[Fic] A Scandalous Friendship (pt. 2) - for i_claudia
[ Part I]
Lady Amelia Wentworth really knew how to throw a spectacular party. She rarely did, only once every two or so years due to her health, but when they rolled around, invitations to attend were the most sought after invitations of the season. A great friend of Sally Jersey, one of the patrons of Almacks, Amelia Wentworth was not often in residence in London due to her husband’s health. They mostly lived in the South of France, the sun helping Lord Dominic but they returned to London every few months. This time, their return had coincided with the Season, and Amelia had been determined to throw the ball of the year.
Arthur had, of course, been invited. Merlin had been also, and Arthur knew that word had gotten to Amelia that he would not attend if Merlin wasn’t invited also. And since he was the biggest catch of the season... This kind of power was intoxicating as well as amusing. They had already eaten, and the band had begun to play again as Arthur watched from the sidelines, Merlin at his side. Wentworth House was a beautiful old building with extensive gardens for Central London, and Arthur had to admit, he wasn’t having a terrible time at this particular ball. Much of that, Arthur knew, was down to Morgana. Since they had come to their agreement, the parade of debutants thrown at him had lessened considerably, and he could start to enjoy himself at parties again.
He should have known it was too good to last.
"Well Pendragon, I hear tentative congratulations are in order," a familiar voice said from behind Arthur and he spun around in shock.
The man in front of him was lightly tanned with dark hair and blue eyes, like Merlin’s but that’s where the similarities ended. Where Merlin was lean to the point of skinny, the man in front of him stood a shade taller than him with a deep, muscular chest and powerful arms. His dark hair flowed freely down to his shoulders, unbound by a tie, and a hint of a moustache adorned his lip. Where Merlin’s smile was wide and happy, this man’s lips were curled up into a cruel and calculating smirk. The man was also the very last person Arthur expected to see in society, especially somewhere like Lady Wentworth’s ball. An assessing gaze swept Arthur, and the smirk appeared again. "Your shoulder seems to have healed nicely," he observed.
"Sortiar," Arthur snarled, stepping into the other man’s personal space. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Why, I was invited, same as you were," Mordred Sortiar mocked. "Just because you do not like me, doesn’t mean I don’t have a good standing in the Ton. These people have short memories when it comes to family lines and wealth. And watch your language. There are ladies present." He looked past Arthur’s shoulder and right at Merlin and smirked when he said it. Arthur felt Merlin bristle with indignation beside him.
"Sortiar..."
"Come now Pendragon, is that any way to treat an old friend?"
"We were never friends."
"Old colleagues then. Comrades in arms."
"I remember that being in question also," Arthur pointed out, and Mordred’s eyes narrowed.
"I came over here to offer my congratulations on your impending nuptials, and all I get are unfounded rumours thrown back in my face? And here I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman, Pendragon."
"What do you know of my affairs?" Arthur asked, warily.
"Only what I hear in White’s and in the drawing rooms of society, I assure you. I am newly returned from a stay on the continent but news of this was one of the first things to reach my ears. Don’t you know you’re the talk of the Ton? The most eligible bachelor of the season finding his lady love. It’s quite poetic, really. And I must say you have chosen your bride well. Morgana is quite beautiful."
"That is Lady Muirden to you, not that you will ever have the opportunity to speak to her."
"Well, if you don’t want me to speak to her, I’ll have to find some other way to occupy myself during out waltz," Mordred said innocently, and Arthur’s hands curled into fists. "Now, now," Mordred took a step back when he noted Arthur’s reaction. "We don’t want to cause a scene, do we? We don’t want Father Dearest upset."
"This has nothing to do with my father, and everything to do with you and me."
"And Lady Muirden. You cannot cross my name from her dance card without causing a horrific scandal. Think of how embarrassing it would be for her. She would be very angry with you, if she even did what you asked."
He was right, Damnit. Morgana’s obstinacy was legendary amongst the ton and those who knew of her. She was so headstrong, she would probably dance all her dances with Sortiar just to prove her point to Arthur.
"If you lay one improper finger on her..." he let the threat hang.
"I promise I won’t do anything she doesn’t want me to do," Sortiar smirked before turning and melting back into the crowd.
Arthur stood stock still for a few moments, his rage building inside him. He needed to hit something. Hard.
"Arthur... Arthur!" A soft hand landing on his shoulder broke his reverie and he spun around, anger writ in every line of his body. Merlin backed away, arms raised as if in surrender. Arthur spun on his heel and made his way through the crowd, out the double doors, down the steps and into the garden. He only stopped when the lights and sounds from the party had faded to a dull noise in the background. He ducked off the path, into a copse of trees and, selecting one at random, proceeded to punch his frustration out.
~*~
Morgana stood in the centre of the group of her society ‘friends’ who were discussing the latest fashions from Paris, and resisted the urge to start beating their heads together. Granted, she liked clothes and fashion as much as the next noblewoman, meaning a lot, but they’d been at it for a whole two hours now, interspersed with gossiping about the most available Lords looking for brides this season. Morgana had left the group several times to dance with the men on her dance card, but on her return, they were always still on the topic of lace. They’d spent half an hour discussing sleeve length, for the love of God.
Morgana was bored. She was bored of society, of the insipid females that packed the parlours and the ball rooms. She was bored of the whispers behind her back when they thought she couldn’t hear, she was bored of the constant need to keep her head up and keep her neutral mask on. It was why she was seriously considering Arthur’s offer. She wasn’t in love with him and not he with her, but he knew her and she would be given her freedom. If she wished, she could retire to the country with their children and never have to grace society again.
The idea was appealing, especially when she considered the women around her who had now moved on to neck-lines.
Just as she was about to give in and start knocking some sense into these nitwits, a low cough at her elbow drew her attention. The other women petered off into silence as she turned and all but fell into a deep blue gaze. The man before her had hair as dark as midnight and blue eyes that seemed to draw her into their depths. He stood tall and strong, muscles obvious beneath his impeccably tailored clothing and he held himself with the poise of a warrior. He took her hand and bowed low, and Morgana gasped as soon as his lips touched the back of her hand. His eyes snapped up to meet hers and she knew, she knew, he had felt the same shock she had.
"Lady Muirden," he began, his voice whispery and soft, low as he pitched it to her alone. "In the clamour to stake a place on your dance card, I never really got the chance to introduce myself. Allow me to correct my error. I am Mordred Sortiar, eldest son of Baron Cerdan Sortiar. And may I say, my Lady, that reports of your beauty did not do you justice in the slightest."
Normally, Morgana would have scoffed in the face of any man saying such a thing to her, but with this man... Her hand tingled from where he had held it and kissed it; his fingers were warm beneath her own. She looked down at their joined hands and then up into his eyes, which looked almost as shocked as she felt.
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Sortiar," she managed eventually. He held out and arm for her and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"Shall we?" he asked with a smile on his lips and a raise of his eyebrow.
"Lead on, good sir," she insisted and practically glided next to him as they took their positions on the dance floor. It was a waltz, and when he took her in his arms, though they kept the necessary distance, she felt like she was coming home.
~*~
Arthur slammed his fist into the trunk once, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm. Twice. Three times. His forth punch was halted by someone grabbing his arm at the elbow and Arthur reacted on instinct. He spun, grabbed his attacker and, continuing the momentum, slammed him into the tree trunk and pinned him there with his body.
It was Merlin.
He should have known.
He wasn’t surprised that his friend had followed him. He pressed against him unconsciously, feeling the thin body flush and warm against his own. Their breaths mingled and all fight went out of them both as Arthur’s eyes locked on Merlin’s. He slowly pulled away, stepping back before forcefully wrenching his eyes away from Merlin’s. He coughed and Merlin straightened himself up.
"I apologise, Merlin," he said.
"Forgiven," Merlin said instantly, waving away more apologies. "Are you alright though? You look mad enough to kill. What was that all about? Who was that?"
"It’s just.... Sortiar," Arthur said haltingly. "We have what one would call a history."
"Yes, I gathered that," Merlin smiled, but his eyes narrowed as he took in Arthur’s unconscious rubbing of his healed shoulder wound. "Wait... you don’t mean... Sortiar?"
Arthur nodded.
"I’m certain of it. I saw him there as I lay bleeding. I saw his tattoo. It’s fairly distinctive."
"Why isn’t he in prison then? Or why is he even alive?" Merlin exclaimed. "Why did your father let him live and not have him executed for treason?"
"Because there was no proof it was him other than the testimony of a man half dead and in pain," Arthur told him. "I was not a reliable witness. No one else even saw the second man, but there was no way Tauren would have gotten as far as he had without some help from one of our own men. I know it was him, but I have no proof. As it was, because of his family and connections, all my father could do was have him discharged him from the army. He’s hated my family ever since. The Sortiar line is as old as the Pendragon one, but where we prospered through business deals and investments, they beggared themselves on whores, wine and gambling. But they still have their name. When their eldest son was discharged under a cloud and with rumours of treason..."
"He’s going to be looking for a way to redeem himself," Merlin guessed and Arthur nodded.
"And get back at me if he can. He’s probably hoping enough time has passed since his discharge that people will overlook his background in order to ally themselves with the Sortiar name. I’m guessing his going to go for marriage, rather than commerce for redemption. He was always too easily distracted by a flash of stocking to take a valid interest in business."
"It’s a good thing that Morgana will hopefully soon be safe from him," Merlin said quietly, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. Arthur coughed and looked away.
"Good thing," he replied. "Listen, Merlin..."
"We should get back inside before someone comes looking for you," Merlin cut him off as he turned back to the house. "Don’t want the rumours to start. They already think it’s strange that you spend so much of your time with me. You attachment to a simple physician is quite unusual, you know."
"Merlin."
"Keep up Arthur," the doctor chirped cheerfully as he disappeared around the corner.
~*~
Mordred bowed to Morgana once again and kisser her hand. He made his way through the throng out onto a secluded section of the balcony before his knees all but gave out and he collapsed back against the wall. His hands shook from the fire that had raced through him where they had touched and his lips tingled from where they had kissed her skin. Morgana was the most enchanting woman he had ever met; hauntingly beautiful, intelligent and sharp. But there was something in her eyes that Mordred recognised, a hunted look. A need to escape. A fear and an anger that could blossom into something terrible and beautiful. He recognised the look from his own reflection and he revelled in the connection. Mordred had never had this visceral a reaction to a woman before, and was shaken to the core.
Voices and footsteps coming up the path shook him from his contemplation and he shrank back further into the shadows out of sheer habit. The army had taught him well, allowing him the pick of the assignments and giving him free reign to use his gifts for subterfuge, and he was glad they had when he recognised Pendragon’s irritating tones coming up the path as he whined after that doctor friend of his. He made sure he was out of their view as they came back towards the house, but remained in clear view of them both. He didn’t know why. He just knew he needed to witness this argument.
"Merlin, I said wait, God damnit!" Pendragon caught up to his friend when they were still half in the darkness of the garden and grabbed him by the arm. The doctor stopped, but didn’t turn around to face him.
"Merlin... please." His voice was soft and pleading, and Mordred frowned in confusion. Why was he acting so... tender?
"Arthur," Emrys began, turning to face him but Pendragon cut him off.
"Merlin, I don’t want to take a wife. You know this." Their gazes locked. "Nothing will change."
"Everything will change!" Emrys insisted. "You’ll be married, Arthur. You will not be able to carry on as before."
"Other men do when they are wed," Pendragon said and Emrys smiled sadly.
"You are nothing like other men, Arthur Pendragon."
"It’s my duty to provide an heir," Pendragon almost croaked.
"And you always do your duty," Emrys replied sadly.
Mordred watched in horrified fascination as Pendragon slowly slid his hand down the doctor’s arm and caught his hand, interlacing their fingers and holding on tight. Mordred collapsed back against the wall in shock.
"If I cannot marry, or be with, the person that I truly love, then my only comfort is that I can fulfil my duty."
Emrys looked down at their entwined hands, and then back to lock his eyes on Pendragon’s once more.
"If I cannot marry for love," he stressed the last word, clenching his hand convulsively around Emrys’, "then I shall do so out of love of my family. For duty and for honour. But know you that if I could..."
"Arthur, don’t" Emrys said, voice choked with emotion.
Pendragon’s eyes searched his companion’s, and apparently saw something in his features that pleased him, for he stepped closer into the doctor’s personal space and tilted his head. Emrys leaned in closer and their lips barely brushed before a sudden burst of noise as a new song started inside make them jump apart and look around in terror.
"Arthur, we can’t!" Emrys insisted. "It’s too dangerous. We’re outside for the love of God. You would be disinherited at best and killed at the worst should anyone find out. Even the hint of something like this..."
"I’m well aware Merlin. I just..." Pendragon looked away. "Look, we best return inside before someone comes looking for us."
Neither noticed Mordred as they strode past his hiding place, for which he was grateful. His mind was reeling with the implications of what he had just witnessed.
Pendragon was queer. Arthur Thomas James Pendragon, heir to the Duke of Sussex, was a queer. He was kissing his very male friend in the gardens of one of societies most influential matrons. If they were that brazen, what else would they be getting up to in private? If anyone should find out... Mordred smiled to himself. He’d see Pendragon dead yet, hopefully at the end of a hangman’s noose. Even the hint of a scandal would ruin him beyond redemption and would make a ‘suicide’ look even more convincing.
Mordred straightened from his slump against the wall. His revenge, a long time in coming, would be even sweeter than he anticipated.
He walked swiftly back through the patio doors and began pushing his way through the crowd, heading for the cloakroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of pale skin and dark hair and turned to the Lady Muirden - Morgana - his mind supplied helpfully, dancing the waltz with another man. He was surprised at the red hot, murderous rage that filled him at the thought of another man touching her, but his temper was soothed by the look of bored disinterest on her face as she danced. Her partner, an older man from the Gedref family, was speaking to her and though she nodded politely on occasion, Mordred could see her eyes roaming the room as if searching for somebody.
When her cool blue gaze met his, he almost doubled over with the rush of feeling that filled him. It was as if he had been punched in the stomach. Morgana also stumbled at the simple eye contact and Gedref caught her. Mordred turned and walked away before he did something stupid like put a bullet through Gedref’s head in public.
This strength of feeling, this burning, instant connection to another human being was new and frightening to Mordred. But it was also exhilarating. What was even more amazing was that Morgana seemed to feel it also. His half formed plan to push Pendragon and his doctor friend and their depraved ways out into the public eye changed before it even coalesced in his mind. He could let the world know, but chances were he would lose his opportunity with Morgana, and that was something he was not prepared to do.
Whatever he did, it would involve Morgana Muirden.
And he was certain that she would not mind at all.
~*~
Once they got back inside, Arthur immediately snagged the arm of a passing waiter and ordered a scotch, neat. Merlin knew better than to go down that road, and took his leave for the night, not really meeting his friend eyes as he made his farewells. His legs felt like rubber and his hands shook, so he clenched them into fists by his side as he pushed through the crowd. He eventually retrieved his coat and hat and made it into the night air, relishing the sting of the wind as it whipped down the street. In the large gardens of the mansion behind him, they’d been sheltered from the worst of the weather, but now, Merlin was glad for it. It helped clear the fog out of his head as he walked past the rows of carriage and began his journey home.
Arthur had kissed him.
The mere thought of it was almost enough to send him to his knees in both joy and despair. Part of him relished the fact that Arthur felt the same way; that he had kissed him and cradled his hand tenderly and whispered soft low words before pressing his lips to his. Merlin brought a shaking hand up to his mouth, reliving the sensation. It had been the single most amazing moment of his life.
The other half of him despaired because now he had confirmation of Arthur’s feelings. And Arthur knew of his own.
And they both knew they could never, ever act on it.
Merlin was not going to put Arthur at such a risk. He was to be married to someone he considered a friend. Oh God, Morgana. What had they done? His stomach rolled at the thought of betraying his friend like that. If she ever found out, especially in light of what happened with Muirden... Arthur would never allow her to be hurt like that. If they had acted before the engagement, before Arthur all but bound himself to another for life, then perhaps they could have gone further.
But now, the only thing they could ever have was a brief stolen kiss in a secluded garden.
It was a tiny thing, something that Merlin would cherish for the rest of his life, and it would have to suffice.
~*~
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Arthur drained his scotch in one gulp and indicated to the same waiter for another, nodding distractedly as Merlin made his farewells. He wouldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur couldn’t blame him. He’d put them both in incredible amounts of danger by his actions, and Merlin was probably fuming.
He accepted his second glass and sipped at a much slower pace as his mind replayed the past half an hour. The softness of Merlin’s lips, the scent of his skin, the brush of his ridiculous hair against his forehead. Arthur felt himself embarrassingly beginning to harden at the mere thought and he hunched over himself consciously and turned to the wall, calling forth evil, foul images such as his father with a troll until he got himself back under control again.
It was definitely time to leave.
He searched the crowded mansion for Morgana to tell her he was leaving, but she was off brushing her hair, or whatever it was that women did, and he couldn’t find her. He tracked down Lance, who had accompanied him here to meet with his Guinevere. Arthur found them after a while, and looked away as his friend kissed his lady goodnight and as she blushed prettily.
Lance was quiet on the return to Avalon house. He helped Arthur struggle out of his coat in silence, lost in his own thoughts. Arthur felt for him. There was no doubt that Guinevere loved him; anyone with a pair of eyes could see that the pair were smitten with each other, but she refused to leave Morgana’s service and marry him until Morgana was more settled. She had met Lance during the course of Morgana’s disastrous marriage when she couldn’t in good conscience ‘abandon’ her mistress, and she was obviously still thinking along those same lines. Her loyalty was admirable: if only it didn’t cause his friend pain.
Arthur knew what it was like to want something more than air, and be unable to have it.
He dismissed Lance as soon as he was changed into his night clothes, letting the other man wallow in his self pity in peace. Arthur’s head had been buzzing with the after effects of the alcohol but now, as he stood by the open window in his bed chamber and breathed in the crisp night air, he felt his mind clear.
What had happened tonight; kissing Merlin, though something he had wanted to do for years, had been dangerous. If anyone had seen them... Arthur shuddered at the thought. One, if not both, of them would end up dead.
He licked his lips and imagined he could still taste Merlin on them beneath the residual alcohol; the mixture of brandy and a faint hint of herbs that always reminded him of Merlin. Arthur shuddered again, but for an entirely different reason. Again, he felt himself grow hard at the memory and he threw himself down on the bed. This time, in the privacy of his own chambers, he didn’t try and stop the images in his mind.
His imagination took over where reality left off and in his mind’s eye, Merlin was running his hands up Arthur’s arms and tangling them in his hair. He was opening his mouth under Arthur’s onslaught, sliding his tongue against the future Duke’s own as he pressed his body closer. Arthur struggled to tear off his night shift and palm his cock as he imagined them falling backwards onto a bed that had appeared out of nowhere, bodies flush together with legs tangled and mouths fused. Clothes disappeared in his mind as Arthur wrapped his fingers around his cock and gave it a long, slow stroke upwards, groaning as he replaced his hand with Merlin’s pale, strong hands. He was close already; their earlier kiss, though chaste, had made the blood rush south so fast, his head spun. Imaginary Merlin arched his back and moaned his name, and Arthur came with a blinding flash, shooting come all over his stomach and chest.
He lay there for a long time, panting and shivering through the aftershocks before angrily getting out of bed. He washed himself with cold water from the ewer before he put out the candles and got back into bed. He curled onto his side, unbelievably angry with himself.
He could never have this: he couldn’t risk Merlin. Arthur’s own social status gave him some measure of protection, but Merlin would be dead within days, if he even survived prison long enough to go to trial. They could never be, and that one ill-advised, wonderful kiss had only served to prove to him how much he wished that weren’t true. No, he would marry Morgana and...
Oh God, Morgana.
Arthur felt sick. He had never been one to keep many mistresses; he’d contented himself with one until he grew bored and always ensured she was comfortably well off when he did decide to end their arrangement. Growing up, even as an adolescent, the serving girls in his father’s estates had always been safe from him, only pursuing once he was sure that the attraction was actually reciprocated and not borne of fear. His father had, as far as Arthur knew, remained faithful to his wife for the entirety of their marriage, and long after, and Arthur did was not want to be the kind of man that would play away when he was married. But here he was, all but officially engaged to a woman he considered a friend, and cared for, and he had kissed someone else. Guilt flooded him and he punched his pillow in anger. God, what was he turning in to? If his father knew...
Arthur flopped onto his back, and rubbed his tired eyes in frustration. This was an utter and complete mess he’d gotten himself into. He needed to sort out his priorities, and as much as he hated it, Merlin wasn’t a priority any more.
Tomorrow, he would pay Morgana a visit. He had to focus on her now.
~*~
When he eventually slept, he dreamt of Merlin.
~*~
That night, after she had returned from the ball, Morgana was restless. It was more than her usual nightmares of flames and heat. No, her dreams, on the few and short occasions she managed to get some sleep, were haunted by a pair of clear blue eyes and by a knowing smile. She squirmed as she lay in her bed, unused to feeling so drawn to someone. Never in her life had she found herself attracted to someone as much s she was to Lord Sortiar. Those few short minutes where he’d had her in his arms had been the most exhilarating of her life. The merest brush of his fingertips had almost set her skin aflame. And she literally couldn’t break eye contact with him and he with her. She had seen him briefly in the flurry of admirers as he put his name down on her dance card, but they had barely spoken and hadn’t made eye contact as Morgana’s attention had been called elsewhere at the time. She’d been wary of putting his name down when she didn’t know him, but it was done before she could blink and he’d disappeared into the crowd again.
Despite the late and restless night, Morgana rose early the next day. She paced her bedroom until Gwen came with fresh bathing water and to help her dress. She needed to clear her head and decided to go out riding, forgoing breakfast. Gwen helped her into her dark blue riding habit and within half an hour, she’d had her horse saddled and she was away. London was still waking up for the day as she took to the streets, most of society still in bed recovering from the excesses of Lady Wentworth’s ball and the streets were almost empty save for a few early morning shop keepers as she walked Morgause, her mare, forward. There was a slight chill in the air which helped clear the cobwebs from her mind. She felt restless and uneasy, on edge. She felt as if she were waiting for someone, or something, to arrive and would not find peace until it did.
As she approached Hyde Park, she looked up and felt something click into place. She realised exactly what it was she was missing, or waiting for.
Lord Mordred Sortiar was riding towards her.
Her heart leapt in her chest when he recognised her and a half smile curled his lips.
"My Lady," he greeted her as he approached, bowing slightly in his saddle. Morgana, usually cool and aloof, smiled at him and let her pleasure in his company known.
"Lord Sortiar, it’s a pleasure to see you again so soon. I’m surprised to see someone else out as early as I this morning," she said as they both turned in the entrance to Hyde Park.
"I confess, I had a restless night. I found it hard to find peace and to sleep when my mind was so otherwise occupied. I have actually been out riding for an hour or so already in the hope of either running in to you, or passing the time until a more respectable hour when I could pay you a visit."
To Morgana’s mortification, a fiery blush stole across her pale features at the implied compliment. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She’s received scores of compliments and hundreds of pretty words directed at her since her debut at the age of eighteen, and had always felt nothing but distain for them. And all this man had to do was imply he wanted to see her and it set her cheeks aflame.
"You didn’t have a restful night?" she asked in an attempt to distract from her blush.
"I found I could not get a certain Lady from my mind."
"Lord Sortiar..."
"Forgive me for speaking so bluntly and I apologise if you find it improper," her companion said in an earnest manner, moving his horse alongside hers in the deserted park and taking her hand in his. Morgana’s shivers had little to do with the early morning air and everything to do with the man beside her. "I find you fascinating, totally enchanting, and it is not just because of your beauty. When I look at you, it feels as if time slows and I believe that you also feel it: this connection. If it is all in my mind then please, speak plainly and I shall trouble you no more."
"It’s not just you," she admitted, ignoring the voice screaming inside her to stop. To think of what she was admitting to. To think of Arthur, whom she was almost engaged to. The voice sounded like Gwen, her one true friend but she managed to ignore it. "And you may call me Morgana," she told him.
If she had been stunned by his half smile, his full blown grin threatened to make her weak at the knees, and she was grateful she was sitting.
"Morgana," he repeated, trying out the name and smiled again. "Beautiful, just like you are. And please, call me Mordred."
"Shall we ride for a while?" Morgana asked, feeling brave despite the blush making her way across her cheeks again. Mordred brought her fingers to his lips and shivers ran through her entire body.
"An excellent suggestion," he agreed and they walked their horses on further into the empty park.
~*~
"My Lady, is everything alright? Where were you?"
Gwen had been starting to worry about her mistress when she hadn’t returned by noon. She’d left incredibly early had yet to eat that day, and she’d looked so distracted and tired before she’d left... Gwen had been about to send people out to look for her when she’d arrived back home, a wide smile on her lips.
"I was out riding Gwen," Lady Morgana said happily. Gwen blinked in surprise. Her lady had been quiet and withdrawn when she’d left this morning. Her change in mood now, only a few hours after leaving, was strange to say the least. Lady Morgana was prone to bouts of low mood, and sometimes they lasted days; they never lifted after only a few hours.
Her lady chatted happily as Gwen helped her change into a day dress of deep purple, her favourite colour. Gwen rang for some lunch to be brought to the small dining room Morgana used when she was alone while her mistress went through the calling cards of visitors that had arrived when she’d been out.
"Oh, Arthur called." Morgana sounded surprised, almost as if she had forgotten about his existence. She traced a fingernail over the crest engraved on his calling card.
"Yes, my lady," Gwen replied, arranging the food which a serving girl had just brought up. "He was most concerned when he heard you had gone out early and hadn’t yet returned. He stayed for almost forty five minutes but had to leave to meet his man of business and asked me to tell you that he would call later."
Gwen was surprised when Morgana blew out a frustrated breath.
"I’m fine. Why does he always have to smother me so?" she huffed.
"He was just trying to look after you, my Lady," Gwen said, choosing her words carefully. "His concern is natural, isn’t it? I mean, since you and he are going to get married. Not that you have to marry him. That is... if you want to..."
Morgana toyed with her knife, not meeting Gwen’s eyes.
"My lady?" Gwen was proud of the fact that her mistress saw her as a friend and confidant, not merely a maid. They had shared stories and secrets over the years of Gwen’s service, and Lady Morgana had said several times in the past that Gwen was the only person that she could truly trust. She had be the first, and possibly the only, person Morgana had told about Lord Pendragon’s proposal, and had asked for her advice, and had valued and listened to her opinion. Still, she was shocked when her mistress grabber her arm and pulled her down to sit in the chair beside her.
"Gwen, what I’m about to say... you cannot tell a soul, you understand me?" she whispered urgently. "Not even Lancelot. Especially not Lancelot."
Gwen considered for a long moment. She had no secrets from her fiancé and hated the idea of keeping one even for a short time. But, until she married him and left Morgana’s service, her duty was also to her Lady, and she looked so desperate to speak about whatever was on her mind. And since she was almost her only friend...
"I promise," she said eventually, and Morgana smiled briefly.
"I wasn’t alone when I rode out this morning," she confided in a low voice. "I met someone whilst out and spent the morning with him."
"Him?" Gwen asked, a feeling of dread uncurling in your stomach. "Oh my Lady, what did you do? What about Lord Pendragon?"
"That is why you cannot tell your Lance," Morgana insisted. "Gwen, it was Mordred Sortiar that I met in the park."
"My Lady!" Gwen was shocked. "Lord Sortiar? He’s Lord Pendragon’s worst enemy. He was discharged from the army under a cloud. My Lance has only spoken of him a few times, but he has always said that he is dangerous and told me to keep away from him and his people."
"He’s a danger to no-one," Morgana said firmly. "He told he what happened. Arthur accused him of theft, and when they couldn’t prove it, they gave him a dishonourable discharge. He was lucky he wasn’t killed!"
"But if Lord Pendragon accused him of a crime, he had to have been sure? Both their reputations were at stake."
"Arthur is not always right, Gwen. No matter what he likes to think," Morgana’s voice was dark, both surprising and unsettling Gwen. "He doesn’t always do what is right either. I know you have this perfect vision of him Gwen, but he’s just a man, and he’s susceptible to petty jealousies and anger like the rest of their sex. He’s always been a proud and selfish man."
"Morgana!" Gwen was shocked enough to forger herself and her station. "You mustn’t speak of him like that. You are going to marry him and you will feel terrible afterwards."
"I’m not sure I want to marry him any more," Morgana said quietly.
"Then you must tell him," Gwen stated firmly. "Tell him now before it goes any further than it has."
"He’ll only tell me that I’m not thinking straight and try to turn me against Mordred. My eyes have been opened Gwen. No, I’ll leave it for a few days. See how I feel about it then."
"Maybe he..."
"Remember your promise Gwen," Morgana said sharply. "Not a word to anybody. Now, I’m expecting a visitor this evening. Go make sure my cream evening dress is ready."
"Yes, my lady," Gwen said evenly, rising to her feet with as much grace as she could. Morgana had never spoken to her so harshly before. Morgana turned and began her meal while Gwen retreated to Morgana’s dressing room to look over the cream, embroidered dress.
Why had she made that promise?
~*~
May, 1817
Gwen paced Morgana’s bedroom, anger in her stride. Where was she? Over the past few weeks, her lady had been increasingly distracted, spending more and more time with Lord Sortiar, and mostly in secret. She met him out in London Town, or she went to his house, or he came here in secret. They danced at balls and parties, and Lance told Gwen how Lord Pendragon had always hated it, but could say nothing without causing a scene. Morgana had returned from a party two days ago, fuming because Arthur had asked her not to entertain Lord Sortiar any more, but she had refused. Apparently, they’d had an argument about it and harsh words and been spoken. They had not seen each other since. Gwen tried to tell Lance about Morgana and Lord Sortiar, but every time she tried, her promise rang in her ears and she couldn’t. She had her honour too.
Finally, after the stroke of eleven at night, Morgana finally appeared. Her hair was messy and her lips were swollen and Gwen felt sick to her stomach.
"Morgana, what are you doing?" she asked bluntly. Morgana started, surprised to see her in the room.
"I’m returning to my room," Morgana said, not meeting her eyes.
"I meant with Lord Sortiar," Gwen said, anger at her lady for putting her in this position, making her forget her station. "You sneak out to see him most days, or he comes here. Morgana, you are betraying Lord Pendragon who has never been anything but kind to you. Why are you doing this?"
Morgana stopped, hat halfway off her head and looked at Gwen solemnly.
"I don’t know," she told her, and Gwen could tell she was telling the truth. "I don’t like betraying Arthur, but he would never understand. He would try and stop me seeing Mordred, and I need to see him. I can’t explain it. There’s a bond between us. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Perhaps I was always meant to meet him. I don’t know how it can be. I can’t explain it."
She sat down heavily on the side of her bed, and Gwen sat beside her.
"I’m confused, Gwen," she admitted and Gwen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"You need to come clean to Lord Pendragon, and to Lord Sortiar. You need to choose Morgana."
"I will," Morgana promised. "I will. Now, will you help me get ready for bed?"
Gwen helped her in silence, and she couldn’t help but think that Morgana didn’t mean what she had promised at all.
~*~
A few days after her conversation with Gwen, Morgana paced her bedchamber, faintly nauseous with nerves. She kept shooting glances at the clock which seemed to alternate between dragging slowly and passing an hour in the blink of an eye. Finally, midnight struck and, with great trepidation, she silently opened the door and crept downstairs. The house was completely deserted, the servants having long since retired or gone home. She made her way to the morning room, expensive silk robe flowing in her wake and unlocked the French doors leading out onto the patio. The figure waiting in the shadows detached itself from the wall and slipped inside silently.
Mordred smiled down and her and kissed her softly before taking her hand and leading her back up the stairs. She guided him wordlessly to her room, only looking him in the eye when the door had been safely shut and locked behind her. She looked up at him; he was so much taller than her, and felt a shiver of fear run through her. Logically, she knew that Mordred would never hurt her, but Edwin had been so much taller than her too...
"Hey now," Mordred said, wrapping her in a gentle hug. She lay her head on his muscled chest, and felt his strong arms around her, holding her close but not trapping her. "There’s no reason to be afraid," he murmured into her hair, and Morgana automatically tried to pull away, out of his grip, but he held fast. "I am not going to hurt you, I swear it. I know this is the first time for you since your marriage, but if you want to at any time, we will stop. I promise Morgana."
She looked up into Mordred big blue eyes, and saw the truth in them. She smiled a little, and he bent down to kiss her. His lips brushed softly against hers before he pulled back and smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She smiled back then stood up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened them gladly, breath stuttering in her chest when his tongue stroked hers. Without breaking contact with her, he bent down, placed one arm behind her knees and swung her up into his arms. She pulled back, laughing with him as he placed her on the covers of the bed.
Despite knowing who he was, and how he felt about her, Morgana still felt a spike of fear run through her and her muscles locked in memory of what had happened before. Mordred took off his outer coat, his waistcoat and had just pulled his shirt loose from his breeches when he noticed the way she held herself. He sat gently down beside her on the bed and cupper her cheek, running his hand through her hair.
"I love you," he told her, and Morgana froze for an entirely different reason. No one, other than her father, had ever uttered those words to her before.
"You..."
"I love you," he confirmed, and leaned in and kissed her. She clutched at his shoulders, head reeling from the information and from his kisses. Morgana was no fool. She knew men often used women’s emotions against them to get what they wanted, and while she got the feeling that Mordred wasn’t the most scrupulous of men, she believed him when he told her he loved her. She’d always had a gift of telling when people were lying to her, and Mordred was being one hundred percent honest.
Mordred reached for the tie of her robe and she let him, twisting so he could loosen the knot more easily. Once it was open, he slipped it off her shoulders and pushed it down her arms. She shrugged out of it and gave a wiggle as he pulled the robe out from underneath her and dropped it over the side of the bed and onto the floor. Morgana was naked underneath and now lay back, aware of Mordred’s gaze on every inch of her body and felt a blush spread from her cheeks down her neck to her chest. When he hadn’t blinked in several long moments, Morgana went to cover up, but he gently pulled her hands away.
"You are so beautiful," he told her hoarsely. "So beautiful that I can’t believe you are here with me."
Morgana’s flush deepened.
He leaned down and kissed her again, his moustache tickling her lip and making her smile. He pulled back and grinned down at her before moving down to hiss her cheek, her ear, her jaw. He rubbed his nose softly against the long line of her neck and Morgana gasped at the shiver that went through her and at the heat that pooled low in her belly. She ran a hand up his arm, over the corded muscles of his shoulder and buried her fingers in his hair as he stretched out beside her, and kissed lower. He nibbled tiny, biting kisses across her collarbone to the hollow of her throat where he lapped at the skin there before he traced his tongue down her chest to the dip between her breasts.
Morgana arched under him as he moved swiftly to her right nipple, peaking it with the broad swipe of his tongue before tracing it with the very tip. Wave after wave of fire swept through her as she arched up into him and clung on for dear life. Never before had she experienced such feelings and sensations as she did right then. One of Mordred’s arms slipped around her back, holding her up to him while the other stroked down her side and across her stomach. The heat building between her legs tripled his hand travelled back up to cup her other breast, thumb stroking across her nipple.
She whimpered in protest when he pulled away, laying her gently back onto the bed.
"Don’t..." she began, but Mordred silenced her with a quick kiss on the lips.
"I’m not going anywhere," he told her as he bent his head down again to kiss her stomach. He shifted on the bed, moving and arranging her until he was lying between her legs, smiling up at her. Morgana felt the flush start again, embarrassed to her core.
"What are you going to do?" she whispered, and a flicker of unexplained sadness crossed his face for a moment before he rested his chin on her hip.
"I am sorry that no one has ever taken their time with you before," he told her. "But in a way, I am glad it is I that can show you just how good it can be. If you enjoyed that," he waved hand at her torso, and she blushed bright red again, "then you will really, really enjoy this."
With that, he bent his head to the curls in the of vee of her legs. She felt his hands caressing her inner thighs, stroking and coaxing them further apart. She drew a deep breath and complied, choking at the first stroke of his... was that his tongue?... and oh my God...
Morgana’s hands flew to the headboard, and she scrambled for purchase, arching her hips in a thoroughly wanton way, moaning helplessly as the fire swept through her once more. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks for thick walls when his fingers joined his tongue, entering her slowly and stroking softly. There was one spot he kept coming back to, and as he brushed his fingers over it, the fire grew and grew until it consumed her completely and she cried out, shaking all over as she felt she would fall apart. Her vision went white, then black and she gasped for air, blinking furiously as she let her hands drop from the headboard onto the pillows by her head.
Sweat covered her body in a fine sheen and her heart slammed in her chest as if she had run a mile. Mordred appeared in her line of vision, a smile, and not a little satisfaction, on his face.
"See?" he told her, and instead of poking him in the side to get rid of his smug grin, as she might have done previously, she pulled him down and kissed him. He flailed a little, surprised at her actions and she smiled against his lips. He tasted... different than before, and Morgana realised with a jolt that she was tasting herself on his lips and the blush appeared again.
After a long, breathless moment, Mordred pulled back and tore his loose shirt over his head. Morgana couldn’t help but feel the nerves return as he stood and unbuttoned his breeches, removing the rest of his clothing. She gulped as she took him in. He was... wow.
"Do you trust me," he whispered, lowering himself beside her.
"I do," Morgana promised.
"Good. I won’t hurt you," he said as he pulled her in so he could kiss her.
He kept his word.
~*~
Mordred woke with a start, his previously sated and relaxed body ready and alert as he strained his ears, trying to ascertain what had dragged him from his pleasant dreams. Morgana was lying beside him, hair spread out over the pillow in a vision of loveliness. But she was not sleeping peacefully. As he watched, her brow furrowed and she tossed her head to one side, lips forming the word ‘no’ as she gasped as if in pain.
"Morgana?"
He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder and she flinched back from him in fear.
"Morgana, you need to wake up now," he told her, leaning close to speak to her, but not physically touching her.
"Edwin, no!" she sobbed in her sleep, and Mordred wanted to resurrect the monster she had married and rip him apart himself.
"Morgana, my love, please wake up."
He continued to speak to her, voice steady and low and loving, hoping his voice would penetrate her dreams and wake her up.
"Come back to me, please darling."
After some of the longest minutes of Mordred’s life, Morgana woke up, eyes wide, gasping for air as she screamed in terror and bolted upright. She sat there, eyes unfocused as tears streamed down her cheeks, still half locked in her nightmare.
"Morgana?"
Even Mordred could hear the obvious worry in his tone as he sat up next to her. He gently reached out a hand and as soon as his fingertips touched her skin, she went wild; shouting and scratching at him, trying to defend herself from a perceived aggressor. Mordred ducked her flailing limbs and threw his arms around her torso, trapping her arms at her sides.
"Morgana, it’s alright. It’s me, my love. It’s Mordred," he murmured into her ear, holding her close so she could hear him, feel him beside her. Once she woke fully, and realised where she was and who was with her, she sagged against him, breathing harshly. Mordred kept his arms around her, running his hands up and down her trembling frame as he made soothing noises. Once she got herself back under control, she turned to him and gave him a shaky smile.
"Thank you," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I’m alright now."
"Like hell you are," Mordred exclaimed. "What was that all about Morgana?"
"It’s fine," she said defensively. "It’s nothing I can’t handle."
"You mean this has happened before?" he asked.
"Of course it’s happened before," Morgana snapped. "Do you think I could have lived through marriage to Edwin Muirden and not have nightmares about it? No, I dream of it every single night."
It seemed that the flood gates, once opened, could not easily be closed again as the words spilled out of Morgana’s mouth in a torrent of fear and anger.
"I dream of my wedding night, of what he did to me, of what he encouraged others to do to me. I dream of the taunts and jeers, and the pain. I dream I what I did to him in the end, of the fire and the heat. And it never, ever stops. No matter what I do."
When she finished, it was as if she were a marionette doll, and someone had cut all her strings. She slumped back onto her elbows, staring at the canopy. Mordred looked at her, blinking at the rush of words as he too in the actual meaning of what she had said.
"What did you mean ‘what I did to him’?" he asked slowly, and beside him, Morgana froze.
"Um...nothing." She turned onto her side, presenting her bare back to him. Mordred tore his eyes away from the line of her spine and the swell of her hips and reached for her shoulder, pulling her onto her back to face him.
"Morgana, what did you mean by that?"
"I said was nothing, alright? Just leave it alone."
"I don’t blame you, if you did anything," Mordred told her honestly. "I know what it is to struggle and I’ve heard tales of Edwin Muirden. I know what kind of man he was."
"No one knew," Morgana said quietly. "No one knew the extent of his depravity."
"I wish the bastard was standing in front of me right now," Mordred growled. "I’d tear the flesh from his bones. Burning was too good for him."
"Don’t worry. He got what was coming to him," Morgana said darkly, lost in a memory.
"Oh, did he?"
"Yes, he did." There was a dark look in her eyes and a smirk on her lips which Mordred found incredibly arousing, but he pushed that to one side.
"What did you do?" he asked again, and Morgana sat up, covering herself with the bed sheets and examined him with a piercing, assessing gaze.
"What makes you think I’ve done anything?" she asked.
"I’m not an idiot Morgana," he said. "I’ve seen the look that you have in your eyes before. I’ve seen it on men on the battlefield, and I’ve even seen it in the mirror sometimes. It’s the face of someone who has survived something terrible, but that has gotten its revenge. Tell me."
"Fine, you want to know? You want to know how after months of torment I finally snapped? Fine. I poisoned him. I poisoned him and while he was still alive, I set his bed on fire. Happy?"
[ Part III]
Lady Amelia Wentworth really knew how to throw a spectacular party. She rarely did, only once every two or so years due to her health, but when they rolled around, invitations to attend were the most sought after invitations of the season. A great friend of Sally Jersey, one of the patrons of Almacks, Amelia Wentworth was not often in residence in London due to her husband’s health. They mostly lived in the South of France, the sun helping Lord Dominic but they returned to London every few months. This time, their return had coincided with the Season, and Amelia had been determined to throw the ball of the year.
Arthur had, of course, been invited. Merlin had been also, and Arthur knew that word had gotten to Amelia that he would not attend if Merlin wasn’t invited also. And since he was the biggest catch of the season... This kind of power was intoxicating as well as amusing. They had already eaten, and the band had begun to play again as Arthur watched from the sidelines, Merlin at his side. Wentworth House was a beautiful old building with extensive gardens for Central London, and Arthur had to admit, he wasn’t having a terrible time at this particular ball. Much of that, Arthur knew, was down to Morgana. Since they had come to their agreement, the parade of debutants thrown at him had lessened considerably, and he could start to enjoy himself at parties again.
He should have known it was too good to last.
"Well Pendragon, I hear tentative congratulations are in order," a familiar voice said from behind Arthur and he spun around in shock.
The man in front of him was lightly tanned with dark hair and blue eyes, like Merlin’s but that’s where the similarities ended. Where Merlin was lean to the point of skinny, the man in front of him stood a shade taller than him with a deep, muscular chest and powerful arms. His dark hair flowed freely down to his shoulders, unbound by a tie, and a hint of a moustache adorned his lip. Where Merlin’s smile was wide and happy, this man’s lips were curled up into a cruel and calculating smirk. The man was also the very last person Arthur expected to see in society, especially somewhere like Lady Wentworth’s ball. An assessing gaze swept Arthur, and the smirk appeared again. "Your shoulder seems to have healed nicely," he observed.
"Sortiar," Arthur snarled, stepping into the other man’s personal space. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Why, I was invited, same as you were," Mordred Sortiar mocked. "Just because you do not like me, doesn’t mean I don’t have a good standing in the Ton. These people have short memories when it comes to family lines and wealth. And watch your language. There are ladies present." He looked past Arthur’s shoulder and right at Merlin and smirked when he said it. Arthur felt Merlin bristle with indignation beside him.
"Sortiar..."
"Come now Pendragon, is that any way to treat an old friend?"
"We were never friends."
"Old colleagues then. Comrades in arms."
"I remember that being in question also," Arthur pointed out, and Mordred’s eyes narrowed.
"I came over here to offer my congratulations on your impending nuptials, and all I get are unfounded rumours thrown back in my face? And here I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman, Pendragon."
"What do you know of my affairs?" Arthur asked, warily.
"Only what I hear in White’s and in the drawing rooms of society, I assure you. I am newly returned from a stay on the continent but news of this was one of the first things to reach my ears. Don’t you know you’re the talk of the Ton? The most eligible bachelor of the season finding his lady love. It’s quite poetic, really. And I must say you have chosen your bride well. Morgana is quite beautiful."
"That is Lady Muirden to you, not that you will ever have the opportunity to speak to her."
"Well, if you don’t want me to speak to her, I’ll have to find some other way to occupy myself during out waltz," Mordred said innocently, and Arthur’s hands curled into fists. "Now, now," Mordred took a step back when he noted Arthur’s reaction. "We don’t want to cause a scene, do we? We don’t want Father Dearest upset."
"This has nothing to do with my father, and everything to do with you and me."
"And Lady Muirden. You cannot cross my name from her dance card without causing a horrific scandal. Think of how embarrassing it would be for her. She would be very angry with you, if she even did what you asked."
He was right, Damnit. Morgana’s obstinacy was legendary amongst the ton and those who knew of her. She was so headstrong, she would probably dance all her dances with Sortiar just to prove her point to Arthur.
"If you lay one improper finger on her..." he let the threat hang.
"I promise I won’t do anything she doesn’t want me to do," Sortiar smirked before turning and melting back into the crowd.
Arthur stood stock still for a few moments, his rage building inside him. He needed to hit something. Hard.
"Arthur... Arthur!" A soft hand landing on his shoulder broke his reverie and he spun around, anger writ in every line of his body. Merlin backed away, arms raised as if in surrender. Arthur spun on his heel and made his way through the crowd, out the double doors, down the steps and into the garden. He only stopped when the lights and sounds from the party had faded to a dull noise in the background. He ducked off the path, into a copse of trees and, selecting one at random, proceeded to punch his frustration out.
~*~
Morgana stood in the centre of the group of her society ‘friends’ who were discussing the latest fashions from Paris, and resisted the urge to start beating their heads together. Granted, she liked clothes and fashion as much as the next noblewoman, meaning a lot, but they’d been at it for a whole two hours now, interspersed with gossiping about the most available Lords looking for brides this season. Morgana had left the group several times to dance with the men on her dance card, but on her return, they were always still on the topic of lace. They’d spent half an hour discussing sleeve length, for the love of God.
Morgana was bored. She was bored of society, of the insipid females that packed the parlours and the ball rooms. She was bored of the whispers behind her back when they thought she couldn’t hear, she was bored of the constant need to keep her head up and keep her neutral mask on. It was why she was seriously considering Arthur’s offer. She wasn’t in love with him and not he with her, but he knew her and she would be given her freedom. If she wished, she could retire to the country with their children and never have to grace society again.
The idea was appealing, especially when she considered the women around her who had now moved on to neck-lines.
Just as she was about to give in and start knocking some sense into these nitwits, a low cough at her elbow drew her attention. The other women petered off into silence as she turned and all but fell into a deep blue gaze. The man before her had hair as dark as midnight and blue eyes that seemed to draw her into their depths. He stood tall and strong, muscles obvious beneath his impeccably tailored clothing and he held himself with the poise of a warrior. He took her hand and bowed low, and Morgana gasped as soon as his lips touched the back of her hand. His eyes snapped up to meet hers and she knew, she knew, he had felt the same shock she had.
"Lady Muirden," he began, his voice whispery and soft, low as he pitched it to her alone. "In the clamour to stake a place on your dance card, I never really got the chance to introduce myself. Allow me to correct my error. I am Mordred Sortiar, eldest son of Baron Cerdan Sortiar. And may I say, my Lady, that reports of your beauty did not do you justice in the slightest."
Normally, Morgana would have scoffed in the face of any man saying such a thing to her, but with this man... Her hand tingled from where he had held it and kissed it; his fingers were warm beneath her own. She looked down at their joined hands and then up into his eyes, which looked almost as shocked as she felt.
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Sortiar," she managed eventually. He held out and arm for her and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"Shall we?" he asked with a smile on his lips and a raise of his eyebrow.
"Lead on, good sir," she insisted and practically glided next to him as they took their positions on the dance floor. It was a waltz, and when he took her in his arms, though they kept the necessary distance, she felt like she was coming home.
~*~
Arthur slammed his fist into the trunk once, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm. Twice. Three times. His forth punch was halted by someone grabbing his arm at the elbow and Arthur reacted on instinct. He spun, grabbed his attacker and, continuing the momentum, slammed him into the tree trunk and pinned him there with his body.
It was Merlin.
He should have known.
He wasn’t surprised that his friend had followed him. He pressed against him unconsciously, feeling the thin body flush and warm against his own. Their breaths mingled and all fight went out of them both as Arthur’s eyes locked on Merlin’s. He slowly pulled away, stepping back before forcefully wrenching his eyes away from Merlin’s. He coughed and Merlin straightened himself up.
"I apologise, Merlin," he said.
"Forgiven," Merlin said instantly, waving away more apologies. "Are you alright though? You look mad enough to kill. What was that all about? Who was that?"
"It’s just.... Sortiar," Arthur said haltingly. "We have what one would call a history."
"Yes, I gathered that," Merlin smiled, but his eyes narrowed as he took in Arthur’s unconscious rubbing of his healed shoulder wound. "Wait... you don’t mean... Sortiar?"
Arthur nodded.
"I’m certain of it. I saw him there as I lay bleeding. I saw his tattoo. It’s fairly distinctive."
"Why isn’t he in prison then? Or why is he even alive?" Merlin exclaimed. "Why did your father let him live and not have him executed for treason?"
"Because there was no proof it was him other than the testimony of a man half dead and in pain," Arthur told him. "I was not a reliable witness. No one else even saw the second man, but there was no way Tauren would have gotten as far as he had without some help from one of our own men. I know it was him, but I have no proof. As it was, because of his family and connections, all my father could do was have him discharged him from the army. He’s hated my family ever since. The Sortiar line is as old as the Pendragon one, but where we prospered through business deals and investments, they beggared themselves on whores, wine and gambling. But they still have their name. When their eldest son was discharged under a cloud and with rumours of treason..."
"He’s going to be looking for a way to redeem himself," Merlin guessed and Arthur nodded.
"And get back at me if he can. He’s probably hoping enough time has passed since his discharge that people will overlook his background in order to ally themselves with the Sortiar name. I’m guessing his going to go for marriage, rather than commerce for redemption. He was always too easily distracted by a flash of stocking to take a valid interest in business."
"It’s a good thing that Morgana will hopefully soon be safe from him," Merlin said quietly, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. Arthur coughed and looked away.
"Good thing," he replied. "Listen, Merlin..."
"We should get back inside before someone comes looking for you," Merlin cut him off as he turned back to the house. "Don’t want the rumours to start. They already think it’s strange that you spend so much of your time with me. You attachment to a simple physician is quite unusual, you know."
"Merlin."
"Keep up Arthur," the doctor chirped cheerfully as he disappeared around the corner.
~*~
Mordred bowed to Morgana once again and kisser her hand. He made his way through the throng out onto a secluded section of the balcony before his knees all but gave out and he collapsed back against the wall. His hands shook from the fire that had raced through him where they had touched and his lips tingled from where they had kissed her skin. Morgana was the most enchanting woman he had ever met; hauntingly beautiful, intelligent and sharp. But there was something in her eyes that Mordred recognised, a hunted look. A need to escape. A fear and an anger that could blossom into something terrible and beautiful. He recognised the look from his own reflection and he revelled in the connection. Mordred had never had this visceral a reaction to a woman before, and was shaken to the core.
Voices and footsteps coming up the path shook him from his contemplation and he shrank back further into the shadows out of sheer habit. The army had taught him well, allowing him the pick of the assignments and giving him free reign to use his gifts for subterfuge, and he was glad they had when he recognised Pendragon’s irritating tones coming up the path as he whined after that doctor friend of his. He made sure he was out of their view as they came back towards the house, but remained in clear view of them both. He didn’t know why. He just knew he needed to witness this argument.
"Merlin, I said wait, God damnit!" Pendragon caught up to his friend when they were still half in the darkness of the garden and grabbed him by the arm. The doctor stopped, but didn’t turn around to face him.
"Merlin... please." His voice was soft and pleading, and Mordred frowned in confusion. Why was he acting so... tender?
"Arthur," Emrys began, turning to face him but Pendragon cut him off.
"Merlin, I don’t want to take a wife. You know this." Their gazes locked. "Nothing will change."
"Everything will change!" Emrys insisted. "You’ll be married, Arthur. You will not be able to carry on as before."
"Other men do when they are wed," Pendragon said and Emrys smiled sadly.
"You are nothing like other men, Arthur Pendragon."
"It’s my duty to provide an heir," Pendragon almost croaked.
"And you always do your duty," Emrys replied sadly.
Mordred watched in horrified fascination as Pendragon slowly slid his hand down the doctor’s arm and caught his hand, interlacing their fingers and holding on tight. Mordred collapsed back against the wall in shock.
"If I cannot marry, or be with, the person that I truly love, then my only comfort is that I can fulfil my duty."
Emrys looked down at their entwined hands, and then back to lock his eyes on Pendragon’s once more.
"If I cannot marry for love," he stressed the last word, clenching his hand convulsively around Emrys’, "then I shall do so out of love of my family. For duty and for honour. But know you that if I could..."
"Arthur, don’t" Emrys said, voice choked with emotion.
Pendragon’s eyes searched his companion’s, and apparently saw something in his features that pleased him, for he stepped closer into the doctor’s personal space and tilted his head. Emrys leaned in closer and their lips barely brushed before a sudden burst of noise as a new song started inside make them jump apart and look around in terror.
"Arthur, we can’t!" Emrys insisted. "It’s too dangerous. We’re outside for the love of God. You would be disinherited at best and killed at the worst should anyone find out. Even the hint of something like this..."
"I’m well aware Merlin. I just..." Pendragon looked away. "Look, we best return inside before someone comes looking for us."
Neither noticed Mordred as they strode past his hiding place, for which he was grateful. His mind was reeling with the implications of what he had just witnessed.
Pendragon was queer. Arthur Thomas James Pendragon, heir to the Duke of Sussex, was a queer. He was kissing his very male friend in the gardens of one of societies most influential matrons. If they were that brazen, what else would they be getting up to in private? If anyone should find out... Mordred smiled to himself. He’d see Pendragon dead yet, hopefully at the end of a hangman’s noose. Even the hint of a scandal would ruin him beyond redemption and would make a ‘suicide’ look even more convincing.
Mordred straightened from his slump against the wall. His revenge, a long time in coming, would be even sweeter than he anticipated.
He walked swiftly back through the patio doors and began pushing his way through the crowd, heading for the cloakroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of pale skin and dark hair and turned to the Lady Muirden - Morgana - his mind supplied helpfully, dancing the waltz with another man. He was surprised at the red hot, murderous rage that filled him at the thought of another man touching her, but his temper was soothed by the look of bored disinterest on her face as she danced. Her partner, an older man from the Gedref family, was speaking to her and though she nodded politely on occasion, Mordred could see her eyes roaming the room as if searching for somebody.
When her cool blue gaze met his, he almost doubled over with the rush of feeling that filled him. It was as if he had been punched in the stomach. Morgana also stumbled at the simple eye contact and Gedref caught her. Mordred turned and walked away before he did something stupid like put a bullet through Gedref’s head in public.
This strength of feeling, this burning, instant connection to another human being was new and frightening to Mordred. But it was also exhilarating. What was even more amazing was that Morgana seemed to feel it also. His half formed plan to push Pendragon and his doctor friend and their depraved ways out into the public eye changed before it even coalesced in his mind. He could let the world know, but chances were he would lose his opportunity with Morgana, and that was something he was not prepared to do.
Whatever he did, it would involve Morgana Muirden.
And he was certain that she would not mind at all.
~*~
Once they got back inside, Arthur immediately snagged the arm of a passing waiter and ordered a scotch, neat. Merlin knew better than to go down that road, and took his leave for the night, not really meeting his friend eyes as he made his farewells. His legs felt like rubber and his hands shook, so he clenched them into fists by his side as he pushed through the crowd. He eventually retrieved his coat and hat and made it into the night air, relishing the sting of the wind as it whipped down the street. In the large gardens of the mansion behind him, they’d been sheltered from the worst of the weather, but now, Merlin was glad for it. It helped clear the fog out of his head as he walked past the rows of carriage and began his journey home.
Arthur had kissed him.
The mere thought of it was almost enough to send him to his knees in both joy and despair. Part of him relished the fact that Arthur felt the same way; that he had kissed him and cradled his hand tenderly and whispered soft low words before pressing his lips to his. Merlin brought a shaking hand up to his mouth, reliving the sensation. It had been the single most amazing moment of his life.
The other half of him despaired because now he had confirmation of Arthur’s feelings. And Arthur knew of his own.
And they both knew they could never, ever act on it.
Merlin was not going to put Arthur at such a risk. He was to be married to someone he considered a friend. Oh God, Morgana. What had they done? His stomach rolled at the thought of betraying his friend like that. If she ever found out, especially in light of what happened with Muirden... Arthur would never allow her to be hurt like that. If they had acted before the engagement, before Arthur all but bound himself to another for life, then perhaps they could have gone further.
But now, the only thing they could ever have was a brief stolen kiss in a secluded garden.
It was a tiny thing, something that Merlin would cherish for the rest of his life, and it would have to suffice.
~*~
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Arthur drained his scotch in one gulp and indicated to the same waiter for another, nodding distractedly as Merlin made his farewells. He wouldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur couldn’t blame him. He’d put them both in incredible amounts of danger by his actions, and Merlin was probably fuming.
He accepted his second glass and sipped at a much slower pace as his mind replayed the past half an hour. The softness of Merlin’s lips, the scent of his skin, the brush of his ridiculous hair against his forehead. Arthur felt himself embarrassingly beginning to harden at the mere thought and he hunched over himself consciously and turned to the wall, calling forth evil, foul images such as his father with a troll until he got himself back under control again.
It was definitely time to leave.
He searched the crowded mansion for Morgana to tell her he was leaving, but she was off brushing her hair, or whatever it was that women did, and he couldn’t find her. He tracked down Lance, who had accompanied him here to meet with his Guinevere. Arthur found them after a while, and looked away as his friend kissed his lady goodnight and as she blushed prettily.
Lance was quiet on the return to Avalon house. He helped Arthur struggle out of his coat in silence, lost in his own thoughts. Arthur felt for him. There was no doubt that Guinevere loved him; anyone with a pair of eyes could see that the pair were smitten with each other, but she refused to leave Morgana’s service and marry him until Morgana was more settled. She had met Lance during the course of Morgana’s disastrous marriage when she couldn’t in good conscience ‘abandon’ her mistress, and she was obviously still thinking along those same lines. Her loyalty was admirable: if only it didn’t cause his friend pain.
Arthur knew what it was like to want something more than air, and be unable to have it.
He dismissed Lance as soon as he was changed into his night clothes, letting the other man wallow in his self pity in peace. Arthur’s head had been buzzing with the after effects of the alcohol but now, as he stood by the open window in his bed chamber and breathed in the crisp night air, he felt his mind clear.
What had happened tonight; kissing Merlin, though something he had wanted to do for years, had been dangerous. If anyone had seen them... Arthur shuddered at the thought. One, if not both, of them would end up dead.
He licked his lips and imagined he could still taste Merlin on them beneath the residual alcohol; the mixture of brandy and a faint hint of herbs that always reminded him of Merlin. Arthur shuddered again, but for an entirely different reason. Again, he felt himself grow hard at the memory and he threw himself down on the bed. This time, in the privacy of his own chambers, he didn’t try and stop the images in his mind.
His imagination took over where reality left off and in his mind’s eye, Merlin was running his hands up Arthur’s arms and tangling them in his hair. He was opening his mouth under Arthur’s onslaught, sliding his tongue against the future Duke’s own as he pressed his body closer. Arthur struggled to tear off his night shift and palm his cock as he imagined them falling backwards onto a bed that had appeared out of nowhere, bodies flush together with legs tangled and mouths fused. Clothes disappeared in his mind as Arthur wrapped his fingers around his cock and gave it a long, slow stroke upwards, groaning as he replaced his hand with Merlin’s pale, strong hands. He was close already; their earlier kiss, though chaste, had made the blood rush south so fast, his head spun. Imaginary Merlin arched his back and moaned his name, and Arthur came with a blinding flash, shooting come all over his stomach and chest.
He lay there for a long time, panting and shivering through the aftershocks before angrily getting out of bed. He washed himself with cold water from the ewer before he put out the candles and got back into bed. He curled onto his side, unbelievably angry with himself.
He could never have this: he couldn’t risk Merlin. Arthur’s own social status gave him some measure of protection, but Merlin would be dead within days, if he even survived prison long enough to go to trial. They could never be, and that one ill-advised, wonderful kiss had only served to prove to him how much he wished that weren’t true. No, he would marry Morgana and...
Oh God, Morgana.
Arthur felt sick. He had never been one to keep many mistresses; he’d contented himself with one until he grew bored and always ensured she was comfortably well off when he did decide to end their arrangement. Growing up, even as an adolescent, the serving girls in his father’s estates had always been safe from him, only pursuing once he was sure that the attraction was actually reciprocated and not borne of fear. His father had, as far as Arthur knew, remained faithful to his wife for the entirety of their marriage, and long after, and Arthur did was not want to be the kind of man that would play away when he was married. But here he was, all but officially engaged to a woman he considered a friend, and cared for, and he had kissed someone else. Guilt flooded him and he punched his pillow in anger. God, what was he turning in to? If his father knew...
Arthur flopped onto his back, and rubbed his tired eyes in frustration. This was an utter and complete mess he’d gotten himself into. He needed to sort out his priorities, and as much as he hated it, Merlin wasn’t a priority any more.
Tomorrow, he would pay Morgana a visit. He had to focus on her now.
~*~
When he eventually slept, he dreamt of Merlin.
~*~
That night, after she had returned from the ball, Morgana was restless. It was more than her usual nightmares of flames and heat. No, her dreams, on the few and short occasions she managed to get some sleep, were haunted by a pair of clear blue eyes and by a knowing smile. She squirmed as she lay in her bed, unused to feeling so drawn to someone. Never in her life had she found herself attracted to someone as much s she was to Lord Sortiar. Those few short minutes where he’d had her in his arms had been the most exhilarating of her life. The merest brush of his fingertips had almost set her skin aflame. And she literally couldn’t break eye contact with him and he with her. She had seen him briefly in the flurry of admirers as he put his name down on her dance card, but they had barely spoken and hadn’t made eye contact as Morgana’s attention had been called elsewhere at the time. She’d been wary of putting his name down when she didn’t know him, but it was done before she could blink and he’d disappeared into the crowd again.
Despite the late and restless night, Morgana rose early the next day. She paced her bedroom until Gwen came with fresh bathing water and to help her dress. She needed to clear her head and decided to go out riding, forgoing breakfast. Gwen helped her into her dark blue riding habit and within half an hour, she’d had her horse saddled and she was away. London was still waking up for the day as she took to the streets, most of society still in bed recovering from the excesses of Lady Wentworth’s ball and the streets were almost empty save for a few early morning shop keepers as she walked Morgause, her mare, forward. There was a slight chill in the air which helped clear the cobwebs from her mind. She felt restless and uneasy, on edge. She felt as if she were waiting for someone, or something, to arrive and would not find peace until it did.
As she approached Hyde Park, she looked up and felt something click into place. She realised exactly what it was she was missing, or waiting for.
Lord Mordred Sortiar was riding towards her.
Her heart leapt in her chest when he recognised her and a half smile curled his lips.
"My Lady," he greeted her as he approached, bowing slightly in his saddle. Morgana, usually cool and aloof, smiled at him and let her pleasure in his company known.
"Lord Sortiar, it’s a pleasure to see you again so soon. I’m surprised to see someone else out as early as I this morning," she said as they both turned in the entrance to Hyde Park.
"I confess, I had a restless night. I found it hard to find peace and to sleep when my mind was so otherwise occupied. I have actually been out riding for an hour or so already in the hope of either running in to you, or passing the time until a more respectable hour when I could pay you a visit."
To Morgana’s mortification, a fiery blush stole across her pale features at the implied compliment. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She’s received scores of compliments and hundreds of pretty words directed at her since her debut at the age of eighteen, and had always felt nothing but distain for them. And all this man had to do was imply he wanted to see her and it set her cheeks aflame.
"You didn’t have a restful night?" she asked in an attempt to distract from her blush.
"I found I could not get a certain Lady from my mind."
"Lord Sortiar..."
"Forgive me for speaking so bluntly and I apologise if you find it improper," her companion said in an earnest manner, moving his horse alongside hers in the deserted park and taking her hand in his. Morgana’s shivers had little to do with the early morning air and everything to do with the man beside her. "I find you fascinating, totally enchanting, and it is not just because of your beauty. When I look at you, it feels as if time slows and I believe that you also feel it: this connection. If it is all in my mind then please, speak plainly and I shall trouble you no more."
"It’s not just you," she admitted, ignoring the voice screaming inside her to stop. To think of what she was admitting to. To think of Arthur, whom she was almost engaged to. The voice sounded like Gwen, her one true friend but she managed to ignore it. "And you may call me Morgana," she told him.
If she had been stunned by his half smile, his full blown grin threatened to make her weak at the knees, and she was grateful she was sitting.
"Morgana," he repeated, trying out the name and smiled again. "Beautiful, just like you are. And please, call me Mordred."
"Shall we ride for a while?" Morgana asked, feeling brave despite the blush making her way across her cheeks again. Mordred brought her fingers to his lips and shivers ran through her entire body.
"An excellent suggestion," he agreed and they walked their horses on further into the empty park.
~*~
"My Lady, is everything alright? Where were you?"
Gwen had been starting to worry about her mistress when she hadn’t returned by noon. She’d left incredibly early had yet to eat that day, and she’d looked so distracted and tired before she’d left... Gwen had been about to send people out to look for her when she’d arrived back home, a wide smile on her lips.
"I was out riding Gwen," Lady Morgana said happily. Gwen blinked in surprise. Her lady had been quiet and withdrawn when she’d left this morning. Her change in mood now, only a few hours after leaving, was strange to say the least. Lady Morgana was prone to bouts of low mood, and sometimes they lasted days; they never lifted after only a few hours.
Her lady chatted happily as Gwen helped her change into a day dress of deep purple, her favourite colour. Gwen rang for some lunch to be brought to the small dining room Morgana used when she was alone while her mistress went through the calling cards of visitors that had arrived when she’d been out.
"Oh, Arthur called." Morgana sounded surprised, almost as if she had forgotten about his existence. She traced a fingernail over the crest engraved on his calling card.
"Yes, my lady," Gwen replied, arranging the food which a serving girl had just brought up. "He was most concerned when he heard you had gone out early and hadn’t yet returned. He stayed for almost forty five minutes but had to leave to meet his man of business and asked me to tell you that he would call later."
Gwen was surprised when Morgana blew out a frustrated breath.
"I’m fine. Why does he always have to smother me so?" she huffed.
"He was just trying to look after you, my Lady," Gwen said, choosing her words carefully. "His concern is natural, isn’t it? I mean, since you and he are going to get married. Not that you have to marry him. That is... if you want to..."
Morgana toyed with her knife, not meeting Gwen’s eyes.
"My lady?" Gwen was proud of the fact that her mistress saw her as a friend and confidant, not merely a maid. They had shared stories and secrets over the years of Gwen’s service, and Lady Morgana had said several times in the past that Gwen was the only person that she could truly trust. She had be the first, and possibly the only, person Morgana had told about Lord Pendragon’s proposal, and had asked for her advice, and had valued and listened to her opinion. Still, she was shocked when her mistress grabber her arm and pulled her down to sit in the chair beside her.
"Gwen, what I’m about to say... you cannot tell a soul, you understand me?" she whispered urgently. "Not even Lancelot. Especially not Lancelot."
Gwen considered for a long moment. She had no secrets from her fiancé and hated the idea of keeping one even for a short time. But, until she married him and left Morgana’s service, her duty was also to her Lady, and she looked so desperate to speak about whatever was on her mind. And since she was almost her only friend...
"I promise," she said eventually, and Morgana smiled briefly.
"I wasn’t alone when I rode out this morning," she confided in a low voice. "I met someone whilst out and spent the morning with him."
"Him?" Gwen asked, a feeling of dread uncurling in your stomach. "Oh my Lady, what did you do? What about Lord Pendragon?"
"That is why you cannot tell your Lance," Morgana insisted. "Gwen, it was Mordred Sortiar that I met in the park."
"My Lady!" Gwen was shocked. "Lord Sortiar? He’s Lord Pendragon’s worst enemy. He was discharged from the army under a cloud. My Lance has only spoken of him a few times, but he has always said that he is dangerous and told me to keep away from him and his people."
"He’s a danger to no-one," Morgana said firmly. "He told he what happened. Arthur accused him of theft, and when they couldn’t prove it, they gave him a dishonourable discharge. He was lucky he wasn’t killed!"
"But if Lord Pendragon accused him of a crime, he had to have been sure? Both their reputations were at stake."
"Arthur is not always right, Gwen. No matter what he likes to think," Morgana’s voice was dark, both surprising and unsettling Gwen. "He doesn’t always do what is right either. I know you have this perfect vision of him Gwen, but he’s just a man, and he’s susceptible to petty jealousies and anger like the rest of their sex. He’s always been a proud and selfish man."
"Morgana!" Gwen was shocked enough to forger herself and her station. "You mustn’t speak of him like that. You are going to marry him and you will feel terrible afterwards."
"I’m not sure I want to marry him any more," Morgana said quietly.
"Then you must tell him," Gwen stated firmly. "Tell him now before it goes any further than it has."
"He’ll only tell me that I’m not thinking straight and try to turn me against Mordred. My eyes have been opened Gwen. No, I’ll leave it for a few days. See how I feel about it then."
"Maybe he..."
"Remember your promise Gwen," Morgana said sharply. "Not a word to anybody. Now, I’m expecting a visitor this evening. Go make sure my cream evening dress is ready."
"Yes, my lady," Gwen said evenly, rising to her feet with as much grace as she could. Morgana had never spoken to her so harshly before. Morgana turned and began her meal while Gwen retreated to Morgana’s dressing room to look over the cream, embroidered dress.
Why had she made that promise?
~*~
May, 1817
Gwen paced Morgana’s bedroom, anger in her stride. Where was she? Over the past few weeks, her lady had been increasingly distracted, spending more and more time with Lord Sortiar, and mostly in secret. She met him out in London Town, or she went to his house, or he came here in secret. They danced at balls and parties, and Lance told Gwen how Lord Pendragon had always hated it, but could say nothing without causing a scene. Morgana had returned from a party two days ago, fuming because Arthur had asked her not to entertain Lord Sortiar any more, but she had refused. Apparently, they’d had an argument about it and harsh words and been spoken. They had not seen each other since. Gwen tried to tell Lance about Morgana and Lord Sortiar, but every time she tried, her promise rang in her ears and she couldn’t. She had her honour too.
Finally, after the stroke of eleven at night, Morgana finally appeared. Her hair was messy and her lips were swollen and Gwen felt sick to her stomach.
"Morgana, what are you doing?" she asked bluntly. Morgana started, surprised to see her in the room.
"I’m returning to my room," Morgana said, not meeting her eyes.
"I meant with Lord Sortiar," Gwen said, anger at her lady for putting her in this position, making her forget her station. "You sneak out to see him most days, or he comes here. Morgana, you are betraying Lord Pendragon who has never been anything but kind to you. Why are you doing this?"
Morgana stopped, hat halfway off her head and looked at Gwen solemnly.
"I don’t know," she told her, and Gwen could tell she was telling the truth. "I don’t like betraying Arthur, but he would never understand. He would try and stop me seeing Mordred, and I need to see him. I can’t explain it. There’s a bond between us. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Perhaps I was always meant to meet him. I don’t know how it can be. I can’t explain it."
She sat down heavily on the side of her bed, and Gwen sat beside her.
"I’m confused, Gwen," she admitted and Gwen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"You need to come clean to Lord Pendragon, and to Lord Sortiar. You need to choose Morgana."
"I will," Morgana promised. "I will. Now, will you help me get ready for bed?"
Gwen helped her in silence, and she couldn’t help but think that Morgana didn’t mean what she had promised at all.
~*~
A few days after her conversation with Gwen, Morgana paced her bedchamber, faintly nauseous with nerves. She kept shooting glances at the clock which seemed to alternate between dragging slowly and passing an hour in the blink of an eye. Finally, midnight struck and, with great trepidation, she silently opened the door and crept downstairs. The house was completely deserted, the servants having long since retired or gone home. She made her way to the morning room, expensive silk robe flowing in her wake and unlocked the French doors leading out onto the patio. The figure waiting in the shadows detached itself from the wall and slipped inside silently.
Mordred smiled down and her and kissed her softly before taking her hand and leading her back up the stairs. She guided him wordlessly to her room, only looking him in the eye when the door had been safely shut and locked behind her. She looked up at him; he was so much taller than her, and felt a shiver of fear run through her. Logically, she knew that Mordred would never hurt her, but Edwin had been so much taller than her too...
"Hey now," Mordred said, wrapping her in a gentle hug. She lay her head on his muscled chest, and felt his strong arms around her, holding her close but not trapping her. "There’s no reason to be afraid," he murmured into her hair, and Morgana automatically tried to pull away, out of his grip, but he held fast. "I am not going to hurt you, I swear it. I know this is the first time for you since your marriage, but if you want to at any time, we will stop. I promise Morgana."
She looked up into Mordred big blue eyes, and saw the truth in them. She smiled a little, and he bent down to kiss her. His lips brushed softly against hers before he pulled back and smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She smiled back then stood up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened them gladly, breath stuttering in her chest when his tongue stroked hers. Without breaking contact with her, he bent down, placed one arm behind her knees and swung her up into his arms. She pulled back, laughing with him as he placed her on the covers of the bed.
Despite knowing who he was, and how he felt about her, Morgana still felt a spike of fear run through her and her muscles locked in memory of what had happened before. Mordred took off his outer coat, his waistcoat and had just pulled his shirt loose from his breeches when he noticed the way she held herself. He sat gently down beside her on the bed and cupper her cheek, running his hand through her hair.
"I love you," he told her, and Morgana froze for an entirely different reason. No one, other than her father, had ever uttered those words to her before.
"You..."
"I love you," he confirmed, and leaned in and kissed her. She clutched at his shoulders, head reeling from the information and from his kisses. Morgana was no fool. She knew men often used women’s emotions against them to get what they wanted, and while she got the feeling that Mordred wasn’t the most scrupulous of men, she believed him when he told her he loved her. She’d always had a gift of telling when people were lying to her, and Mordred was being one hundred percent honest.
Mordred reached for the tie of her robe and she let him, twisting so he could loosen the knot more easily. Once it was open, he slipped it off her shoulders and pushed it down her arms. She shrugged out of it and gave a wiggle as he pulled the robe out from underneath her and dropped it over the side of the bed and onto the floor. Morgana was naked underneath and now lay back, aware of Mordred’s gaze on every inch of her body and felt a blush spread from her cheeks down her neck to her chest. When he hadn’t blinked in several long moments, Morgana went to cover up, but he gently pulled her hands away.
"You are so beautiful," he told her hoarsely. "So beautiful that I can’t believe you are here with me."
Morgana’s flush deepened.
He leaned down and kissed her again, his moustache tickling her lip and making her smile. He pulled back and grinned down at her before moving down to hiss her cheek, her ear, her jaw. He rubbed his nose softly against the long line of her neck and Morgana gasped at the shiver that went through her and at the heat that pooled low in her belly. She ran a hand up his arm, over the corded muscles of his shoulder and buried her fingers in his hair as he stretched out beside her, and kissed lower. He nibbled tiny, biting kisses across her collarbone to the hollow of her throat where he lapped at the skin there before he traced his tongue down her chest to the dip between her breasts.
Morgana arched under him as he moved swiftly to her right nipple, peaking it with the broad swipe of his tongue before tracing it with the very tip. Wave after wave of fire swept through her as she arched up into him and clung on for dear life. Never before had she experienced such feelings and sensations as she did right then. One of Mordred’s arms slipped around her back, holding her up to him while the other stroked down her side and across her stomach. The heat building between her legs tripled his hand travelled back up to cup her other breast, thumb stroking across her nipple.
She whimpered in protest when he pulled away, laying her gently back onto the bed.
"Don’t..." she began, but Mordred silenced her with a quick kiss on the lips.
"I’m not going anywhere," he told her as he bent his head down again to kiss her stomach. He shifted on the bed, moving and arranging her until he was lying between her legs, smiling up at her. Morgana felt the flush start again, embarrassed to her core.
"What are you going to do?" she whispered, and a flicker of unexplained sadness crossed his face for a moment before he rested his chin on her hip.
"I am sorry that no one has ever taken their time with you before," he told her. "But in a way, I am glad it is I that can show you just how good it can be. If you enjoyed that," he waved hand at her torso, and she blushed bright red again, "then you will really, really enjoy this."
With that, he bent his head to the curls in the of vee of her legs. She felt his hands caressing her inner thighs, stroking and coaxing them further apart. She drew a deep breath and complied, choking at the first stroke of his... was that his tongue?... and oh my God...
Morgana’s hands flew to the headboard, and she scrambled for purchase, arching her hips in a thoroughly wanton way, moaning helplessly as the fire swept through her once more. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks for thick walls when his fingers joined his tongue, entering her slowly and stroking softly. There was one spot he kept coming back to, and as he brushed his fingers over it, the fire grew and grew until it consumed her completely and she cried out, shaking all over as she felt she would fall apart. Her vision went white, then black and she gasped for air, blinking furiously as she let her hands drop from the headboard onto the pillows by her head.
Sweat covered her body in a fine sheen and her heart slammed in her chest as if she had run a mile. Mordred appeared in her line of vision, a smile, and not a little satisfaction, on his face.
"See?" he told her, and instead of poking him in the side to get rid of his smug grin, as she might have done previously, she pulled him down and kissed him. He flailed a little, surprised at her actions and she smiled against his lips. He tasted... different than before, and Morgana realised with a jolt that she was tasting herself on his lips and the blush appeared again.
After a long, breathless moment, Mordred pulled back and tore his loose shirt over his head. Morgana couldn’t help but feel the nerves return as he stood and unbuttoned his breeches, removing the rest of his clothing. She gulped as she took him in. He was... wow.
"Do you trust me," he whispered, lowering himself beside her.
"I do," Morgana promised.
"Good. I won’t hurt you," he said as he pulled her in so he could kiss her.
He kept his word.
~*~
Mordred woke with a start, his previously sated and relaxed body ready and alert as he strained his ears, trying to ascertain what had dragged him from his pleasant dreams. Morgana was lying beside him, hair spread out over the pillow in a vision of loveliness. But she was not sleeping peacefully. As he watched, her brow furrowed and she tossed her head to one side, lips forming the word ‘no’ as she gasped as if in pain.
"Morgana?"
He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder and she flinched back from him in fear.
"Morgana, you need to wake up now," he told her, leaning close to speak to her, but not physically touching her.
"Edwin, no!" she sobbed in her sleep, and Mordred wanted to resurrect the monster she had married and rip him apart himself.
"Morgana, my love, please wake up."
He continued to speak to her, voice steady and low and loving, hoping his voice would penetrate her dreams and wake her up.
"Come back to me, please darling."
After some of the longest minutes of Mordred’s life, Morgana woke up, eyes wide, gasping for air as she screamed in terror and bolted upright. She sat there, eyes unfocused as tears streamed down her cheeks, still half locked in her nightmare.
"Morgana?"
Even Mordred could hear the obvious worry in his tone as he sat up next to her. He gently reached out a hand and as soon as his fingertips touched her skin, she went wild; shouting and scratching at him, trying to defend herself from a perceived aggressor. Mordred ducked her flailing limbs and threw his arms around her torso, trapping her arms at her sides.
"Morgana, it’s alright. It’s me, my love. It’s Mordred," he murmured into her ear, holding her close so she could hear him, feel him beside her. Once she woke fully, and realised where she was and who was with her, she sagged against him, breathing harshly. Mordred kept his arms around her, running his hands up and down her trembling frame as he made soothing noises. Once she got herself back under control, she turned to him and gave him a shaky smile.
"Thank you," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I’m alright now."
"Like hell you are," Mordred exclaimed. "What was that all about Morgana?"
"It’s fine," she said defensively. "It’s nothing I can’t handle."
"You mean this has happened before?" he asked.
"Of course it’s happened before," Morgana snapped. "Do you think I could have lived through marriage to Edwin Muirden and not have nightmares about it? No, I dream of it every single night."
It seemed that the flood gates, once opened, could not easily be closed again as the words spilled out of Morgana’s mouth in a torrent of fear and anger.
"I dream of my wedding night, of what he did to me, of what he encouraged others to do to me. I dream of the taunts and jeers, and the pain. I dream I what I did to him in the end, of the fire and the heat. And it never, ever stops. No matter what I do."
When she finished, it was as if she were a marionette doll, and someone had cut all her strings. She slumped back onto her elbows, staring at the canopy. Mordred looked at her, blinking at the rush of words as he too in the actual meaning of what she had said.
"What did you mean ‘what I did to him’?" he asked slowly, and beside him, Morgana froze.
"Um...nothing." She turned onto her side, presenting her bare back to him. Mordred tore his eyes away from the line of her spine and the swell of her hips and reached for her shoulder, pulling her onto her back to face him.
"Morgana, what did you mean by that?"
"I said was nothing, alright? Just leave it alone."
"I don’t blame you, if you did anything," Mordred told her honestly. "I know what it is to struggle and I’ve heard tales of Edwin Muirden. I know what kind of man he was."
"No one knew," Morgana said quietly. "No one knew the extent of his depravity."
"I wish the bastard was standing in front of me right now," Mordred growled. "I’d tear the flesh from his bones. Burning was too good for him."
"Don’t worry. He got what was coming to him," Morgana said darkly, lost in a memory.
"Oh, did he?"
"Yes, he did." There was a dark look in her eyes and a smirk on her lips which Mordred found incredibly arousing, but he pushed that to one side.
"What did you do?" he asked again, and Morgana sat up, covering herself with the bed sheets and examined him with a piercing, assessing gaze.
"What makes you think I’ve done anything?" she asked.
"I’m not an idiot Morgana," he said. "I’ve seen the look that you have in your eyes before. I’ve seen it on men on the battlefield, and I’ve even seen it in the mirror sometimes. It’s the face of someone who has survived something terrible, but that has gotten its revenge. Tell me."
"Fine, you want to know? You want to know how after months of torment I finally snapped? Fine. I poisoned him. I poisoned him and while he was still alive, I set his bed on fire. Happy?"
[ Part III]