Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [91]
Lleu slowed his pace when he reached this part of town and ceased to sing. He walked up to one of the darkened houses and peeked in a window. Then he loitered up and down the street, casting an occasional glance at the house. Rhys and Nightshade stood in the shadows and watched and waited.
The door to the house opened a crack. A young woman in a cloak slipped out and softly and stealthily closed the door behind her. She was having trouble seeing in the darkness and looked about fearfully.
“Lleu?” she called in a tremulous tone.
“Lucy, my dove.” He caught her in his arms and kissed her.
“No, no, not here!” she said breathlessly, pushing him away. “Suppose my husband were to wake up and see us?”
“Where shall we go, then?” said Lleu, holding her around the waist and nuzzling her neck. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“I know a place,” she said. “Come with me.”
Clinging together, laughing and giggling, the two hastened down the street. Rhys and Nightshade followed after them. Rhys was troubled, uncertain what to do. This was apparently nothing more than a midnight assignation with a young woman, perfectly normal for a young man like Lleu, except that Lleu was far from normal and the young woman was married.
Rhys should probably call a halt to this now, take hold of the young woman and drag her back to her house. There would be a scene with the husband: tears and wails, rage, a fight. The neighbors would wake. Someone would summon the authorities.
No, Rhys determined. Nothing good would come of an uproar. He would bide his time, wait until they were someplace quiet, then try to talk to Lleu.
The couple reached a secluded, cleared area amidst a grove of pine trees. From the looks of the trampled grass, this was the local meeting ground for lovers. They had barely stopped walking before Lleu had his hands all over the woman. His kissed her neck, ran his hands over her breasts, lifted up her skirts.
“He’s pretty lively for a dead guy,” Nightshade observed.
Rhys was uncomfortable watching this. He felt he should intervene, although what he would say was open to question. The young woman would be embarrassed and upset. Lleu would be angry. Again, there would be tears, recriminations.
The young woman sighed, panted, and clung to Lleu, pressing his head against her bosom, running her fingers through his hair. Lleu took off her cloak and spread it on the pine needles. The two sank down onto the ground.
“We should leave,” said Rhys, and he was about to turn to go when his brother’s next words halted him.
“Have you thought more about what we talked about, my dearest?” Lleu asked. “About Chemosh?”
“Chemosh?” Lucy repeated vaguely. “Don’t let’s talk about religion now. Kiss me!”
“But I want to talk about Chemosh,” Lleu said, his hand fondling her breasts.
“That old, moldy god?” Lucy sighed, pouting. “I don’t see why you want to talk of gods at a time like this.”
“Because it is important to me,” said Lleu. His voice took on a soft tone. He kissed her on the cheek. “To us.” He kissed her again. “I can’t run away with you if you won’t swear to worship Chemosh, as I do.”
“I don’t see what difference it makes,” Lucy said, between her own kisses.
Lleu brushed her lips with his own. “Because, my sweet, I will live forever, as I am now—young, vibrant, handsome—”
She giggled. “You are so vain!”
“You, on the other hand, will grow old. Your hair will turn gray. Your skin will wrinkle and your teeth fall out.”
“You wouldn’t love me then,” Lucy said, faltering.
“You will die, Lucy,” Lleu said softly, stroking her cheek with his hand. “And I will be alive and healthy and needing someone to share my bed …”
“And if I worship Chemosh, he will keep me young and beautiful?” Lucy asked. “Forever and always?”
“Forever and always,” said Lleu. “And that is how long I will love you.”
“Well, then,” said Lucy with a laugh, “I give my soul to Chemosh!”
“You will not regret it, my love,” said Lleu.
He pulled down her bodice, exposing her breasts that were white in the moonlight.