Everlasting

by Iris Johansen

  "Seven is lucky." A gentle smile softened Mama's face. "You look beautiful."

  Kara turned around, trying to see a back view of the outfit. There was no denying it was outra­geously flattering. The full circle skirt, a pale-pink and fawn-beige print, swung gaily as she turned, it was cinched by a wide, dark brown suede belt which laced and tied in the front, reminiscent of those worn by seventeenth-century peasant women. The lace-trimmed white blouse was com­pletely off the shoulder and made her breasts appear even more ripe and womanly. Luckily, her own calf-high brown suede boots looked good with the ensemble.

  She turned back to Marna with an impish grin. "I've changed my mind. It's much more like the outfit Esmerelda wore in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Are you sure you haven't hidden Quasi­modo in one of the wagons?"

  "Zack would not be pleased with that particular comparison," Marna said dryly. "And I wouldn't bring it up if I were you. Paulo says Zack's humor hasn't been of the best today." Her gaze narrowed curiously on Kira's face. "What did you say to him this morning?"

  "Just a little misunderstanding. I'll straighten it out when I see him."

  "That would be wise. I don't think many people would be comfortable having Zack 'misunder­stand' them. You will be in a very vulnerable posi­tion after tonight."

  She was in a very vulnerable position right now, Kira realized. What Zack thought and did and felt had already assumed monumental proportions in her life. There were moments when it frightened her. The only time she'd ever known that Zack felt a similar dependence was when he was making love to her this morning, and a sexual dependence would never be enough for her now. She mustn't borrow trouble, though, she reminded herself, because this was only the beginning. There would be time to encourage whatever he felt for her to blossom and grow into something close to the love she was feeling for him. Love. It still felt strange and new and a little intimidating. "Hadn't you better tell me what to expect during the ceremony? Will there be violins and dancing and singing?"

  Marna shook her head. "This is the mondava. It is a very private thing. There will be just Paulo and I at the saldana, and then we'll leave and there will be just the two of you." Marna lowered the mirror and bent to lean it against the wheel of the wagon. "It is time. Are you ready?"

  Kira drew a deep, shaky breath. She hadn't expected to be this nervous. "Yes."

  The next hour was strangely hazy and remote, as if viewed in the center of a dark crystal that misted and cleared and misted again. The silent walk through the autumn woods, then her first sight of the wagon in the little glade of pines. The wagon was painted a brilliant scarlet and a campfire crackled before it, sending sparks up into the darkness.

  Zack was standing in front of the wagon with an expression on his face that was more grim than serious. He was dressed in the same gray cords he had worn last night, but evidently Paulo had found him another shirt and a pair of knee-length black boots. The shirt was deep burgundy, with long full sleeves, and the rich color set off his darkness like a flame. He had left the first few buttons undone and she could see the heavy muscles that corded his chest and the beginning of the dark wedge of hair that roughened it. The cool breeze stirred the hair on his forehead, giving him the reckless and romantic appeal of Byron. Lord, he was stunning. She found herself staring up at him with the dreamy-eyed lovesickness of a teenager.

  He frowned. "Why the devil are you looking at me like that? Have I grown two heads or something?"

  She smiled bemusedly. "You're definitely not Quasimodo."

  "What?

  Marna stepped forward. "It is nothing. Kira is a bit fey tonight. Where is Paulo?"

  "Here." Paulo stepped from the shadows behind the wagon. "We begin?"

  Marna nodded. "We begin."

  The crystal misted again as she and Zack knelt on the white sheepskin pallet before the fire. How beautiful to see things with perfect clarity and yet enhanced by this diamante veil.

  The ceremony was not long. Rich red wine was sipped from a single goblet. Marna murmured a Tamrovian blessing as she stood before them. The halves of an ancient coin that had been severed glittered in the firelight on two separate golden chains. The first talisman was slipped over Zack's head and the second around her own neck. Then Marna stepped back and there was silence for a long moment.

  Kira looked up at her inquiringly. Was it over?

  Marna shook her head. "Face each other and put your left hands palm to palm."

  Her hand felt small and helpless as it pressed against his large palm. Fair against his darkness. Woman against man. Against? No. Merging, blending, bonding. Her startled eyes lifted to Zack's.

  "Yes, I felt it too. Mondava." His fingers slowly threaded through her own. "Mine."

  "Mine," she repeated softly. Together. The current flowing between them was as deep and time­less as it had always been. How many times, how many moments, how many mondavas? It didn't matter. There was only now, only Zack looking down at her.

  She was barely aware that Mama was backing away from the fire, leaving them alone in the circle of intimacy she had helped to weave about them. "Paulo," Marna prompted. Like a giant shadow, Paulo crossed to stand beside her. Kira could feel Mama's gaze on them. Love, loneliness, sadness, resignation. The emotions flowed from her in a sweeping tide that Kira felt with a poignant sensi­tivity she had never known before. "Joy," Marna whispered.

  The next moment Marna and Paulo were gone. The only sign of their passing was the crisp crunch of the leaves beneath their feet as they disappeared into the woods on their way back to the encampment.

  Kira couldn't seem to move her gaze away from Zack's. "What are we supposed to do now?" The words were a breathless whisper.

  "I think we're on our own." He smiled gently. "I know what I want to do." "What?"

  "I want to lie here beside the fire and hold you in my arms."

  "That sounds like a very good idea." Each nerve and muscle in her body seemed to melt toward him. But it didn't seem all that unusual when every particle of her being was flowing into him anyway. His arms were around her and he was turning her spoon-fashion so that her head was pillowed on his arm. He hadn't released her hand and she could see their fingers still entwined in the flickering light of the fire.

  His voice was low and thoughtful. "I've been in a fever for you since I left you this morning. I thought I'd be wanting you too much ever to hold you like this without making love to you."

  Her eyes were fixed dreamily on the orange-gold flames of the fire. "You are making love to me."

  He was silent a moment and then he kissed the tip of her ear. "Yes, I am. How perceptive of you to notice." He settled down beside her in a silence filled with companionship, beauty, and a closeness that was, at this moment, even stronger than desire. How magical to know there would still be moments like this when passion had faded.

  "You're not angry with me any longer."

  "I wasn't angry, I was . . ."His words trailed off. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

  No, it didn't matter now. She rubbed her cheek against the hard muscles of his arm. Contentment was a clear golden bell ringing through her—the scent of burning logs, the crisp autumn leaves, and Zack. She was perfectly relaxed but wide­ awake. She had no desire to go to sleep and miss even an instant of this special time. She would lie here and enjoy the heat of the crackling fire and the warmth and security that was Zack.

  "Why did you come to Tamrovia?" she asked softly. "Not this time. When you were a boy, I mean." The fire had burned low, but neither of them had wanted to stir to add another log and stoke the flames.

  "I needed to get away. My grandfather had died the winter before and 1 had to come to terms with losing him." His lips twisted. "And I was a half-breed in a time when many southwesterners thought Indians were drunks or bums. I'd had a few experiences that year that had left me raw, and I needed to find myself. Or at least my sense of self-worth and a goal in life. I had backpacked around Italy and Switzerland for a few weeks and then cross
ed into Tamrovia." His gaze was fixed on the fire, but he wasn't really seeing it. "I ran into Paulo in a village in the hills and we struck up a friend­ship. He took me back to the encampment with him."

  "And you traveled the rest of the summer with them," she finished for him. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

  "Yes." His lips moved against her ear in a gossamer-light caress. "In some ways it was like being with my grandfather again. He hated to stay in one place, too, and was never happier than when he was wandering in the hills."

  "Was he a hunter like you and Paulo?"

  "No, he believed in being one with nature. He was a very gentle man." There was a long silence. "I loved him very much. I couldn't be like him. There was too much violence, too much hunger in me. Yet, when I was a child, I wanted to grow up to have that gentleness and serenity more than anything in the world. He was a very happy man."

  And Zack hadn't been happy. The revelation was sudden, poignant for her. Understated though Zack's admission had been, it was still painfully clear what mental and emotional hardships the lit­tle boy from two worlds had undergone. Her hand unconsciously tightened on his in silent support. "I wish I could have met your grandfather."

  "He would have liked you." His eyes were sud­denly twinkling. "He would have approved of your shooting pictures instead of game, even if Paulo doesn't."

  "I wish I had my camera now," she said wistfully. "I could take pictures of Marna and her people here at the encampment. It would mean a good deal to her once she's left Tamrovia."

  "Yes, I imagine it would. I hadn't thought of that." His arm slid around her waist. "And to you too. Did you spend much of your childhood here at the Gypsy camp?"

  She shook her head. "I would have loved to have spent all of it here, but my parents and Stefan dis­approved. Marna and I could escape for a full day only now and then. I loved every minute of those days. I can understand how Marna would be home­sick for the life here. Do you think it would be pos­sible for us to spend just one more day? Are they searching for us in this area?"

  "I don't think so," he said slowly. "It's a little puzzling. I've been in touch with my men in Belajo and they haven't seen even a hint of pursuit. It's as if the escape had never happened. For that matter, they can't seem to get any information at all out of their informants in the palace. There appears to be a complete communication blackout."

  "That's very strange, isn't it?"

  He nodded. "I've told them to find out more and let me know as soon as possible."

  "But you think it's safe to spend one more day here?"

  "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to delay our depar­ture until tomorrow evening instead of leaving at dawn."

  "Wonderful! That will make Marna much happier."

  "It will make me much happier too. I intend to be very occupied at dawn." His hand moved up to cup her breast, and she felt a ripple of sensation that shredded the fabric of tranquility she had been feeling. "In fact, I expect to be very occupied all night." His long, strong fingers probed delicately at the cotton of the blouse, circling the breast lazily. "You're not wearing anything underneath this, are you?"

  "It didn't seem"—she lost words as well as breath as his thumb and forefinger plucked gently at her nipple—"appropriate."

  "Oh, it wouldn't have been." His low chuckle was amused. "Nor would it have been at all efficient. You have wonderful instincts, Kira." His hand left her breast and went to her bare shoulder, rubbing the soft, silky skin lightly with the tips of his fin­gers. "And the loveliest shoulders I've ever seen. I have a deep admiration for both." He slid the blouse very slowly down her arm. The material tightened over her breasts and began to reveal, inch by inch, the deep cleavage. His other hand disentangled from her own and wandered to the other shoulder. He began sliding that side of the blouse down as well. She watched the material slip down with infinite slowness and knew her breasts were swelling, peaking, as If trying to burst free of the confining cloth. Excitement tautened the muscles of her stomach. Her chest was beginning to constrict and she had to breathe deeply to force oxygen into her lungs. Then her breasts broke free of the confinement of the blouse and she felt the sudden flare of sensation as her naked breasts were exposed to the heat, of the fire. Her nipples were pointed and distended with arousal as her breasts jutted proudly out of the nest of cotton and lace supporting and cupping them.

  Zack didn't move, but she could feel his gaze on her. She waited breathlessly. The muscles of his arm beneath her cheek were no longer relaxed, but coiled and tense. She could feel the erotic pound­ing of his heart against her naked back. Then his hand moved slowly up and hovered over her breast. His fingers were long and tanned. Against the glow of the firelight they seemed to have a fiery transparency that was almost magical. Then all thought of magic vanished as his hand closed on her breast. She gasped as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. His hand was heavy and warm and very, very real as it squeezed and lifted. He played with her with a pagan, sensuous enjoyment. "Zack."

  "I know," he murmured. His lips were brushing against her cheek. "I'm going crazy, too, but let's try to ease into it, love. I don't want to be as rough with you as I was this morning."

  He hadn't been rough. He had been wonderful. The very violence of his passion had made it all the more intense and beautiful. She had to tell him that. "It wasn't—" She broke off as he suddenly moved away from her.

  He sat up, unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. "I love the way you look tonight. I like your hair tousled and wild about your shoulders." He pulled the shirt out of his trousers and slipped it off. His shoulders gleamed bronze in the firelight as he tossed the shirt away. "Sit up, Kira." He didn't wait for her to comply but pulled her gently to a sitting position. He took the bottom of her blouse and pulled it over her head and threw it on top of his shirt. Then he was tugging at her right boot. "I'm getting very proprietary about these boots," he said with a faint smile. He took the other boot off her and threw it toward the other clothing. Then he paused to gaze at her with eyes that were smoky with hunger. She could feel the tension zapping between them in jagged lines of power. "I'm beginning to feel very proprietary about you too." He moved forward and his unsteady hands untied the lace waist of her belt. When he had fin­ished loosening the laces he hesitated, looking down at them. Then he suddenly pulled the laces so tight that her waist was cinched to wasp slim-ness and her naked breasts jutted forward in saucy invitation.

  She gasped and her gaze flew to his. "What are you doing?"

  "Fulfilling a fantasy. Hell, I didn't even know it was a fantasy until I saw you in this outfit." He kept the laces taut as he slowly lowered his head. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

  "No." His tongue was stroking her breast gently and she had trouble getting the word out. No pain, only the swollen tautness, the exquisite sensitivity of her nipples, his warm teasing tongue. The only pain was the aching desire for completion. "What fantasy?"

  He released the laces, unfastened the belt, and slipped it from her waist. His eyes were darkly intent. "I don't know. It has something to do with what I felt when you walked forward into the fire­light in that seventeenth-century garb." He shrugged. "Deja vu. Nostalgia. Something." He unfastened his belt and pulled off his boots. "It's a night for magic and fantasy, Kira. Do you have any fantasies you want to have fulfilled?" His gaze was holding her own. "Tell me. I want to show you I can be something besides the barbarian I was this morning."

  She could scarcely think, much less remember any fantasy she might have had. "I think you're doing very well on your own."

  His smile was a warm flash in his dark face. "Good. Then we'll continue as we started. I'll be right back, love."

  He stood and stripped quickly, then knelt beside her again. His palms framed her face and he kissed her tenderly. "Come here, Kira." His legs were spread wide and suddenly her skirt and petticoats were frothing over him. His hand was beneath them. Searching. Finding. She gasped as his fin­gers gently started a rhythm that ca
used her to clutch wildly at his shoulders. She felt the prickly abrasion of the dusting of hair on his thighs as he arranged her legs around his hips. Then his hands were on her bottom, bringing her slowly forward.

  She bit her lip to stifle a little moan as he began to fill the aching emptiness at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  "It's like a treasure hunt, with all these petti­coats hiding you from me." He laughed huskily. "But I think I've found the way. Dear heaven, but it's a slow way."

  She thought so too. "Hurry." Her nails uncon­sciously dug into the flesh of his shoulders. "This is driving me . . . crazy."

  He flexed and felt a deep shudder go through her.

  "Just a little more. I'm going crazy, too, but I want—" He broke off. "There. Now put your arms around me." His arms enfolded her and he buried his lips in her hair. Closeness. Fullness. Fire.

  Then he was tumbling her over backward and flipping up the skirt and lace petticoats. His hand ran over her possessively. His face above her was heavy with sensuality. "Now this is the time when we hurry, Kira," he said softly. "Like this, love."

  He exploded into wildness, the strokes deep and heavy with frantic urgency. She wanted to help him, but the sensations were so intense that she found she could only arch mindlessly up to him, her hands fluttering on his shoulders. Her teeth clenched as wave after wave of feeling surged over her, in her, around her. Then his lips were hard on her own as the final tidal deluge swept them away.

  She couldn't move. She felt as if she might never move again. Zack's eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling with the force of his labored breathing. There was a touch of desperation in his low laugh. "You know, another fantasy like that one might kill me. I've never felt anything so intense before." He opened his eyes and she was surprised to see how lazily sensual they were. "And do you know something else? Give me a minute or two and I'll be ready to do it again. You have a very wild effect on me, Your Highness."

  "It will take me a little longer than that to recover," she murmured. "I feel as if I've just been through an earthquake."