THE WARRIOR QUEEN (The Guinevere Trilogy Book 1) by Lavinia Collins Read Free Book Online Page A

Still sleepy, he rubbed his face – newly rough with a night’s growth of beard – into my neck. I could not suppress a little gasp of surprise as he thrust himself inside me again. It was slower, this time, less hurried, gentler. I was surprised that it already felt familiar, and my body, seeming to know, followed his. His mouth found mine with a deep, slow kiss, the heat of which seemed to mingle with the heat already rising in my body. I ran my hands down his strong arms, feeling, too, our legs brush against each other, his skin hot from sleep against mine. As I felt the breaths come to me quicker, the heat within me spreading, I reached my arms around his broad back and pulled him tighter against me. He gave a deep moan of pleasure at this and sighed against me, rolling aside and gathering me into his arms as he had done the night before. Between my legs I felt the warmth of where he had been, and the slickness that promised something distant of new life. In Arthur’s arms I felt small, small and fragile, but safe. I was a tall, strong woman, with my own lean and competent muscles from a lifetime of running and hunting in the woods, but beside Arthur I was little and frail as a bird. His arms and shoulders bore the thick, corded muscles of a short lifetime’s training with broadsword and shield, of wearing the heavy armour. He was not sinew but brawn, the blood of conquerors, for sure. Across one side of his chest ran the thin, white line of a scar, running from the centre, above the nipple towards his shoulder. I traced a finger along it as I lay with my head on his shoulder. His eyes followed my finger.
    “That one was the gift of the King of the Vale.”
    “What happened to him?”
    He smiled slightly, a little proud, a little pleased with himself. I supposed he had a right to be.
    “Well, there is only one King of the Britons now.”
    “Hmmmm,” I agreed, quietly. In that soft, morning light, with Arthur’s warm, bare skin against my own and a warm bright soft feeling spreading through my limbs from his touch, I was not sure how I felt. I had not wanted to come, I had not wanted to be wed, but all of a sudden, against every expectation I had had, I felt happy. I spread my hand out in the middle of his chest, feeling the skin, feeling the strength beneath it.
    “So I am not so bad, my lady Queen?” Arthur reached out and gently brushed his fingers against my cheek, and I looked up to meet his gentle smile with a small, tentative one of my own.
    I rolled on to my front, propping myself up on my forearms to look back, deep into the eyes that – I had not noticed before – were dark steel-grey and serious beyond his years. Thoughtful. Not the eyes of a brute , I reproached myself. He also looked less like a boy to me now, more like a man. I supposed that I had seen, in my anger, only what I had expected to see.
    “Not so bad.” I reached out to, gently, tentatively, touch his cheek, and he laid a big hand over mine, drawing me closer with the arm still wrapped around my back, for a soft and tender kiss.
    “And I? Was I as like my ancestress the Witch-Queen Maev as you had hoped?” I teased.
    Arthur laughed softly with what seemed to me like embarrassment. Perhaps he had not meant to speak of it last night.
    “Oh, far less frightening, and far more beautiful.”
    “That’s not always what a lady likes to hear, you know.” I gave him a playful smile and he wound his fingers deeper into my hair. I liked the feeling of his fingertips pressing my scalp, the power of the hand that wound there. I sighed softly into it. My body still felt hot from having him inside me, and hungry. He pulled my head back, gently, and, rolling back over me as he turned me onto my back, kissed the soft skin under my neck, beneath the ear. I sighed softly with pleasure, and he took one breast in his hand, brushing the nipple lightly until I pressed myself up against him for more and, as I felt the longing in my body for him