Rating: NC: 17 - This story contains consensual sex between a man and a woman. If this offends you, is illegal where you live or you are under 18, go somewhere else.
Disclaimer: The characters of John Lawless, Jodie Keane and others mentioned belong to South Pacific Pictures. The use of those characters in this story is not intended as copyright infringement. The rest of the characters in this story are copyrighted by the author.
Author’s notes: This one came out of a headline in our local paper, which was precisely the title of this piece of fiction. Oooooh, how to give a certain Kiwi some Celtic experiences and get him healed up . . . Of course, send him to Glastonbury, in search of a distant relative. The sanctuary is based on a real healing garden in the same location, which I’ve developed a touch, the cafe of the White Spring is absolutely genuine, though I have no idea if their store-cupboard is quite like I describe!
It was waking up in hospital with doctors looking concerned around him that started the big change in John Lawless’ life. He’d been in denial about his drug habit, had a couple of abortive relationships with women, the divorce had become final and John had finally cracked under the strain. He lay in bed, his mind still partially fuzzy and knew he’d been handed a chance to pick himself up and start again. Jodie had given him a spirited earful and left. Now he lay in the hospital in Auckland, recovering from what he assumed was some kind of breakdown. His memory was somewhat hazy on that last one. He remembered the explosion, then red mist had descended, he’d gone a little crazy and part of his brain knew that quite a bit of time had passed since.
"Mr. Lawless?" He blinked, turning his head to the sound of the voice. A tall fair male doctor stood at his side.
"Uh . . . yeah?" The trembling started in his hands. Withdrawal. He knew the symptoms well.
"You are lucky to be alive. If it hadn’t been for Jodie finding you, you’d probably be six feet under now, eh?" The doctor gestured gently. "I’m sorry - we can’t give you medication for the withdrawal symptoms. It wouldn’t be wise at the moment. You put quite a cocktail of pills down you. Then had a kind of grand panic attack and seizure when the mixture hit your system. From what I’ve been told, you were under major emotional strain as well. It was basically a breakdown and most of your systems shut down as well, in reaction. If you hadn’t been so fit to start with, you’d probably not have pulled through."
"Oh." There wasn’t much more he could say. He’d been rumbled, caught red-handed.
"Medically, for your peace of mind and your continuing health, I am suggesting most strongly that you go on what in the old days would have been called a ‘rest cure’. Away, on holiday. Far away from New Zealand and this current situation. You need lots of time to heal up, Mr. Lawless. From what I’ve heard, you were a good cop and were making quite a mark as an independent investigator until this crisis hit. Your friends are sorting things so that you have a job to return to at the end. You will be a better man once you’ve got rid of the drugs from your system and had time to put closure on all the other aspects of your life. I believe your old physical and mental discipline will kick in, eh; then you will be able to get rid of the burdens you are trying to carry alone. I have faith that you can do it; don't throw away the second chance that life has given you."
So, here he lay, going through the DT’s and having plenty of time for reflection. He felt his head first; his hair had grown some . . . and his beard was a lot longer than he normally liked to wear it, and somewhat untamed. John realized he must have been here some time and probably looked like Grizzly Adams. His hands felt carefully, initially for bruises, under the anonymous blue gown they’d given him. He blinked. It had been so long since he’d had chest hair that it was almost a shock. What with the police work with concealed wires it had recently become part of his habit to wax regularly and he’d almost forgotten he had hair. It was a surprise to himself that he’d managed to wax on autopilot; the experience hurt like hell, but part of his mind had conveniently blanked that one. Cripes, he had been ill. Hurting and abusing his body without fully realizing it? The thought sent icicles down his spine as his mind cleared. He’d been so sure he was in control and he’d been anything but. How many others had he hurt while he’d been walking on the wild side? He hoped they’d forgive him if he’d done anything crazy. The potential guilt ate at him. John decided then and there to take the doctor’s advice to heart.
Jodie helped him while he lay sweating the worst of the drugs out of his system in hospital. He found out from the date that he’d been lying in a semi-conscious fog for a month. John told Jodie about a remote cousin called Grace Steers in Britain; the sort one exchanged Christmas cards with and the odd e-mail. He remembered vaguely that she was some kind of healer and lived in a quiet rural area. Jodie set to work and did the rest, making contact and delicately explaining the situation with the aid of the doctor. Three months in Grace's healing community and sanctuary was the result. A warm welcome for a long-lost member of the family.
When the dates came through as May, June and July, John momentarily wondered if he’d be warm enough - he hated being cold in autumn and winter - then with an inner rueful chuckle he remembered it would be early summer there. He’d have to work his keep, but that was fine. The doctor said that regular, gentle physical labor would probably help. A change of scene from urban to largely rural as well. Not that there wasn’t plenty of rural scenery in New Zealand, but he’d only ever been passing through it. So, armed with an address, directions, passport and a couple of packed bags, a slightly shell-shocked John Lawless boarded a plane once released from direct medical care, bound for the other side of the world. He’d trimmed his beard and hair and tried to smarten up a bit - he didn’t want Grace thinking she was taking in an aging hippie! At least he looked clean; and felt clean for the first time in ages. He had taken a good, long look at himself in the mirror as he packed.
His hair was developing white sprinkles amongst the jet black, for a start. Pretty much typical for a Polynesian. Curling slightly around his collar, but not as long as it had been when he’d started shadowing Bowers. His naturally brown skin was looking clearer and his eyes were brighter. He’d forgotten they had warm golden lights in them when he really smiled. And his close-cropped beard was almost fully black; just a few white sprinkles around the sideburns. Physically he was looking good; he'd been working out pretty intensively as soon as they let him. His muscles had got back the tone they’d lost in hospital. So, he was ready to go.
The flight seemed to go on forever. John was still slightly in reaction to feeling close to truly normal. Maybe it was the lack of pills to drug his system, maybe it was adrenaline from excitement, but he stayed awake the whole time, then also on the connecting flight to the West. He landed at a small airport just south of Bristol. Completely unknown territory apart from the letters from Grace and a few photographs.
Yet his mother’s oldest uncle had come here after the First World War and stayed, producing a family. Due to the ravages of the Second World War, disease and just plain bad luck of this side of the family, Grace was the only descendant left alive, as far as he was aware. He was still trying to figure out what kind of cousin she was to him when he walked out through customs into the large, glass lobby. A small, very bearded man who resembled a Jack Russell terrier approached him.
"John Lawless?" John nodded, thinking that the man in front of him could pass for a wizard without any trouble. "Grace sent me up from the sanctuary. She’s really sorry not to be here herself - there was an emergency she couldn’t get out of. How’s the jet lag, mate?"
John’s ears finally caught up with London tones, "Not too bad, eh."
"So, do you need a nap or would you like to see the scenic route?"
John smiled. "Scenery’s fine with me, eh." It was being on foreign soil. He was going more Kiwi, not less. Either that or the jet lag was manifesting in strange ways.
The small man smiled. "My name’s ’Arry by the way."
Harry helped him carry his bags to the car and John got in. He could smell summer in the air. Harry smiled. "Just wait until you get to the Vale of Avalon and Glastonbury, John. Apple blossom everywhere."
John frowned, confused. "Avalon? As in King Arthur?"
"Yeah, that’s the fella. Nearly knighted me once!"
"I thought he was dead, eh?"
Harry chuckled. "Reincarnation, mate. Everyone comes back . . . at least our Arthur is convinced he’s the real one come back. Very particular on that one. No taking the mick, even if you think he’s loopy." John realized he might need translation services to get up to speed in England.
He sensibly kept his mouth shut as they turned off to the left and then right; at least until they got to Cheddar Gorge. The approach from the north hadn’t given much indication of what he was about to see then suddenly there were high limestone cliffs towering rather majestically on either side of him. He was reminded of pictures he’d seen of the Grand Canyon, although the Gorge was miniscule by comparison.
He whistled appreciatively. Okay, the mountains at home were higher and some parts were spectacularly volcanic, but this gorge had its own beauty. Harry drove down through Wedmore, which had an old church and some quaint thatched cottages. Very ‘typical’ England to a foreigner. Harry told him the story of how King Alfred had finally signed his peace treaty with the Danes in Wedmore church.
Down the hill on the other side of Wedmore, they hit the levels. Lots of narrow drainage channels divided flat, lush green fields. Trees with silver-green fluttering leaves borne on trembling stems dotted the landscape.
"I suppose you’ve never seen willows before?"
"As in cricket?"
"Right kind of tree, John, wrong type. These are pollarded and the slender branches that grow from the trunk are used to make baskets and wicker-work."
"Lots of sheep like back home, though, eh?" John commented, suddenly noticing familiar woolly shapes in the fields.
"Good grazing - it’s so flat and low-lying around here. Used to be under the sea pretty regularly till about 150 years ago." They came out of a ribbon village and hit a long, dead straight road. John’s eyes picked up a large strangely shaped green hill with a tower on top dead ahead.
"That’s not flat ground! What the heck is it? Looks like . . ." John paused. The rounded, conical shape with the nipple-like tower was far too familiar. He felt himself begin to blush. "Well, it looks like a titty, eh?!"
Harry laughed. "S’okay! We get used to shocked visitors noticing that! Goddess worship - way back - and now as well. That’s the Tor. A major tourist attraction."
John chuckled. "I’m not surprised! I bet some interesting things happen up there on balmy nights, eh?"
"And mid-winter. Really keen, they are."
"They’d have to be!"
"Yeah, well . . . get used to it. The sanctuary is at the base of the hill, around one of the springs."
"Hot spring?" John asked, thinking of home and volcanic activity.
"No, there's one of those at Bath though. It was developed by the Romans. In Glastonbury, we have two cold springs you can go to for water. Our spring is the Red; just nearby is the White, which is bottled commercially. White and red . . . very Celtic."
"You’re going to have to help me on that one, Harry."
So Harry told John the old Celtic story of the fight between the red dragon and the white and how Merlin used the legend to support the king who had the red dragon in his standard, and so paved the way for the Pendragon. John got the point immediately.
"Arthur!"
"Well, Uther first, but yes. That’s why the Welsh flag has the red dragon. Their king won!"
"I’m going to have to read more about this. Don’t want to appear ignorant, eh."
Harry shrugged. "We know very little about Maori culture. Maybe we could swap stories!"
John coughed politely. "I’m not as well acquainted as I should be with the Maori side. My father died when I was young and I learnt largely European stuff. I can tell you some."
"Ah. Sorry."
John shrugged. "No biggie. I’ll share what I know."
John looked out of the window as they drove through Glastonbury. A small, market town; lots of stone and brick buildings, some quite old. As Harry had said, they came very close to the base of the Tor and John could see now that the tower on the top looked ecclesiastical and was empty, almost like a huge square chimney. Harry pulled in off the road to the left into a pebbled forecourt. A row of old, squat and charming buildings met John’s eyes. To the right of them were large wooden gates. He got out of the car and smelt the air. He closed his eyes. It was sweet and heady like wine. Harry chuckled softly.
"Now you know why the ancients called this the Summer Country and the Isle of Apples."
John smiled. He could feel his remaining burdens lifting and evaporating already. "I’m going to like it here."
Somehow he kept alert whilst unpacking in the diminutive cottage Grace had set aside for him. It had its own tiny garden with a wooden bench under a climbing plant of some sort. He sat there once Harry had left him, feeling the tranquil spirit in the place quite palpably. The last time he’d felt anything like this was way back in the early days as a cop, investigating the murder of a Maori. They’d invited him into the marae and it had the same air of peace and holiness about it. Sitting here brought back that same feeling. Later, he joined the others for supper, trying to remember all the faces and names, then finally the sleep deprivation hit him and he stumbled off to bed and fell into a deep slumber.
Velvet darkness. Memories of feeling alone and out of place even in his marriage. Marla couldn’t cope with the long periods undercover and the unfinished boat in the yard. He’d enjoyed being a policeman until that little shit Snow had sewed him up. Even with Jodie, he’d felt alone somehow. She was great; feisty enough, but not the woman for him. For a start, he’d be too scared of hurting her if they ever got physical. It wouldn’t be the fully unrestrained, joyful and passionate relationship he hoped for. His dreams conjured up the vision that he managed to keep buried under the veneer of normality most of the time. A woman to match him; not just physically but mentally too. One who wouldn’t mind the strange hours and support him in the tough times. Nice looking would be good too; not that he was trying to be too picky with his fortieth birthday looming. Someone who could help him in the times when he felt he was carrying the guilt of the world on his shoulders. He had a mental image of this lady; what he’d like look wise, but he’d negotiate that for a true soulmate. He smiled as he dreamed. It was as if the answer was closer than it had ever been before.
Strange birdsong coming through his open bedroom window finally woke John up. The sunlight through the gap in the floral curtains was golden and spoke of early summer. John scratched his chest, got up, eased out the kinks and opened the curtains. His garden was in shade at the moment, but sunlight was kissing the grassy hill beyond. It was so quiet and restful here. He found the bathroom, which had a surprisingly luxurious shower, then threw on some clothes. In his tiny kitchen was a welcome note from Grace and a modest supply of food, along with directions to the main refectory if he wanted to be sociable.
A small brown bird hopped about amongst clumps of pretty flowers outside. It was soon joined by another of the same sort. They flew away into the hedge laden with crumbs and other bits and pieces. A mating pair with nestlings, then. He wandered into the main room and saw that someone had helpfully provided illustrated guides to British birds, flora and fauna, as well as several big ‘coffee table’ art books and also ones about Glastonbury and the surrounding area.
John decided a shared breakfast would be good and show that he was friendly. He checked the time from the notice pinned near the door and walked up the pebbled path to the refectory. He went inside and stopped dead. His eyes instantly locked on the tall lady standing near the breakfast bar and all the rest of the world disappeared.
‘YOU!’ It was felt, on every level of his being, deep and urgent, right down to his very soul. All the hair went up on the back of his neck and he knew. One look, and his life changed in a heartbeat, ‘Soulmate. I am yours. You are mine.’ He’d heard of instant attraction like this, but never realized it would be true, not for him. His eyes relayed everything to his stunned brain. Long, almost waist-length straight brown hair caught back in a ponytail, lovely curves, long legs and arms. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he’d put his modest life-savings on them being blue.
He felt his heart start to pound and he untucked his tee shirt to hide the other, very primal response of his body. Walking over there with a visible major hard-on would be highly embarrassing.
She turned, their eyes met and his heart soared as he saw an answering shock, recognition and desire in her. He frowned then, his policeman’s mind wondering what on earth was happening to him. It was so unlike him - well, the him he knew. He put out his hand and then he knew who she was without being told. And her eyes were blue, fringed with black lashes and brows.
"Grace," he stated.
Her mouth quirked and she smiled back, "John." Their hands met and the electricity was incredible. He saw the shock and pleasure in her eyes before she pulled herself together, "We need to talk."
John nodded readily enough and followed her through the building into the most amazing formal garden he’d ever seen. Flowers and grass, rioting down a hillside, with a bubbling stream running in the middle, then cascading down a small man-made waterfall into a large womb-like pool at the base of the hill.
"It’s like fairyland!" He could almost believe they were actually in the air, just out of sight.
"It is a special healing garden, carefully following the natural contours of the hill - and many people have sworn they’ve seen pixies or the Sidhe here. It’s a good place to come for healing." They walked down to the low pool and stood on the grass. She was fairly close, and her height was just right for him, maybe four or five inches shorter.
John turned to her. "I need the healing, that’s for sure. But, Grace; what happened - back there between us," he frowned again, "That was like nothing I’ve ever known."
"I know. Me too. That’s why I brought you somewhere more private."
His eyes warmed. "I think I’ll want more than just healing; once I’ve figured out what just happened, eh?"
Grace read, acknowledged and returned the heat in his eyes, "Yes."
He moved closer. "Right now I’m aching to kiss you, claim you."
A long, slender hand placed gently in the center of his chest stopped him, "I know. I feel it too. One day soon, when you have had time to heal, it will happen between us, I promise. We are meant to be lovers . . . but not now. I am here as a healer for you, as well as family - albeit distantly related. It would be ethically and spiritually wrong to have a physical relationship straight away. Take time to heal, to lose your burdens. Find yourself - the true you. Then and only then will you be able to share everything you are with me - and I with you. It’ll be all the sweeter for waiting for the right time."
His lips twitched, "I’m going to go crazy waiting for that kiss, eh!"
Grace took a moment, then clearly decided something, her head tilted to one side, "Okay," his smile widened. "If only for the fact that I’ll be going crazy too! One kiss - just one. A pledge of things to come. Make it a good one, John; because it’ll have to last us some time!"
John found a chuckle coming from his lips. "No worries . . ."
He bent his head, Grace reached up into his hair and his lips brushed hers gently, tenderly, erotically. He felt his body tense with the most stunning arousal he’d ever felt. Her slender lips nipped and teased exquisitely along his upper lip, then they moved to his sensitive bottom lip and he groaned. Much more of this and he’d be so hard that he’d rip through his jeans. Or come harder than he ever had before in his life. With a deep steadying breath, he took control of the kiss; doing some gentle teasing kisses of his own.
Grace moaned back. She was thrilled that his sensual lips really could kiss with such erotic delicacy. At last, driven almost to distraction by the mutual teasing seduction, their mouths slanted into a full kiss.
Although John ached to taste her fully, he knew that if he let his tongue take that first slide, he would definitely not be able to stop without making love with her, so he reined back and enjoyed the sweetest kiss he’d ever known. About half a lifetime later, he slowly pulled away, loving how her lips clung to his eagerly, wanting to delay the moment they must break free. He opened his eyes to sparkling azure pools of desire in her face and had to clench his fists, hard, to stop reaching out for a second helping.
Grace took a breath and gently stepped away just a fraction. She smiled softly, with deep pleasure. "Yes. One day. To think you’d be the one!"
John managed a smile back, "And I had to travel half the world . . ."
Grace became more business-like. "Your program starts today, John. After breakfast, you go with Bill in his Land Rover to the wood. You’ll be coppicing trees. Take a lunch with you and don’t forget something to drink. We’ll meet again this evening over supper."
"Do I see you every day?"
Grace nodded. "I hope so. There will be meditation after supper and compline later. That’s night prayers, just before bed. Nothing heavy, mostly silence and relaxing from the stress of the day. I’ll ease you in gently for the first few days. You do realize that you just slept for over 24 hours straight?!"
"I missed a day?!" John was deeply surprised.
Grace chuckled. "I came back yesterday and your peaceful snoring could be heard in the yard!"
John blushed, "Sorry. Jet lag."
"It’s okay. You are here to rest and heal. I hope you’ll be able to slot into our routine; but if at any time you need more activity or less, just let me know."
"I will, Grace . . . and thanks, eh? Your kiss was just . . ."
"I know. I agree!" She smiled warmly and gestured back up the hill. "Breakfast?"
John nodded. He knew she was right. The cop part of him knew well enough the discipline of gathering evidence, weighing the facts and making a watertight case. He, in particular, after all he’d been through, needed to be absolutely sure that this instant surge of attraction, oneness and recognition was genuine and would lead to something that would last.
Grace and some others took him on a walk up the Tor the next day in the afternoon and John’s breath was taken away by the view. Perhaps not especially majestic or stunning, but he could see the coast of Wales in one direction like a blue smudge on the horizon, then Glastonbury itself, Street, Wells in the distance and the road towards Cadbury castle; all of these nestled between rolling hills and flat square fields divided by narrow ditches, which looked as if they had wandered in from ‘Alice Through the Looking-Glass.' Grace sat down with him on the grass, after they’d shared the view and talked about her past.
"I guess mine’s the usual story - married in haste, too young. He couldn’t reach me when I go into ‘daydream’ mode and it frustrated him. So much so that he began to hit me. I had enough strength of will to get out and obtain a divorce. There have been some relationships since, but nothing serious. I’d always had trouble with my monthly cycle and two years ago I had to have a hysterectomy. The sanctuary has been my life for the best part of twenty years - a different sort of investigative work to yours, but very fulfilling. We listen, we hold retreats and offer healing. I am a trained doctor, but I haven’t practiced fully in a while. When my marriage fell apart, I came here and discovered my spiritual side. Once that door was open there was no going back!"
John leaned back against the warm golden stone of the tower. "Was it that I sensed when we met?"
"Maybe partially. If that’s why you’ve been brought here, you’ll find it for yourself."
He frowned slightly. "Never had much to do with religious stuff. And what I felt; what I feel now for you, is very difficult to put into words."
She gently touched his arm. "I know. You have plenty of time."
John pointed towards the right and downwards, "Is that a ruined church?"
Grace nodded. "Yes! An Abbey, in fact. Time for the guided tour of Glastonbury, I think!"
They walked back down the Tor.
They went past the entrance to the sanctuary and along a raised pavement lined on the right with old, stone cottages. John wasn’t used to seeing so many like this all in one place, apart from some of the modern buildings in the city back home. But these were centuries old in some cases, he could tell from the stonework and the slightly slanted windows. He’d seen enough film and television to recognize the signs. A few of the smaller cottages at the end had some very strange bits of masonry in them. Grace saw where he was looking.
She smiled. "Bits of the ruined Abbey, John. There’s a gargoyle and that door lintel was obviously part of a church building."
He frowned slightly. "Recycling?"
Grace chuckled. "In a way. After Henry 8th ransacked the Abbey, people . . . liberated bits to use in housing. I guess the stone was going begging, plus maybe they thought it was good luck to have a piece - or more - of consecrated stone in their house. Cheap too!"
They carried on down the High Street, with Grace pointing out things of possible interest and on into the Abbey ruins. Grace had a pass, which let her in all year around. John could see that the Abbey had once been a majestic and commanding structure, with many chapels and the base of a huge central arch in the nave. Grace showed him the site of the oldest part, dating back to at least AD200.
John’s eyebrows raised. "And there weren’t even people in New Zealand then!"
Grace smiled. "I’m sure some of your ancestors were busy sailing the islands around the Pacific."
His smile answered hers. "And some British ones from my mother’s side doing the same somewhere over here, eh?"
"You know where her family came from?"
"Bath . . . I think. Regency times."
Grace nodded, "Well, it was a thriving center of Regency life, that’s for sure; and less than an hour’s drive away. They’d have sailed from Bristol, most likely." She led him to the site of Arthur’s grave; both the one in the Abbey and the original place which had been excavated in more recent times. "There’s nothing to see here," she said. "But outside and on the right of the church was the place for burying high chieftains, kings and important people in Celtic times. They found a bark boat, a tall man and woman with fair hair, buried with quite a bit of ceremony and the lead cross on top proclaiming him as Arthur, so this is about as close to the original as you’re going to get. When the monks realized whom they’d found, the bodies were moved into the Abbey with much pomp to a new black marble tomb. If Henry 8th hadn’t been so intent on destroying the power of the monasteries to get his divorce and a new church, it’d be there still. Some say that one of the things that ‘disappeared’ from the Abbey treasuries was the Holy Grail, and it’s still around somewhere, in hiding. The modern Arthur would agree. I think Harry told you about him. He’s a good man and comes to the sanctuary sometimes for meditations, especially for May Day."
"Pardon?"
Grace laughed. "Sorry - Celtic calendar. The 1st May is the start of Summer to the Celts and they used to light bonfires and go running through the woods and . . . ahem . . . enjoy one another. Lots of babies conceived on that day!"
John laughed with her. "Oh, I see! Some of the walkabout Maoris used to do something . . . similar, but I don’t think they had a special day for it; just a willing lady!"
Grace grinned. "That happens here too, though most Pagans will at least handfast first before making a child." John’s expression told her he needed that one explained too, "A spiritual marriage. It’s not legal - at least, not in England - but most couples consider a declaration of love and commitment in front of witnesses with held hands, followed by a consummation is a binding marriage."
John’s eyebrows went up. "They don’t consummate in front of witnesses?!?"
Grace laughed loudly. "I should hope not - maybe the really exhibitionist ones might. No, we still prefer lovemaking in private on the whole!"
"I’m glad to hear it!"
A month past. John settled into the sanctuary routine; doing gardening work and chopping wood when it was fine, then learning pottery and woodworking when it rained. On odd days off, Grace drove him around the local countryside and he enjoyed a visit to the Georgian splendor of Bath in particular. He found a grave belonging to a long-dead forefather in one cemetery and wondered again at how strange it was that things had come full circle.
"Bet you never thought you’d have a Maori descendant, eh?" He touched the name and took details for his mother. Grace then took him around the Roman Baths and he boggled at structures that had been put in place by people not so many years after the life of Christ. The hot spring was familiar enough, though the taste wasn’t. Lots of iron. John wasn’t absolutely sure whether he liked it or not.
They settled into an easy companionship, although it didn’t stop him yearning for more. She wasn’t perfect by any means; she tended to drift off into a world of her own sometimes and he didn’t see her as often as he’d like, but the more he saw Grace, the deeper his feelings became.
He found himself remembering things he’d heard from other Maoris about the spiritual side of life. True, most of them had adopted Christianity wholeheartedly, but also kept alive the older beliefs and practices, seeing no difference in the message. It was the same here - all the positive loving religions were welcomed and embraced. He’d met Christians, Buddhists, New Agers and Pagans in this last month and they all seemed to find something of value here in the garden and the led services. Grace was at the hub of it all, like a mother. He could sense the peace and contentment and sheer joy coming from her and the others and wanted some of that for himself. More than that, he knew it was something he needed to move on and help with the traces of guilt he still carried.
One night, at compline, he lingered in the late evening silence. He’d worked particularly hard that day, clearing weeds in the wood and garden and some of his muscles ached a bit. He’d enjoyed the meditation and been aware, not for the first time, of something just out of reach. So he stayed in the small chapel and replayed the meditation tape that had been used earlier. Sounds of a steel guitar, birdsong and a gentle whispering breeze filled the air. John lay back on the floor cushions provided and let his mind go. He’d done this several times before and it had been most restful and soothing, but now he was seeking, searching. He started where the tape placed him; in a summer field, with long grass rustling. He could almost smell the perfume from flowers in the air. The pillows became a warm hollow in the grass with clear blue sky above. John smiled and waited. A Light suddenly came to him, enveloping him from top to toe and John became fully aware for the first time in his life of a personal Force greater than himself. He knew without words exchanged on either side that this visitation was Divine. He surrendered, was embraced, healed and accepted. When he opened his eyes finally, there were tears of joy running down his face and he knew he had changed for good and forever. The One who had come to him had stayed, filling him. He could face anything now, because he would never be alone again. As he rose to leave the chapel he thought of Grace and his heart warmed. So, that was not only permitted but welcomed. He would still wait, though. He needed some more time to come to terms and fully inhabit what had happened to him.
Grace realized immediately what had happened to John the previous evening. She drew him aside after breakfast. "I can see the difference in you, John. I know how special this is and I’m glad. You’re glowing now. We are going to be very busy this next month preparing for going to the local pop festival, but I will make some more time to be with you."
"Can we . . . um?" John couldn’t quite frame the request after only one kiss.
"Well, I’m staying here to hold the fort while the others go to the festival, offering healing and meditation and the like. We’ll have a whole long weekend alone together then. I’d still appreciate taking things slowly this next month, especially as our meetings may be brief. We both need to be sure that your spiritual path gets nurtured now. I suppose we could start officially courting now. I’ll hand you over to Bill, if that’s okay, for the laying on of hands and any soul guidance you may need. That will give us more freedom."
John’s smile widened. "So I can kiss you?"
Grace grinned back. "Oh, yes. Yes, please!" John stole a quick one before she had time to change her mind.
The next two weeks were filled with joy for John. He shared more of those delicious kisses with Grace and realized very soon that he was falling in love with her.
He was also conscious that he would go back to New Zealand and, despite everything they both felt, he wasn’t sure what would happen then. He was getting around to opening the subject with her when events overtook them.
He saw Grace in earnest conversation with a fairly tall, stocky, bearded man. John blinked at the man’s clothes. He’d seen New Age travelers and hippies wearing some pretty strange garments, but this looked like a costume from a play. Boots, cross-gartering and a white surplice with a big red dragon painted on the front. Then John noticed the sheathed sword at one shoulder and wondered if a film crew was in town. As he drew nearer, he could see a plain gold circlet in the man’s long salt-and-pepper hair and really started wondering.
Grace turned to him and smiled. "John . . . come and meet King Arthur!"
John almost swallowed his tongue in surprise. Despite what Harry had said when he first arrived, John had no idea that the little man had been quite serious. He found his manners, "Um . . . Sire?" It was the best he could do in the circumstances.
Arthur put out a hand. "John. I hear you were a policeman?"
"Er . . . yeah?" He shook the proffered hand.
"You are so like Geraint. Of course, he was Welsh; but still. I would claim you as his reincarnated soul, with Grace here as your Enid; although Grace has already deemed you most worthy and accepted you as her mate and champion."
John had heard some pretty strange things since being in Glastonbury, so he managed to accept this with a blink. Grace laid a hand on his arm. There was still that fiery tingle whenever they touched. "John; I told him very little. Arthur sees things."
"Okay." It was a world away from police work, at least until Arthur spoke again.
"I could use your help. A reincarnation of Mordred, to use the name you would find familiar, has apparently found and stolen the grail. It was buried under this hill a long time ago, when the last monks of the Abbey gave it into safe keeping some way away. If Mordred has got it, he will be seeking to bring the grail back here, to the Tor and use it to summon dark forces around the time of the Solstice. I could use a policeman’s nose and eyes on this one, if you are agreeable, John."
"You mean the Holy Grail?"
Arthur considered, "Well . . . yes . . . and no. A chalice, certainly. About seven inches high, metal, with a wide and deep bowl. Nothing special, not gold or studded with gems. It’s more what the cup represents that is where the power lies. Over thousands of years, the ideas of a horn of plenty, a cauldron of goodness, the cup of salvation have all blended together in the human psyche until we have the ultimate symbol - the Holy Grail of Christ. But most people forget that it’s not external. The true Grail is in here." He tapped John’s chest.
"So, you want me to keep my eyes and ears open?"
"Yes. Despite what I’ve told you, having an actual physical focus for power will aid black rites most effectively. Just like some Christians need a cross, or Muslims their prayer mat, our friend will be using the cup to call up goodness-knows-what; and if he really is tied into the Mordred energies, he will have more than enough power to harm."
John took a breath. Finding drug addicts and murderers like Bowers was one thing. What Arthur was asking was like something out of a Dennis Wheatley novel, although now he knew deep inside him that the spiritual world was real and present. "Okay," he agreed, "I’ll do what I can, eh?"
Arthur smiled, "Thank you. That’s all I ask. I believe you have been brought here for this; and to meet Grace." Arthur led him discreetly to one side, "She’s the one for you. The other half of your soul and the most exquisite sheath for your sword. When Solstice has passed - safely, I hope - claim her as your own."
"I was hoping to, eh."
Arthur slapped his back enthusiastically. "Good man! You were star-crossed lovers in the past. Twice she has rejected you; first in Ancient Greece, the second time with Enid you only shared a little while together before you died in combat. You have been brought together at last for the rest of your lives. No children; not this time, but if you are faithful you may have offspring next time." John had been spun some pretty bizarre tales in his time, but this one beat the lot. He nodded politely and let Arthur take him back to Grace.
Grace smiled warmly at him. "We’ll be working together on this. The sanctuary draws strangers to it - you’ve seen that in the last six weeks." John nodded. "If anything strange is happening, we’ll be likely to hear about it, especially so close to the Tor."
Later, when they were alone, he asked Grace about Arthur. They were sitting together on the sofa in her cottage and she was leaning back in his arms. It was tender and close. He felt Grace smile. "Arthur believes in reincarnation - it’s the basis of his claim to be the real Arthur come back. He’s a good man, a devout druid and does a lot of good for Glastonbury."
"It’s like nothing I’ve ever come across, eh."
Grace chuckled. "I’ve met people who’ve ‘seen’ pixies, fairies, the Sidhe, unicorns, angels and even aliens in this sanctuary garden. Just because I’ve never seen anything like that doesn’t make it less true. I’ve come here to be open-minded, to listen, to offer healing when that’s appropriate and now and again help people find their Divine source. We’ve had a lot of folks come here to get healed up from drugs, drink, bad habits or just for a rest cure, a retreat."
"Yeah, I know," he kissed her neck and Grace made a soft noise of pleasure. "Could you tell me more about this Geraint and Enid that Arthur mentioned? I haven’t got that far in the legends, eh."
"Ah. Well, Geraint was one of the Knights of the Round Table - eventually. He was apparently the brother of Gareth. He helped the lady Enid by winning a silver falcon for her in a tournament - you have to remember a lot of the stories have medieval retellings laid on the top of earlier tales - then when she found out he was not already knighted, she foolishly rejected him and his love. He set out to prove himself to her, taking her with him. Three times on the road, despite his word to her to stay silent, she warned him of danger. At the last, as he lay dreadfully wounded, she regretted her former hasty words of rejection and refused food and drink from the man who had beaten him in pledge of her love. Geraint recovered to save and wed her, but he was never fully well afterwards. If she had accepted his troth in the first place, they might well have been happier longer. I suppose the writer was trying to say ‘accept love when it comes in the shape of a noble man, even if he hasn’t got status’." Grace looked up at him with tenderness in her eyes.
John smiled back, feeling what she was trying to say without words, "Thank you. It’s so difficult when I feel how responsive you are to me. I know that you’ll go up in flames for me . . ."
Grace smiled, "You too!"
John gently nibbled her neck, "Too right! I want you so much."
Grace drew away a bit and looked at him, "The feeling’s mutual, but . . . and I can’t explain it . . . not yet. Soon."
John gently pulled her back in his arms. "Not too long, eh? Cold showers aren’t working any more for me," he smiled ruefully into her hair. "Making the problem worse, in fact."
"Sweetheart," Grace began, and John thrilled at her intimate name for him. "There are other ways . . ."
John gently bit her ear and whispered into it. "I know, and that’s happening too. Just makes me want you even more . . ." he paused, "Babe."
Grace folded his arms more closely around her and sighed softly. "Yes. I know, only too well, but I think this Mordred thing is going to take a lot of our energies. Just kisses and hugs for a little longer, John."
He sighed, but somehow he knew she was right. There was a barrier between them that needed to be lifted, despite how close they’d grown over the last weeks.
John put his policeman’s instinct to use later the next day, wandering around the main square of roads at the heart of Glastonbury and listening. In the High Street, he sat with those on the benches for a while, petting their dogs and pretending to be slightly stoned. It took several days of this before information started to trickle in. A word here, a glance there. Subdued talk of Arthur and the grail. A waiting expectation in the air. He reported back to Grace and they sat on top of the Tor together in the late afternoon sun, with her leaning against his chest again.
He kissed her hair. "There’s definitely something going on. I think our man is in Glastonbury now."
"Hmm, yes. I’ve heard similar rumors. Whispers about people having to be especially careful over Solstice," Grace responded, nuzzling back in his arms. "And Solstice is on Thursday, just when the sanctuary will be largely empty because everyone apart from us will be at the festival for the best part of a week."
"We have to be on our guard, then . . . damn it. I was hoping we’d be making love on Thursday when everyone’s gone."
"We still might, John."
He groaned softly next to her neck. "I can smell the scent of you and I know that you tingle every time we touch, because I do, too. If we were in a more secluded place and you said yes, I know that you’d be wet and hot and ready for me and I’m going crazy, because it’d be more than just exquisite physical pleasure; it'd be the most intimate lovemaking I’ve ever known."
Grace covered his hands with hers. "I know and I’m highly aroused right now," John groaned again and bit her shoulder, "It’s been like that for me, too, right from the start."
John pulled her closer, "Let me pleasure you, just once. Give me a taste of what will happen between us soon, babe."
Grace’s eyes sparkled as she turned to look up at him. "What, here? Now? Slight case of an audience, sweetheart!"
John slid his hands up and cupped her breasts for the first time, "Oh, God; you are so soft . . . yes, dammit . . . here and now. In the tower, as discreetly as we can. I need to feel you come apart for me, my delicious Grace."
She gasped softly and turned fully in his arms, feeling the long, hard ridge of his arousal. "You too, John."
His eyes glowed darkly with passion up at her. "Not a problem, not with you helpless and abandoned in my arms at last. I’m just about at detonation point right now!"
Grace looked down at him, "Okay . . . consider this a firm down payment on everything we are going to share very soon. I’m falling for you John."
"I know." He helped her up and they walked to the tower.
They stood in one of the corners of the tower, kissing at first. John protected Grace from prying eyes as much as he could with his bigger body. Grace lifted one leg over John’s hips as he gently slid his tongue into her mouth for the first time. They both moaned with delight and John let his fingers trail rapidly up the inside of her raised leg. When he found how wet her underpants were he groaned, then slid his fingers inside.
Grace gasped with pleasure, twining her tongue sensuously around his and moving impatiently against his fingers.
He circled the apex of her desire, feeling it swell until he knew she was trembling at the brink. He centered in, and slid one finger inside her whilst his thumb circled more closely.
With a muffled cry, Grace tensed and then came apart for him, her inner muscles clasping his finger and her juices running over his hand.
John felt his cock swell until it was painfully erect.
As soon as Grace had come down from her peak, she gently stroked his stomach, making soft purring noises. One hand undid his jeans, whilst the other slid up under his T-shirt. With unerring accuracy, she centered her hands, one on his erect nipple and the other on his rigid shaft at the same time. She gasped close to his mouth, "Oh, John . . . you’re so big and so deliciously hairy . . ."
John managed a low growl of pleasure, then she began stroking him and John felt the fire gather in his thighs. For several seconds, the pressure built to screaming pitch and his cock lengthened and thickened in her hand, then, biting hard on his lower lip to stop himself roaring, he exploded.
Stunned moments later, he kissed her again and pulled away, "Grace . . . thank you."
She smiled up at him, eyes midnight blue and melting at him. "Wow . . . if it’s that good separately . . ."
"I know. Not too many days to wait, I hope." He felt his cock harden again and his eyebrows flicked in shock.
Grace felt what was happening to him and her fingers lingered teasingly as she gently eased him back inside his jeans.
"Grace! It must be you, because I’ve never been so needy before . . . " his eyes smoldered. "Stop, right now, or I will make love with you."
Grace removed her hands and blushed. "I’ve never been so wanton before."
John grinned. "Yeah? Well, keep it just for me, eh? I knew that under that British reserve there was a passionate woman waiting to be unleashed."
Grace framed his face with her hands. "Well, look at the stud I’ve got firing my libido and my emotions. I love you, John."
He leaned his forehead against hers, his heart soaring. "I love you too, sweet healer Grace."
Solstice. Grace and John had made quite a deliberate song and dance about seeing everyone off to the festival. Now the sanctuary held just the two of them. Since the day on the Tor, they’d done little more than snatch kisses, mainly because they knew when they started again, there would be no stopping.
John had spent as much time as he could exploring his new relationship with the Divine as well. He found that his trained policeman’s eye was reinforced by being able to feel things about objects and people. He’d also been of help in a couple of healing sessions with other people. Part of his rational mind was in a whirl, but he couldn’t deny the warm energy that flowed through him to others.
All the reports John and Grace had picked up indicated the man Arthur claimed was Mordred would be arriving at the Tor under cover of darkness, very soon. Apart from a few revelers on the top of the Tor, everything was very quiet. John suddenly got a hunch while they were clearing up after supper.
"The reservoir around the back of the Tor; it feeds a lot of houses, eh?"
"A few, that’s true."
"And there’s a way under the Tor from there - Harry told me about it."
"Good grief! You’re right - away from prying eyes, little used . . . some people even fear it because of what they say the Tor contains. The entrance to the underworld by some accounts. Devils and all. Even the Sidhe, and they apparently aren’t to be meddled with lightly. If I were going to be doing something secretive at Solstice, it’d be high on my list." She looked up at him, "And my gut tells me you’re right. Okay, we’d better change into clothes that don’t mind getting muddy. It gets pretty thick around the base of the Tor where the cows graze. The Divine spirit seems to be nudging us both to check it out."
A little while later, wearing disguising combat gear, walking boots and carrying a number of useful items, John and Grace set out. After walking for some time along the roads, they crossed the fields to the place between the base of the reservoir and side of the Tor. The moon scudded in and out of clouds, but the night was warm. They both saw the one called Mordred ahead of them, working at the door under the reservoir, which was supposed to lead to a passage or passages under the Tor. He was limned in a strange green glow and they could both tell by the hair crawling on their necks that he was already using black mystic arts to protect himself.
John hunched down, impatient to get involved. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any more. Moving swiftly and silently - a skill he’d picked up from rugby playing of all things - he approached Mordred with Grace following him. John could sense she wasn’t entirely happy about his offensive move, but talking now would give everything away. John pounced and took his opponent down in a classic tackle.
Grace began looking around for the chalice, but it was nowhere to be seen. The door under the ground swung open and Grace could hear that the reservoir’s security dogs would be on them in seconds.
Mordred hit John with something large and wooden that seemed to be a staff, then ran off, away from the dogs.
For want of a better plan, Grace helped John inside the door under the reservoir and closed it. She realized they were trapped and John was semi-conscious. He groaned and actually passed out. Grace used the torch she’d brought to check him for wounds, but all he had was a bump on the head. She quickly got John into the recovery position and waited until he came around. Outside, she could hear the dogs barking, chasing someone away. About ten minutes later, John’s eyelashes fluttered open and he groaned, then eased himself upright.
"God, that hurt! Where’s Mordred?"
Grace had been listening to the barking. "Dog food, if I’m any expert."
"I thought I heard barking. The door’s stuck fast, I take it?"
Grace nodded. "We’ll just have to try this way . . ." She licked her finger and held it up, closing her eyes. "Yes. There’s fresh air that way, somewhere. And the chalice, I hope."
"Mordred didn’t have it?"
"Nope - I don’t think so. I guess he’s finished with it, or we disturbed him."
John shuddered. "I’m not that keen on confined spaces."
"I’ll be right beside you, my love."
John smiled. "Well, that’s alright then, Grace. Love you too - even if we are covered in dirt!"
Grace put her hand on his shoulder and handed him the torch, "Onward and upward, darling."
The passage inside the reservoir split very shortly. One way was blocked by a heavy metal door, the other looked like new workings. After a very short while, they had to crawl on hands and knees. The tunnel led straight ahead, then eventually, after about half an hour, opened out slightly. John shone the torch and they both saw a box half-buried in earth at one side. They removed the box very carefully, but since the tunnel was new, they still got sprinkled with earth from the sides and above. Suddenly things didn’t seem quite as safe. Grace opened the box and they both knew what was inside. The chalice.
Grace touched it very tentatively, then smiled, "It’s okay, John . . . he obviously hid it here and hadn’t managed to use it yet." John touched it too, and could tell that from the warmth of it that the chalice radiated nothing but good energies. They placed the chalice in Grace’s backpack and crawled on. After another thirty minutes or so, the ended up against something wooden.
John felt it and then nodded. "Crawl back a bit, eh. I’m pretty sure I can punch a hole in this with my feet." He tried, and on the second kick, the boards gave way and they crawled out into a storage cupboard.
Grace’s brow wrinkled, then she knew where they were. "It’s the back of the cafe attached to the White Spring! We’re out!"
Luckily, the cupboard was unlocked and they emerged, covered in dirt and blinking slightly, into warm candlelight, near the indoor outlet of the White Spring. The water bubbled from the nearby wall to the right, then spilled across the floor in a specially designed channel.
Arthur was sitting there already. He rose and grinned broadly at them. "Thank you!"
Grace fetched out the chalice. "Sire? How did you know to be here?"
Arthur carefully washed it under the stream, then held it up, full of water. "I didn’t pick you two at random. I was told in meditation that you were the ones who would find the cup, and I got a hunch to come here tonight. The beer’s good, for a start!" He smiled broadly and beckoned them. "John, Grace; man and maid . . . drink from the well of refreshment and be one."
John drank first, then handed the chalice to Grace. Their hands touched and a beautiful wave of blue light enveloped them. Grace drank, and then they stood there, just looking at each other. Arthur approached them smiling broadly. "Yes. At last. Do you love her?"
"Yes, sire."
"And you love him?"
"Yes, sire."
He placed his hands over theirs. "I can see that you have accepted each other and will be united in a mystical and gloriously physical union. So, be one. Share the consummation and the love that has been waiting for you since the beginning of time. Be faithful, be true; not that you’ll be able to stray. This is from Above and none shall part you, not even Death," he unsheathed his sword and placed it on John’s shoulder. "Sir John," then Grace, "And Sir Grace, since my knights are equal, male and female." He backed away discreetly.
‘John?’ He heard her voice in his head.
‘Yes, love?’ This was weird; he'd never been telepathic before.
‘I love you. Always.’
‘The barrier’s gone . . . melted away. I love you.’
Grace smiled. ‘So we can be fully lovers, darling.’
John chuckled in his mind. ‘A bit muddy at the moment . . .’
‘So, we go back to the sanctuary, take off our clothes and have a hot shower.’
‘Together?! Please?' The request was heated, urgent and John suddenly realized this was what he wanted.
‘Gosh. Yes.’ They gave the chalice to Arthur and walked the short distance back to the sanctuary, hand in hand, still somewhat shell-shocked.
Once in the lobby of the main sanctuary building, John gently brushed Grace’s lips with his. It was about as much as he dared at the moment, plus the rest of her face was somewhat mud-spattered.
Grace looked down at their grimy clothes. "These are much too muddy to take any further. I suggest we strip down to our undies here and then make for my quarters."
When Grace peeled off to reveal red lacy underthings, John’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared with arousal. His black boxers were already tented quite markedly over his erection.
"Oh, Grace . . . red undies?"
Grace gazed up and down at him, blushing very slightly. "I was hoping this morning that today would be the day . . . and you . . . you are magnificent, perfect . . ."
John ducked his head slightly. "You don’t mind the fact that I look like a gorilla?"
Grace chuckled softly and touched his chest with a somewhat muddy hand, "John, sweetheart, the sight of you - and anticipating the feel of all that gorgeous body hair next to me - is super-charging my libido!"
John growled softly. "And as for those scraps of lace and your sweet curves . . . I’m not sure if I can hold out!"
Grace smiled. "It’ll be okay - in fact I’m sure it’ll be wonderful!"
They held hands as they went upstairs. Grace led John to the shower and switched it on. John hesitated. "As much as I’d love to wash you - and I will, soon enough - I think the pleasure of touching you would be too much for me right now. Goodness knows, I’m going to be aroused enough just seeing you naked!"
"It’s okay - I understand."
John reached for her bra and slipped the straps off her shoulders, "This thing will wash, eh?" Grace nodded and turned so that he could deal with the clasp at the back. She turned around and let the bra go.
John growled softly again. "Ohhhhh . . . Better than my fantasies, sweetheart. So beautiful." He looked at her panties. Grace smiled and peeled them off herself. John dealt with his own boxers, his erection springing free, hard and potent.
Grace gasped softly and her eyes widened appreciatively. "Oh, John . . ."
A slight blush tinged his cheeks. "I feel like I’ve never been this big before."
"I love you, John." She climbed into the shower and John followed her.
They quickly soaped themselves and washed the grime off their own bodies. Grace shampooed her hair, then John followed suit. Soon, clean and wet, they looked at each other for one moment, their eyes communicating without words. John reached out first and Grace walked into his arms. They both shuddered with pleasure. John groaned softly and began kissing her neck feverishly and working downwards rapidly, "I wanted so much to go slow, but I can’t!"
Grace threaded her fingers in his hair, moaning. "It’s okay; I'm on fire! Don’t stop!"
As John reached the tiny horizontal scar in the hair at her groin, Grace moaned and put one leg over his shoulder in mute appeal. John, aching to taste her, let his tongue speak for him. He moaned softly, "Oh, God . . . you are delicious . . . "
Grace gently pressed him back and he found her swollen clitoris, sucking and licking delightedly as she gasped her approval above him. Grace knew she’d never been this swollen and ready before. Her clitoris felt twice its normal size as John circled it expertly. Any second now.
John felt her tense and come apart for him very shortly, undulating against his tongue to heighten her pleasure. He stood up when she was finished, his cock rampantly aroused now. He was throbbing with a need so intense that it took his breath away. He looked down into her dark, midnight eyes as he brought himself to her.
Grace parted her legs automatically, as wide as they would go and John thought he had never seen anything so beautiful, so wanton or so gut-wrenchingly lusty.
She traced his cheek with her hand. "I love you."
"Love you, too." He eased in, just a tiny bit, then with a mutual groan of need they both thrust and he was sheathed deep inside her, right to the hilt. He felt his knees shake and they both moaned, "This isn’t going to last long," he warned.
Grace wrapped her legs around him, bracing herself against the corner of the shower. Her arms circled his neck and she squeezed him tenderly, bringing him almost to the brink. "Just love me, John."
He groaned, finding her lips with his and managed one controlled slide down then back up into the most delectable heaven he’d ever known. Grace clasped him tight again, then he managed a second descent. As he plunged inside her the second time, he felt her spasm around him and realized she was coming for him again. He pulled back and thrust deep and hard. Grace’s head went back in ecstasy and the fire in his loins detonated. He exploded into the most exquisite climax of his life, feeling Grace milking him, moaning with the sounds of a woman in utter ecstasy. He roared his completion and let the orgasm shoot them somewhere beyond the stratosphere. It went on and on until he could hardly breathe, then let him gently back to earth. He zeroed in on Grace’s lips for another deep, wet kiss.
Eventually he pulled back a little and looked at her. "I guess we’re really married now, eh?"
"Yes, my love - in every way that counts."
John reached over and shut off the water, "That was steamy in more ways than one . . . I shall never be able to have a shower again without remembering . . ."
Grace grinned. "Mainly because I think we’ll be sharing a lot of showers, hmm?"
John grinned back. "Yeah!" He helped her out of the shower and brought her a towel. As he wrapped it around her, his cock suddenly decided to recover and sprang up. John groaned. It was as if that last incredible orgasm had never happened. He ached just the same as before. Grace handed John a towel and looked at him, "Need a hand with that?"
John’s eyes glowed wickedly. "Both hands, sweetheart!"
Grace gently wrapped one slender hand around the base, then the other on top and encouraged him closer, stroking and teasing.
John moaned and grabbed her, pinning her to the floor in one smooth movement.
Grace laughed and pushed him backward, straddling him. She bent down and delicately licked him with her tongue until John was writhing. Then, looking deep into his eyes, she took him inside her mouth.
"Mmmmm, gorgeous," she declared after the first taste.
John gripped the carpet and his hips rose automatically.
She brought him right to the brink and then stopped. In one liquid movement, she removed her mouth and slid onto him, sheathing him inside her wet heat.
John reached up and nuzzled her breasts, sucking on her erect nipples and his fingers found her clitoris and began circling.
Grace moaned and began sliding up and down on him.
"You look like a goddess!" he managed, as he caressed her.
Grace laughed with delight and her wet hair spilled down her back, "And you feel like a wild, untamed stallion!" Her muscled spasmed around him and with a mutual shout; they came together this time.
John pulled her down to him and they nuzzled contentedly. Grace’s fingers drew soft, abstract patterns in his chest hair and she purred contentedly.
"I hoped you’d be sensual, but you’re surpassing my fantasies!"
Grace gently rubbed her face in his chest hair, "Mmmm. I’ve suddenly discovered my true sexual needs . . . and you’re fulfilling them, darling."
John gently cupped her breast and fondled it absent-mindedly, "You too. Even as an unfulfilled teenager, I never recovered so fast. And I adore you, but you knew that, eh?"
Grace raised her head and looked at him. "Bed?"
John grinned back. "Making love in a bed would be somewhat novel, eh?"
Grace smiled. "You can make love again?"
"We’ll see if I can possibly rise to the occasion again, eh. You might have to give me some incentive, but I think a third time tonight might be possible. Especially if you use your mouth on me again." They stood up and wrapped towels around themselves.
"I can do that."
"You certainly can! It was the best I’ve ever had . . . fire all up and down my cock and that delicious wet heat and that clever tongue of yours . . ."
Grace moaned softly. "John . . . please. You talk dirty so erotically and romantically at the same time and it’s a major turn-on."
John nibbled her ear, "And it would drive me nuts if you returned the favor!"
Grace stopped and turned to him. "You mean I could get that glorious, magnificent cock of yours all hard and ready for me just by talking about sex?" John nodded, feeling a major stirring under his towel and trying to keep it a secret, at least for the moment.
Grace, emboldened by his agreement, continued, "It’s so big, but you knew that. Big and thick - so deliciously thick. I feel so beautifully stretched until, I reckon, if you entered me just right I would come just by feeling you filling me. And then you start moving and every last millimeter inside me is melting with pleasure. I can feel your soft, thick body hair brushing against my naked skin and I want to come. Then you touch me and I do come . . . I come so hard and so long that I’m in ecstasy . . ."
John couldn’t take any more and silenced her with a hard kiss. Grace stumbled and they fell to the carpet in a tangle on the threshold of her bedroom. He felt her gorgeously rounded bottom under his hands and Grace’s legs were parting automatically. He guided her legs as wide as they would go, smelling her arousal and feeling the wet heat between her legs. With a groan of sweetest lust, he plunged inside her and felt her orgasm on the spot.
She arched under him, taking him deep, deep inside her.
John’s nostrils flared and he lost control as he’d never lost it before. As Grace came and came around him, he rammed into her over and over, roaring uncontrollably. He pistoned in and out, ravishing her and taking her in the hardest, deepest fucking he’d ever known. As Grace’s spasms clenched tight around him and he heard her incoherent gasps, he felt himself swell inside her, then with a last yell, he was there, erupting deep inside her. When the out of control ride was over, he slumped on top of her, gasping slightly and with his loins enjoying the afterburn.
"I didn’t hurt you, did I?" He knew she’d enjoyed every last second of the wild ride, but somewhere inside him there was still an old-fashioned gentleman.
Grace wriggled against him and purred, "Oh, no . . . I loved it!"
John yawned and stretched. "Bed . . . at last, and sleep. I’ve never had three in a row before and I think I could sleep till next week, eh?"
"Me too," Grace murmured. They patted each other dry and then managed to crawl into bed where they fell into a deep slumber, wrapped in each other's arms.
Late morning sunlight roused John first. He stretched, yawned and scratched his chest; well, those parts that weren’t draped in a softly snoring Grace. She was sprawled over him; her mouth still curved in a smile of deep satisfaction. John smiled himself. Last night had been gloriously out of control and deliciously physical, but they’d also connected emotionally and spiritually through the chalice. He wondered if they could manage that soul-to-soul dialogue again; it would be incredible if they could link on every level while making love. He remembered reading about Tantric studies way back, but had never really tried to put it into practice. Well, he and Grace would have lots of fun and pleasure trying. He looked down at her long brown hair, dry now and spread over her back like a syrup-colored cloak, reaching almost to her waist. He stroked it, feeling the soft silk of freshly washed hair, his heart warming and leaping with joy as it had never done before.
Grace murmured his name and snuggled closer.
He kissed her brow. "Morning, my love."
"Morning, handsome." Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at him.
"Breakfast?"
Grace glanced at the window and chuckled, "Make that early lunch and you’re on!"
His smile widened. "Have to keep up my strength!"
Grace’s smile became wicked and seductive, "You kept something else up quite amazingly last night!" Her fingers started following the line of hair down his stomach, but his hand quickly stopped hers.
He chuckled softly, "Definitely not on an empty stomach!"
Grace got up and walked, gloriously naked to the curtains and opened them. John got up too, revealing that at least one part of his body hadn’t been listening. It was recovering its bravado and was currently happily horizontal to his body. Grace’s eyes latched on to his outstanding asset and it swelled upwards for her. John groaned.
Grace smiled widely, "Okay. Breakfast first." She sashayed past him and into the kitchen downstairs.
John followed, with his own particular compass needle pointing where it wanted to go. He sighed inwardly, but really he knew he felt proud of his suddenly turbo-charged libido. He didn’t know how long it was going to last, but he intended enjoying the benefits as long as possible.
Grace had started laying things out in the kitchen and turned to him and her grin stretched from ear to ear as she held up a pot toward him. "Honey?"
John knew exactly where she intended to put it. "As long as I can spread some, too."
It was evident from the heat in his eyes that he was rapidly coming around to the idea of breakfast being rather sticky and ending up with him deep inside her again. He dipped his fingers in the pot and began anointing her. Lips, breasts, and then down her stomach. He dipped his fingers inside her, and then upwards, spreading a thick layer right over her most sensitive places.
Grace got her own handful of honey and went for his nipples first, then slowly up and down his length. They kissed once, then things went rapidly out of control. Licking, sucking, teasing.
Grace sat on the counter while John made sure that every scrap of honey was licked off from between her legs. By the time he’d done that, she’d climaxed once and was glowing with pleasure.
She started on him and just about drove him out of his mind. When she finally took her mouth away from his sex, he was nearly shaking with need and rampantly aroused, just as before. He lifted her back on the counter, which was just the right height and slid deliciously inside her. John smiled, his eyes wild and warm. "Home at last!"
Grace linked her arms around his neck and tilted herself so that he was fully sheathed inside her. "Gorgeous breakfast!"
John chuckled softly. "I’ve discovered a sex goddess!"
Grace squeezed him lovingly. "Mmmm . . . and I think you must be a godly satyr!"
He kissed her lingeringly. "Slow and sweet, like the honey."
Grace smiled up at him. "Yes . . . make it last as long as you can, my love."
John began moving slowly. They kissed and the spiritual pleasure mounted along with the physical. As their kiss deepened, they both lost themselves in each other. It was like the sudden telepathy at the White Spring, but deeper.
Grace could feel John’s pleasure, the sensations in his body.
John felt the same from Grace. Suddenly all the barriers between them melted, they united right down to their souls, becoming so one that neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began. So linked, they rose unerringly together and climaxed mutually and deeply. After long, delicious moments, they gently parted and cradled each other. John nuzzled Grace’s neck while she softly stroked his damp chest.
"John . . . I can still feel your soul . . . your mind . . . inside me."
"I know. Me too, eh."
"You’re sublimely happy."
He chuckled softly and grazed her chin with his lips. "Too right! It’s a lot for a simple cop to take in, but I think on some level we will be one from now on for the rest of our lives."
"Yes . . . the Divine - or us on our own - has truly made us one."
"Come back to New Zealand with me?" It came out of his mouth without warning.
Grace stroked his face. "I couldn’t part from you now. Of course I will; I think I must have known because I’ve been setting things up for me to emigrate for some time."
John grinned. "I love you. Thank you. Proper breakfast now, eh?"
"I think that’s a good idea!"
The rest of the month went far too fast. After a week or so, Arthur confirmed that Mordred had been attacked by the dogs and wouldn’t be hurting anyone else again. John and Grace worked together with other members of the sanctuary, performing psychic and spiritual cleansing of the area. Arthur hid the chalice again, but refused to be drawn on quite where he had put it.
About five days before John’s time had elapsed, Grace put her personal belongings in a large trunk on a ship and began packing cases.
John suddenly realized that, although he and Grace were married to each other in every way that counted for them, the New Zealand authorities would see things differently. So, he and Grace married legally in the sanctuary and had a short but intensely passionate honeymoon which was semi-interrupted by the need to journey home. Grace said her good-byes, handed over the sanctuary management to Bill and stepped on board the plane with John. He had let everyone know the other end, so they had a welcoming committee.
After about a week of visits, parties and meeting people, John finally got the keys to his new detective office in Auckland. A shop-front at ground level for Grace, so that she could still offer healing with him and sell things, plus an office complex on the first floor for the detective work, topped by a small flat just the right size for two people, complete with a secluded roof-top garden.
John’s friends had picked well. Grace and he headed for the bedroom first and tested out the resilience of the bedsprings in an intensive session that lasted most of one night. After a weekend of lovemaking interspersed with settling in and finally getting Grace’s trunk from the docks, they opened up shop with a grand party. All John’s true friends were there - Willy, Jodie, lots of Maoris and a few others from the police department. Grace smiled happily. She’d never felt so welcomed and included by strangers before.
As one of John’s other cousins said to her, "You’re a relllie . . . twice over, eh?"
Later that night, after making love, she and John lay in their bed. Grace stroked his chest, as she often did and John had one arm around her, folding her close.
"I’m going to be happy here. It feels like home already."
John smiled. "The hard work comes next, sweetheart. Making our business pay."
Grace considered this. "I don’t think we’ll ever be rich, but I have a feeling we’ll have enough. All my bank transfers have helped quite a bit, along with your savings. We might even be able to fetch that half-finished boat of yours and do it up, hmm?"
John chuckled. "The word is ‘eh’ if you’re turning native! And yes . . . my old house has long been sold now and Willy’s got the boat because my ex didn’t want it. This time I have a definite incentive for getting her fixed - to take you around New Zealand, love."
"I look forward to it," she yawned. "You wore me out with that last loving. Time for sleep."
"Yes. Me too. G’night Mrs. Lawless!"
Grace snuggled her face onto his chest and kissed it. "G’night you!"
John folded her closer, "Make a Kiwi of you yet!"
Grace bit his chest gently, and then settled down to sleep, pillowed on him. John smiled as he fell asleep.
Six months later
John finished the final lick of paint to the newly christened ‘Isle of Avalon’. It wasn’t the old boat - that had been finished and sold long since. This new one was larger, with a wheelhouse, tiny galley, bedroom and en-suite shower. Everything custom designed by John or one of his friends, with a few private additions for a couple who still couldn’t keep their hands off each other and liked being able to make love wherever and whenever the mood took them, which was frequently. John scratched his stomach and climbed down off the boat. Clad in just his denim cut-offs, he approached the back door. Grace came out and stood on the threshold, wearing a pair of cut-offs of her own and a skimpy, tight T-shirt. John groaned softly. After all these months, just the sight of her was sometimes enough to get him superbly hard and ready. Her eyes flared and he knew she was responding automatically, as she always did. The number of times they’d taken each other and made slow, delicious and ultimately explosive love in the depths of the night whilst still half asleep, then had to have a second helping the next morning just to make sure they weren’t dreaming. The psychic and spiritual link between them had deepened until they could fully feel and feed off each other's emotions and physical responses. This inevitably led to rapid mutual arousal at all potential times of day and night, though as now the effect seemed to be heightened on long, lazy Sundays after church or the marae when they almost always had nothing else they’d rather be doing than making endless love with each other.
"Got something for me, sailor?" Her eyes skimmed the rapidly growing bulge in his shorts.
He grinned. "The boat’s ready too!"
She cheekily unzipped him in the doorway. "Magnificent rudder . . . as always." His cock rose vertically, inside his shorts, trying to reach his belly button. With a little more of Grace's personal persuasion, it’d get there.
"I thought we’d christen the boat, eh?"
"Aye, aye Cap’n!" She saluted and walked towards the boat, leaving him to try getting his now almost fully erect length back inside shorts that were perhaps a size or two too small for such bounty. He managed - just - by leaving the fly button open and placing himself at an angle, so the tip was barely held in place between his hip and his waistband. As he climbed aboard, his senses picked up on her arousal and he smiled. He caught her in the doorway to the wheelhouse.
"I be a bold, ravishing pirate, after making ’ee surrender!"
Grace giggled, then slipped into character. "Never, never!"
John grinned widely and began a full-scale assault. He kissed, he licked, and he caressed and teased. The T-shirt rode upwards, exposing her breasts and John found with masculine pleasure that Grace had put Velcro in the gusset of her denim shorts, with nothing underneath. He brought her almost to the brink with his fingers, then stopped. Grace moaned.
"Surrender," he urged, close to her ear, nipping gently and teasing some more.
"No!"
John started again, bringing Grace almost to the point of no return, then stopping. She’d start begging soon . . . he hoped. He released himself from the confines of his own denim prison, then got some extra inspiration. He slicked his length slowly and luxuriously to and fro through her wet, swollen folds.
"Surrender," his voice was low and seductive now.
"What will you give me if I surrender?"
John grinned and started deliberately targeting her clitoris. "This. All of it. Deep and hard inside you, until you scream with pleasure."
"And your worship?"
John’s grin widened. She was topping from below, but he loved it. "Yes. Always. Goddess."
Grace grabbed his bottom and dug in her nails. "Oh, please . . . I surrender!! Fuck me!"
"My gorgeous pirate treasure . . ." He loved it when she lost control and started talking dirty.
Then he thrust, hard, hitting just the right spot and Grace yelled as she came. John reckoned they probably heard her all the way down in Invercargill, but he was too far gone to care. Biting his lip to delay his own much-needed detonation, he used all the finesse he’d learnt during the last six months to bring Grace to two more peaks, then let go and let the fire engulf him. They moved slowly to the galley and christened that, dropping their clothing along the way, then the master bedroom with the huge waterbed, humping slowly across the sheets. After a short nap, they went back to the wheelhouse and did everything again, slower and more tenderly this time. Eventually they collapsed back on the bed, naked, panting and covered in sweat, but both wearing huge shit-eating grins of satisfaction.
John whistled as he pulled Grace close, "Gee . . . Six times! The old tub is thoroughly christened now!"
Grace snuggled closer. "Share the shower later?"
John knew exactly what would happen if they did. "Mmm, but rest and sleep first. My libido’s in shock! So’s my poor knackered body!"
Grace chuckled. "It can get into shock again any time it likes!" She purred and rubbed her naked skin gently against his chest.
John smiled ruefully. "I have a feeling that it will from time to time with you, my love."
"Mmm, love you too."
"My sweet wife . . ."
It was his last coherent thought before sleep took them both. They’d both found their mutual cure and completion and they knew that life from now on would be perfect. Just the two of them, the business and the boat.
THE END