Captive Heart by Phoenix Sullivan Page A

look in the spirited mare’s eyes as we hung our packs over her withers in the morning was contrite. She nudged Lyn who, with generous spirit, patted her nose.
    “What fright took you yesterday, hmm?”
    “Was it fright?” Marrok asked. “Or something—someone—else?” Lyn studied the mare’s wide, brown eyes. “You don’t think—? Nimue?”
    “As easy to bewitch a horse as a man.”
     “Or to unbewitch them?”
    They exchanged a look over Lyn’s gentle voice. Their secret. The one I felt I could almost touch, almost know. The one they yet refused to share.
    “Do we blame magic now if we so much as stub our toe?” I honestly tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. I honestly failed miserably. “If so, we will be looking for dark fae everywhere.”
    “I already do.”
    I immediately regretted my words for the bleak look that crossed Lyn’s face.
    “Even Merlin doesn’t have that power,” I tried to assure her.
    “Are you fae to know what Merlin can or cannot do? Did you sit in a cell and hear Nimue’s threats as godly monks and a holy abbot were slain around you? What do you know of fae and how they’ve shaped this world? What do you know of magic and how it shapes men and beasts? Answer me, my champion. How do you fight a thing you do not know?”
    “You learn of it, until you know more of it than it knows of itself. We will find your sister,” I vowed. “And neither Nimue nor Ironside nor all of Avalon will stand against us.” I wrapped my arms around her, reminding her of the strength she yet commanded. Then I helped her onto the Orkney pony and we headed once more for the Red Lands.

    The only magic that day from dawn till the westering sun was that it passed without a word of scorn. I rode wrapped in the joyous memories of the night before, recalling each intimate touch, each gasp, each sigh. Everything so new to me. Yet those two fitting in my heart as though they’d been there forever.
    When we stopped at noon, we fed each other bits of dried beef. There was hard cheese and bread in our stores too, but we never got to those. We feasted instead on each other’s lips until I kissed Lyn to the ground and lifted her skirts. From behind, Marrok unlaced my leggings and his. With a firm hand he guided me into the velvet softness that was Lyn.
    The pleasures of the night were still as sweet by light of day.
    I slid in and out of her, slowly, learning, exploring, feeling in the moments of calm before they built to frenzy, she purring with delight beneath me.
    Then Marrok was straddling us, his beard scratching my neck, his authoritative hand spreading my flanks. Lyn curled her hands in Marrok’s hair as he plunged into me.
    “Annh!”
    With Marrok filling me deeper and deeper with every thrust my own frenzy swept over me. Matching Marrok rhythm-to-rhythm, motion-to-motion, I echoed in Lyn below what he was doing in me above.
    Arching against me, Lyn wrapped her legs around us both. At her touch, Marrok growled into my ear and doubled his speed. I was as ready as he.
    He flattened over me, hips shaking, his staff deep within jerking in ecstasy.
    His.
    Mine.
    I thrust that final ecstasy into Lyn and she responded with a cry both wild and raw. She clenched around me, draining me just as I clenched around Marrok, drawing into me all that he had to give.
    Then we kissed—whose lips on whose I didn’t know.

    We rode till Vespers, passing from forest to farmland until the road opened out onto the hold of whatever lord ruled these lands. His castle was a functional one—small and lean and well-fortified. Home of a landed noble if not a wealthy one. Pennants of blue fluttered along its bare walls.
    A spreading elm guarded its doors. A shield as blue as midnight hung from one of the low branches, and beside the shield a matching horn. I smiled. I’d almost forgotten what it meant to be a champion.
    Dismounting, I blew three great blasts upon the horn before either Marrok or Lyn could dissuade