Chapter 34 Calan Mai (2)

Beca's fingers trembled as they brushed against the hard, heated length of him through his trousers. She could feel the pulse of his desire beneath her palm, and it sent a shiver coursing through her body. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch.

"Lord…" she whispered, her voice trembling like her hands. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear as his lips brushed her skin.

"Touch me," he murmured, his tone firm but tender, like a command.

Her fingers fumbled with the laces of his trousers, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She felt clumsy, inexperienced, but Ethan didn't rush her. Instead, he guided her with soft sighs and murmured encouragements, his hands resting lightly on her hips as if to steady her. When she finally freed him from the confines of fabric, she gasped softly at the sight of him—hard, thick, and glistening with need.

She hesitated only for a moment before wrapping her fingers around him, her touch tentative at first. But when he groaned, low and deep, the sound sent a surge of boldness through her. She tightened her grip slightly, experimenting with the motion of her hand as she stroked him from root to tip. His breath came faster, his chest rising and falling with shallow gasps as he watched her with half-lidded eyes.

"God, Beca…" he muttered, his voice strained.

His words emboldened her further, and she increased the pace of her strokes, her thumb brushing over the sensitive ridge of his tip. Ethan's head fell back, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain control. "Keep going," he rasped. "Just like that."

But just as she thought she had found a rhythm, Ethan suddenly caught her wrist, stilling her movements. She looked up at him, confused, but his expression told her everything she needed to know. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, hot and demanding.

"Enough," he growled, his voice rough with need. He spun her around, pressing her back against the rough bark of a tree. The cool wood bit into her skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between them. Before she could protest—not that she would have—he dropped to his knees, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder. His mouth found her again, hungry and relentless, and she cried out as his tongue delved into her folds, teasing her sensitive flesh until she was writhing against him.

"Ieuan!" she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he worked her closer and closer to the edge. She could feel the pressure building, coiling tight within her, and she knew it wouldn't take much to send her tumbling over. But this time, when she reached that precipice, Ethan pulled away abruptly, leaving her teetering on the brink.

She whimpered, her body aching for release, but Ethan was already standing, his hands gripping her waist as he lifted her effortlessly. For a brief, dizzying moment, she was weightless, and then he pressed her back against the tree, lining himself up with her entrance.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice low and urgent. She obeyed, locking eyes with him as he pushed inside her in one smooth, forceful stroke. The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch and fullness sending sparks of pleasure rippling through her body. She arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, each thrust deeper and more intense than the last.

Ethan's breathing was ragged, his muscles taut as he drove into her with unrelenting force. The tree creaked faintly under their combined weight, but neither of them cared. All that mattered was the heat, the friction, the way their bodies moved together in perfect harmony.

"You feel… incredible," Ethan growled, his voice breaking on the last word. His hands slid down to grip her thighs, lifting her higher so he could plunge even deeper. Beca gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. She could feel herself tightening around him, her body coiling like a spring ready to snap.

"I can't—" she started, but he cut her off with a kiss, his lips capturing hers in a searing, primal clash. Their moans mingled, swallowed by the endless night as he continued to thrust into her, each movement pushing her closer to the edge.

And then, without warning, it happened. A wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy crashed over her, tearing a scream from her throat as her body convulsed around him. She felt herself clench and release, warmth flooding her senses as she came apart in his arms. Ethan groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he followed her over the edge, spilling himself deep inside her with a guttural cry.

For several moments, they stayed like that, pressed together and panting, their bodies slick with sweat and illuminated by the faint glow of distant bonfires. Ethan rested his forehead against hers, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he gently lowered her back to the ground.

---

The morning sunlight streamed through the manor windows as Beca hummed softly, a rare spring in her step. Alys, carrying a tray of fresh bread, raised an eyebrow. "What's got you grinning like a cat with cream?" she asked, half-joking.

Beca ignored her, straightening Ethan's chair at the table where he would interview the townsfolk. She adjusted the goblet, then the plate, then the goblet again, biting her lip in thought.

Alys leaned in closer, narrowing her eyes. "Did something happen?"

Before Beca could respond, Ethan walked in, his gaze landing on her immediately. Their eyes met, and Beca's cheeks turned scarlet as she quickly busied herself with the tablecloth.

Alys caught the look and smirked. Oh, I see.

The courtyard hung in the uneasy quiet of anticipation, broken only by the occasional shuffle of boots or the creak of the manor gates. Ethan sat at the head of a sturdy wooden table, his sharp eyes scanning the line of candidates that snaked across the courtyard.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the tabletop. The endless stream of faces blurred together. This is a waste of time, I'll have to sway those monks at the church.... he thought. I need scholars—not half-literate peasants. And we are running out of raw materials too....

The next candidate stepped forward. A woman.

Every conversation in the courtyard seemed to stop as she moved with slow, deliberate grace. Her long red hair gleamed like a raven's wing, cascading over her shoulders. Kohl lined her piercing dark eyes, giving her an air of mystery, and her lips, painted a deep, striking red, curled into a sly smile. Her dress, tight and carefully tailored, highlighted her figure.

She curtsied low, her voice silken as she spoke. "Meredith, the songstress, at your service, my lord."

Ethan's gaze lingered on her for a fraction longer than intended. Pwyll, standing just behind him, cleared his throat, a faint grin tugging at his weathered face.

"My lord," Pwyll said in a tone heavy with implication.

Ethan snapped out of it. "Yes, Meredith. What languages can you read and write?" He paused, studying her with a calculating expression. "Actually, before we begin, how about you sing for us first?"

Meredith's smile widened as she inclined her head. "As you wish, my lord."

She took a single step back, her hands clasped delicately in front of her. When she began to sing, the courtyard fell silent, her voice rich and haunting. The melody wove together Welsh and English, each note captivating, each word carrying weight and emotion.

When she finished, Pwyll clapped enthusiastically, but Meredith's eyes remained locked on Ethan, searching for his reaction. His silence stretched, unreadable, and her smile faltered slightly. Did he not like it?

At last, Ethan moved, straightening the parchments in front of him. "Impressive. Let's see how you do with written words."

The tests proved her to be fluent in both Welsh and English. Ethan gave her a rare nod of approval. "I look forward to seeing you again, Lady Meredith."

She returned the gesture with a coy smile, her gaze lingering. "As do I, my lord."

As she walked away, Pwyll leaned in, his grin wide and mischievous. "Quite the voice—and the presence. Something, isn't she, my lord? Oh, to be young again...the lord's smitten

Ethan ignored him, though a flicker of amusement touched his lips. She'll be useful. Two languages, at that..

The next candidate stepped forward. A man.

His monk's robe hanging loose around his frame. He carried himself with humility, head bowed low as he greeted them. But Ethan caught it immediately—a faint, familiar scent that brushed against his heightened senses.

"Arawn," the man said, his voice low and humble.

Ethan's sharp eyes followed him as he stepped forward. That smell. Faint, but unmistakable. His mind whirred. This isn't a coincidence. He's spent time with him—enough for the scent to linger. That leather pouche...

Pwyll ran him through the tests, delighted when Peter proved fluent in Welsh and Latin. But Ethan didn't share his steward's enthusiasm. His silence grew heavier, and Peter noticed.

"Lord Ieuan, " Peter said, his voice carrying an edge of discomfort. "You've been quiet. Am I not to your liking?"

Ethan's eyes didn't waver. "You wouldn't happen to know a man named Talog, would you?"

Peter froze for the briefest moment. Ethan felt the hesitation as clearly as a crack of thunder, the subtle skip in his breath betraying him and his heart beating fast. The man quickly composed himself, his smile returning.

"Talog?" Peter repeated, feigning confusion. "I'm afraid I don't know him, lord. Is he someone of importance to you?"

Ethan leaned back, his gaze narrowing. "No," he said flatly. "I misspoke."

Peter's shoulders relaxed just slightly. No...there's no way he would know.

Pwyll gestured for the next candidate. "You may leave."

Peter bowed, turning to go.

Ethan's finger tapped the table once. Twice. Then it stopped.

The next moment exploded, Ethan moved fasta blur of motion as he surged forward. His hand slammed down on the back of Peter's head, driving his face into the stone courtyard with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones as Peter cried out in shock and pain, his body writhing beneath Ethan's iron grip.

Pwyll staggered back, his chair clattering to the ground. "Goodness!"

Ethan ignored him, his voice low and menacing. "What is Talog to you?"

Peter coughed, spitting blood and shards of teeth as his body trembled. "I....I don't know this Talog..."

Ethan growled, yanking his head up before smashing it back down. The stone echoed. "Don't lie to me fucker, you know how this ends!"

Tears streamed from Peter's eyes as his mind raced. No, no, no! How does he know? I was careful—so careful! I don't want to die... someone, anyone, save me! Father!