CHAPTER TEN

Training for the tourney season began slowly, but as the weather warmed up, the sessions began in earnest. Some of the older knights who no longer competed would oversee the training. Sir Bedivere was one of those, and also one of Seren's favourites. He would tell tall tales by the fireside in the main hall, and invite her to sing, being most effusive with his praise. He was a powerful man, only Sir Percival topping him in both height and breadth.

When his name was revealed in the drych, Gwyar smiled at her. 'Sir Bedivere with the magic lance,' she grinned.

'Lady Gwyar!'

'He should have good technique if nothing else.'

'My lady!'

'Seren, the Goddess has you in her protection. She wants you to learn.'

'But what does she want for me?'

'That I do not know, but, as Kilgharrah said, your powers are very strong and she must want you to use them for a reason. Perhaps we will find out once this spell is complete.'

'My lady, you know you said that I belong to the Goddess?'

'Yes, Seren?'

'What does that mean?'

'There are many ways to serve the Goddess. At the moment, it is to complete this spell. After that, when our kind are accepted in Camelot, she will tell you your path.'

'Is it to serve her like you have?'

'Seren, I do not know. You belong to her and she has guided you so far. I'm sure she has great places for you. Now help me to dress.'

Gwaine had returned to Camelot the previous day and she had spent the evening sitting at his feet, a hound's face resting in her lap, listening to Sir Bedivere telling tales of dragons and battles. She had not actively sought him out, it was as though she was attuned to his presence. She could sense immediately he was in the room as soon as she arrived and he peeled himself away from his conversation with Sir Leon to greet her.

'My lady,' he said, taking her hand and bowing to press his lips against it.

'My lord,' she said, curtseying as he rose.

'I must apologise for my behaviour . . . before,' he said. 'I hope you will forgive me. Sometimes the mead makes me say stupid things.'

'Not just the mead.'

He laughed, throwing back his head so that his hair swished attractively. 'So do you forgive me?'

'I might. But you have been away too long.'

'You are right, but I have thought of you, and here, every day.'

'The warmth of your bed?' she asked, imagining what it must be like to sleep on the cold hard ground, but then coloured as she realised he may read far more into that statement than she intended.

He said nothing, but she could tell from the unsuppressed grin that he had. They just looked at each other, Gwaine smiling, twinkling roguish eyes at her, Seren blushing because the thoughts that were now running through her head regarding Gwaine's warm bed were not ones she should be considering.

'Come, let us sit by the fire,' he said eventually. 'Sir Bedivere is waiting for us.'

She settled herself on a cushion on the floor, leaning gently against his legs. She could feel Gwaine twirling her hair between her fingers, and then stroking her neck with gentle fingers. Oh, how she wanted him to be revealed to her by the drych, and that thought made her shiver with lust.

'You are cold, my lady?' Gwaine whispered. She could feel his hair soft against her cheek and his breath warm on her skin as he leaned down to her.

'A little.'

She would rather have climbed up onto his lap and snuggled into the warmth of his arms, her faced pressed against his to be tickled by his trimmed beard, her arms around his neck. Instead, she had to settle for him draping his cloak around her shoulders, but he continued to stroke her neck affectionately.

He walked her back to her room where she returned his cloak. She didn't want him to leave and he seemed in no hurry to go, but this was dangerous. She knew the rules. No other man. And, anyway, he would not be entranced like the others, it would be real, and that simply could not happen.

'Goodnight, Sir Gwaine,' she said, opening the door to her room.

He leaned forward and planted a single kiss on her cheek. It was as though a fire burned there, and she turned away smiling sadly at him, only for him to haunt her dreams for the rest of the night.

She wondered why the Goddess was not selecting Gwaine as one of the twelve knights as Sir Bedivere's name was revealed. Was the Goddess saving him? Did She think that Seren would not be able to continue with the seductions if Gwaine was given to her? Seren concuded that was entirely possible and focused on her consideration of Sir Bedivere.

At training that day, Sir Bedivere was showing the younger knights the technique of target practice. Although he no longer competed in the jousts, he was skilled with the targets, always using his famous gold-tipped lance. She watched from the stands as he collected his horse at the far end, and then galloped down the length of the stadium towards the targets. He hit the target square on, piercing its centre and releasing the lance, wheeling his horse round to a round of applause, herself included.

Gwaine strolled over to her. 'Lovely day, my lady.'

'It is indeed, my lord,' she replied, shielding her eyes from the sun.

'Sir Bedivere is in good form.'

'Are you not taking part today?'

'I'm afraid the king has work for me.'

'That is a pity, my lord. I would like to see you in the tourney.'

'It is probably for the best I do not, my concentration would be elsewhere if you were watching.'

She caught up with Sir Bedivere as the practice session concluded for the day. 'Sir Bedivere, you rode well today.'

'Thank you, Lady Seren. I noticed you watching.'

'You are very skilled.'

'I am grateful for good equipment.'

'Your magic lance?'

He laughed. 'It is not magic, but it is well made. Would you like to see the tip?'

'The golden one?'

'Yes, that is the one. Come.'

She followed him along the corridor to his quarters, checking no one saw her enter his room.

He unlocked the cabinet in the corner of the room and removed a cloth-covered object. He uncovered it, revealing the golden tip to his lance. It was smooth and rounded, beautifully decorated. He handed it to her to hold.

'It is beautiful, my lord. Do you not worry about damaging it?'

'If I hit the centre of the target straight on, it suffers no damage.'

'You are certainly very skilled at that, my lord. I was very impressed today and I love your story telling.'

'You do?'

'Oh yes, my lord, you have such a wonderful voice and your stories are always so entertaining.'

He was looking down at her smiling, and then she saw his pupils dilate and he was ensnared. This had been a lot easier than she had thought, before even a kiss. But now it was time to seduce him. She was still holding the tip of the lance and she carefully put it on the bed and then reached her arms around Sir Bedivere's neck and started to kiss him.

He responded quickly, not concerned with the preliminaries. He pushed her back onto the bed and pulled up her skirts to her waist. For a moment Seren felt scared, he was so powerful, but as he looked down onto her creamy thighs, his expression softened. He knelt before her and placed his hands on her knees before sliding them up her thighs. And then he lowered his face to between her legs and started to suck at her.

The movements of his tongue across her lips, her bud and then sliding into her surprised her with its accuracy. So he wasn't only skilled at finding targets with his lance. He took her bud between his lips and sucked hard, bolts of fire suddenly flooding through her body. She was more shocked because this was happening with so little preparation of her. His hands were pushing her thighs apart so he could forage deeper into her, alternating between sucking her bud and then sweeping his tongue deep into her, pushing his face hard against her.

He reached out and took the golden tip of the lance and placed the cold rounded tip of it against the hot lips of her entrance, curling it so that it picked up her wetness. And then he started to twist it into her, the coldness of it exciting her as much as the hardness of it entering her. Already she was gasping as he watched her face, parting her legs even wider to accept it deeper into her.

'Do you like that, Seren?' he whispered, his voice harsh with lust.

'Aha,' she gasped.

'You want it deeper?'

'Oh my lord . . .' and he pushed it deeper into her until he could make no further progress.

Slowly he rotated it, smoothly in her own juices, watching her as she squirmed and responded to it, his gaze flicking between her face and between her legs. And then he moved away from her for a moment, his hand sliding along her leg. He returned with a jug of wine which he held at the mouth of the lance tip.

'I want to drink this from you,' he said. 'I want to taste this from your cunny, woman.'

Her eyes widened with surprise at his language. She had always thought him such a gentleman, but she could not deny his words were arousing her. As he poured the wine into her, it seeped through the engraved holes in the sides of the lance tip and she could feel it within her. He leaned into her and began to sip at it. She tilted up her hips towards him and he drank from her, transferring his lips from hers to her mouth where she sucked and licked the wine from them. Wine that tasted of her. He repeated this, his mouth becoming firmer on hers as he transferred the liquid, simultaneously kissing the wine into her mouth and twisting the lance tip inside her until she was gasping for more.

He removed the lance tip and buried his face in her soft folds to sup the last of the wine from her. This action caused her to plunge against him, wanting to feel his face against her lips. He sipped and lapped at her, his tongue as entertaining within her as it was when he spoke. And then he was fumbling at his trousers and he removed his face and replaced it with his hardness. He plunged hard and deep into her, urgent and purely carnal. She had not even undressed, and he focused solely on the action between her legs. But this focus was enough to ignite her orgasm and she bucked and thrust against him as he roared his release into her. She caught the cloud as it condensed into a golden bead, smiling at his enthusiasm as he withdrew and then began to polish the lance tip, not even realising she was there.

The following day she was out watching the tourney preparations with Gwyar.

'Sir Bedivere has very good aim with his lance,' she commented.

'Oh yes, my lady,' Seren replied with a grin.