Free The Wind From Hastings by Morgan Llywelyn

needlework. And it is no great feat to spy on a servant bathing in a stream; I had done that aplenty.
    â€œI have seen children, my lord. And servants, in a stream.”
    â€œNow you are about to see me in the hide my mother gave me, Aldith, and it is not seemly that you be so formal. When I came naked into the world I was dubbed Griffith, and that only. So I would be to you henceforth.”
    â€œYes, my … Griffith.”
    He chuckled. “‘My’ Griffith has a fine sound to it, little one. Let us proceed with your education.”
    Taking my hands in his, he guided my fingers so that I helped remove his clothing. As the garments fell away I became aware of a new sensation, replacing my timidity—I felt the prickings of curiosity.
    When Griffith ap Llywelyn stood before me, naked in the firelight, I felt no fear at all. He was beautiful, and there was no shame in him. In response to his dignified gift of himself, I gazed my fill of him in wonder and thought of nothing else.
    He stood straight and proud, my Griffith, with his
shoulders back and his chin lifted. The line of his throat was supple though his neck was thick with strength. There was a soft sheen to his skin that made me long to touch it, and I wondered fleetingly if he oiled his flesh.
    I raised my eyes questioningly to his and saw, from the patient waiting in his face, that more was expected of me. So I took a deep breath and gazed full upon his manhood.
    And it was not at all frightening! Unlike the sword the stallion plunged into the mare, this was a small and fragile-seeming bit of pink flesh, so vulnerable and soft I almost laughed aloud at my earlier fears. It lay curved over the bag of the scrotum, which I saw was just the size to fit in my two cupped hands. I don’t know what expression crossed my face at that moment, but I heard Griffith’s sudden sharp intake of breath. And to my wonder that sleeping and insignificant part of him grew before my very eyes, stretching and quivering as it leaped out toward me! This was the miracle, then, this rich flowering of beauty and power. Through what must have been iron self-control he had shown himself first to me in such a way that I was not affrighted, merely curious and interested. But at my reaction his manhood had broken through his will power and presented me with the male in all his formidable majesty.
    I gave him a shy smile and reached out to touch the broad shoulder glowing in the firelight. The moment I touched him I saw the pulse leap in his throat, and I realized that in some way he was as vulnerable to me as I to him. My heart flooded with tenderness.
    â€œI love you, my Griffith!”
    And then the time was come when I was truly made wife to Griffith ap Llywelyn; all doors were opened and all walls let down. And in our joining I knew that we were not two, but one.
    In this new realm I could happily have spent a lifetime. But the strongest flesh weakens, and at last I fell
asleep in his arms, sore and happy. When next I woke a tray of meats and fruit had been set beside the furcovered pallet where we lay. As I had been hungry for his touch, so was I starved then for food, and we ate together like ravening wolves and laughed at each other till he kissed the juices from the corners of my mouth and all began again …
    And always he talked to me in that marvelous musical voice. His body made love to my body, his voice made love to the Aldith in my head, so that I was not alone in any way. He spoke of my beauty, whispered his passion, groaned with our mutual rapture. When we rested he built my future with his words, so that I could see our whole life together spread before me as I lay in his arms. He asked me about myself and listened intently to my answers, even as his fingers memorized the curve of my cheek. Sometimes he spoke love to me, and sometimes he quoted poetry, and I swear I could not tell one from the other.
    Griffith, Griffith, so much did you make of us