Courting Kel

by Dee Brice

  He had more than eight months left to court her. If he failed to return her to his bed by then… He’d take her to Amazonia and stay there until he convinced her and Basalia that Kel was his life mate. And he was hers.

  When Storr ordered Aren to marry—announced he’d already chosen his bride—Aren had done his duty and deflowered Kel. He’d resigned himself to keep her—and himself—in a loveless marriage. He hadn’t planned on wanting her, even though he knew fucking was perhaps the most pleasurable aspect of marriage. Now after only a couple of weeks with Kel in his life, he wanted her to stay with him.

  “I…I suppose you want to go back to Storr City as soon as the storm passes,” she murmured. “I’m certain the princesses will welcome you.”

  “No reason to hurry. Besides, as a married man, I’m no longer eligible to fuck another.”

  Whirling in the thigh-high water, she planted her fists on her hips. “The need for that farce ended today. We are not married!”

  Aren decided her menses caused the wild swings in her moods and tempered his need to shout. “By Ondrican law we are. Moreover, you promised you’d stay for nine months—”

  “The need to stay also ended this morning!”

  “Or are an Amazonian’s promises as worthless as swamp gas?”

  Her eyes black, she swung at his belly and connected. Grimacing, she shook her hand. “Fool!”

  “Both of us,” he countered, rubbing his stomach. “I’m hungry and intend to eat. You’ll join me—if for no other reason than to keep up your strength. If you’re too weak to run you can’t escape.” Not that I’d let you.

  Ignoring his proffered hand, she waded out of the hot spring. Scooping up both blankets, she strode toward the lodge. Her rigid back and squared shoulders proclaimed her royally pissed.

  Chuckling, he followed.

  * * * * *

  When Aren joined her in the cook room some twenty minutes later Kel’s breath caught. If she had ever seen a more handsome man she couldn’t name him or even where she might have encountered him.

  In the candlelight, Aren’s hair gleamed blue-black, nearly matching the color of his long robe. It fell in soft folds from his wide shoulders to his strangely elegant bare feet. Looking down at her sarong—the fabric he had given her the night she arrived on Ondrican—Kel felt…frumpy.

  “Smells good,” he greeted as he lifted tops off dishes and inhaled deeply.

  “Drew must have snuck in here while we changed clothes.”

  “More likely Laurette’s father. I’m surprised there’s any food left. Play takes energy. You must be starving.”

  “I’m a warrior,” she began then bit her tongue. Even she had tired of reminding him that Amazonian warriors knew how to wait.

  “Shall I serve?” Aren’s voice hinted at amusement but he looked as solemn as a footman at a royal banquet. Not that she had ever attended a royal banquet or seen any footmen. Only read about them when still a child, along with more prevalent stories about monsters and invaders.

  “Tak,” she said, watching him heap aromatic morsels on their plates. “Do all Ondrican men cook?”

  “Most do, yes. Just our way of sharing work. We shop for foodstuffs and cook while our women tend to—”

  “Your children?”

  “Or attend their businesses. Storr City houses many trades. Jewelers, weavers, cobblers and such. In the country men and women labor together to raise livestock and crops. Others teach our future scientists and agronomers. Still others teach other skills and trades as well.”

  “How bucolic,” Kel said tactlessly. “I’m—”

  “You needn’t apologize. Ondrican customs must seem strange to you.”

  “Very strange.”

  “When you aren’t patrolling, how do you pass the time?”

  Grateful he had forgiven her earlier outburst she said, “Hunting. Weeding crops. Reading sometimes—when time permits.” Which isn’t often enough.

  “I keep a small library,” he told her. Somewhat reluctantly, it seemed to her.

  “Where?” She pounced on the promise of books to fill her remaining time on Ondrican. If she couldn’t convince Aren to send her home. If she couldn’t escape.

  “A few here. Perhaps we can read together after we eat.”

  “I would enjoy that.” She’d rather they mated but his world’s ridiculous laws forbade her yielding—especially since she intended to leave him as soon as she could.

  “Come on,” he said, taking both their plates. Without so much as a by your leave, he strode away.

  “Arrogant, high-handed…” Her stomach growling, she followed. Spying Aren ensconced on a wide divan, she scowled. “You also keep a plethora of two-people furniture.”

  “We call these courting couches.” Patting the plump couch cushions, he winked. “I promise I’ll not try to seduce you, Flame. Sharing a bit of body heat is all I’m offering. Nothing else.” Tempting her closer, he held up a plate of sweetmeats he seemed to conjure from thin air. “After you’ve eaten all your dinner.”

  Their dinner plates hovered above the floating table that had apparently followed them from the cook room. “Neat trick. How’d you do it?”

  “Our geneticists believe it is a mutation of some kind. At any rate, it appeared about the time the first brides came to Ondrican. Even as toddlers, their children could move any object they could see. From then on almost every Ondrican can do it.” Her stomach growled. Looking like he wanted to laugh, he added, “Now the sooner you sit, the sooner we eat. The sooner—”

  “We eat, the quicker the sweets are available. A bribe like Basalia used when I was a child.” Just thinking about children moving things without touching them made her shudder.

  “And the books. Think of it as sweets and treats.”

  Laughing, she plopped down beside him. A napkin floated into her lap and the table—both plates resting safely on it—followed.

  “Delicious. What is all this?”

  “Food. Right now I don’t care what I’m eating.”

  When they finished, Aren floated the table and dishes off to the cook room. A few seconds later, Kel heard water running.

  “And that’s an even neater trick.” Some Ondricans can also control unseen objects.

  “It can’t be transported, so don’t add it to your list of things to trade for.” Flicking his fingers, he summoned several books.

  Just reading the titles made Kel blush. “Have you anything less—”

  “Seductive?” he suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Lurid,” she corrected, squelching a laugh.

  “Hmmm. I think I have a copy of Ondrican history somewhere.”

  The history in Aren’s possession began with the first Storr’s building the Princesses’ Palace and mating—Kel’s term—with them. All forty of them and often more than one at a time. Storr I left out the princesses’ rebellion and their choosing multiple mates for themselves.

  “Good for them!” Kel cheered when Aren reminded her of the rest of the story. “And shame on him for lying.”

  “Does Amazonia have records of its history?”

  She thought she could see the path Aren intended to lead her down. “Oral histories. And yes, I’m sure the stories change depending on who tells them.” She laughed. “A lot of them deal with matings and many of those are about your father.”

  Aren cleared his throat. “I would prefer not hearing those although…neither Storr nor Tage will say how they got to Amazonia.”

  “Or why they went?”

  “That too,” Aren said easily enough, but Kel could feel the tension flowing from his body into hers where their sides touched. When he circled her waist and snuggled her closer she wanted to object. But it felt so right somehow to sit so close she could hear him breathe and feel the steady rhythm of this heart against her cheek. She shouldn’t tempt herself this way—not when she intended to leave him. But what harm was there in sharing body heat? In taking comfort in feeling safe?


  “What’s that noise?” she asked, snuggling into his warmth.

  “Music. Would you like it louder?”

  “Please. Just a little. Where are the musicians and why haven’t I seen them?”

  “Haven’t you technology on your homeworld?”

  “Some. Enough to light and cool our homes. Are you saying the musicians aren’t here? That they are playing elsewhere and the music is somehow routed to you here?”

  “I’ll show you later. For now, let’s just listen.”

  Listening involved touching. His foot tapped against hers. His fingers glided up and down her arm. His tongue clicked at her ear until, giggling, she eased away.

  “Tickles.”

  He turned her back, gently pressing her head to his shoulder.

  “You smell good,” she murmured.

  “You too.”

  “The music is very soothing.”

  He grunted and snapped his fingers. The tune changed to a faster tempo.

  Kel pulled back. “Why did you change it?”

  “It was a lullaby.”

  He looked so sad she wanted to comfort him. Steeling her heart, she considered calling him sentimental or a fool. Instead, she stroked the frown from his brow.

  “I didn’t realize how much…” She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed back tears. “You’ll make babies, Aren. Just not—” He kissed her, his tenderness and sorrow making it impossible to hold back tears. “I…did nothing to earn…your kindness,” she murmured, swiping at tears and encountering Aren’s thumbs on her cheeks.

  “Sssh. For now let’s just listen to the music.” Pressing her head to his chest, he simply held her.

  Kel’s last thought was If only…

  * * * * *

  The next morning Kel awoke in a strange room. Sunlight streamed through the open window where a songbird sang to her from the sill. I’m late, she thought then remembered nothing awaited her. No patrols. No hunts. No weeds.

  There’s Aren.

  The thought of him propelled her out of bed—another piece of furniture made for two. Since the pillow beside her own held no impression of Aren’s head and the sheets held no scent but her own, she guessed she’d slept alone. Realizing she missed waking up with his arms around her, she went in search of some place to relieve herself.

  The sound of running water drew her to an adjacent room. Aren stood under a waterfall emerging from the wall. A knee-high chamber pot was located to one side with a basin next to it. Modesty be damned, she had to pee.

  “Good morning,” he greeted when she finished. The waterfall ceased. He flicked his fingers and a towel floated across the room. Drying off, he continued. “We’ve been invited to linner at Laurette’s.”

  “It’s even later than I thought. And what is linner?”

  “A meal served between midday and nightfall.” With that bit of enlightenment, he strode from the room.

  He truly does have a nice ass. “Hey, how do I turn on the waterfall?”

  One of the words had the right magic. Water streamed from the wall once more. To Kel’s delight, it held the scent of caills. As did the shamwash and soap.

  “Off. How do I turn it…? Off?” The waterfall stopped. “Neat trick!”

  When she returned to her room, she found the swirl of blue-green and red-gold material Aren had given her before they left Storr City. So, a formal meal, she thought, fastening her hair at her nape with the blue-green scarf. The gown slid over her body, recalling Aren’s hands. Like the snow blanket yesterday, the fabric hugged her torso but left her arms bare. It also seemed to change color with more blues and greens than reds. Wider touches of gold than she remembered from when he’d given the gown to her ran through the fabric, lending it a festive appearance.

  Satisfied her hair and clothes would not embarrass Aren, she rubbed her stomach, feeling nauseous. She had no idea how to behave amongst strangers. It seemed obvious Laurette’s father would eat with them. Would other males join them at linner? How many and how old? Would they expect her to talk with them?

  On Amazonia, when the men dined with the women at a feast, they served the women, then they went to sit with each other. Part of the group, yet apart from their mistresses. Although Kel knew little of dining customs on Ondrican, she surmised men and women ate at the same table—as she and Aren had with Storr.

  “Come along, Kel,” Aren called.

  Gathering her courage, she went in search of Aren.

  And found him outside, holding the reins of an enormous gray horse. Since it wore a saddle, Kel realized Aren did not intend to mate with her on this ride. Along with relief a curious disappointment pinged in her heart.

  Aren held out his hand. “Have you ridden double, Kel?”

  “Only on Peg.”

  “This is not so very different.” He mounted then reached down for her. As if she weighed no more than a feather, he lifted her and helped her settle in front of him. He urged the horse forward.

  His arms around her, his chest against her back, his legs rubbing hers made her wish they were naked. That their ride would lead to the bare mating he had promised her. His cock hardening against her buttocks increased her longing.

  “Are you comfortable?” he murmured in her ear.

  “Y-yes,” she lied, desire rampaging through her body. She wanted him to release the reins and cup her breasts. She wanted him to hike her skirts and plunge his fingers inside her, their rhythm matching the quick trot of his mount’s hooves. She wanted…so many things she could not have.

  She needed the release tears could bring. She willed them away, refusing to shame either of them by arriving at his friends’ home with red eyes. With her cheeks stained with tears.

  “If the weather holds, we’ll come this way tomorrow.”

  Glad for the distraction, she said, “What for?”

  “Must everything have a purpose, Kel? Can we not ride simply because it pleases us?”

  “I’ve never had that luxury. When I ride, I patrol.” Even to her she sounded resentful about her duties on Amazonia. This guanshit world of Aren’s is dividing my loyalties. I’m getting too comfortable.

  “Another first. I’ll bring a book and read to you.”

  She glanced back and saw him smile. He seemed pleased by the idea of firsts. Although reading to her was something Basalia had done when Kel was a child, a man had never read to her. Neither had she ever ridden for the simple joy of the wind in her hair, the blue sky above, or the scent of wildflowers in the meadows surrounding her path. With a brook burbling in the distance.

  They rode in companionable silence. Used to patrolling alone, Kel welcomed the quiet. It allowed her to listen to the land. It had its own kind of music. Wind caressing leaves high above. Fledgling birds chirping for their linner. Other birds scolding when strangers approached their nests. Squirrels and chipmunks chattering as if sharing news or the location of some tasty treat.

  Laughing at the course her thoughts had taken, Kel said, “I think I must be hungry. Every sound seems about wanting food.”

  “Including my stomach’s growls. We’re almost there, Flame. I smell wood smoke and something roasting.”

  Sniffing, Kel nodded. Her stomach lurched, leaving her to wonder if hunger or trepidation held sway.

  Too late now.

  Drew and another fair-haired girl sprang at them from overhead. A half-dozen lads raced from the trees, laughing and shouting and whooping like warriors about to capture invaders. Kel instinctively reached for her nonexistent dagger just as Aren’s horse bolted.

  “Guanshit,” Aren swore mildly, quickly controlling his horse. “I’d forgotten the boys are out of school.”

  Kel gulped, resisting the urge to pat her heart and soothe it to its normal beat. “H-how many children do your friends have?”

  “Just one of their own—Laurette. They foster… You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Stop that noise!” a female voice demanded. Sil
ence descended as the boys circled Aren’s horse. The tallest—dark-haired with the look of Aren on his face—took the reins Aren tossed to him.

  Dismounting, Aren reached up for Kel. Ignoring him, she slid to the ground, barely managing to hold her tongue. All the boys seem miniature versions of Aren. Although, to give Aren his due, they might not be his sons. He was, after all, bringing up Drew as if she were his own and she looked nothing like him.

  “Welcome,” a petite, green-eyed blonde greeted, nodding at Aren while holding out her hands to Kel.

  “Jocelyn, meet Kel. Kel, Jocelyn.”

  Flummoxed by the warm greeting, Kel returned her hostess’s hug. On Amazonia handshakes or nods were the norm—caution so ingrained that even women greeting women for the first time kept an eye out for signs of danger. As a diversion to answering her unspoken questions it worked but Aren still owed her some explanation for the boys’ coloring.

  As if reading her mind, he whispered, “I’ll explain later.”

  “No guanshit,” she murmured as Jocelyn led them around the massive wood and stone structure Kel assumed was Jocelyn’s home. She could hear the boys arguing about who would tend to Aren’s horse and who would bring food from inside the house. That was a familiar discussion. Amazonian captives often had the same small wars about “men’s work” versus “women’s chores”.

  As they entered a roofless area with smooth, level stones its floor, Kel halted mid-stride. She thought Aren and Storr the tallest men she’d ever seen, but the man turning toward her from his spit dwarfed even Aren.

  He seemed to take Kel’s measure with the same intensity she took his. On her homeworld such scrutiny occurred only when choosing a male for mating. Here it seemed ogling was the norm.