her.
Maere stood. “Come to me,” he whispered. And she went to his open arms eagerly, without hesitation. He held her close, stroking her cheek, murmuring words in the old language of the emerald hills that were her home. No, she thought. This was her home. Here . With him .
As Maere dreamed, a dense fog began to work its way under the anchorage door. It crept in silently, long thin tendrils stretching out into the room. Maere stirred and lost the gentle dream of safe arms and comforting words as the wind whipped the curtain. She sighed and drifted back to sleep.
The fog continued its course, hugging the floor, moving silently forward. It reached the edge of the mattress and floated upward. A long finger of smoke reached out and caressed a bare ankle. The fog moved along Maere’s exposed calf. It traveled up and over the mattress until it completely enveloped her.
Maere stirred again. Her hand moved, guided by the fog, over her cheek, down her throat, and across her chest. She pushed back the blanket and her hand returned to her breast. Still sleeping, she rubbed the rosy nipples into hardness through her thin shift. Maere sighed and wet her lips dreamily as her hand drifted down her belly. She imagined her gown was being gently lifted by some unseen force as her fingers continued to trail down to her thighs. She let them rest there for a moment until her hands started to move again.
She caught her breath as her fingers began exploring the soft, damp flesh between her legs. What was this exquisite sensation? Her finger dipped inside. She was wet and smooth, like warm honey. Maere squirmed when her hand began to massage her most sensitive place.
Sweet Jesus, she thought sleepily. She continued to rub with one hand, riding the fingers of the other as she began to move up and down. Ah, what was this sweet agony building up inside of her? Just as she thought there would be no release, the sensations crested and carried her away.
Slowly, Maere opened her eyes. She laid still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her ragged breath to return to normal. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized what had happened. How could she have done such a thing? Never mind that she was sleeping while it happened. It happened just the same. Oh, it had to be the devil forcing her into submission! There was no other explanation!
As she lay there sobbing, the fog receded out through the narrow doorway, sliding along the compacted dirt floor with all the grace of a raven in flight.
Chapter Seven
“Greetings. Is there an occupant within this anchorage?”
Maere stirred as the words entered her dreams and awakened her. She groaned with effort as she pushed herself to her feet. After falling asleep on the cold, hard ground, every bone and muscle in her body ached.
“Aye,” she answered, her voice a raspy whisper. “I am here.” She raised a water skin to her lips and quenched her thirst. All the crying she’d done the night before had left her throat raw and tender. She took another sip, splashed some in her hands, then over her face to soothe her sore eyes. She rose and stood near the window. The sun’s rays were just beginning to cast an outline around its black covering.
“Is everything well with you? Should I fetch a sister to help?”
“Of course I am well,” Maere answered, her voice growing stronger. “Why do you ask this?”
“You sound near to death’s door. You may not be seeing things all that clearly.”
Maere bristled. Death’s door, indeed. If he only knew what she’d been going through. Wait a moment. Her mouth fell open as she realized she was talking with a man. And not a very old one, by the sound of him.
She cautiously placed her palms flat on either side of the window and leaned forward ever so slightly. The stone wall was cool and rough beneath her hands and smelled of damp earth. She wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes as she tried to peek past the edge of the curtain. What kind of
Maere stood. “Come to me,” he whispered. And she went to his open arms eagerly, without hesitation. He held her close, stroking her cheek, murmuring words in the old language of the emerald hills that were her home. No, she thought. This was her home. Here . With him .
As Maere dreamed, a dense fog began to work its way under the anchorage door. It crept in silently, long thin tendrils stretching out into the room. Maere stirred and lost the gentle dream of safe arms and comforting words as the wind whipped the curtain. She sighed and drifted back to sleep.
The fog continued its course, hugging the floor, moving silently forward. It reached the edge of the mattress and floated upward. A long finger of smoke reached out and caressed a bare ankle. The fog moved along Maere’s exposed calf. It traveled up and over the mattress until it completely enveloped her.
Maere stirred again. Her hand moved, guided by the fog, over her cheek, down her throat, and across her chest. She pushed back the blanket and her hand returned to her breast. Still sleeping, she rubbed the rosy nipples into hardness through her thin shift. Maere sighed and wet her lips dreamily as her hand drifted down her belly. She imagined her gown was being gently lifted by some unseen force as her fingers continued to trail down to her thighs. She let them rest there for a moment until her hands started to move again.
She caught her breath as her fingers began exploring the soft, damp flesh between her legs. What was this exquisite sensation? Her finger dipped inside. She was wet and smooth, like warm honey. Maere squirmed when her hand began to massage her most sensitive place.
Sweet Jesus, she thought sleepily. She continued to rub with one hand, riding the fingers of the other as she began to move up and down. Ah, what was this sweet agony building up inside of her? Just as she thought there would be no release, the sensations crested and carried her away.
Slowly, Maere opened her eyes. She laid still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her ragged breath to return to normal. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized what had happened. How could she have done such a thing? Never mind that she was sleeping while it happened. It happened just the same. Oh, it had to be the devil forcing her into submission! There was no other explanation!
As she lay there sobbing, the fog receded out through the narrow doorway, sliding along the compacted dirt floor with all the grace of a raven in flight.
Chapter Seven
“Greetings. Is there an occupant within this anchorage?”
Maere stirred as the words entered her dreams and awakened her. She groaned with effort as she pushed herself to her feet. After falling asleep on the cold, hard ground, every bone and muscle in her body ached.
“Aye,” she answered, her voice a raspy whisper. “I am here.” She raised a water skin to her lips and quenched her thirst. All the crying she’d done the night before had left her throat raw and tender. She took another sip, splashed some in her hands, then over her face to soothe her sore eyes. She rose and stood near the window. The sun’s rays were just beginning to cast an outline around its black covering.
“Is everything well with you? Should I fetch a sister to help?”
“Of course I am well,” Maere answered, her voice growing stronger. “Why do you ask this?”
“You sound near to death’s door. You may not be seeing things all that clearly.”
Maere bristled. Death’s door, indeed. If he only knew what she’d been going through. Wait a moment. Her mouth fell open as she realized she was talking with a man. And not a very old one, by the sound of him.
She cautiously placed her palms flat on either side of the window and leaned forward ever so slightly. The stone wall was cool and rough beneath her hands and smelled of damp earth. She wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes as she tried to peek past the edge of the curtain. What kind of
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