Edwin grasped her small hand in his, the breadth of his palm completely engulfing it and raised it toward his mouth. She let her hand relax, as that was the best way to consummate the greeting.
Clara watched her hand rise and finally her gaze locked with his and she startled, in spite of her automatic reserve. His eyes glowed a rich amber in the dim candlelight of the tent. She immediately wondered what color they would be in the sun. His hair was black like a raven's wing and the contrast was startling. She had never seen one who looked such as him. It was then that she became aware of the heat from the connection of their flesh.
His lips pressed against not the top of her hand but the delicate underside of her wrist, her pulse beating against the suppleness of the skin of his lips. His eyes rolled up as his lips held hers and then he released her hand.
Clara's breath rolled out of her on a shaky exhale. The whole of it had been but a moment but he had shaken her and knew it.
He smiled. “It is excellent to make your acquaintance, Queen Clara.”
“And I...” she cleared her throat of the thickness that had settled there, “you,” she finished, her eyes never leaving his.
Edwin’s eyes flicked to something behind her and she instinctively felt Matthew move behind her.
Rowenna approached and physically turned Clara to face her people. “They are well-matched, yes?”
The crowd cheered, drowning out any and all dissent. The tense member of the Band at her back a constant.
CHAPTER 21
“Why did you not warn me?” Clara asked in a fierce voice.
“I thought you would be most pleased, Daughter. He is a prime specimen, no?”
Clara huffed. “He is not an animal to rut with. We have not reduced ourselves thus, surely?” Clara put her hands on her hips. She had suffered through the celebration stoically, rendering smiles when she was not the least bit happy. Matthew had been a sullen presence the entire evening with Edwin making things worse by never leaving her side and being attentive to the smallest detail. It had been atrociously awkward.
And then there was the matter of Charles, he had made a scene with Rowenna, calling her a pimp of sorts for trying to match-make between the two clans. He noted that it was no better than what her false mother had unsuccessfully tried to force upon Clara.
Clara was beginning to feel an echo of familiarity with all of it. However, the men involved were not harming her at every opportunity so there was that consolation.
Rowenna simply did not see the logic in not selecting Edwin. “You have broken your commitment with both Matthew and Bracus, no?” Rowenna held her gaze.
Technically, this was true, but only because of the complication between the two. Clara told her as such.
“Yea or nay. You are promised to no one?”
“Nay, I am promised to no one,” Clara admitted but her heart said someone.
Matthew.
An image of him coming for her with the blood from her attacker wet upon his blade and drawing her into his body as the battle with the fragment raged all around them, his body covering hers with his protection. When Ada slapped her and Matthew had grabbed her wrist to stay her second strike...when...
Rowenna dismissed Clara's hesitation, breaking her thoughts apart like glass. “I have promised our allied clan that the first of age female with the blood of the select shall be brought before them and mated straightaway. It is a great honor. And that it would be my daughter, even more so!” she slapped her plum encased thigh for emphasis and Clara bit her lip to keep from jumping.
She heartily desired to be on solid footing with her mother but the logic could not be placed on her shoulders to understand. Clara had been subject to an entirely different upbringing and culture. There were similarities between the two peoples but some glaring differences as well.
This was one of those.
“Rowenna. 'Tis true I no longer avail myself as promised to Matthew or Bracus of the Band. However, my heart chooses Matthew. In fact, if I were to be honest with myself...”
“Are you one bent on self-deception?” Rowenna interrupted.
Clara met her stare. “No. But it has been a long year of courtship, manipulations and guilt. I feel that I handled the length of things badly. In my kingdom, a woman cannot marry until she is ten and eight.”
“Humph!” Rowenna scoffed. “That is ridiculous. Many a female is ready as early as ten and five. I was!”
Clara smiled. What would Rowenna not have been ready for?
“Mayhap this be the case. But it is not the way of it in the spheres.”
“You are ten and eight,” she stated.
Clara nodded. “Two months past.”
“To whom do you refer? Are we not discussing the courtship between you and Edwin?”
“Actually, there is no courtship as of yet.”
Rowenna's brows shot down over her eyes and her arms cradled her breasts. “Clara. You must deliberate on all things. Is this Matthew really the best match for all? I understand during the Rite that he and Bracus were the most blessed.”
Clara nodded, suddenly deciding to bring it up. “And now Bracus would enter into courtship and eventual mating with you if you would allow it.”
Rowenna smiled. “I can see that you gained your father's wits. That is most excellent.” Rowenna paced and Clara watched her march back and forth in her chamber, a frenetic energy fueling her movements.
Clara waited, thinking that the potential loss of Bracus' attentions should make her sad. It did not, she felt relief instead.
“I will respect your wishes if you but give Edwin a chance,” Rowenna pleaded. “It would mean much for our peoples to have peace. It would expand our territory and unite us on all fronts. It would mean additional protection against the fragment.”
Clara knew political machinations when she heard them. She also knew the importance of it all. But having been so close to a forced loveless match with Prince Frederic, she would not be rushed in her decisions. And there was another matter which needed addressing.
“Matthew is a male of the Band and has been most patient with me.”
Rowenna opened her mouth to speak and Clara held up her hand.
“If he still wants me...”
“Aye, he does.”
Clara shook her head. “It matters not. It is my duty that my conduct be equivalent to his. If he were, it would make things terrible for me to ask to partake in another shared courtship. It is too much. He has protected me when he did not need to.”
“Do you wish to be with him?”
Clara felt the heat rise to her face. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Why do you become embarrassed?”
Clara met her eyes then looked down again. “It is not something which is freely discussed in the spheres. We have another way of discussing things.”
She laughed. “Methinks not at all.”
Clara smiled. That was more true than she wished to admit.
Rowenna faced her. “What do you decide, Daughter?”
Clara gave a shrug. “I do not know. But I must speak with Matthew. I do not know this Edwin. He may not be to my liking.”
Rowenna moved very close to Clara. “It appeared that he was very much to your liking from my perspective.”
Clara looked up at Rowenna, her mother. “My body responds but my heart must agree,” she replied simply.
Rowenna took Clara into her arms and Clara clasped her mother to her, grateful for the relationship, fearful of its duration.
*
“It is awkward between you and Rowenna?” Matthew asked.
Clara nodded. “It is for me. She does not appear to suffer awkwardness as I.”
Matthew laughed, taking her hand as they walked. “She thinks as a male but looks as a female.”
“That could be,” Clara said, bringing his hand to her face and rubbing her cheek against it. He folded it around her cheek, cupping it, his fingertips sliding into the hair at her temple.
<
br /> They looked at each other. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her I must speak to you about her proposal.”
“Do you want him?” Matthew asked with a growl.
She looked at him for a moment and he said, “Your silence is answer enough.” His hand slid away from her cheek and she said, “Do not go,” in a low voice.
He turned, anger making his face hard.
“I do not have a right to ask but things are tenuous between my mother and I. We have just made our acquaintance and she has encouraged me to make a good faith effort to court Edwin.”
“It is for her benefit, Clara. How is she different than Ada? When will you choose what is best for you? It is always, 'what is best for the sphere, the clans'. Never for you.” His hand wound around her neck and he shook her softly. “Why can you not see that you have a right to rule and not be ruled? I know that she is important and you wish to not ruin what you have just found. But self-preservation is in order,” he said as he pressed his forehead to hers, a flame igniting between their connected flesh.
Then his other arm moved behind her back and pulled her inexplicably closer to his body. When touching would have been more comfortable, he allowed that small space where their bodies lay poised on the brink of contact as his lips passed from her forehead to her jaw. The kisses sizzling as they made their path down her face.
Clara's emotions began to unravel. She had ached for Matthew since she had told he and Bracus to court her no more. The looks passing between them full of unbridled heat was all the contact she would allow. The energy crackling between she and Matthew like a painful conduit.
The dam breaking about her, Clara allowed herself to be swept into his embrace, their bodies pressing together, the gap no more.
She moaned and he clutched her as he laid kiss after kiss upon her mouth while kneading his hands along her ribcage. He encircled his hands around her waist until his fingers met and he pulled her ever nearer. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Her promise to Rowenna a dim bell that chimed dully.
A noise made them break apart and there stood Edwin, a sardonic smile on his face. “You are quite busy for a queen.”
*
“It appears that I have come too late for a courtship. That you have already selected your mate, Queen Clara.” Edwin's black brow arched.
Matthew said nothing but turned Clara to face Edwin. Clara struggled to recover from the moment of passion interrupted. “I have spoken with Rowenna...”
“Your mother?”
Clara nodded. He made a gesture with his hand, go on. “She has encouraged me to entertain your interest in me.”
She was startled when he laughed from his belly. “Really now? My interest. Yes, let us discuss this. You see, my dear Clara,” Clara did not need to see Matthew's face to feel his tense displeasure at the endearment.
It was not lost on Edwin, whose smile broadened. “You are the first true select in a decade. The first female, aside from your mother, that has come to breeding age. Yes, I think my interest is true.” His gaze darkened as he took Clara in. Her bronze hair shone like embers in a fire which smoldered, her eyes capturing the sea that rode the shore but steps away. Edwin found her beautiful. She had the look of this clan, but somewhat different. He knew that she was but half- savage but had heard that she could produce throat slits.
She would breed true. He could feel it.
Edwin turned his attention to the male that had been feeding off of her with his mouth. He would be trouble, Edwin thought. There was a wildness about him that was unsettled. It felt like unique circumstances had challenged this one of the Band. He would find out all he could about this male.
After all, he was his adversary.
“Let us be well-met, Matthew of the Band,” Edwin said, sticking out his hand in the offensive.
Matthew's eyes narrowed. He had no choice but to be reciprocal. This male was clever, he would need to be wary. Matthew's choice made, his hand grabbed Edwin's in a tense clasp of force, the two hands locking and turning white at the edges.
Clara saw the men measure each other through the handshake, neither soft. She moved between them, their hands shaking from the pressure they applied. She put her small hands over their meshed hands. “Please, let us discuss things like civil people do.”
They looked at her at the same moment and Clara smiled, their handshake breaking.
She walked away from them, not waiting to see if they followed her.
They did.
The Band was not known for civility, Clara thought as she entered into the most dangerous game of her life.
CHAPTER 22
Clara was homesick. It had been two weeks at the Clan of Cape Cod. She had established a routine of sorts and spent more time than she cared to admit beside the shore. She had decided that she would sacrifice being ladylike to feel the sand between her toes. She strolled the shore each day, usually Matthew or Edwin joined her. They were of the Band and did not think the flesh of her feet was an immodest offering.
Charles had.
“Clara,” he had said but one day past as he found her feet buried in the sand, the hem of her linen skirt drenched in saltwater. “You should not be walking about without stockings and shoes. Just because we are here amongst,” he paused significantly, “the clan, we are still of the sphere and as such, we should cleave to our own ways.”
Clara rolled her eyes. Things had irrevocably changed between she and Charles. Edwin had been introduced as suitor and Matthew was back as a romantic feature. Charles was not going to court her.
It had never been an option. Even if she had not been bound to wed with one of the Band, she felt naught but friendship for Charles. That he took out feelings she could not change against her? Well, it worked against him. As he was doing now. Pecking at her like a misguided hen.
She sighed.
“You are queen. Queen's do not lounge about without their proper apparel on hand.” He crouched beside her as she wrote with a finger in the sand, ignoring his words. “Clara,” he said more softly, “I am meant to advise you. What has happened? You listen to reason no longer?”
“I have spent my whole life being reasonable and received nothing for my trouble but the back of a hand. I am now trying to live within greater constraints than I have ever known.” She lifted her head, her eyes like the angry sea at their feet. “But I am under threat for my safety no longer. And for that I am grateful. You would do well to remember what it was like but one year past. You dwell on things that are not important. Let us think on what is best for the kingdom, the clan we are now aligned with.”
She stood, brushing off her skirt, the sand clinging like greedy fingers. She bent at her knees and picked up her silk stockings and leather moccasins Rowenna had given her. She had taken them in trade with the Red Men. They were supple and beaded liberally, small colorful stones sparkled about the top. They looked strangely pretty and the comfort was unmatchable to anything she had ever worn. However, without the heel she was accustomed to, she was acutely aware of her height even more. Her lack thereof. That was the main difference she saw amongst her kin. They were all tall, strongly built people. None looked as frail as she.
She looked up at Charles and struggled to keep liking him. His manner had digressed into a pious mix of obnoxious bitter resentment.
“When do we depart from this place, Clara? And what is truly the plan with this one of the Band of Massachusetts? You do not care for him already?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Methinks she likes my company very much, sphere-dweller,” Edwin said, his approach muffled by the surf.
Clara smiled at Edwin. He was the opposite of Matthew, who was quiet and serious by nature. Edwin had a ready smile and an open heart. She liked him very much. She did not share the torrid history of battles and strife that bound Matthew and she so closely, but there was something about his readiness that was a compliment to her. She was unsure of where it would lead
.
Charles whirled around and scowled at the newcomer. That swine of a man, so dapper. Or so he thought, Charles fumed. Clara was so gullible as to think that any of the Band truly cared about her. Or understood how important her role was. They were so caught up on her select status they could not see her importance past the tip of their own noses.
“And what, pray tell, do you need of her right now?”
“Her company, of course,” Edwin said, giving Clara a large grin. She grinned back. He was exactly what she needed after the dour interlude with Charles.
He moved past Charles and held out his arm and she placed hers in the crook of it. Charles huffed and strode off in the opposite direction.
They walked for a time on the beach and then Edwin led her to a piece of driftwood where she sat and rubbed her bare feet free of as much sand as she could. She hesitated in putting her stockings on in front of him. They were long and much of her leg would be visible to him. Already his eyes were on her feet like a caress.
Mayhap Charles had some small point, she deliberated. No matter, she would never give him the validity of knowing she may agree with him. Instead she slipped on the moccasins without the stockings. She would don them later.
Edwin smiled. A modest female. He intuited exactly why she did not wish to put the stockings back on but said nothing. Their culture had significant differences. Edwin liked Clara, he had grown accustomed to her sharp mind. And for one from such a cloistered upbringing she was surprisingly independent. He had carefully learned of her entanglement within the fragment and Matthew's timely rescue and protection of her. He was yet to decide if she was attached to him by way of gratefulness or by a deeper emotion.
Mayhap she loved him.
He sensed a deep part of her story that lay beneath the surface that she had not yet relayed. He had been about finding out. He had finally made acquaintance with the woman that she was closest to, Sarah.
The Savage Blood (Savage Series, Book 2) Page 16
