Marja felt completely unable to think her way out of her muddle. It kept her mind running in circles, like a dog chasing its tail.
When Gaelen came to her chamber in the middle of the night, Marja pretended not to wake. After watching a moment, he slipped noiselessly out again to sleep in his own room. Relieved at this reprieve, Marja relaxed and settled into a dreamless sleep for the remainder of the night.
~20~
A SCHEMER
What Cook had not told Marja was that Gaelen had sworn her to secrecy. He had something special planned for their joining night, and had requested Cook’s assistance. Now, well after midnight on the third night, he slipped into her room carrying an odd bundle wrapped in snowy linen.
Marja woke instantly at the click of the lock. Brensa roused more slowly, stared out owlishly, then bolted upright as she recognized Gaelen.
He laughed, the sound warm and rich to Marja’s ears. “Brensa, you may rejoin Nellis until you are summoned in the morning.”
Brensa scurried to put on her shoes and grab her gown, whispering, “Yes, my lord.” She dipped a brief curtsey as she scuttled out the door.
Marja made to rise, but Gaelen motioned her to stay seated on the bed. With a conspiratorial grin he placed his bundle between them. Then he removed his boots and tunic, and sat in just his breeches and shirt, cross-legged on the bed, facing her. Once seated, he opened the bundle to reveal two small honey cakes and a wide mouthed clay jar of honey on a tray. To one side stood two silver goblets and a small flagon of mead.
Seeing the cakes Marja gasped in delight. “My favourite! How did you get these?”
“I have an informant in the kitchen,” he quipped, looking pleased with himself, “and it seems she knows how to keep a secret.”
He gave her a boyish, mischievous grin. “I thought that, as this is our joining night, it would be fitting to share a tradition from Bargia with you.” He gave Marja a teasing, sideways glance.
She could not help but smile back. Marja had thought herself quite familiar with the traditions of both demesnes. They were not so different. She had studied them when she thought she might be sent to Bargia as a bride.
She kept her voice light. “I am not aware of a tradition involving cakes in bed.”
The grin broadened, lighting up his face. “I just invented it … but I am certain it will catch on when it is discovered.” With that, he broke off a piece of cake, dipped it into the honey, and held it to her lips, explaining as she accepted the bite, “The rules are that only the bride’s fingers may touch the groom’s lips, and only the groom’s fingers may touch the bride’s. They must feed each other with their fingers until the cakes are gone.” He waited expectantly, still grinning. “Well …?”
This was a side of Gaelen Marja had not seen, a playful, youthful side she found hard to resist. She smiled back. Suddenly shy, she took a deep breath, broke off a piece of cake, dipped it in honey, and held it to his lips.
“That must make all the joining beds in Bargia very sticky.”
“The more pleasure, then, to find all the sweetness there.” He fed her another bite.
Marja asked if it was permitted for the bride to pour mead. It was, he told her, but they must help each other drink. So Marja poured, and lifted her goblet to Gaelen’s mouth, as he did to hers.
When the cakes were about half gone, he stopped her hand as she fed him, and, holding her wrist lightly, brought the tips of her fingers into his mouth, where he teased them with his tongue, checking for her reaction. Marja felt herself blush and looked away quickly, though she let her fingers remain in his hand. The sensation sent shivers through, her and she felt her whole body must be blushing. Gaelen let go and raised another bite to her, letting his fingers stroke her lips, and finally, gently inserting their tips into her mouth. His expression had become more earnest now, liquid and soft.
Marja allowed her teeth to part and found she liked the taste of his honey-coated finger. They fell silent as the ritual continued with the few remaining bites.
When the last had been eaten, he looked at her and murmured, “There is honey on your mouth.” He bent toward her and kissed her, softly at first, as if to make sure the honey was gone, then more deeply, sending a shiver through her.
As he let her go, he stood and quickly removed the tray from the bed. In the next deft motion, he pulled his shirt off over his head and stood before her in just his breeches.
The sight made her hold her breath. He was even more well-made than she had imagined. The firelight glinted copper off the hair on his chest and turned his skin pale gold. He had very broad shoulders and a firm, well muscled chest and arms. Here and there, she could see scars and wondered how he had acquired them. She wanted to touch each one and ask about it in turn.
He wasn’t smiling now, but gazed at her with an intensity that seemed to see into her inner being. It awoke new sensations that confused and excited her at the same time. She could not take her eyes away, needing to etch the image into her memory, lest it never be the same again.
By the time she let go the breath she had not known she was holding, he had again seated himself across from her, drawing her into his arms and kissing her mouth. This time there was no tray in the way. Her thin night shift was the only barrier between them.
“Sweet lady,” he breathed in her ear, “I would see you as well,” and reached for the ribbon that held up her shift. “Will you permit me?” He looked to see if she agreed.
She gave a tiny, shy nod.
He pulled the ribbon loose, and helped the shift slide slowly from her shoulders to the bed, where it puddled around her waist. Then he bent to kiss her neck and shoulders, taking care not to let his body touch hers yet.
When she shivered and leaned toward him, he finally pulled her close and held her, both of them silent and motionless. With the next kiss, he lay her gently down and arranged himself beside her, watching her with his head on his elbow. The caress of his free hand on her skin felt like the whisper of a butterfly’s wing.
She finally reached up to put her hand behind his head and pulled him toward her for the first kiss initiated by her. She felt his desire against her thigh as he leaned into her, and her own body responded with heat deep inside her belly. When she shivered, he drew her closer in response.
Very tentatively, she let her hand slide over the skin on his back and pause at the scars there. Now it was his turn to shiver, and Marja discovered that she could cause him to react, too. It was a heady awakening. She had to stop a moment to wonder at the significance of that. Did this mean that he felt some of same things she was experiencing? She could tell she was affecting him deeply. Did she really want to do that?
“Do not stop, my love.” His voice was raw, as though with pain.
Marja tentatively resumed her exploration until her fingers touched the biggest scar.
“Tell me how you came by this?” She lifted her eyes questioningly to his.
He placed his hand over hers. “No great battle wound, I’m afraid,” he chuckled. “I fell off my horse, attempting a movement I had not trained enough for, and my own sword caught my side as I fell. Not a moment I am proud of,” he added with a wry face.
He seemed in no hurry, allowing her to touch each scar, telling her the tale of each one as she asked. He caressed her skin in turn, and slowly moved to more sensitive parts with both fingers and lips, as he slipped her shift off. It felt like a delicious, new dance, to which she was just learning the steps.
Then he asked if he might remove his breeches. They were causing discomfort, he explained. At her nod, they came off swiftly, and he lay beside her again. Marja found she had to look away a moment. Shyness overcame curiosity. He pretended not to notice.
When she sensed he could no longer wait, she did not hold back but gave herself to the moment. He had called her his love, and she had heard truth in it. With those words her confusion had dissolved. She knew that she trusted him. This felt right.
>
~21~
THE MORNING AFTER
They slept entwined. Marja woke first. Sun streamed in the window slit and danced on the pillows. It surprised her to see Gaelen still abed. He had told her he must be up at dawn. Perhaps the rigors of the last days had finally caught up with him. His arm still lay draped over her, and when she moved, his grip tightened as if to hold her there, but he did not waken. Marja observed him in sleep. He looked younger without the pressures of his new responsibilities on his face. He was only twenty, two years older than she, so young to have such a heavy burden placed upon him.
She recalled the events of the night before. He had gone to great lengths to make her feel cherished, from enlisting Cook to make the cakes to the effort he had shown to make sure he did not rush her, in spite of the intensity of his desire.
He was, indeed, a good lover, as he had said. And lover he was. Had he not said so? Named her his love?
She watched his slow, steady breathing and recalled his tenderness, his concern that she was all right. These thoughts filled her with a softness, a protectiveness. She discovered she wanted him to always sleep with this contentment. She noticed that a lock of his hair had fallen across his eyes. Not wanting to wake him, she reached over and brushed it back with feathered fingers. It was wonderful to see him thus, unburdened, in peaceful repose.
The sun crossed until it began to shine on Gaelen’s face. She tried to shield it with her hand, but he noticed the movement and woke. As soon as he realized where he was and how late, he bolted upright and made to rise. “My man was told to wake me at dawn.” He looked thunderous. “He will hear of this.”
Marja placed a hand to his chest to stop him. “Gaelen, you have had almost no sleep for these many nights. Perhaps your man knew better than you that you needed this.”
Gaelen stopped, but his look remained dark.
Marja went on. “I warrant the world will not end because its new lord is absent for a few spans. Perhaps your man felt it was meet that your joining night should not be cut short. And I am quite certain that your men have their orders and are doing your bidding in your absence. Perhaps you might reconsider your ire.”
Gaelen’s posture relaxed somewhat, and he regarded her steadily. “Perhaps you are right. They have enough to do that does not require my presence.” Then he fell silent, still watching her. “I see that there may be another reason to have you by me. You will remind me that I am but a man ruling other men.” He gifted her with an ironic smile.
Marja relaxed and released the breath she had been holding. She had been waiting for his reaction to her boldness. He could have seen it as overstepping her authority and become even more angry. That he had listened and taken her words seriously boded well. “You are a good man and will make a fine leader, of that I have no doubt.” She smiled at him.
He relaxed more, and bent to draw her to him to kiss her. When he let her go, she watched him don his breeches and head for the door, demanding breakfast be brought immediately.
His man had anticipated him, and handed him a tray already filled with tea, dark bread, butter, soft cheese, and honey. He ate as he dressed, stuffing food into his mouth between donning articles of clothing, washing it down with gulps of lukewarm tea and a large goblet of water from the pitcher, left over from the night before.
Marja gathered more courage and said, “Gaelen, it was wonderful yesterday to walk about the castle and see so many old faces. I know we must leave for Bargia. Before I go, I would see the rest of the grounds and the city. I wish to see how the people are faring, and look at the damage.” She paused, gauging his reaction before going on. “I think it would be good for the people to see me. It will reassure them that your intentions are, indeed, as you claim, that I am truly their lady.” She gave a short laugh. “Besides, I need air.”
Gaelen stopped, his second boot midway up his calf. His expression turned grave as he pulled it the rest of the way before facing her. “My lady … Marja … you are not a prisoner. But I am most concerned for your safety. I fear there are those who would use the opportunity to undo what I have accomplished here by harming you. The area is not yet stable or secure.”
She waited, silent, not conceding, as he thought it over.
Finally, he relented. “You cannot go unguarded. I will have men sent to accompany you. Do not leave this chamber until they present themselves to the guards at the door. They will have a password. Please obey them if they caution your movements. Can you promise me that?”
She smiled again, satisfied. “I can and I will, my lord. Thank you.”
She received a distracted smile as he made for the door, his mind apparently already on the duties of the day. As his hand reached the latch, she called softly, “Gaelen?” He turned. “I think we may be well together.”
The smile her gave her filled the chamber with light. Then he turned and was gone.
~22~
MESSALIA
On the way home to Bargia, Sinnath listened to the speculative murmurings of the men. What he heard fuelled his misgivings regarding Gaelen’s union with Marja. The more he ruminated, the more convinced he became that the joining was a suicidal mistake for his new lord. Only one course of action could solve the problem. Marja must be removed. He determined to seek out Messalia, a professed seer with a reputation for astute predictions. Maybe she could enlighten him as to the best course of action.
Sinnath had had little use for seers in the past, but now he needed one to assuage his guilt around the direction his thoughts were taking. He needed someone behind him who shared his views and had the influence to support them. Sinnath knew of Messalia from others in his circle. Many had been pleased with her insights and had benefited from them, particularly with regards to political power brokering. Sinnath had strong doubts that she was a true seer. But he did not need a true seer. He needed someone with political influence.
* * *
When Sinnath requested to see her in the middle of the night, his choice of time gave her clues to his attitude. Messalia was no fool. She had not reached her position of prominence by luck. Before agreeing to see Sinnath, Messalia had quietly inquired how other persons of influence leaned. She found there was no agreement among them. Most were taking a wait-and-see attitude. Messalia knew she must tread very carefully if she wished to use this meeting to her own benefit. One false step, anything that would implicate her, could topple her little empire, and she might find her head in a basket.
Messalia never took any detail for granted. She had located her large, well-appointed home just behind those of the most prominent and influential. Not beside, for that would lead her betters to believe she aspired to equal status. No, Messalia knew her place, and kept to it.
Her attire made the same statement. She dressed herself just as richly as the elite, but kept it ever so slightly understated, showing a preference for darker colours so as not to compete with the more richly hued court ladies. A woman in her late thirties, rather tall, with a slim yet mature figure, she carried herself with cool dignity. She kept her jewels and hairstyles similarly rich, yet understated. Everything was of the finest quality, but kept just shy of ostentation.
No one could say that she overstepped her position, yet her actual influence far outweighed that of her more highly placed neighbours. She knew not to draw too much attention to herself. Someone might notice just how far her reach extended. If her clients began to complain that she was rising too high, the advisory council might take too close an interest in her.
Messalia owned a walled stone house with a large double entrance at the front and two smaller ones at the back and side. These last remained hidden to all but those who had been made privy to their location. It was by one of these that she personally admitted Sinnath and led him through a private hall to a small, windowless chamber.
“Welcome, Sinnath. My servant woman still sleeps. She does make better tea, but I sense that you prefer our meeting remain confidential.” She smiled a
s she closed the door.
“Thank you, Messalia. You have indeed anticipated me.”
Her wealthiest visitors were afforded the utmost privacy. Many secrets had been revealed within these walls, never to leave the room. Many had sought Messalia’s advice. Until now, Sinnath had not been one of them. Indeed, Messalia had been somewhat surprised by his request to consult her, so she had taken extra care to get her facts in order. She smelled high intrigue.
She followed Sinnath silently into the room and, indicating a comfortable carved chair for him, set about pouring tea. He had worn dark clothing and kept his face covered by a wide-brimmed hat and high collar. He entered furtively and did not raise his head until the door closed.
Interesting, a man with a guilty conscience … hmmm … Messalia observed Sinnath covertly as she poured. Rigid posture, on the edge of the seat, hands twisting, eyes darting about as though waiting to be discovered. She made sure Sinnath remained unaware of her appraisal.
“We are quite safe here, Sinnath. No one will know you have come. I am proud of my record of privacy.”
Sinnath relaxed somewhat at this announcement and exhaled the breath he had been holding. He took the tea she handed him and with shaking hands added milk and sugar, which he stirred with absent-minded vigour.
“Won’t you try one of these pastries? They are excellent. My cook is very good.”
Sinnath shook his head. “Thank you, Messalia. Perhaps later.”
Messalia set the tray back on the small, ornate table and sat opposite him in a matching chair. A small fire burned in the hearth. This inner room never quite lost its chill.
When Sinnath made no move to speak and did not meet her eyes, Messalia took the lead. This might require all her skill. She must get him to betray his real need without seeming to press him, so she started with the obvious.
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