Igraine Read online

  Igraine is the most beautiful woman in the world and her destiny is to become the mother of King Arthur. The daughter of a mysterious fae, every man she meets desires her. Married to a man who dominates her body, Igraine is in love with a man she has never met.

  Uther Pendragon, the mighty King of Britain is said to be more god than man. When the great sorcerer, Merlin, promises Uther he will marry the beautiful woman who features in his erotic dreams, the consequences threaten to tear his kingdom apart.

  IGRAINE

  Camelot Uncovered, #1

  Jane Godman

  Published by Tirgearr Publishing

  Author Copyright 2017 Jane Godman

  Cover Art: Cora Graphics - www.coragraphics.it

  Editor: Sharon Pickrel

  Proofreader: Christine McPherson

  A Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you for the purpose of review, then please log into the publisher’s website and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.

  This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  IGRAINE

  Camelot Uncovered, #1

  Jane Godman

  Prologue

  The naked man who emerged from the ocean was stooped and ancient, his back bent, and his skin wrinkled. Yet, by the time he reached the dry sand, his spine was unbending and his muscles flexing. When he stood at the entrance to the cave where he lived, he was straight and true, his skin unlined, his muscles hard and coiled, and his eyes as keen as those of any hunter. His gaze scanned the horizon, his eye color shifting from the silver of a newly-minted coin to the faded green of a birch leaf. He nodded to himself in quiet satisfaction as he thought of what was to come.

  The one they will name the Dragon is returning to these shores at last. The time is nigh. It is my duty to make this prophecy come to pass.

  This great land of Britain will be united under the finest king it will ever know. His mother will be the fairest woman in all the world. Through her, he will inherit his physical beauty and the magical ability to draw others to him. His father will be the bravest warrior ever to wield a sword. His will be the pride of a lion and the fearlessness of a raging bull. When these two come together to make this child, it will be as if the heavens themselves have realigned.

  The man covered his magnificent nakedness with his druid’s robe, picked up his staff and, barefoot, commenced his long walk. With each stride, Merlin’s body aged until he was once more the ancient sorcerer legend believed him to be.

  Chapter One

  Cheshire, Britain 463 AD

  Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, was a fine figure of a man. Tall, proud, and strong, he was broad-chested and powerfully built, with a square jaw beneath a black beard and eyes that were ever watchful for the sword of an enemy or the hand of a friend. Gorlois was a soldier. Brave in battle, loud of voice, hard muscled, and tough as a leopard about to spring. His men could count on him to lead them well, and in return, they gave him their undying devotion. The only other man in the country who inspired stronger feelings in his followers was the legendary Welsh king, Uther Pendragon.

  Tender feelings did not come easily to a man like Gorlois. Women were to be used, enjoyed, and tossed aside. That was his view of the world. Until one day, while visiting the castle of his good friend Ragnor of Christleton, he took a walk in a rose-bower.

  As he strolled along a grassy pathway banked with yews and hemmed with a rich tangle of pink and red blooms, a young woman came into view. She was tall and slender, with red-gold hair hanging loose in shining waves to below her waist. Her skin was like cream and her lips, when they parted in surprise at his unexpected approach, rivaled the surrounding roses in their perfection.

  Gorlois had a powerful vision of sliding his cock into the waiting warmth of that perfect mouth. Whoever she was, he was going to have this woman. Silently he cursed the fact that her clothes denoted her status as a lady. If not, he’d have been tempted to throw her down on the grass and take her there and then. Anything to relieve the sudden throbbing ache inside his tight hose.

  She dipped a slight curtsy and turned away.

  “Lady, tarry awhile, if you will.” Although courtly speeches did not come easily to him, Gorlois spoke quickly, before she could leave. “I am recently returned from battle, and your dainty company will gladden my soldier’s heart.”

  She appeared to debate the matter. Then, with a shy smile that struck him in both chest and groin with equal intensity, she came to walk beside him. “I know who you are, sir.” Her voice was low and husky. “My kind hosts have told me much of the bravery of the mighty Gorlois of Cornwall.”

  Her eyes were a blue so dark they appeared violet. Their dark lashes swept down over her cheeks, tantalizing Gorlois as he imagined this was how she would look beneath him when he thrust into her. “And your name, lady?”

  “I am Igraine.”

  Gorlois led her to a seat set back in an alcove, carved from the dense green of the yews, where they might talk at leisure and be out of sight. The scent of her hair swept over him like a violet mist. He was content to watch her in silence and indulge in the very erotic fantasies that had gripped him from the moment he first saw her.

  “Lady Igraine,” he said at length. “I knew your father, Amlawdd, before his death. It would mean much to me if I could claim to be the friend of his daughter as well.”

  Leaning one elbow on the back of the seat, he watched her face. The compulsion to reach out and run his fingers through that silken mass of hair was almost overwhelming. If he touched her, he would not be able to stop at a simple caress. Would she run from him if he attempted more? If he lifted her full skirts and probed the warmth between those slender thighs?

  Igraine’s voice broke in on his thoughts. “My lord, you must know many of the knights of this great land of ours who are famed for their great deeds in battle?”

  “I do, indeed.”

  Her eyes shone and she clasped her hands beneath her breasts. “I have heard of one who is said to be more courageous and handsome than any other. Is it true what they say of Uther Pendragon? That he is more a god than a mere man?”

  Gorlois fingered his sharp-peaked black beard as he tried to hide the jealous rage that seized him. “I do not know this knight.” His voice was cold as he spoke the lie.

  His gaze was drawn to the swell of her breasts as she drew an inward breath. If he reached out a hand, he could free one rosy peak from the confines of her restraining bodice…

  “Oh. I had thought he was well known for his heroic deeds.”

  He took pity on her then. She was never likely to meet Uther Pendragon. Let her indulge in a little hero-worship if she chose. When she was his, he would ensure she never had time to think of another man. “I have heard of him, this king of the Welsh, the one they call Uther of the Dragon.”

  She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “What is he like?”

  “Picture a tall man with golden hair and brows, a straight mouth, a clean-shaven jaw, and an expression that is oft as sullen as death.”

  Her mouth turned down at the corners. “By these words, you do not speak to me of a man of beauty.”

  Gorlois smiled to himself at the success of his strategy. “This Uther is a man with a power like the north wind,” he said. “He has the tenacity of a lion, and the grip of a bear. You have
never known Uther Pendragon until you have seen him in battle. Then he is like an avalanche thundering down the mountainside, or a river in flood raging through the pine forest. He is a man who would make Satan’s head ache with his own hard-headedness.”

  “A man worth meeting, mayhap.” Igraine laughed softly to herself, a delicate blush staining her pale cheeks with the tinge of roses.

  She had no idea of the effect she had on him. It was as if the sun shone directly into his eyes, and he would never see the world in the same way again. Stretching out a hand, he touched Igraine’s hair as it poured over her shoulders. The red-gold threads were like a magnet drawing his fingers.

  “Shall I tell you what I would do if you met Uther—or any other man—and looked at him with that softness in your eyes, Lady Igraine?” He tugged on the strands of her hair, drawing her closer.

  She regarded him watchfully, her lips half-parted, those perfect breasts rising and falling rapidly as her breathing quickened.

  “I would rip out his still-beating heart and lay it at your feet.”

  As her lips formed into a perfect circle of surprise, he pushed her against the hard wood of the bench, his mouth covering hers. Her stifled sound of surprise was lost as he forced her lips apart, plunging his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like heaven… of honey and spices and fine wine.

  At first, Igraine’s body remained rigid, pinned against the back of the bench by his weight and her shock. Very slowly, her resistance crumbled. As her tongue tentatively brushed against his, he experienced a sense of triumph resembling the feeling of victory he had only before known in the heat of the most frenzied of battles. He lifted his head, his eyes branding her face with a message of ownership.

  Before she could move, Gorlois roughly tugged her bodice down, freeing her breasts so he could lower his mouth to cover one nipple. It hardened instantly as he sucked and licked the rosy peak. When she gave a soft moan, he stopped and pulled away from her, wanting to leave her feeling a little of his own torment.

  Igraine’s eyes, when he looked into them, were clouded and trance-like. Those beautiful breasts were exposed to his gaze, almost undoing his resolve to wait. He pressed his long fingers between the soft mounds. “On our wedding night, I will fuck you here while you beg me to come in that delicious mouth.”

  * * *

  “Gorlois of Cornwall bestows a great honor upon you, child.”

  Igraine turned to face her uncle. Ragnor, Lord of Christleton, was a kindly man who was clearly delighted at the distinction shown to his niece by the mighty warrior, Gorlois. “Indeed, I am honored, sir, but I do not love the duke.”

  The scene in the rose-bower came back to her, and she shuddered half in disgust and half in pleasure. What were these feelings Gorlois had stirred within her, and how could a man she didn’t know arouse such mixed emotions? She had never before heard the words he had used, yet the image they conjured made her squirm with a longing she barely understood. “I had always hoped to marry for love.”

  Ragnor laughed. “Love? What nonsense is this? The duke will love you fine well. Aye, and provide you with a good home. Tintagel, his castle in Cornwall, is one of the greatest in the land.” He studied her face, his own registering concern. “You must marry, child, and this is an honorable match. I will not force you, but my coffers are not large, and the duke offers a goodly settlement in return for your hand.”

  Aye, and so he would.

  Igraine recalled that strong face and those demanding lips. Gorlois meant to have her. There was no question about it. Her uncle’s message was clear. She must marry the black-bearded devil who gazed at her with such fire in his eyes.

  Igraine jumped up and kissed her uncle on the cheek to show she bore him no ill will. Leaving the house, she ran through the village streets, her feet fleet and her heart much troubled, until she came to the home of her friend, Marigold. She found her gathering herbs in the garden. Clasping Marigold by the hand, she drew her away from her task and flung herself down beside the girl in a bed of lavender, pouring out the story of all that had transpired with Gorlois. Marigold listened, her big, brown eyes growing rounder and darker.

  When Igraine had finished her tale, Marigold gripped both her friend’s hands tightly. “What will you do?”

  “What choice do I have? I must marry a man I do not love, and travel with him to a home I do not know.”

  Marigold placed her arms about Igraine’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. As she lay wrapped in Marigold’s embrace for several minutes, Igraine gazed up at the summer sky and listened to the hum of the bees in the fragrant blooms around them.

  Marigold was a sweet, gentle girl, with a caring nature. Even so, Igraine was astonished to hear her crying softly to herself.

  Igraine raised herself on one elbow, looking down in surprise into the misty eyes. “What can I do to help you?”

  Marigold turned her pretty face to Igraine’s with a sorrowful sigh. “Nothing.”

  Igraine lifted one of her companion’s hands to her lips as the girl attempted to smile through her misery.

  “I feel for you, my lady,” Marigold gave her friend a shy look. “With all my heart.”

  “Your heart is always over-generous.”

  “I feel for you in other ways.” Marigold’s cheeks glowed with the force of her blush. “I am woman enough to have learned something of the world. The words you spoke when you talked of my lord Gorlois have made me wet—” she bit her lip, “—in my secret places. The same way his actions worked upon you. Will you let me comfort you in the only way I know how?”

  Igraine’s cheeks burned as bright as Marigold’s. Her breath caught in her throat. What was Marigold offering? Slowly, she nodded. Yielding to a sudden impulse, she raised Marigold to sit next to her so she could kiss the other woman on the lips. For a while they sat with their arms about each other, not daring to look into each other’s eyes. Then Marigold kissed Igraine’s cheek, and ran her slender fingers through the length of her hair.

  “Come, my lady.” She rose and held out her hand.

  Igraine placed her fingers in Marigold’s and, without a word, they went to Marigold’s bedchamber. This was a small room under the eaves, at the rear of the building. A narrow bed stood in the center. The two women sat on it and stared into each other’s eyes. Igraine breathed fast, and her whole body felt flushed. She trembled wildly with anticipation.

  Marigold smiled mischievously at her. “For this to be successful, I think we must remove our clothes.”

  When they were both naked, Marigold lay down on the bed and drew Igraine into her arms. She pressed her mouth to her friend’s. Igraine opened her own mouth willingly, allowing her friend to explore her plump lips with the tip of her tongue. How different this gentle caress felt to the rough way Gorlois had plundered and taken!

  Marigold clamped down on Igraine’s bottom lip with her teeth and tugged at it, before covering her mouth with warm, playful kisses. She pushed her naked body up close and pressed her tongue into her friend’s mouth, grinding her own nakedness against Igraine’s warm body. Marigold traced Igraine’s curves with her fingertips, working her way slowly from her full breasts to her tiny waist, and down over her buttocks.

  Igraine raised her pelvis, silently pleading with Marigold to go farther. Since her encounter with Gorlois, she had been in a state of constant, desperate readiness that cried out for a conclusion she didn’t understand.

  Smiling into her eyes, Marigold swirled her finger through the soft, downy hair of Igraine’s mound.

  Igraine let out a groan. “Touch me some more, Marigold.”

  Marigold leaned over her, taking one rosy nipple between her lips and sucking until it hardened. Igraine arched her back and bucked against her, clenching her legs together to ease the ache between them. Marigold knelt between Igraine’s knees, spreading them and using her thumbs to hold her outer lips apart.

  “You are very pretty, Lady Igraine,” she breathed. “Wet and pink and so very sweet. I won
der how you will taste?”

  Starting at the inside of her calf, Marigold trailed light kisses up her friend’s leg. Igraine’s thighs trembled at the sensation. When Marigold’s lips reached the soft, pink folds, Igraine moaned and lifted her hips from the bed toward the other woman’s mouth.

  Marigold lowered her mouth and licked once. She sat back on her heels. “Now I know. You taste like cream.”

  Igraine made a sound that was close to a sob. Smiling, Marigold bent her head again, sweeping her tongue lightly over every inch of the delicate flesh. She thrust her tongue into Igraine’s core as far as it would go. Igraine responded as if she had been scalded, jerking and writhing as she cried out. Marigold moved her tongue around inside the slippery channel, tracing the ridges within Igraine’s body and driving her ever closer to frenzy.

  Removing her tongue, she found the swollen bud of Igraine’s clitoris. Placing her mouth over the tiny nub, she sucked it hard. The convulsion that ripped through Igraine almost threw them both from the bed. Laughing, Marigold did it again and again, holding her friend down by her hips until she screamed as her whole body pulsed with waves of pleasure.

  When she stilled, Marigold held her close once more. “You see, my lady? No matter how dark things may seem, there is always some comfort to be had.”

  Igraine nodded, moving her hand down until her fingers encountered the warm wetness between her friend’s thighs. She placed an experimental finger in that tight, slick channel. “Whatever happens, you, Marigold, are coming to Cornwall with me.”

  Chapter Two

  The wedding day dawned bright and clear. Marigold woke Igraine early, bringing her sweet biscuits and mead to drink while she bathed.