The feathers on his head had trembled when he had uttered a cry. For battle or in alarm, Raymond would never know. What he did comprehend was that there were more than just Savages who roamed Outside.
It made him think again of the Guardians. It also caused his thoughts to land with a leaden weight on one word: premeditation. He felt much of what they were smacked of that.
*
“I am not comfortable, Harland,” Rowenna said softly. The very thing she had dreamed of being allowed to know, but for a moment in time was at hand. She was choking on the reality of it. She had not had sufficient time to mentally prepare for this. Rowenna was overwhelmed by nothing, yet in this, she was drowning in her own emotional soup.
Harland said nothing, making small circles on her forearm instead. Rowenna would have to decide. It would do no good to remind her that ten minutes past she had agreed with quiet decisiveness. Now that the event was here, she was choking up.
Finally, those petal-colored eyes rose and met his. So large in life and battle, she was a wee thing before him. Though she was not yet ten and six and he was ten and nine, there was a maturity within her that even if Rowenna did not recognize, Harland had.
He did.
Harland cupped her chin, stroking it softly. “You can refuse it.”
She dipped her forehead onto his chest and his hand rested on the back of her head. “Raymond is right, I love Rolland, he is a male of honor of the Band, However, my heart beats for only you.” Her eyes locked with his. “If I lay with you, and I love you,” he could hear the click of her throat as she swallowed over her nervousness, “then our child will be with Raymond, safe and unharmed. And someday I shall see he or she again.”
“What if the Travelers retaliate?” Harland asked softly.
“If we do this, they shall not be the wiser.”
Harland looked into her deep eyes, noting many things inside them. “I could never have shared you with anyone... had you been mine.”
Rowenna gazed at him for a time then finally said, “I am yours.”
They did not speak after her declaration. Instead the two of the clan walked hand in hand to the large bed that had been arranged for a union with a different male.
Harland took Rowenna in his arms and tucked her body in against his own, just holding her. He inhaled deeply of the scent that was uniquely hers, the sea and wildness captured.
Rowenna was lost the instant he touched her, the heat between them surely would have manifested during the Rite.
If he had been allowed to partake.
Rowenna shared her body with the male her heart had chosen long ago and he shared his soul with her, opening himself up, though he knew the consequence. He could never mate with Rowenna. He would be forever relegated to love her from afar.
Yet, in this stolen moment of time, they loved as if the morrow would not come, the sun would not rise, nor the moon.
Harland loved her now, consuming their time together like the precious gift it was. In the darkness of the cave his body showed her what no words he could have spoken ever could.
When their passion had quieted she lay within the cradle of his arms, their heartbeats and breath syncing in satisfying unity. “Thank you,” Rowenna said, her tears dampening his arm she had used as a pillow.
Harland turned Rowenna inside the crook of his arm. “It is I who should thank you.” His massive hands cradled her face gently, savoring her nearness, searching her eyes. “For you have shown me love, however brief.”
Rowenna pressed her fingers against his lips to silence words that would rob their time.
Then Harland held her as if she were the only solid thing in his world and Rowenna clung to him, never wanting their time to end.
Their love.
Chapter 7
Fate intercedes.
Raymond came.
Harland and Rowenna joined and... Rolland returned.
And with it, the sickness began with Rowenna and she knew, as all women do, that she was with child.
When her belly began to grow she and Raymond met in the glade where the yawning mouth of the tear in space and time hung suspended above them. The mighty pull was at their backs as Raymond made his solemn promise to return after the months prepared her for the birth of the child.
Rowenna mourned for she knew that each day she carried the child within her body... she loved it more.
Harland's eyes followed her, as did Rolland's, each for different reasons. Rolland's were suspicious yet he remained attentive. Harland could barely keep his feelings out of his expression, Rowenna's body swelling with their child, the proof of their forbidden love before him each day.
Then there were the rumors of another threat, making the entire Band edgy with barely contained unease. The Fragment were not the only danger.
The Clan of Cape Cod and that of the greater Massachusetts was nearly a generation away from a treaty with the Red Man. It would transpire but in these uncertain times, they were considered and enigmatic group of painted faces, stealth and an innate sense of the land that was almost bordering on latent witchcraft. They called to the earth with their traditions and she gave uncanny answers in return.
The pivotal battle that would ensue would cause an alliance. However, at this juncture the Band considered the lithe warriors with feather headdresses to bear watching. They tightened their security on the small amount of females with great concern.
Especially Rowenna, her belly swelling with a cargo all considered precious.
Though some made it known they thought less of her, even knowing of her sacrifice. Rowenna's day of birth celebration came and went, her unborn child the real celebration, checked before it began because she must give it up.
There was nothing to be done.
She was not the only female who was expecting. There was one other. At every opportunity she rubbed salt in Rowenna's wound of grief that it was she who was well and properly mated.
Her name was Beatrice. She had always hated Rowenna, disdain clear in her voice when she made jest of Rowenna's desire to fight with the Band as they grew up in the same tight circle of diminished female numbers.
Of course, it might stem from her being a mixed-blood select. Had Beatrice known how little Rowenna thought of her own full-blood status she might have felt better about her own position. As it were, she did not know and whispered whore when Rowenna was near, not loud enough to call attention to her behavior, just loud enough for Rowenna to capture her words like crushed glass which abraded the tender emotions Rowenna kept in check. It caused Rowenna to tear and bleed inside her already shredded emotional psyche. It did not cause a fatal wound but one which bled slowly.
When Beatrice sauntered by and whispered the insult for the fiftieth time Rowenna had had enough.
It was at that exact moment of realization that something snapped inside of Rowenna and she drew her hand back and caught the jaw of Beatrice with breakneck speed. She checked her swing at the last moment for Rowenna knew how deadly she could be, though Beatrice apparently did not. With the males of the Band Rowenna could give them everything she could deliver. With another female she could kill with her strikes.
Oh how she itched to do so now.
Beatrice stumbled, clasping her wounded jaw, her fair skin lighting with a flame of red where Rowenna had hit her. “You imbecilic whore,” Beatrice whispered as the males of the Band came, their eyes on the pregnant women, one who showed and the other who did not. Rowenna did not move as though she were pregnant. With warrior's grace, her body compensated for her forward girth. She was utterly Band and she watched Beatrice scowl at her with murderous eyes through a quickly bruising face.
Harland saw Rowenna slap Beatrice and he held his smile with an effort. How many times had he held Rowenna when she had dampened his tunic with tears of frustration? There were always those who did not understand the sacrifice she made for all.
A frown creased the flesh between his eyes as he thought of the ramifications
if they were to know whose child she actually carried. Harland knew it would be his death. For she was a premier select and as such, she could only be mated with one of his pure-blood brothers of the Band.
Whether they be worthy or no.
“Do not call me names that do not apply!” Rowenna yelled in her face, slender arm wrapped protectively against her swollen belly as Rolland made haste to stand behind her and another male of the Band took Beatrice against himself.
“What say you, Rowenna?” Jared asked. His eyes pegged the female who had struck his mate, her eyes like violets ablaze. Rowenna could see that had she been male she would have felt the back of his hand or more.
Rowenna felt her lip tremble and caught it between her teeth and bit down until she tasted copper. She would not let that bitch bring the salt of her tears.
Protocol inserted itself where usually it was absent. “Your mate calls me whore at every turn,” Rowenna answered him, crossing her arms underneath her large bosom, feeling utterly ungraceful. Yet, she had not done so badly when she had been fueled by anger at this wretched female.
There, let her just try to wiggle out of her malicious behavior, Rowenna decided.
Beatrice gave a great bray of laughter, putting on the expression of hurt female like a false cloak and Rowenna could feel both Rolland and, to much greater extent, Harland at her back.
“I say no such things,” she lied. “You are wild and untamed.” Beatrice threw her hand out to encompass the entire Band who had gathered. “What other female unsexes herself to fight as Band,” she scoffed and the males remained silent. It had been vaguely acceptable when Rowenna was a girl. Now her belly lay large with child and the proof of her gender was too glaringly obvious for even her to deny.
“So you take exception to me because I choose the role of traditional female?” Beatrice posed the question as she shrugged off the hands of her mate and began to circle Rowenna. Rowenna turned as Beatrice did, keeping herself aware of Beatrice at all times, her belly only slightly rounded, she was not near so far gone as Rowenna.
“You are neither truly female or male, a foot in both worlds, a part of none...” Beatrice trilled with venomous spite lacing every syllable she spit out like well-timed barbs.
“That is enough, Bea,” Jared said.
“It is not near enough,” Beatrice seethed, her hatred for Rowenna in her eyes, in the tension which sang through her body. “She of the purest select, couples with a male of the sphere, spreading her knees to carry his seed,” she said, her fist punching her open palm in a meaty thwack to punctuate her point and Rowenna felt Rolland flinch and was more embarrassed than she had ever been. For she knew the truth and it be worse than the lie.
Harland surprised all when he came forward, his fists clenched and every male of the Band tensed when the new half-blood sentry came at the female, a pregnant female at that. She drew back as he came nearer, his forward steps matching her backward, Jared following Harland if he should actually think that which his physicality threatened.
“You will not speak to Rowenna that way,” he said in a low voice of rage.
“Harland,” Rowenna said in warning.
They ignored her, Beatrice and Harland's gazes locked in a torturous staring contest. Finally, with Jared at her elbow, his hands at the ready if Harland struck, her lips twitched. “You pant after the select whore like another dog in the pack.” Her eyes shifted to Rolland and she gave another barking laugh, sounding very much like the dog she had just referenced. “It is no matter Harland, take heart. When she has finished with the weak male of the sphere, she may give you a mercy rut.”
She flicked a stray hair back and Rowenna used a speed she did not realize she possessed to grab at a wrist the size of her upper forearm.
She reached Harland before Jared, staying his hand before he did something irrevocable.
“Do not, my friend,” Rowenna said, her small emphasis on that last word sinking into his skull. Harland had lost possession of rational, all he could think of was that this horrible female was goading Rowenna. Her hurting Rowenna had been untenable for him. Harland had acted before he knew he was moving.
Harland gave a disgusted sigh and turned to Jared. “My apologies.”
“Accepted,” Jared said, though caution lingered in his eyes.
He shook his head, seeing Jared had misunderstood him. “Not for the violence that was halted between myself and your mate. But that she is yours. I would not wish that on mine enemy.”
There was a gasp from Beatrice and she shrilled, “Will you not do something? To redeem my honor, Jared?”
Jared thought on it, Rowenna could see the finely greased wheels of his mind turning over the last twenty minutes past. His eyes rested on Rowenna and a slide of memories of their years together floated through the streaming visions in his mind.
“Nay, you have well and truly been unkind to Rowenna.”
Beatrice stomped her foot on the seagrass that drove up the bank from the ocean that was just beyond the clan perimeter and it crunched under her instep. “I shall be vindicated!” she shrieked and all were silent.
“What?” she said, looking to each member of the Band. “Is it because of the way she looks with her hair the color of wheat? Her eyes the color of the faded violets of the summer?” Her eyes narrowed on Rowenna. “I hate you,” she said with a voice of true conviction.
Rowenna gazed back at Beatrice, watching as her handprint faded on Beatrice's face and answered, “I know.”
“This is not over,” Beatrice promised.
“It is over,” Jared said, leading his mate away and beginning to soothe the tirade that was Beatrice.
Of course, it was not over.
Harland's shoulders relaxed as they left. “I am sorry,” he said.
“It is fine,” Rowenna answered but she saw the look that Rolland gave them and knew that what Harland had done had been noted by the man she would mate with after the birth.
Rolland's eyes fell to the protective hand that Harland laid on the tender small of her back as they walked away and fell into uneasy steps with one another.
*
Ada gulped the rest of her wine from the deeply etched brass goblet and set it sharply upon the table and Raymond looked up at her. That was generally her signal that she wished for more of the cups.
He sighed as she shifted the prosthetic that feigned a pregnancy she was not having. Raymond knew exactly when Rowenna would have the wee child and could not wait for that part of their obligation to be over. He had nothing but respect and a sense of kinship with Rowenna as the months of their acquaintance had come to pass. She had been the untamed and ultimately, unclaimed Savage beauty who was entrusting him with the care of her beloved child. Raymond had the queerest sense of ownership for the unborn babe. He had already determined that the Wedded Joining of himself and Ada could be a farce if it served the dim purpose of unity of the spheres and the progress of what the Guardians wished for that may or may not come to fruition. Raymond thought on the last days with his uncle, of what they had discussed behind the wooden doors of his chamber before his passing two months prior.
“Come, my nephew,” King Ferrell said.
Raymond came willingly to his uncle, lifting the paper thin hand, he laid a gentle kiss upon skin that slid with the slightest pressure.
It would not be long now, Raymond thought. Raymond was not yet aware that it was but moments more.
“I will not suffer with pleasantries this day.” The King's eyes bore holes from their sunken position on a face grown gaunt from his tenuous hold on this life.
Raymond nodded, time was precious.
“Is the Savage girl with child?”
“Aye,” Raymond replied, the partial lie lay on the back of his tongue like the powdered medicine the Doctor gave for pain in the head. Bitter.
King Ferrell gave a deep sigh of relief and closed his eyes, his duty to his Kingdom come to completion. For he saw the Guardians from a perspective that
Raymond no longer shared. Their motivations were dubious at best.
Sinister at worse.
Peter stepped forward out of the shadows, the ones in his eyes deeper still. “Has he gone the way of the Guardian?” he asked.
Raymond let the scalding tears run down his face without shame, he had never felt so alone, or so without hope.
Reaching forward, he answered Peter's question by brushing his uncle's eyelids with gentle fingers. They swept down and King Ferrell looked at the interior of the sphere no more.
Raymond was jolted back into the present when Ada cut through his thoughts with her sharp blade of a voice. “What do you ponder, oh King?” she asked sarcastically, tapping the table with the base of the brass goblet.
A servant approached shyly, for she was very well aware of the new Queen's tirades.
They were legion.
They were already becoming legend.
“I want a proper vessel for my grapes,” she hissed and the servant girl snatched the goblet of brass from the table and asked in the softest voice she could and still be heard, “What does her majesty desire?”
“Crystal, foolish girl. It be of a lighter constitution. I need not break my wrist rising the cup to my lips.”
“Ada,” King Raymond warned and she gave him a sharp look.
She huffed, turning back to the servant girl. “Please,” she added with miserable reluctance. Even the simplest of courtesies were lost on Ada.
“Yes, Queen Ada, right away.” She scuttled away in fear, hoping her escape was not noticed
“Good Guardian, your servants are even more daft than my own, if possible.”
Raymond gave a small smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “You are just mad with lust for you can no longer be with your suitors due to your presumed condition, my dear Queen.”
She gave a smile at him which closely resembled a snarl.
“Go be with your whore of a Savage, Raymond,” she replied as answer, dismissing him.
The Savage Principle Page 7
