Avelynn: The Edge of Faith by Marissa Campbell Read Free Book Online Page A

mass of curls, teasing.
    I pulled at his tunic, urging it over his head. He set it to the side of the bed and deprived me of my dress.
    “Beautiful,” he murmured.
    I concurred as I appraised him, drinking in his body. The man filled me with such intense longing it was hard to focus on anything else when he was near. He kissed me hard, and my hand followed the smooth muscle of his chest down to the solid proof of his desire. When I grasped him, he growled into my mouth. Wetness pooled and flowed around his fingers as they weaved their way through the boiling heat between my legs.
    He slid down, settling his chest between my thighs until his mouth hovered above me, his breath warm and moist against my skin. A gnawing ache left me shaking, a void only his touch could fill, and I moaned, heedless of volume, despite the men sleeping on bedrolls outside the tent as his kiss burned hot against my swollen lips. His tongue lapped, flicking and teasing, until my hips rose and my back arched.
    The fact that I was the one Alrik wanted, not Marared, was vindicating. My cries rose unfettered and brazen, driven with the need to possess him. He was mine.
    He stopped and I whimpered, lusty and unapologetic. His moist, full lips cocked in a devilish grin. “Are you hungry, Seiðkana?”
    I slid my fingers through his hair, pulling him back to me. “Ravenous.”

    Shouts of greeting and boots shuffling along the deck jolted me out of sleep. I buried my head in the pillows, trying to hold out a bit longer. A weight sank into the bed beside me.
    “Hjartað?” Strong, persistent fingers drew designs on my back, and goosebumps rippled along my forearms. Languid, eyes closed, I rolled toward him, smiling. Alighting on an eager nipple, he rolled the rigid bud between his fingers. My body, now fully awake, ached for more, and I reached out for his trousers.
    Alrik chuckled. “Time to get up, Seiðkana. I would have you meet the king of Dyfed.”

March 23
    My first impression of Hyfaidd dwelled on his short stature. For a king, I had expected something grander. He was plainly dressed, with a patch of oily brown hair stuck to a broad forehead and a sour mood to match the generally dismal appearance; I found it hard to imagine how he and Gil could be related. Flanked between Gil and Alrik, he looked like a sagging valley between two chiseled and rugged mountains.
    “My mother is the king’s sister,” Gil assured me.
    As I shook my head in disbelief, Hyfaidd ambled to one of the thickly padded chairs.
    When the men settled, as custom dictated, Marared and I served them ale. A servant set a platter of sweet cakes down on a table between the odd triad.
    “My niece tells me you are available for hire.” Hyffaid spoke in English as he appraised Alrik.
    I glared at Marared, who sported a look of indifference.
    Gil also looked at his sister. “Perhaps the women would be better to leave talk of business to the men.” He fixed Marared and me with gimlet intent, waiting for our compliance.
    Marared stood. “Avelynn, would you care to join me outside?”
    I wanted to hear the remainder of the conversation, but Gil’s hint was anything but subtle. “Of course.”
    Marared led me outside the hall and grabbed two wicker frames from a pile of half-finished baskets. She handed me one. We ducked behind a wattle screen and set the frames down on a long narrow table. Once sheltered from the wind, the workspace proved to be a pleasant spot. The sun peeked through the clouds and warmed my shoulders.
    “This will give us something to do while the men talk.” She picked a long, thin strip of wicker from a pile beside us and began weaving it through the frame. I wondered if Alrik had spoken with her this morning or if she had resigned herself to the inevitable after we’d left together the night before and hadn’t come back.
    She continued to command her household, placating the men with food and drink while we worked. Silence yawned between us. The men