Miami Days and Truscan (K)nights

by Gail Roughton

  “Didn’t seem to hurt you any. And you took a ten-year-old boy with a handicap out on night patrol?”

  “He’s not handicapped, he’s merely inconvenienced. And I’m not an only child. Just the only surviving one. My mother always planned for my brothers to hold the country with me. And Dal’s brothers, if you, as an outsider, are their mother, will not be used as pawns by my nobles, seeking to place their own family on the throne, sacrificing Trusca to satisfy their own ambitions. Besides, your background, your education—I well know the benefits to be gained by having a strong mother. You’ve no idea of my mother’s influence. For Trusca, it was extraordinary. And it was extraordinary, considering who he was, how he was raised, that my father was able to see the possibilities, to actually use them. To actually love my mother.”

  “And why didn’t you just sit down and talk to me? Explain this? Did it occur to you that perhaps I would be capable of understanding it? And not feel nearly as manipulated?”

  “Yes. And it also occurred to me that you would be just as outraged in any event and would present a most unwilling bride to my people, thereby causing unnecessary delay. Besides, I needed to be certain you stayed safe. Baka knows full well that my mother effectively changed the course of Truscan history. Just as he knew as soon as he saw you where you were from and how dangerous you could become. That’s why I had Johnny, that very first night, announce to the Great Hall—”

  “That I’d been sent!” I popped my forehead with my hand. “That I’d been sent through the door, directly to you. It never even occurred to me what that might mean.”

  “Yes. I did what I judged best for you and for Trusca and my people.”

  “Does anything else matter to you?”

  “Very little. I can’t allow it to.”

  I was tired. Tired of dealing with this world, with this man, with the emotional seesaw of my feelings of rage and futility. I think he read it on my face. He stood up and offered me his hand.

  “You’re tired. And so am I. I’ve had little rest for the past four nights.”

  I wasn’t so tired I didn’t recall that I wouldn’t be going back to my comfortable, private chambers.

  “Got a couch in your chambers?”

  “No couch. A royal Truscan marriage is up for public viewing the next morning. We have to share the bed.”

  Détente. It could have been worse. He escorted me back to my new quarters. Suddenly I was past tired, I was exhausted. Nothing about the rooms themselves had registered in my brain, but I’d explore tomorrow. I walked to the bed and stared in horror at the garment which lay across the right side of the huge bed. Trusca’s version of a bridal negligee, no doubt, which would leave little to the imagination.

  “I don’t want to wear this,” I said.

  “That’s your option. You don’t have to wear anything at all. I don’t.”

  I swallowed. Hard. He jerked the covers back, opened the drawer of the small stand which stood by what he obviously claimed as his side of the bed, and picked up a small packet. Then he picked up a knife, held the packet over the center of the bed, and pricked its side. Blood dribbled out over the sheet.

  “What are you doing? We have to sleep on that!”

  “I might think virginity is overrated, Green Eyes, but you were right on one point. My people don’t. And no one but Johnny knows of our private arrangement, or your past history. Now, I thought you were tired?”

  He was disrobing even as he spoke, and the layered garments which formed the men’s wear of Trusca were hitting the floor. His chest was just as impressive as his huge shoulders would lead one to suspect, and I could see the beginnings of his hip bones as he pushed against the tight leggings.

  I picked up the nightgown and turned away, glancing around the chamber, anywhere but at him.

  “Is there a dressing room?”

  “No, but if you would turn around, you’ll see I’m already in bed, which at this moment feels better than any woman could, although I’m certain I won’t think so in the morning. I’m going to turn over and close my eyes, and I don’t expect to be awake for longer than two seconds. So you’re quite safe for the moment.”

  I did turn, and saw that he was facing the opposite wall. His breath evened out and the spaces between his breaths lengthened even as I watched, and I knew that he was, in fact, asleep. I considered grabbing the pile of his clothes and going through the garments for his key, but decided that would really do little good. I couldn’t run. I had nowhere to run to.

  I looked at the nightgown I held in my hands. I could go to sleep in my finery, but it certainly wouldn’t be very comfortable. And the royal Truscan marriage chamber was up for public viewing in the morning. He would not be pleased for his serving maids to find me fully dressed after going to the trouble to be certain my virgin blood stained the sheets. And he had said he wouldn’t touch me, and in any event, he was out like a light right now. I was sure four days on night patrol would be exhausting. I shrugged, took off my finery, and put on the damned nightgown, which in fact, was cut so low it barely covered my breasts. It was long and sheer and hung to the floor, but as the sides were both slit up to my waist, its length was somewhat irrelevant. But I was tired, and he was exhausted. It made little difference, I supposed. And the bed was Truscan king size, which meant it was bigger than any king size bed I’d ever encountered in Florida.

  I got in and pulled the covers over me. I’d expected to lie awake for a long time, but I didn’t. Through the thick stone walls of the Rata, I heard the faint sound of on-going merry making in the great hall, and beside me I heard the steady, even breathing of the man I’d first seen five days ago and had now, all unknowingly, pledged my life to. I slept.

  Chapter Eight

  The first thing that filtered into my consciousness when I began to rouse the next morning was the warmth. Truscan nights, like desert nights, carried a considerable chill, and I had awakened, on every previous morning, clutching the fur bed coverings close. But this morning I seemed engulfed in warmth, and the fur coverlets seemed wrapped more tightly around me. I was only in a semi-wakeful state and began to slide back into sleep. That was when I felt the covers slide down from my shoulders, and felt the hand which eased the nightgown off my breast. It certainly didn’t have far to go, and I surged awake with a gasp, but not soon enough. His mouth covered me, his tongue flicking, it must be admitted, deliciously. He suckled gently, and my body involuntarily caught fire as he nursed. He had, with unerring instinct, hit immediately on the surest, quickest way to arouse me.

  Infuriated at both his actions and at my response to them, I pushed against his shoulder, which only increased the pressure of his mouth.

  “Liar! You said you wouldn’t force me, you said you’d give me time!”

  I heard a small and muffled chuckle, and then he raised his head.

  “I’m not forcing you and I am giving you time. But I never said I intended to sit back and just wait, did I?”

  “Move!” I ordered, pushing harder.

  He did turn me loose, but he laughed again, which infuriated me further.

  “Tess, Tess! You can’t tell me you didn’t like it, you did.”

  “I don’t consider twelve hours to be very much time!”

  “Enough time to revive me, certainly. Come, Green Eyes. We’ve already established that I’m your only option in this world. And a few seconds ago, we established that you do, indeed, appreciate what a man’s mouth can do.”

  He reached over and pulled me back against him. I felt his hardness against my buttocks. The king of Trusca was indeed revived.

  “And I’m sure you also appreciate what other parts of a man can do. So why put us through the time it’ll take to smooth your wounded pride?”

  “Because it’s my pride that’s wounded! Now get away from me!” I exclaimed and heard the knock on the door with some relief.

  He swore under his breath, but he didn’t turn me loose and called for entrance. Appearances, after all, w
ere most important. The three chamber maids, led by Saraya, didn’t miss a detail, I was sure, down to the fact that my right breast was uncovered, and I jerked my hand up. Before it reached the material, however, his own hand came up and casually covered me; the monarch claiming his own, which further infuriated me.

  He spoke quickly, in Truscan, and his words produced a quick response from the servants, who moved rapidly and set a large tray of some silver-like material down on the table where reposed the equivalent of his bar. Hot water steamed as they filled the two basins which stood in the corner of the room, and fresh clothing was draped over the chairs. The girls left within five minutes, and he made to throw the covers back. I turned on my side, away from him. Modesty wasn’t an issue; it was the principle of the thing. He laughed, and I heard the rustle of fabric.

  “I’m in my robe,” he advised. “You’re safe. More or less. “

  “What I’m wearing doesn’t make me feel particularly safe.”

  He walked around to my side of the bed and tossed my white chamber robe over the covers.

  “Will this help?”

  “Enormously,” I said, but I didn’t throw the covers back. I was waiting for him to turn to the tray of food.

  “I’m not going to turn around.”

  I glared. “I see. You’re going to fulfill the letter of your agreement, but not what you know damn well I took to be the spirit of it.”

  He shrugged. “I feel very spirited, actually. More and more so as I look at you lying there with your hair over the pillow.”

  I gritted my teeth and got up, wrapping my chamber robe around me as swiftly as possible. He shook his head sadly.

  “There are times,” he said, “when I sincerely regret the fact that my mother raised me on the Knights of the Round Table. Chivalry does have its drawbacks.”

  I almost asked how he’d know, but restrained myself. Such a question would not be entirely fair and as irritable as his actions of this morning and present attitude made me, I knew it. He had been under no obligation to risk his life and the lives of his patrol squad to cross the Prian border and retrieve me. But he had certainly been under no obligation to trick me into marriage. And as for this morning, he was acting just like a man and I supposed it was stupid to expect anything else.

  He lifted the top off the tray of what I presumed to be breakfast, and as faint vapors of steam seeped out of the newly baked bread, I was struck by a sudden thought.

  “You did this, didn’t you?”

  “I? Did what?”

  “Your Court. It’s no accident it’s so similar to the legends of Camelot. It wasn’t like this in your father’s time, was it?”

  He laughed and motioned me to sit, slicing through the bread and lifting huge portions of the glistening pink meat onto the slices. He swiftly arranged the food on the plate, his movements precise and graceful and offered it to me across the table. He indicated the side dishes of glowing orangey-yellow cheese and the bowl of fresh berries which reminded me more than anything of wild blackberries, though they were orange in color.

  “The berries are particularly good if you dip them in cream,” he advised, moving the bowl of cream over. “No, it wasn’t like this. My mother used to tell me stories of what she called Saxon England. Before the Normans, when the Vikings used to raid. She said it was the first thing she thought of when she got here. I don’t remember it very well, the early days. As I told you, she had a great deal of influence on my father. By the time my memories began to form, Trusca was moving more toward England of the Middle Ages. But it still wasn’t like this. Then Johnny came. And between him and my mother, I became, well, who I am. As did Trusca.”

  “How long have you had the throne?”

  “Since I was, let’s see, your word is eighteen.”

  “How did your father die? Was he Randalph, too?”

  “No. Randalph is merely a Truscanized version of Randolph.”

  “Of course. Your mother’s name. I didn’t catch that, must be slipping.”

  “You had much to take in. My father’s name was Brentar. He was overjoyed to have a son. He would have denied my mother nothing when I was born.”

  He ate gracefully, as he performed any function which demanded his attention.

  “You said you weren’t an only child, just the only surviving one. Brothers?”

  “Yes, there were four of us. All of us cross-named.”

  “Cross-named?”

  “My mother’s life was a constant balance, a constant entwining of cultures, names that would actually fit either world. Randalph for Randolph, then Brenden, which of course sounded like Brentar. Then Madison, no great mystery there, I’m sure?”

  “Madeline’s son,” I said.

  “And then Gareth. For no reason other than that she liked it and wanted a name from the Round Table that still sounded Truscan.”

  “That big a family and you’re the only survivor? What happened?”

  He shrugged. “My parents were out together on patrol with Gareth, just a regular routine run, not even very near the border. My father didn’t expect any trouble. He would never have taken my mother into situations that he considered dangerous. It was a sudden Prian ambush. They didn’t expect to run into Brentar and Madeline of Trusca, complete with one of the heirs. And thank the gods for that. If they had, they’d have been more careful, but they struck too swiftly to realize what they had. If they’d been captured alive—” He broke off. “Would you like more?”

  “No, thank you. Danar,” I said, quickly substituting the Truscan word for thank you.

  “Moving right along, I see.”

  “I have a long way to go. And your other brothers?”

  “Brenden and Madison were out with another group. They found them. And Brenden, he was always the hot-head, of all of us, the one whose first reaction was always most like my father’s. More Truscan. Madison would have tried to reason with him, I’m sure, get him to back to Trussa, but the only two people who could have stopped Brenden when his mind was made up were lying there dead on the ground in front of him. So he charged ahead, and tracked the Prians over the border, and he and Madison never came back home.”

  He seemed to be gazing off into a far-away place as he relayed this story. Despite my hard feelings about the high-handed way my future had been determined, my heart squeezed in sympathy. He’d lost everybody, at one time, when he was eighteen?

  “They didn’t come home? Then are you certain they’re dead? I mean, if they were captured—” I broke off, remembering that it wasn’t a good thing to be captured by the Prians.

  “Trust me, I’m certain.” His voice was hard, and it was time to leave this particular little journey into the past.

  “I’m so sorry. Really.”

  He shrugged again. “It was a long time ago. I suppose this sounds strange, but I almost don’t remember what it felt like, I don’t think I stopped to feel. There was too much to do, too much to worry about.”

  “At eighteen?”

  “Truscans are men by twelve and fourteen, Tess.”

  “But most of them don’t have to guard a kingdom.”

  “Johnny was a great help. As you’ll be. Which reminds me, be careful as you learn the language. The longer no one knows you speak it well, the better off we’ll all be. I hate that everyone knows how well I speak English, but as my brothers and I grew up using Truscan and English in the same sentence, it’s a little late to worry about it.”

  “Your poor father. Did he speak English well?”

  “No, he never spoke it well, but he made sure he understood it. We all knew that after Brenden called him an old fool when he was twelve and I had to pick him up off the floor. And then my mother slapped him so hard he almost hit it again.” He grinned and stood up. “I haven’t thought about that in years. It looks to be a glorious day. I want to show you my country. Your country. Let’s dress.”

  And just when I was beginning to feel comfortable.

  He caught my express
ion and laughed. “Oh, Green Eyes! I’m not at all certain you will be as able an informer as I would like. Your thoughts flash across your face. Now confess. You would not have been insulted had I not tried?”

  I stared at him. Insult added to injury. I’d assisted in corporate takeovers that fell without warning like a lightning bolt from the sky. And it seemed that I could not maintain one secret thought from this man, who was, moreover, altogether too conversant with the inner workings of a woman’s mind. Yes, I would. I would have been insulted if he hadn’t tried.

  “No, I certainly wouldn’t have been,” I lied.

  “Then I’m in error and you’re, as Johnny would say, one up on me. So with that score, let’s stop the word games for the day. Please?”

  “I wasn’t aware we were playing word games or keeping score,” I said loftily, in another blatant lie.

  “Then I’m again in error and you are two up on me. Enough?”

  Knowing full well that he was not in error, which made him two up on me, and knowing that he knew that but was willing to humor me, which made him at least three and possibly four up on me, I capitulated and threw in the towel. For now.

  “You are the most maddening man I have ever met!” I exclaimed. “All right already. Enough.”

  “I’m glad. Come, I have something to show you,” he said and walked across the room to an adjoining door, which he opened, motioning me in.

  “Jerk!” I exclaimed before I could stop myself. There was a dressing room, or at least an antechamber of sorts that had been converted into what was obviously my closet, and moreover had been customized for the preparation of Milady’s toilette. There was a dressing table arranged against the far wall, replete with bottles I recognized as containing the equivalent of Trusca’s rarest cosmetics, capped by metal much like silver. Windows flanked it, allowing the Truscan sun to stream its light into the room. A cushioned stool sat in front of it, and a comfortable chair stood beside it. The other three walls held racks of clothes. And what clothes! He did not intend to be embarrassed by his queen’s appearance—that was obvious. Shelves topped the racks, with soft boots and more formal slippers arranged next to belts and scarves, and other items I didn’t even recognize.