Gods Concubine by Sara Douglass

Nothing else matters. Why look at me as if I were a vile thing?‖

He turned away. ―I also used to think that nothing mattered but the Game,‖ he said

quietly. ―I used to think that nothing counted but that you and I lived together, forever, caught in

the immortality of the Game.‖

Swanne stared at his back, her face a mixture of confusion and frustration. What was the

matter with him?

―Forgive me,‖ William said, his voice now drained of all emotion. ―I am tired. I know I

am not what you want me to be right now…but…I am tired.‖

―Of course.‖ She moved to him and put a hand on his back, rubbing it gently up and

down before she reached for one of his hands, turning him around as she lifted it and put it on

one of her breasts. ―I understand. Of course I do. Perhaps in the morning…?‖ She smiled

seductively. ―All we need do is lie side by side tonight if you are too tired to…‖ She rubbed his

hand back and forth over her breast.

He pulled it away, watching her face cloud in anger. ―I am tired, Swanne. I am sick to the

stomach at the slaughter that has ensued this day. I want to be alone. I want solitude. I want to

grieve for Harold, even if you do not. I am sorry if you thought that I would leap instantly into

your arms, but…‖

He stopped, too tired and heartsore to even continue arguing the point. The thought of

lying with Swanne— the thought of that blood-sour mouth running over his body, taking him into

her flesh—made his very stomach lurch over in nausea. He grimaced, and that told Swanne more

than words ever could.

“What?” she said, her body stiff, her brows arched. ―You think to lust after your damned

Cornelia? She‘s a pale, hopeless wretch who has retreated into a convent, William. I can‘t see

her offering her body for your use.‖

―I am married to a woman who I respect and honour,‖ William said, holding Swanne‘s

furious stare. ―I have no thought to demean Matilda by taking another to my bed.‖

―I cannot believe you said that,‖ Swanne said. ―What is a wife when compared to me?

First Cornelia, and now this Matilda?‖

―A wife is an honourable thing, Swanne.‖

―That is not what you believed when you had Cornelia mewling at your side.‖

―Perhaps I should have thought of it then,‖ he said quietly.

―I am your—‖

―Matilda will be my queen, Swanne.‖

To that Swanne could make no immediate verbal response. She merely stared at him, her

mouth closed grim and tight. Finally, she said, ―I am your queen, William. I am your mate, your partner. How have you forgotten that?‖

―We will dance the final enchantment together, Swanne. We will make the Game

together. We will—‖

―How can you possibly want another woman before me?‖

Although Swanne was still angry, her voice sounded genuinely bewildered, and William

gave up trying to argue with her. He took her in his arms, and pulled her close, and hugged her.

―I am tired, Swanne. Forgive me. My mind and mouth are too muddled to make sense.‖

―Ah, my sweet…‖ She lifted a hand to his cheek. ―You must pardon me as well. I know

you must be exhausted, and we have eternity before us to consummate our love. Our power. Kiss

me one more time, and I will leave you in peace for this night at least.‖

She grinned lasciviously, and William‘s mouth gave a tired twitch in response. Swanne

looked up at him, her body relaxing against his, and William gave a capitulative sigh and leaned

down to kiss her.

After all, what was a kiss?

He pulled away almost instantly, again appalled at the foulness he tasted in her mouth.

But Swanne did not seem to notice his revulsion. She gave h im a smile. ―Soon,‖ she said,

and left the room, picking up her cloak as she left.

William stared after her, the fetid taste of death still filling his mouth.

TWELVE

Swanne gave William a full day and night before she came to him again. He‘d kept

himself busy in the aftermath of the battle, with orders and worries and the sheer and unexpected

weight of Harold‘s death with which he had yet to deal effectively.

Harold‘s death had been a far more bitter blow than William had imagined. He hadn‘t

known Harold well, but what he had known…

And he had fought to save him. Damn it! He had fought so hard! The fact that it hadn‘t been a Norman arrow that had felled Harold gave William no comfort. Instead he felt even more

responsible; that it was Swanne‘s hand (no matter who wielded the weapon, it was always

Swanne who struck) made William feel even more guilty than he would have done otherwise.

So when Swanne had herself admitted into his presence on the third day after the battle,

William raised his head wearily from the maps he‘d been studying and gazed at her with such

clear aversion that any other woman would have turned on her heel and walked straight from his

presence.

―I am weary, Swanne,‖ William said. ―What is it you want from me?‖

―How can you ask that, my love? You must be fatigued if you cannot even remember

what we have fought towards for so long.‖ She smiled at him. ―Come now, give me a kiss, and

then we can, perhaps, share our noonday meal and discuss what we should do. Whatever your

weariness, William, we must consolidate what we have gained. Asterion can no longer keep us

apart, and we must work towards the Game with all the strength we may.‖

―You are right.‖ William called to his valet and asked him to bring some small ale and

whatever food he could barter from the kitchens, then he gestured for Swanne to take his chair

which sat before a brazier while he took a bench.

As the valet set a platter of food in front of them—fresh bread, and the remains of the

pigeon pie that William had partaken of the previous night—William poured some small ale

from a jug into beakers.

―You‘re looking thin, Swanne. You should eat.‖

―I have been mildly unwell, but nothing of any true concern.‖ She smiled, and once more

William found himself thinking that it looked more like a grimace rather than a genuine

expression of warmth. ―And I have been aching for you. To be with you.‖

Her smiled stretched, becoming almost predatory. ―I remember how we were interrupted

that day in your stables, when Matilda made her ungracious entrance. I think, William, that it is

time we consummated our union.‖ She pushed aside the stool on which sat the platter of food

and, rising from the chair, unlaced the bodice of her gown so that her breasts swung full and

naked before William. ―William, do not deny me. We have already begun the partnership of the

Game. You cannot now turn your back on me, or on the Game. Once started, it cannot not be

finished. We have obligations we both need to fulfil, and the sexual union of both Mistress and

Kingman is the mightiest of them.‖

He sat very still on his bench, only his eyes moving as first they ran over her breasts then

to her face. ―Swanne…‖

She knelt before him, and lifted his hands to her breasts. ―This does not arouse you?‖ she

said.

Now William shifted, uncomfortable. In truth, it did arouse him, the memory of her

foul-tasting mouth notwithstanding. It had been many weeks since he had slept with Matilda, and

now, to have these warm, soft breasts filling his hands…

―William,‖ Swanne whispered, running her hands up his thighs, kneading and rubbing

until they reached his groin. ―William…‖

He slid down from the bench, thinking, Just this once…just this once…then she will be

satisfied and she will leave me alone. Just this once…it will surely do no harm…

―William!‖ Swanne said, more powerfully this time, and she also slid so that she lay on

the floor, and she pulled William down atop her. His mouth ran along her shoulder, her neck, her

jaw, not touching her mouth, and his hands kneaded at her breasts.

Smiling in triumph, Swanne hauled her skirts over her hips, then began to fumble with

the fastenings at William‘s crotch. ―Thank God,‖ she said, ―that your petty wife is not about to

interrupt us this time.‖

―And I say, ‗Thank God she is‘,‖ came a voice, and William rolled off Swanne so fast

that he knocked over the stool carrying the platter. Food scattered everywhere as he fumbled

with his clothing while trying to rise at the same time.

Matilda walked into the room, calm and dignified, very in control of herself.

―Husband,‖ she said, nodding to him in greeting as if she‘d disturbed him at nothing