read her eyes; the pupils were wide, her face flushed, her lips slightly parted. He found himself leaning closer towards her. She did not draw back, and his lips touched hers. Her arms encircled his neck, her body pressed in to him and he could feel her breasts against his chest. He felt dizzy, yet exhilarated. His hand slid along her shoulder and down her arm. Her hand came up to close over his fingers. For a moment only he felt disappointment, then she drew his hand down to her breast.
Then, as swiftly as it began, Derae ended the embrace, pulling back sharply.
‘Not here! Not now,’ she pleaded.
‘When?’ asked Parmenion, battling to control his surging emotions.
‘When they have gone. We will hear the horses.’
‘Yes … the horses.’
They sat in unnatural silence, waiting, listening as the grooms beyond the garden wall brought out the mounts, hearing the laughter of the hunters, men boasting of their skills and others mocking with gentle humour. Then came the thunder of hooves and quiet descended on the garden. Parmenion stood, reached out and took Derae’s hand, drawing her up to him. He kissed her again and they walked back through the garden gate and on to the house. Back in his room Parmenion gently untied the thongs at Derae’s shoulder, the white and green chiton falling to the floor.
Stepping back, he gazed at her upper body. Her arms and face were bronzed, but her breasts and waist were white as marble. Tentatively he reached out to touch her breast, his palm stroking gently across the raised nipple. She unfastened the brooch that held his chiton and, naked now, they moved to the bed.
For a while they kissed and touched, but then Derae lay back drawing Parmenion on to her. He groaned as he entered her and felt her legs slide up over his hips. In all his life he had never known such pleasure, nor dreamt of scaling such a peak of joy. It was madness, he knew, but he had no control – wished for none. Even the thought of death could not stop him now.
His passion made him want to power into her, yet he did not wish the moment to end and forced himself to move slowly, rhythmically, his eyes open, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. He brushed his lips against hers and her mouth opened, her tongue darting against his own. He felt himself building to a climax and slid from her.
‘No,’ she said, pulling at him. He knelt by the side of the bed, running his tongue across her flat belly, then lifted her thigh across his shoulder. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, struggling to sit. He pushed her back and lowered his head between her legs. Her hair was soft, pelt-like, and his tongue caressed her. She began to moan, softly at first and then louder. She shuddered against him, her hands tugging at his hair. Climbing to the bed, he entered her once more. Derae’s arms circled his neck, and she clung to him with fierce strength until he too reached a climax.
Bathed in sweat they lay together with arms entwined. Now it was over, the passion spent, all Parmenion’s fear came rushing back. What they had done was against the law. What if the servants had seen them walking hand in hand from the garden? And could they have failed to hear her cries, or the creaking of the bed? Raising himself on his elbow, he looked down at the girl. Her eyes were closed, her face wondrous in its beauty.
He knew then that she was worth the risk, worth any risk.
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
Her eyes opened. ‘I had a dream,’ she said. ‘Three days ago. I went to a seeress with it. She told me that it meant I would love only one man in my life, and that he would stand and defy an army for me.’
‘What was your dream?’
‘I dreamt I was in a temple, and all was darkness. And I said, Where is the Lion of Macedon? The sun shone then and I saw a general in a white plumed helmet. He was tall and proud, and walking with the light at his back. He saw me, and opened his arms. He called me his love. That’s all I remember.’