“Not likely.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Shapeshifters are unusually strong, too. Quit stalling. On your feet, soldier.”

“You’re bossy all of a sudden,” he griped as she easily levered him upright.

“Another of my personality flaws,” she agreed cheerfully. She fit so neatly against him, as she helped him hobble the short distance to the tub, as if she’d been made for him. Maybe she had been, before his fate took a nosedive into this arctic prison of a life. “Did I mention my father used to be in command of the high queen’s personal guard?”

“You didn’t, but I understand so much more about you now,” he commented drily.

“It’s not hot.” She frowned as she dribbled long fingers in the water. “But it’s warm. I’ll ask for more.”

“No.” He put a hand on her to stop her decisive move to the door. “They’d only have carry buckets out again. And Jasperina will be difficult about it.”

She eyed him dubiously. “But you’re the king here.”

“By default, and it’s complicated.”

“The one-eyed man and the land of the blind.”

“You remembered.” He’d wondered how much of their mental conversations she’d recall. So far it seemed like most of them.

“Hmm. I want to hear more about that. For now we’ll see about the water once you soak a bit. I reserve the right to heat it up if you’re too cool, cranky Jasperina or no. Let’s get you undressed and into the water. Steady yourself on the rim here.” She hummed a tune he didn’t know as she busied herself with the laces of his shirt.

“You sure are bubbly.”

“Which is it—bubbly or bossy?”

“You can be both at once,” he decided.

She giggled, another sign of bubbliness, and laid a hand on his cheek. “I’m happy, Isyn. I really like you, and you like me.”

“That’s not what I—” She tugged his shirt off, muffling his protest, then dove for the laces of his pants.

He stopped her. “I’ll do that. You turn around.”

“I’ll see everything when I help you into the tub,” she scoffed. “The Tala aren’t all that concerned with modesty.”

“The Erieans are,” he countered. “I’m asking you to respect that.”

“I’ll close my eyes,” she said, giving him a sidelong look before she did. She clearly didn’t buy his flimsy excuse. As well she shouldn’t, as that was a bald-faced lie, but he also didn’t want her seeing his achingly persistent erection. She had enough ideas already, and he still hadn’t decided how to dissuade her. If he was in possession of any integrity at all, how would he handle this? By refusing to take advantage of an innocent, that’s how. By being a gentleman and keeping his hands—and lips—off of her. Too late for that.

Wrestling off his woolen pants, he got them off over his feet, then edged his good hip onto the rim of the tub. True to her word, she kept her eyes closed, but her supportive hands on his bare skin nearly drove him mad. “I can do it,” he bit out, swinging his good leg into the water and, using that and his arms braced on the side of the tub, lowered himself into the warm water.

“Is it hot enough?” Gendra had pulled up the stool to sit behind him, knotting his hair with deft expertise to keep it out of the way. She set her hands on his shoulders and—quite expertly—located the knots of tension, working some kind of magic with her fingers.

“It feels good,” he temporized. “I haven’t had a bath in a long time. I probably stink.”

He felt her shrug. “The Tala aren’t concerned with such things.”

An exasperated laugh escaped him. “What are the Tala concerned with?”

“Sorry,” she answered sheepishly. “My mom says that a lot to tease my dad, and I guess I’m falling into that habit. I’m a little nervous.”

She was an interesting combination that way, alternately shy and bold, skittish and seductive. “I’m sorry you’re nervous around me now,” he offered, hesitating before again promising not to touch her. He wasn’t quite sure where they’d left things between them.

“I was nervous before now,” she said candidly. “I suppose I should say I tend to be nervous around men I’m attracted to.”

There she went, from bashful to outspoken with nothing between. He had no words. “Gendra, obviously you’re a beautiful, charming woman, but I’m not attracted to you in that—”

“See? That proves it. No other man has ever thought I’m beautiful or charming.” She said it so matter-of-factly that it hurt his heart. What was wrong with the men she’d met so far? “Don’t bother protesting that you don’t want me, also. It’s too late for that. You also already admitted that you wanted—albeit in the rush of passion—to take me to bed and make love to me.”

He nearly corrected her there, as none of the fiercely sexual fantasies plaguing him looked much like “making love.” But then, he was also fully and helplessly in love with her, so there was that. He ended up saying nothing, feeling himself melt under her touch.

“I’m not asking for true love here,” she added, so wistfully that he knew that’s exactly what she wanted. “But I want to experience sex with a man who actually likes me. Besides, it would be a good way to pass the time here while we await rescue.”

Imagining spending days and nights savoring the lovely Gendra nearly stopped his heart. Of course, indulging in that could very likely result in his heart actually giving out. A caution right there. And yet, what she’d said bothered him too much for him to leave it alone. “You haven’t gone to bed with a man who liked you?” he asked. “I don’t understand how that happens.”

“Well, in all honesty, there’s only been the one, since Wim and I ended up playing kiauo instead, which tells you something,” she added with grim humor.

Not a complete innocent, then, but not far from it.

“I had high hopes that losing my virginity would make later… sessions… go better,” she mused, tone thoughtful, “but in some ways it only made things worse.”

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer immediately. He waited her out. “Why do you want to know?”

“If you want to discuss the possibility of sex between us, which you seem determined to do—though I don’t think it’s a good idea—then we should be able to have an open conversation about it.”

“Oh.” She was quiet a moment, deftly working sore points along his spine that made him want to moan in ecstasy as they released. “Discussing this with you doesn’t feel very romantic.”

“Romance is overrated.”

“Is it? I suppose I wouldn’t know. It always looks lovely from the outside.” There was that wistfulness again.

“Honesty is one form of intimacy,” he told her, relenting, wanting to give her some measure of happiness. “And that can be romantic in its own way.”

“I never thought about it like that. But then, I’ve never talked about sex with a man. Well, except for Jak, and that’s because he’s nosy.”

Isyn was beginning to dislike this Jak. He was opening his mouth to ask about that when Gendra continued thoughtfully. “Zeph talks about sex easily, and so does Lena. Nilly doesn’t so much—but she was a virgin, too, until recently—and they got even her to describe Jak’s member.”

He nearly choked. “Nilly?” he asked, sidestepping that one for the moment.

“Sorry—what we call Stella. Astar and Stella were ornery, shapeshifting toddlers that everyone called Willy and Nilly for a very long time. It still sticks.”

Imagine, calling the heir to the high throne and the likely next queen of Annfwn by their toddler nicknames.

“Anyway,” Gendra returned to her topic with enthusiasm, “there had been a lot of rumors and hearsay about Jak being unusually well endowed, so when Nilly—Stella—actually found out, well, we all wanted to know.”

Hedidn’t want to know. He certainly wasn’t going to ask. He definitely hated this Jak.

“My point is,” she continued, thankfully leaving the topic behind, “that it’s not easy for me to talk about that stuff.”

“If you can’t talk about it with me, then doing it with me is a worse idea.”

She was quiet a moment, digging into a knotted muscle with enough strength for him to interpret it as a bit of punishment for his observation. “You’re right,” she finally admitted on a sigh. “With Henk, I kind of went about it the same way I did with Wim, thinking that if I could just get through it all, then I’d feel better about things and begin to enjoy it. But I never did, and unlike Wim—who really is a good man with integrity, I can see how he’s like you that way—Henk, he…” Her hands went lax and listless. Maybe he imagined they chilled.

“Unlike Wim,” Isyn finished for her, glad his little brother had demonstrated that much awareness and basic decency, “this Henk didn’t stop.”

“No.” She whispered the word, a vast icy ocean of turmoil beneath it. “But I also didn’t tell him to stop. So, it’s not his fault.”

“Gendra, that’s not how it works.” He really disliked that she was behind him, that he couldn’t see her face. He put a hand over her listless one on his shoulder, but she pulled it away.

“You’re cold,” she declared, “and getting a chill is the last thing you need. So either I summon cranky Jasperina to bring more hot water or you’re getting out.”

Back to bossy, which he was beginning to discover was her favored gambit for avoiding emotional vulnerability. “I’m getting out,” he told her.

“Let me—”

“This one I’ve got. Fetch my walking staff, would you?” Bracing his hands on the rim of the tub, he levered himself upright, pivoting to sit on the side of the tub. Gendra draped a soft alpaca wool blanket around him, handing him his staff.

“Impressive upper body strength,” she commented.

“I’m not completely decrepit.”

“You’re the one trying to make the case that you’re an old man.” She sounded more confident again, less like a vulnerable waif, so he didn’t comment. “Lie on the bed, please, face up.”

“Maybe now isn’t—”

“I’ve warmed some oil for the healing massage. Yes, it’s fish oil, but it will feel really nice,” she wheedled. “Don’t you feel better from what I’ve been able to do so far?”

He did. And, oddly enough, he didn’t want to disappoint her. Bubbly, bossy Briar Rose was far preferable to her sad and lost waifish side. The latter made him want to cuddle her up and hold her close, which simply couldn’t happen. He might not find it in himself to be a Wim—he wanted her too fiercely—but he could at least refuse to be a Henk.

Following her direction, he lay on the bed, pulling the covers over himself. She fetched her supplies, seating herself on the stool she brought over, rearranging a table closer to hold the oil, which she’d warmed over the brazier that normally heated soups and teas. A clever adaptation.

Her expression clinical, she adjusted the blankets, folding them so they covered his groin and the far side of his body, adding a few furs to cover his chest and shoulders. Those almost violet eyes flicked up to his face, assessing, no hint of either sensuality or vulnerability in them. This was Gendra in her element: nurturing and calmly efficient. “Are you cold at all?”

“No,” he replied honestly enough. If anything, he burned, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Gritting his teeth, he stared steadfastly at the ceiling. “Get it over with.”