Moreya stirred slightly, enough to gaze up into his face. "You said you would reveal the mysteries. This is the rite that makes us lifemates?"
"Yes. Will you draw my blood?"
"It is required to form the bond?" He nodded. "And if I would refuse to hurt you?"
He sat on the mattress. "Long ago the warriors of our clans were much more animalistic than today. Over time the elders realized nature had designed inequity between the genders. A woman is much bloodied in mating and childbearing. She voids blood in cycles like the phases of the moons. Yet there was never bloodletting or pain for men."
Moreya shrugged. "It is so for all human races."
"But with the disparity in their the bonding, males did not feel compelled to defend their mates or offspring. Females alone could not always protect and defend as well as provide sustenance. The Wise Ones devised rituals that unite us more fairly. Now it is Waniand code that both male and female must shed blood. Both are present during birthing and rearing of children. Only by adherence to the rituals can our race survive. I am trueblooded because both my parents were Waniand blood. My get will not be truebloods. They will be part Yune and part Glacian, as you are. But I would rear them in the ancient ways."
Moreya could feel an odd tingling in her nipples, a warm spreading throughout her body. "You see the effect of the bond?" he asked quietly. "To speak of such things already has the ability to arouse your flesh. You have only to guide my hand and apply your lips to the cut. It is quick. Painless. How many times have I known the bite of bigger blades? I cannot count them. You will not harm me, but give me joy. I wish to share my blood with you."
She moaned and fell back onto the mattress. She felt as though his hands were everywhere, teasing and inciting her to wickedness. Delightful pleasure. "I'm not certain I can hold...steady," she panted, flushing.
"Ah."
He skillfully used his mouth on her breasts to bring her to a climax. As soon as her breathing slowed, he stood before her, eyes closed. He extended his arm, his razor firmly clutched in his fingers, and whispered for her to place her hand on his.
She did, and watched in horrified fascination as together they nicked his manhood low near its base. Moreya did not even think. She leaned forward to suck at the redness even as it formed before her eyes. A moment later, Preece had pulled her into a passionate embrace and fiery kiss.
Before she'd caught her breath, he turned her within his arms, bent her over the edge of the bed and thrust himself deep within her once more.
"Say the words I taught you. You must speak the phrase and my sacred name now."
"Yes, Kaelan." The mystical phrase came to her mind effortlessly.
How many times and ways they joined that night, Moreya could not remember by the time she finally collapsed onto her pillow. She was utterly exhausted, sore in places she wouldn't mention even to Glaryd, and reveling in a newfound sense of peace and power.
Lifemated to a Waniand.
It was more exhilarating than soaring with dragons.
She was roused by loud rapping at their door. "Preece!" It was Lockram's voice and fist. "Sieffre's back. He says the roadway is passable, though slogged yet. We should depart."
Moreya glanced around in confusion. She was alone. Preece unbolted the door and exited into the hallway. He'd been fully dressed, left without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
He's worried.
Odd how she knew that without hearing him say a word, without seeing his face. But as she sat upright and discovered the tenderness between her legs, everything came back to her. The way he'd mounted her repeatedly in the rear-entry way of a forest animal. The intense, unbelievable pleasure. His hands on her dangling breasts, thick sac softly thudding against the sensitive flesh of her nether parts, penetration so deep and total, he'd plumbed to her very soul.
Gasping, Moreya fell against the pillows, overtaken yet again by a swift, sweet climax. Merely from reliving memories of their lifemating! Lord of all Lords, she'd never imagined anything like this.
And if she'd harbored the tiniest lingering doubt she'd made the right choice in accepting Preece's offer to sail away from Greensward instead of wedding its prince regent, she doubted no more. Velansare would never have given her a tenth of the pleasure she wallowed in now.
And the thought of what else Preece would give her, children spawned by such intense couplings...
"You cannot lay abed all day entertaining such wicked thoughts," came a deep voice as Preece suddenly returned. He grinned at her and slammed the chamber door shut behind him. "I nearly embarrassed myself out in the stable and was hobbled until I realized the source of my problem. My lifemate is yet in need of another good bedding."
He grinned. He stripped. Oh Good Creator, how she did love the sight of him. And the feel of him inside her, deep and throbbing.
But he did not tarry. He withdrew from her damp body and poured water from a pitcher into a basin. "No tub today, so wash quickly and have your maid help you pack. We leave for Zankarat within the hour. Sieffre and Dugan are preparing the pack horses. Lockram's belowstairs jesting at my...attentiveness."
Moreya had the grace to blush.
"Are you - oh, how foolish of me, of course, you would not know. You never lifemated before. So how long does your - I mean, how long will you be able to - "
"Tonight with certainty. Mayhap several more nights. But I will try to control my lust 'ere I cripple my sweet lifemate with my excesses." He'd donned his garments once more, and now crossed to the bed, pulling Moreya up and out of it, into his embrace. "You are sweet. A little purple jewel, all glister and warmth, which tastes like the veriest fruits of high summer. If your spigots truly gave the juice they remind me of, we could bottle it and monger it as potent Yune wine."
Moreya suspected she might have fainted, had he not been holding her close. Preece had both jested and offered a flowery tribute to her. Like some poet or jongleur.
He was different today.
As she herself was, she reflected after he left her to dress and pack her things. Mayhap they would each take on part of the other's qualities. In which case, it might be possible for Preece to one day understand and feel affection, just as she did.
There was a notion, she considered again, as the long day of traveling dragged on with one frustrating problem after the another.
Preece normally would have cursed and broken something by now. He was churlish and abrupt as ever, but his voice seemed a little softer. Or maybe it was her own foolish imagination that she read warmth and something indefinable in his eyes when he happened to glance her way.
She turned her attention back to straightening her skirts and returned to the coach. Everyone had rested long enough. They were sorely behind schedule.
Lockram's mount had balked and behaved oddly until they discovered a pebble under his saddle. Sieffre had become confused and pointed out the wrong fork in the road, costing them over an hour as they backtracked. Then the young knight had collapsed and slid from his saddle into a puddle of mud.
Preece at last gave up and declared they'd camp out of doors that night and press on in the morning. Glaryd tended Sieffre while Lockram and Dugan built a small fire. Moreya studied Preece's grim face when he approached the coach. As usual, she dared not leave it to risk joining the others at the campfire. Not until it was full dark.
"Lockram and I were nigh fed up with all this foolery today. Either of us might have bashed Sieffre in the skull. His faint saved us the effort."
"That's unkind, Preece. You know he was wounded. You should have sent one of the others to bargain for our passage. Sieffre rode in poor weather and has likely overtaxed himself."
"The lad rode on a simple errand, to deliver a message and hie back. Dugan is too easily tempted by ale kegs to entrust such a task to him. If we encountered another ambush, I wanted Lockram's blade at the ready. Mayhap I should have gone myself, but I was not wont to leave you. And you knew it, preyed upon my weakness, and wed
me."
He'd all but growled his words, yet it was a sweet confession. She smiled. "You'll join me in the coach?"
"Not initially. I'm taking first watch. Later." His arm shot out and wrapped around her waist, pulling her close against him. "But don't expect me to mount you again."
Her eyes widened. "Done already? But you said - "
"I can and I would, but I watched you back behind the trees. You're wincing and sore, and too stubborn to admit as much."
"But I must learn to cope with a rutting warrior, must I not? You will have several seasons each year. I must become accustomed to them."
"In time. Tonight I'll share with you different pleasures."
Those last words kept her awake, waiting in the darkness, clad only in her thinnest shift. It seemed forever before she felt the coach shift as someone mounted its steps and a faint rap sounded against the door. "Moreya."
She admitted her husband and lifemate, shivered with anticipation as he undressed himself and peeled away her gown, kissed him with fervor when his lips sought hers.
Hours later he lay asleep beside her on the floor of the coach and Moreya was still reeling from his demonstrations of what he could do with those angelic lips and that devilish tongue of his. She'd protested at one point that she was certain she would die of pleasure if he suckled a moment longer on her nipples.
He replied that it also was part of his duty, another sacred ritual. He must work to prepare her body for childbearing. He would frequently stretch her nipples and suckle, massage her stomach muscles, stroke intimately between her legs.
Then he said the strangest thing.
That he was fascinated by the fur growing there. "Do not all women grown have a thatch of hair at the top of their thighs?" she asked.
"Aye, but the texture is much different. Coiled and not nearly so soft. Yours is like a luxurious pelt. As rich and shiny as the tresses growing from your scalp. And this is different, he informed her, pressing slightly at her most sensitive flesh. "Your pleasure seems heightened due to its increased size."
"How many have you measured?" she demanded, peevish of a sudden.
"You see what I meant about faithlessness?" he whispered, sliding his bare body against hers. "You grow jealous at the thought of me gazing upon the attributes of other females. I warned you I'd not abide you speculating about other men."
"I am not jealous," she argued. "Merely curious. How can you be certain I'm formed any differently than - "
"Trust me, lifemate. Indeed you are. And no dead bat's hindquarters could have spared me from being enraptured once I discovered it. 'Tis still hard to accept that I could have won and wed a Yune," he yawned.
"Or that I'm married to the Royal Blade, the dark knight who never let himself be seen without his cowl because he was so horribly misshapen and ugly." She laughed and snuggled against his chest. His broad, smooth, perfectly wonderful chest. "If only my father could see me now."
But Preece did not hear her jest, for he was dead asleep.
She awakened hours later to find the camp stirring, the sun up, and preparations underway for the final trek to Zankarat.
She felt a welcome mix of nervous apprehension and excitement at the thought of what awaited them there: the harbor, crew, and the vessel that would sail them Ataraxia to begin their new life.
Her life in the sun.
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Moreya had barely spoken to Preece the rest of the day. She didn't need an explanation for that. He'd already given her one. He was trying to rein in his constant lust and likely avoided her deliberately. He'd pushed them at a relentless pace in an attempt to make up for time they'd lost yesterday. Finally they'd made the port town of Zankarat in the late afternoon.
They boarded the vessel purchased with her terrestar. It was not large, but seemed seaworthy - though, in truth, Moreya had no criteria on which to judge a ship's merit. She'd never seen the ocean afore today. It was awesomely vast.
Preece had instructed Sieffre to hire a man known by reputation as a decent captain, and he, in turn, hired a crew. Zarankat bustled with activity. Everywhere Moreya looked were seafarers and merchants, wainwrights, carpenters, wagons and carts.
Once the tide turned at midday on the morrow, the ship would set sail across the Great Seas, making for the warm waters and shining sand of Ataraxia.
For tonight, though, Moreya was restless. She'd left a single candle burning in the master's cabin, where she and Preece would reside until reaching the distant shores. She'd raided her bridal trunks, wearied as she'd become of donning the same few traveling shifts and gowns.
And she was a new bride, in truth, though not the royal princess her new garments had been designed for. Still, she wanted to witness Preece's reaction to her wearing a more traditional Yune design. This was something her own mother might have worn.
Preece stepped inside the cabin and froze. His gaze swept her length, then slowly rose. "You'll not wear that again until we reach Ataraxia. If you've others so fine and similarly sewn, leave them in your trunks. Every man aboard will fall prey to your attraction in such garb. If you force me to slay the crew, who'll sail this damned tub?"
She would have laughed if he'd smiled. His talk of mayhem was no jest.
"Preece, you are horrid. I wore this to please you, yet you mislike it."
"Kaelan," he corrected softly. "I do like the gown. Too well. I can view your every treasure right through the cloth." He moved forward, staring at her breasts, which began to ache and tingle.
Moreya felt a surge of dampness between her thighs. She'd worn the filmy gown hoping to arouse Preece, but she was aroused, as well. As if he'd kissed and caressed her instead of staring at her and chastising her. How odd.
She reached up and released the tie at her shoulder. The gown dropped to the floor. Preece blew out a breath to extinguish the candle, swept her into his arms and deposited her on the bunk. He stripped away his garments and joined her. She sensed his hunger and need, his struggle to control them, the moment he correctly read her willing capitulation and he surrendered control.
She knew the heated looks he gave her, the way he did not speak in words, but immediately kissed and held her when they were again alone stemmed from the fact he was in rut. She also knew his cycle could not last more than another few days. She hated wasting even an hour of precious time.
She yearned for him to plant a child within her. She had ever wanted a family, but this was not the same desire at all. This was an imperative, which she realized had come from Preece himself. He'd told her more than once that Waniands lived mainly to procreate.
So she had been altered with the formation of their lifebond, become attuned to the arcane ways of Waniands.
And yet she also accepted that she had come to love him in the way of Yunes.
Did he now understand her without words, too? Did he know she harbored such a powerful, tender feeling? He'd had a savage mistrust of marriage and she'd fretted that he would never accept her vows as...of course he wouldn't. She regarded her vows as sacrosanct. To break faith in her pledge would be to break faith with the Creator Himself. She would never think of committing such a sin.
But she now understood that in the Waniand code, thought was immaterial.
As if reacting to her troubled musings, Preece murmured in his sleep and curled his naked body around hers protectively.
She settled close against his heartbeat, let herself be lulled into drowsiness by it, and told herself to be patient. As her father had oft repeated, time helped in coming to an understanding of other customs and ways. One taste of Waniand blood and one archaic ritual did not make her any less Glacian or Yune. They had the rest of their natural lives to learn a feasible way to accommodate their cultural differences. An ambassador's daughter should find it easier than most.
"Moreya."
Her name was spoken in the merest hiss. Her ears barely caught the sound, but her mind had already sensed urgency and strugg
led to consciousness. She opened her eyes. The cabin was flooded with daylight and Preece approached the door, still naked, but his broadsword hilt was gripped tightly in his hand.
A commotion of some kind had broken out on the decks above their heads.
"What is it?"
The door crashed open before Preece reached it. Guards armed with swords and lances surged into the doorway. "Preece the Warmonger, you are under arrest by joint order of Queen Vela and King Cronel of Glacia. The charge is treason. Lady Fa Yune, you are to be taken into custody until the royal tribunal."
Preece relinquished his weapon. "She's innocent of any wrongdoing. I abducted her. You saw my glaive. I locked her in the cabin and forced her into my bed. I am in rutting season." The men glanced at his swollen erection. "Lady Fa Yune gave herself to me under duress."
Moreya dragged the sheet up to cover herself. "Nay, I came willingly. We are man and wife."
Preece spoke to the soldier brandishing the warrant. "I would speak to your queen's chancellor or reeve. I have that right under the laws of the either realm. Take me to whomever can get a message to Queen Vela."
Moreya realized she'd heard Preece tell a deliberate falsehood. Apparently Waniands were able to speak mistruths, after all. Too bad he'd wasted his breath with this one. She would not allow him to lie to protect her.
"You'll be given a chance to speak at the tribunal," the guard answered. Preece and Moreya hurriedly dressed. "The queen and prince regent arrive tomorrow. King Cronel is en route even as we speak. Take them," he barked at two of his comrades.
As Moreya passed the guard and started up the steps to the main deck, she heard the soldier grumble, "I hope for your sake you are not truly wed to this traitor. You're accounted to be the future bride of Prince Velansare."
Moreya did not bother to turn around. "Why don't you wed him in my place? He'd much prefer you, anyway."
Biondine, Shannah Page 11
