"Katherine Kurtz - Kelson 3 - The Quest for Saint Camber" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

for the Deryni possessed powers that gave them considerable advantages over
ordinary humans, even if the Church officially condemned such powers as
satanic and hell-spawned. By an odd quirk of history, Conall's own Haldane
family had come to be possessed of the potential for powers not unlike those
of the Deryni- but the gift was not for all Haldanes. Tradition insisted that
only one Haldane at a time could actually wield the powers, and that was the
man who wore the crown-in this generation, Conall's cousin, Kelson Haldane.
 Conall had come to resent that restriction early on, having been born
the eldest son of a Haldane king's second son. But his dissatisfaction came
not so much of Kelson's having the crown and the Haldane power-for that was an
accident of birth-but rather, that Kelson should have an exclusive claim on
the latter, which seemed to Conall to have little to do with the kingship
itself. That rationalization had led Conall to take certain steps during the
past year to discover whether the wielding of the Haldane inheritance by more
than one Haldane was a matter of could not or should not. And that was why,
but a few days short of his eighteenth birthday and knighthood, Conall pressed
on through such filthy weather-to meet his teacher. And if the outing also
permitted him to indulge more physical appetites...
Anticipation of Vanissa's welcome lifted even Conall's flagging spirits
as he continued through the storm, for he knew that the lass would provide her
prince a far more warming fire than the one Jowan predicted burning on the
hearth. The hail had slacked back to mere rain by the time the two pulled up
before her secluded little cottage, but the puddles in the tiny yard were
afloat with hailstones that crunched under Conall's boots as he lurched from
the saddle and made a mad dash for the door, leaving Jowan to deal with the
horses. The door flew back before he could even knock, an eager Vanissa
bidding him welcome with a flustered curtsey, the curtain of her dark hair
rippling like a rich mantle nearly to her knees.
"Ah, my good lord, I knew not whether still to expect you, with the
storm an' all. Come take off those wet things an' warm yourself by the fire.
You're shivering. You'll take your death of cold!"
He was shivering, but not only from the cold. Rain dripped from a small,
silky mustache and from short-cropped black hair as he pushed back his hood
and accepted a towel to dry himself, but her touch, as she reached to his
throat to undo his cloak clasp, ignited a warming fire that sizzled through
every limb and centered in his groin.
In heart-pounding silence, he watched her spread the dripping cloak over
a stool near the hearth while he peeled off clammy gloves and sank down
impatiently on another stool, inhaling the musty-sweet fragrance of the herb-
strewn rushes underfoot and the sharper scent of mulling wine. He nodded his
thanks as she handed him a cup of the steaming stuff and bent to pull off his
muddy boots, his eyes gliding appreciatively along the sweet curve of her
breasts as she struggled with the wet, slippery leather. Her exertions had
them both panting by the time she finished.
"Shall my lord be warm enough with this?" she asked, bringing an armful
of coarse wool blanket to lay around his shoulders.
Conall knew he really should not allow himself to be distracted until
after he concluded business, but he had always found it difficult to moderate
his pleasures. Vanissa was so eager to please him, so ripe for the taking, her
body only just beginning to thicken from the child she carried...