The Priestess’ Lover
A Ravenous Romance™ Once Upon A Time™ Original Publication
Jesse Blair Kensington
A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication
The Priestess’ Lover
Copyright © 2008 by Jesse Blair Kensington
Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 125G
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-074-9
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
Etain flung back her long red hair and ran a comb through it, trying to get the tangles out. She had been outside all day preparing for the night’s festivities, gathering the nine sacred woods for the Beltane fires that night—rowan, apple, dogwood, poplar, juniper, cedar, pine, holly, and oak. There was still a brisk chill in the air even though tomorrow was the first of May.
It was also the first time she would be serving as High Priestess.
As part of the festivities, she’d be crowned Queen of the May—a title that should have been hers a few years ago, but the elders kept it from her, saying she was not yet ready for the responsibility. Of course, she could not argue.
She lay on her bed of wool blankets, and the straw crinkled underneath her. She hoped to get some rest before the activities. The girls were preparing her bath, and the women would be here soon to bathe and ready her for the ritual. Etain could hardly believe it was finally her turn—though she’d been preparing for this since she was a child, learning the ways of the Great Goddess from the day she was born.
This was the way her mother and all her grandmothers had entered into service, as well. And Etain herself was a Beltane baby, conceived that night under a full moon in the wet grass in May. She prayed she would find her first lover around the circle of masked men.
She had dreamed of a man the night before; though she could not see his face, she remembered every detail of his body—the broad shoulders, well-muscled arms, strong legs, and big cock. Oh, the thought of that made her quiver. Why were so many virgins afraid? she wondered.
I am so ripe. She touched herself between her legs. I should have had a lover years ago. But it was the way of her clan that the high Priestess saved herself for her first official Beltane.
“But how will I know?” she’d asked her grandmother. “How will I know whom I am to lie with?”
Effa touched her granddaughter’s cheek. “Trust the Goddess. She will let you know. You are a Beltane child. You have been well trained. This is your time. Go in confidence to the circle.”
Etain closed her eyes and thought of her would-be lover, wondered how it would feel to have a man thrust inside of her, how it would feel to have his seed shoot into her. The rest of the ritual was in the back of her mind—it was what happened immediately afterward that most held her interest.
Beltane was all about fertility, and she felt the need to be fertile rise in her belly. If her lover’s seed was planted firmly in her and she was with child, it was be a sign of a good year ahead. The crops would feed them all through the next winter. It would be her sacred duty to tend to the child carefully, as her mother had tended to her.
“Such energy for a young woman,” her mother, Maeve, had said to her more than once. “How to tame such a wild little Beltane girl?”
Etain wouldn’t sit and weave like the other girls of the clan, and she did not care to make butter, cheese, or bread. Even though she could do those things, they bored her, and often her daydreaming would cause accidents—spoiled butter, burned bread, and so on.
She had loved to roam the woods and the hillsides, dragging home plants and animals to tend.
“We must teach you the ways of the wild woman,” her mother told her. “You are not a weaving woman, are you?”
Etain learned what plants and herbs would heal various ailments and she learned where to find them, as well as how to identify them. She became so adept that her skills were known in several neighboring villages around Tara. She found the herbs were also a way for her to feel closer to the Goddess. She learned to watch for certain tilt of a flower or leaf to read Her weather patterns. She also learned to read animals, birds, and insects. Etain was proud of her healing skills, which helped bring good bartering opportunities to her village. She was one of the best healers in Tara, perhaps in all of Eire.
Etain opened her eyes. She could hear the revelers coming toward their cottage. She could hear their songs and whistles, the jingling of their bells. She sat up listening to the women of her clan: There was Rhiana’s voice, so much clearer and louder than the others, and she could hear her mother’s deep voice.
Her bath had already been prepared and was heating over a gentle, slow fire. The girls who attended her were sprinkling in the herbs—sweet woodruff, lavender, and sage —and the girls scattered as the women swung open the door of Etain’s home.
“Are you ready, Priestess?” came her mother’s voice, behind a leather masked dyed crimson and gold.
Etain dropped her robes. “If the Goddess wills it,” she said, allowing herself to be led into the bath waters, which were warm and tingly with the herbs floating around her body. One of the masked women poured scented oil into her bath, another rubbed precious oil on her skin. Her body delighted in her clanswomen’s touches. She was lifted carefully and cleaned properly. Her pale, freckled skin was glistening with the oils. She smelled of the sweet herbs.
All the clanswomen sang and laughed as they prepared her.
One woman placed a wreath of flowers on her unruly red hair. Someone else handed her a glass of sweet honey mead, charged with the prayers of her womenfolk.
Almost from the first sip, Etain felt the warming effects of the brew, and she slipped into a pleasant state. This was the strongest brew she had ever tasted. It was spiced with an herb she did not quite recognize.
Etain was wrapped and laced in a shimmering girdle bordered with fine gold thread, her breasts pushed up and forward, looking like two great goblets spilling over and nearly out of her almost sheer léine. The tunic had been lavishly embroidered by her own mother’s hand. A flowing robe of green adorned her next. The best weavers and seamstresses in the village had been working on her robes for months. The feel of the silky-smooth fabric against her skin made her nipples rise and protrude.
She drank deeply from her glass, sinking deeper into relaxation.
Someone handed her the bronze mask crafted just for her. It had chains and jeweled stones both inlaid and attached to the chains. Etain placed it over her eyes and attached it with a leather strap. She peered out from the holes and only her mouth and lower nose were uncovered. Peacock feathers protruded from the sides and wrapped around her forehead.
“As you know,” her mother’s voice said, “Beltane is one of our most sacred feasts—a time to celebrate life, the time to return of livestock to pasture, a time for planting, a time for handfastings, a time to celebrate the union between Goddess and God.”
“But only at Her will,” the crowd of women chimed in.
Etain knew other villages celebrated Beltane by choosing a Priestess and a Priest, but their clan was a Goddess clan; the God was her consort, only at Her command, only at Her wish.
Etain now led the revelers through the streets. All fires through the village were extinguished, except for the candles the revelers held as they danced to the top of Mulberry Hill.
“She is here,” a man’s voice yelled.
The man began the song as the women approached where the fire was to be lit. The women lifted Etain and carried her to the great tree stump in the center of the clearing.
A hush fell over the crowd as the people drank in Etain’s beauty. She felt as if she were the Goddess herself.
“Listen to the words of the Great Mother,” she began. “Whenever you have need of anything, once a month, and better it be when the moon is full, you shall assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of Me Who is Queen of all the Wise.
“You shall be free from slavery, and as a sign that you be free, you may be naked in your rites.
“Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My Presence, for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and Mine also is joy on earth.
“For My law is love is unto all beings. Mine is the secret that opens the door of youth, and Mine is the cup of wine of life that is the cauldron of the Goddess, that is the holy grail of immortality.
“I give the knowledge of the spirit eternal, and beyond death I give peace and freedom and reunion with those who have gone before.
“I demand aught of sacrifice, for behold, I am the Mother of all things and My love is poured out upon the earth.
“Hear the words of the Goddess, the dust of Whose feet are the hosts of Heaven, whose body encircles the universe:
“I Who am the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars and the mysteries of the waters,
“I call upon your soul to arise and come unto me.
“For I am the soul of nature that gives life to the universe.
“From Me, all things proceed, and unto Me they must return.
“Let My worship be in the heart that rejoices, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.
“Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.
“And you who seek to know Me, know the seeking and yearning will avail you not, unless you know the Mystery: for if that which you seek you find not within yourself, you will never find it without.
“For behold, I have been with you from the beginning, and I am That which is attained at the end of desire.”
Etain took a deep breath.
“Light the fire!” she yelled into the crisp spring night. Facing east, she said,“Hail to the east.” The crowd followed her lead. “Place of beginnings, place of lovers, and the rising sun.”
“All hail to the east,” the crowd replied.
She turned south. “Hail the south, place of action, place of the warrior, the place where the sun is at midday, at its hottest place of fire,” she said.
“All hail to the south,” the crowd replied.
She turned. “Hail to the west, place of dusk and magicians, place of earth, of going within, shapeshifting and magic.”
The people echoed her words. Etain next faced north, feeling a cool breeze blow her hair from her face. “Hail to the north, place of endings, preparing for death and rebirth, place of elders, kings and queens, place of air.”
“All hail to the north,” the crowd replied.
“Hail father sky and the male energies,” she continued. “Hail mother earth, the connection to female energies. Hail to the place within each of us, that place of darkness, silence and wonder. Hail to all and blessed be.”
“Blessed be,” the crowd responded.
The crowd cheered and whooped and musicians started their songs. Etain led a parade to the other side of the hillside, lit brightly from their fire, and they could see other fires in the distance on other hillsides.
“Light the fire!” she yelled. The next fire was lit.
“Run the cattle!” she cried.
The loud, running animals ran between the two fires out into their fields, where they could graze all night.
“Great Mother Goddess,” Etain called. “We give you thanks for our cattle, for our survival through a harsh winter. Now, we take joy in all you offer and light the balefire in hope that we will have a fertile year.”
A circle gathered around the blazing fire. The drums played loudly. Etain’s maidens gathered around her in their white robes. Their hair was covered in flowers and they wore necklaces of sweet woodruff, with delicate white flowers. Etain breathed in their smell of spring.
The circle danced in and out of the fires, around and around, the music playing louder and louder. A green leafy mask with deep bronze shining edges glinting in the fire’s glow caught Etain’s attention.
And there were so many masked men dancing around her now. Hips gyrating, shoulders pulsing to the rhythms of the drums. Truly, she thought there were many more men here than who lived in their village. If only her swimming head could clear up so that she could count them.
But the glint of the bronze-edged mask caught her eye again. She tried to watch the man wearing it, but was each time pulled away by another hand or a well-meaning arm around her waist.
Through the crowd—and at a distance—he appeared to be of average height and girth, but there was something about the way he moved, with grace, confidence, and strength, that made her insides twist.
Was this the sign from the Goddess that she was seeking? This sudden need welling inside of her, this heated moisture beckoning between her thighs?
* * * *
Bru could not keep his eyes from her. From the moment she reached the fire, he was struck by the roundness of her hips, the milkiness of her breasts, the fullness of her lips. She was bedecked in green and gold, with her robes flowing in the gentle spring breeze, and a wreath of flowers in her wavy red hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it, to cup her ass with his hands – and oh, Goddess help him – he wanted to be the chosen one to plant his seed deep in her belly tonight.
He knew that was not the usual way. It would be her choice. But it was all he could do not to leap across the fire and ravage her. He gathered that other men felt the same way.
Bru had heard some of them talking earlier.
“She was a wild one, that’s why she had to wait. Her training wasn’t going well,” one told a companion.
“Aye, I’d like to taste her wildness, myself,” the other responded. “A little spirit on Beltane Eve is just thing to warm my cock.”
“I am wearing her favorite colors tonight. I hope to catch her eye,” another man chimed in.
“Yes, but it won’t matter to her,” a man jabbed at him. “She is a child of the Goddess, and won’t be swayed by your pretty colors, but by what the sweet honey pot between her thighs tells her.”
Typical talk, Bru mused, on what was supposed to be a sacred occasion. But when he saw Etain, he gasped out loud. Was she really as beautiful as she promised to be under that mask, under those robes? Sometimes Priestesses were ordinary-looking women, but during the ritual something came over them, the goddess beauty channeled through them.
Etain made his balls convulse. They already ached from the night before when he had lain with Isolde. He didn’t think it was possible for him to be so fevered again so quickly after last night’s escapades.
Bru sighed as he remembered the feeling of Isolde’s wet mouth on his cock, the pleasant warm sucking noises she made. He remembered her black hair shining in the firelight and the wet slit between her thighs, so pink against the black of her hair as he nibbled there, and she squirmed in delight. He could almost hear Isolde’s heaving sighs as he entered her, see her tiny, large-nippled breasts moving as he rammed into her. She could not wait for Beltane, the teasing little wench – nor could Bru – and her father caught them there enjoying one another before the sacred day. Good thing Bru had already enjoyed the woman and shot his seed a few moments before.
But as a result, Bru was banned from the feast in his own village—little did the locals know that his father would have frowned on him going anyway. And all Bru had wanted was to bed Isolde, who had been promising herself to him with flirtations for months—a stolen kiss in her father’s barn, her hand feverishly finding his cock at the well behind the house. He’d dipped his hand into her every chance he got.
Isolde’s tiny firm body held his memory firmly, but the beckoning Etain – with her ripe breasts and hips, dancing around the fire, tiny beads of sweat around her lips, trickling between her breasts – seemed to reach out and grab his balls.
Chapter Two
Etain didn’t know quite what to do. Her heart beat against her chest as the leafy-masked man’s gaze met hers across the fire. It is your choice and will. You are the Goddess, her mother’s voice rang in her head.
She could see the circle breaking up—some were heading toward the food and drink, others already heading for the woods to make merry. Others were still dancing.She knew she had to approach him. He knew the rules.
Etain danced toward him and he stopped moving. His eyes caught hers once more—they were dark and intense. Etain shuddered, stood close to him, held out her hand.
“Would you care for a drink, my lady?” he said to her in a deep and bold voice as he took her hand and offered her a goblet. His voice made her heart race.
“Yes, I am quite parched,” she whispered with difficulty. She drank deeply from the goblet and looked around at the festivities. Their glade was well lit, food was piled on tree trunks and blankets. Oat cakes, bread, roasted beef and rabbit. The smell was intoxicating. Torches were lit all around them. It was exactly as it should be.
She felt herself sinking into her drink. I am getting a bit drunk, she mused. Or was she merely channeling the Goddess as she was meant to on this night of fertility?
Etain watched the man’s eyes, noticed his strong muscular arms, wide chest, the way he moved like a big cat in the forest. He tilted his head in curiosity. Did he know what she had on her mind?
“’Tis a pleasant feast, my lady,” he said, gesturing to the stacks of cakes and cheese.
“Let us dance,” she said to him, grabbing his hand, sturdy and calloused. The touch sent ripples of pleasure through her. She felt her nether region twitch and wanted to lay him down, right there, and take him inside.
The drums seemed to get louder as the Priestess entered the circle space. Etain felt dizzy from the way he looked at her, the way he moved against her. She thought she could feel him, hard and hot, pressing up against her. She could have been dancing with the horned green god himself—his mask gave the impression of it, with its bronze horns on top. His body tormented her. She was moist everywhere—the Beltane fires were hot and she was sweating from dancing, and she was hot and swollen between her thighs as well. She drew away from him and ran into the forest, laughing, her hair a wild mane, and he ran after her, tackling her against a large leaning oak tree, and pressed himself into her.
His green mask was wet with sweat, but his mouth found hers, and his hand found her firm, white breasts. Her nipples tightened and hardened as he fingered them, sending shivers through her body, just as she had imagined as she’d touched her own breasts over the years. But his hands were large and rough, which added to her pleasure.
He untied her green cloak and it fell on a bed of moss beneath them. He touched her shoulders, softy sending chills through her body, then began to unravel her girdle. Etain thought she would burst; he was so slowly and tenderly unleashing her, unwrapping her. She could see the passion in his eyes, felt a tenderness in his touch.
“Goddess,” he whispered. “Help me. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen…so white…so pure…you are Goddess…may…I serve you well…” He ripped open her léine and took her breasts in his mouth. Etain sucked in her breath sharply. His hands found the wetness rising between her thighs. “Such sweet wetness. You…are..ripe…”
“So ripe,” she whispered back breathlessly, feeling as if she would melt into him. “Take me.” she said and reached for his cock, wanting him desperately with a painful longing.
He stopped her. “A moment like this should be savored, my Priestess. If you touch me now, I will explode in your hand. Wait….”
He leaned back on rippling haunches, slid her further onto the tree, looked at her naked gleaming sex, and pulled out his cock, hard and red, surrounded by a thick, dark bush. He tenderly placed his hands on her sex. She writhed—she could feel something building deep in her belly, a strong rippling, tingling sensation. He rubbed with more pressure. An intense wave rippled through her, over and over, a sudden washing of pleasure.
“Oh yes, you came, so…good. So many don’t. Now, Priestess…let me…” he said and stuck his finger in her and gently twisted it. She gasped. She was wet and slippery, but still had the tightness of a virgin.
“You are still a maiden. Let me help,” he whispered and twisted his finger. Something in her popped and burned. He pulled out his bloody finger. Then his mouth found her slit—she had never imagined such a thing, nobody had prepared her for this— and twisted his tongue around her, in her, lapping her up. His hot mouth sucked at her, his tongue poked into her.
She felt another strong tickling sensation building—it was almost unbearable—and she let go, bucking hard against his face. She gasped and lay back and looked at the buds on the branches, the full moon over head, and he rolled on top of her, kissing her, giving her a taste of herself as he plunged his manhood into her. She met his thrusts with intensity, as he filled her up completely, and soon his manhood seemed to move on its own. She could feel it jerking and spurting hot juice deep within her. His seed was inside her now.
Bru wanted to see his lover, wanted to know what this Priestess’ face looked like. He knew enough about this world, had been with enough women, to know this was no ordinary one. He lay in her arms, half covered by the lady’s cloak, on a bed of moss, and looked out over the night sky. The stars were bright and the moon full; it was truly a brilliant Beltane. He swore he could hear the fairies laughing. Had he drunk too much? No woman had ever met him with her own passion and was pleasured so readily. Of course, this was no ordinary virgin: She had been told what to expect, told how to please her lover, how to please herself.
He wanted more. His mask was getting bothersome, and he struggled to keep it on—but knew he must.
He gently caressed her breasts, played with the berry of a nipple on top of the swirling mound, warm in the chilled air. She opened her eyes. “My lord…” she said and reached for his cock, rubbed it once, twice, and it was alert again. Her touch was milky soft, yet strong and knowing. Her full lips opened on his, kissing him with fervor not found in any of his other women.
Her hands explored every part of Bru’s body. She lay him down on the bed of moss and ran her fingers along the muscles of his arms, circled the nipples of his chest, found his balls and cupped them so gently it felt like he would explode within moments.
He felt her all over him like warmed honey, sticky sweet, slippery warm. He pulled her completely on top of him. She straddled him and took him inside of her—so hot against the cool night air. With his hands on her rounded waist, he could see her taking him in, feel her muscles pulsing against his cock. She moved on top of him in a dance, arching her back, her hair falling in gentle circles around her bobbing breasts.
Goddess, what had he done to deserve such passion, such pleasure? As he shot his seed into her once again, he vowed to serve her Goddess forever if only this Priestess would be his lover forever.
Even though he knew it was impossible.
Chapter Three
“I cannot let you go,” he told Etain just as the sun began to show itself. Others stirred around the hillsides to gather the first May dew with which to wash their faces. Etain and Bru were still in each other’s arms.
“It isn’t done,” Etain said. “’Tis morning and time for us to part.”
It wasn’t supposed to be difficult, she thought. She was to get up, take her mask off, turn from him, wash her face in the dew, turn back around and he would be gone, just as suddenly as he came to her. But her heart broke at the thought of leaving him. What would it hurt if they met one more time?
“I am the High Priestess, now,” she said. “I must abide—“
“If you are High Priestess, then you can do what you want,” he told her. “Change the rule. Meet me here at the next full moon, Priestess.”
Etain was rebellious, but she was hesitant to go against ancient law.
She stood and wrapped her cape around her, feeling its warmth encircle her body. Bru grabbed her. “Believe me, this passion isn’t found everywhere.”
“All acts of pleasure are for and because of the Goddess,” she told him.
“Oh, I believe that. I vowed to serve Her because I have never known such sweetness as I did with you. I want to serve you and Her, but you must tell me how. I need to see you again. I won’t be able to live, to breathe, without your touch, Priestess.”
Etain’s heart dropped in her stomach. They had not prepared her for this—a dark-haired wonder of a man on his knees pledging himself to her and, more importantly, to her Goddess. She searched her heart and his dark eyes, and knew he was sincere.
“My name is Etain,” she said to him, helping him up.
“I know,” he said.
“I will think about meeting here on the next full moon. ’Tis all I can promise.”
He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her once again. The sun rose into a pink sky, and she could see his breath as he gazed at her. She stepped away from him and took off her mask.
“Here I am, the woman in the flesh that you bedded on Beltane. Here is my face. Look on it kindly, for I—like all of my sisters—am a child of the Great Goddess.”
He sighed, delighted, at her beauty.
“Now, kind sir, I shall wash my face in the Beltane dew. Let us pray for a divine child made by you and me, with the Goddess’ guidance. Let us pray for Her blessings. When I turn, you must go, keeping me gladly in your heart. You may go with Her blessings. You have served us well.”
She let her eyes linger on him, turning slowly from her first lover, bending over and placing her hands on the dewy grass, bathing her face in the moisture. When she turned back around, he was gone.
* * * *
“No,” Effa said to her granddaughter later that day. “The law is there for a reason, my child. You must not meet this man again, else he may lay claim to you or the child you may be carrying. No man claims a Beltane baby…or the Priestess who carries the child. “
“But—”
“Do you think he is the only man who can make you feel good, my girl? You may now take any lover you want. But go against the laws of Beltane because of one man? No, my dear. No.”
But Etain was saying yes in her heart and between her thighs. Was it true that a different man might make her feel so good? Why, then, did the thought of being with someone else make her cringe – even Finn?
“Did he reveal himself to you?” Maeve asked as she was weaving. The wheel made a squeaky noise Etain hated.
“No, Mother,” she said.
“You are sure this man is not from our village?”
She sat quietly and thought about it again. “No. I don’t think he is from here.”
“I wonder why he came here, of all places? Why didn’t he stay in his own village?”
Etain knew her mother had been hoping she would bed with Finn—a talented bard in the village. Etain had nothing against him; in fact, she believed he was handsome and well built, and she’d thought frequently of bedding him while pleasuring herself.
“Mother, all are welcome at our feasts. You know that,” Etain said sharply.
“Yes, Priestess, but one would think to celebrate the Goddess with one’s own clan,” her grandmother said.
Just then a knock came at their door.
“Enter,” Etain said.
It was a girl from the other side of the village. “Priestess, I come seeking your help for my sister.”
‘What is the problem?”
“She is torn—”
“Torn?”
“In her woman parts…” The girl looked down, embarrassed. “She was taken by a man so cruel…” she said, and her face went into her hands.
Effa went to the girl and wrapped her arms around her. “Now, now, child. Etain will attend to her.”
Etain already knew the woman needed to be cleaned right away—but she also quickly thought about what herb poultice to use to fight infection. She dug through her case of tinctures until she found the yarrow tincture she needed.
All three women followed the girl to a small hut at the end of the village. There, wrapped in dirty wool blankets, was a young blond woman, Sheilah. Etain felt her fevered head immediately.
“It’s good you came to me. The infection has already set in,” Etain told her.
Her father entered the room. “What is it, Priestess?”
“This is women’s business, kind sir,” Etain said. “We shall tend to your daughter.”
He left the room immediately.
Etain knew there was little hope—Sheilah was so hot to the touch, she prayed she could heal her. Her sister fetched fresh water from the spring and all three women set to work breaking her fever while Etain cleaned her.