“That I want to make love to my wife?” He finished for her with a grin. He tightened his grip to keep her from pulling her hand free. “They’re right.” He answered softly. “I want to hold you, kiss, and make love to you all night.” His heart thudded painfully when she stiffened at his side. Turning to face her, JarDan stared into her closed expression. With his free hand, he smoothed the wisps of hair stirred by the evening breeze and told himself it didn’t matter when she flinched at his touch. But it did.
“You’re not ready for that kind of relationship with me, are you?” It was an unnecessary question and since he didn’t expect an answer, her silence didn’t surprise him.
Cupping her face in his palm, he lifted her head until she was looking at him. When he saw confusion and not fear, he wanted to shout with joy.
“Will you tell me why you’re so upset about dinner?” He couldn’t hold back his grin when the confusion in her eyes turned to surprise. Good. If he kept her off guard she couldn’t build any more walls between them. When she tried to look away, he wouldn’t allow it. “No. There’s no one here except you and me. Don’t hide from me, Melodie.” JarDan pleaded softly.
“I can’t talk when you look at me like that.” She sounded annoyed.
“Like what?” He asked, feeling his grin widen. His fingers gently stroked the tender flesh of her neck while his thumb brushed the side of her face.
“Like you’re a starving man and I’m the food.”
JarDan groaned at the erotic memories her innocent remark brought to life. He knew the taste of her skin, the unique flavor of the very heart of her and he ached with the need for more. With a final stroke of her hair, he released her. To continue touching her was to invite disaster. He wanted her willing -- eager -- to come to his bed.
With every step she took down the cobbled path, her gown brushed against the dew-laden blossoms, releasing their heady perfume into the night. How could his father come here so often? This place pulled at the very fiber of his desire.
“Can I ask you a question?” Melodie’s quiet voice brought him back to attention.
“Anything.” He answered truthfully.
She stopped and began to trace the petals of a blossom with her fingertip. She fidgets when she’s nervous. JarDan filed that information away for future examination.
“Do you really dress like this all the time?”
“Yes.” He said glancing at his tunic and boots.
“Why?” She demanded, turning to look at him in the moonlight. “You didn’t look like Robin Hood on the space ship. Everyone there dressed like … like you’d imagine space men to dress. This,” she indicated the garden and castle with a sweep of her hand, “is like living in a fairy tale.”
She paced back and forth for several seconds and JarDan knew she was gathering her ammunition for another salvo. She was working herself up to a full-blown confrontation and he loved every minute of it. If she could get past her fear enough to argue with him -- to openly confront him -- then he was making definite progress.
“One minute I’m a farmer. Then -- ZAP! -- I’m in a space ship headed for God knows where. Now I’ve zigzagged back through a time warp expecting any minute to see knights fighting dragons or capturing unicorns or something.”
She stopped beneath the overhanging branches of a willow tree and wrapped her arms around her waist before turning to confront him.
“In all those tapes you recorded there wasn’t one word -- not one -- about this.” She swept the area with a wide arc of her arm. “I’ve never worn a long dress or been to a dance or had dinner with so many people -- unless you count eating a hot dog at the county fair. You don’t dress yourself or wash yourself or …”
She turned her back to him and JarDan had to step close behind her to hear her whisper.
“You should have told me how to greet a king. You should have told me.”
He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. Now he understood, at least he was beginning to.
“I’m sorry, Melodie.” He whispered softly against her ear. “My lifestyle is so common to me that I didn’t think to mention it.” He rubbed his cheek against the softness of her hair, willing her to accept him and relax in his embrace. When she turned in his arms, JarDan’s hands tangled in the thick mantle of hair.
“We once lived in a very different manner.” JarDan continued to hold her in his arms. He carefully kept his embrace loose enough not to frighten her, but tight enough to satisfy his need to touch his mate. “When the plague was first discovered, the Tribunal and the Council of Elders … over-reacted. All efforts to find the origin of the virus were fruitless.
“After testing and discarding every possible organic host, the Council admitted that we were doomed. In their panic, they concluded that this was a sign from the Ancients that we were too far from the lifestyle outlined in the Archives.
“It took fifty years, but they dismantled and disposed of every mechanical device on the planet. At least they showed some measure of common sense by allowing the MediCenter to progress unchallenged. And, of course, the space program.
“Every male above the age of fifteen voted on which of three prior periods in time the Oracles deemed more in keeping with the Archives of the Ancients. This you see now is the result of a decision made two hundred centuries ago.”
“Why didn’t the women get a vote?”
Melodie’s curiosity brought a smile to his face.
“There were less than one hundred women left on Anderas by this time,” he explained. “The Council knew they would all be dead before all the changes were made.”
“If the women voted, you can bet they wouldn’t have given up washing machines, dishwashers and vacuum cleaners,” Melodie snorted against his shirt.
Chuckling softly, JarDan increased the pressure of his arms, bringing her closer. “This didn’t happen overnight, my love. It took another hundred years or so to alter the lifestyle of an entire planet. More and more changes were necessary to help the women adjust to their new life. This didn’t just affect Falcon Tor, Melodie. The Tribunal changed an entire world.”
“I don’t belong here, JarDan,” she whispered, her gaze locking with his. “I know how to plant corn and milk cows and pray for rain when it’s hot and sun when it’s wet. I don’t know how to be a princess or what to say to a king. I want to go home.” The tears from earlier now slid silently down her face. “Please,” she begged, “let me go home.”
The pain in his chest threatened to choke him. Closing his eyes to her distress, all he could do was hold her closer and shake his head.
“I can’t.” He finally managed to squeeze past the lump in his throat.
When she pushed against his chest, he released her. When she turned without a word and headed back to the castle, he let her go.
Chapter Ten
Melodie walked alone through the garden. It had been a week since her confrontation with JarDan here amid the splendid array of blossoms. Every day was a repeat of the one past. She spent her days wandering through the castle or the garden, looking for something to do -- something ArDell would allow her to do. While waiting for an opportunity to see King Zeth, she looked for a common bond with the other women of the village and tried to avoid Tiana.
Now there was a piece of work if ever she saw one. Jealousy would explain her hostile attitude. If Tiana only knew the truth! The others in the castle treated Tiana like a child and more or less ignored her veiled comments. But when the two of them were alone -- when no one but Melodie could hear -- her true nature came out.
Just this morning, while sitting alone with her breakfast of strong tea and sweet breads, Tiana sought her out.
“I see JarDan has abandoned you again.” Tiana said, low enough not to alert the dozen or so men and women scrubbing the stone floor of the hall.
“Good morning, Tiana.” Melodie continued picking the raisins from her roll. She knew the best way to avoid a verbal battle of opinio
ns was to ignore the bait.
“Before you came he always had his morning meal with me. Now he eats with his men.”
When a woman approached their table with Tiana’s tray, the spiteful brat disappeared in an instant. The smile she offered the servant was warm and open and friendly.
“Good morning, Elsa. How is your mother?”
“Much better, Lady Tiana. Thank you for asking. That shawl you sent to her is just the thing to keep her joints from aching so bad.”
“It was little enough and I was happy to do it. You give her my regards.”
The change in Tiana amazed Melodie. Maybe she wasn’t as spoiled as Melodie thought. Someone who cared that much about others had to have a warm heart. Was it possible that the problem wasn’t Tiana? She wanted to go home. Was her resentment coloring her perceptions of Tiana?
“Her old crone of a mother caught me sneaking out of the castle one night and threatened to tell Zeth. The stupid witch was easy enough to buy off with a cheap, wool shawl.”
So much for warmhearted compassion.
Melodie sipped her tea, fighting the urge to defend the old woman. She would give a lot more than a wool shawl to know just where Tiana was going.
“Everyone is wondering why he bonded with you. I mean, you’re so … different.” She took a delicate bite of the pastry.
Leave it to Tiana to shoot straight to the heart.
“You’ll never make a proper queen. It takes years of grooming and training to prepare you to rule. I’m the one raised for the position. Everyone knew JarDan was just waiting for his thirty-fifth birthday to make it official. You’ve ruined everything -- for now.” She paused long enough to refill her cup from the heavy silver teapot.
“It won’t last, you know. JarDan will realize his mistake and send you back to Earth where you belong. You’re not a princess. You’re too tall, too gauche. Why, you’re nothing more than a pig farmer.”
Although Tiana echoed her own thoughts and doubts, Melodie resented having them thrown in her face. When everyone was grooming Tiana to be queen, they should have taught her some basic manners. This rude, spiteful girl had everything handed to her. King Zeth pampered and adored her and anything she wanted was hers for the asking. She was beautiful, delicate, and graceful but consumed with envy. Surely she didn’t honestly believe JarDan would marry someone almost twenty years his junior?
“We raised corn and alfalfa, not pigs.” Melodie retorted calmly, refusing to give in to her baser instincts and return insult for insult. Everything Tiana said might be true, but Melodie would swallow her tongue before admitting it. There was a spark of defiant child deep inside her that wanted to yell oh, yeah? what do you know? But it wouldn’t change anything.
“Really?” Tiana made a rude examination of Melodie from head to toe. “You would think that much exercise would have taken a few pounds off. But then again, breeding always shows. Doesn’t it?”
Melodie finished her breakfast as fast as she could and sought the solitude of the garden. Here, at least, she could be herself.
The heady perfume of the roses blended with the smell of damp earth and freshly cut grass. So familiar were the warmth of the sun against her face and the kiss of the breeze that she doubled over with the pain of homesickness. She missed her grandfather so much. She was little more than a toddler when her parents died and she went to live with him. With very little money and even less education, he did his best to provide for a tiny orphan suddenly dumped in his lap. She’d once had dreams of going to college, but long before she finished high school, he was too old to run the farm alone. He never knew about the scholarship she’d turned down to take over the farm that had been in his family for over a hundred years. A farm she lost at public auction.
Sinking to the lush grass, she fought the tears burning her lids. If she allowed one tear to fall, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop. Tears would only make her eyes red and puffy and give Tiana something else to criticize about her.
Melodie focused on her tangible surroundings, pushing the memories away until she was strong enough to deal with them. This section of the garden was against the back wall of the inner bailey. The gardeners obviously didn’t think anyone came here often since the beds of roses hadn’t been as carefully maintained as those had closer to the castle. Weeds had already gained a substantial foothold and by the numbers of dead blossoms still clinging to the bushes, she knew they hadn’t culled them in weeks.
For the first time in a week she didn’t care about ruining the beautiful gowns provided for her. If she cost JarDan enough money in replacement gowns, maybe he’d send her home. Heedless of the grass staining her pale blue overdress, she crawled to the nearest bed. Here was something she knew how to do -- something that felt familiar -- felt right. With the single-minded determination of a zealot she began pulling weeds from around the multitude of hardy bushes.
JarDan found Melodie just before noon. She knelt on the soft grass, her gown hitched above her knees. Shapely calves and bare toes flexed with her movements. There was a substantial mound of weeds and dead flowers a few feet from where she worked. At some point she had wiped at the sweat glistening on her face, leaving a trail of dirt across her forehead. Her hands, caked in dirt and covered with scratches from the vicious thorns, pulled relentlessly at the offending plants. The pleasure shining on her face was as elemental as the ground where she sat.
Approaching on silent feet, he was reluctant to disturb her. Not since their remarkable night onboard the Destiny had he seen her with her guard down and he dreaded the return of the polite stranger she had become. He could combat her fears of him and his world -- those he reluctantly understood -her doubts about her own worthiness were alien to him. Did she truly not know how special she was?
Melodie was terrified of doing something she considered wrong. There was no right or wrong way for her to behave. He wanted her to be herself. The warm, friendly woman he remembered from their first meeting. A woman with the natural shyness of newly awakened passion -- if he discarded her drug-induced reactions. JarDan wasn’t a man who thought much about being a prince. It was what he was. Some men were doctors, some miners, some farmers. He was a prince. She couldn’t seem to get past that.
He must have made some sound to alert her to his presence. She turned with a jerk, her eyes wide with surprise before she stood and wiped her hands against the ruined gown. When she raised her chin in silent defiance, he smiled. That’s right, love. Fight with me. Argue, spit and snarl if you want -- just don’t pretend I don’t exist.
“What do you want?” She flushed and hid her hands behind her back like a little girl caught stealing a cookie.
I want to make love to you -- right here -- right now -- dirt, sweat and all. A strong sense of self-preservation kept his thoughts silent.
“I came to invite you on a picnic.” He grinned at the flash of surprise quickly covered by wariness.
“Why?”
JarDan raised a dark brow at her question. “Because you’re my wife and I want very much to spend time alone with you.” His gut clenched when she stiffened. “And I’d like to show you some of my world.”
He held his breath for an endless eternity of seconds while she stared at him. He had the distinct impression she was weighing his words for the truth of what he said. He met her gaze head on. His words were true -- he just didn’t tell her the whole truth.
“I’d like that. It’s been years since I went on a picnic. Are they the same here as they are on Earth?”
Carefully controlling the elation of her acceptance, he nodded in answer to her questions. “I know it’s hard for you to accept, but our language has changed over the centuries to reflect yours. While there may be slight variations due to peculiarities of a different environment, the meaning and intent are the same. An Anderan picnic is a prepared meal, packed and taken over varying distances to be consumed sitting on the ground while fighting off annoying insects. Does that describe what you remember?” His ches
t swelled when she laughed at his teasing.
“It’s close enough. If I find anything missing, I’ll fantasize.” She flushed and brushed at the bits of grass and dirt clinging to the soft fabric of her dress. “Do I have time to change clothes?”
“Of course,” he managed in an almost normal voice. “We’ll meet in the great hall in an hour.” She was running, still barefoot, along the garden paths before JarDan finished his sentence. Could he find a way into her fantasies? Maybe create a few fantasies together? His body pulsed with need. Breathing deep and slow, he brought his rampaging hormones under control.
* * * *
“I will not get on that horse!” Melodie glared at JarDan, chin tilted in defiance. “I hate horses. They throw you off for no reason.”
“Melodie, you have to ride with me. We have no horses gentle enough for a woman.” He explained patiently for about the hundredth time. His bride obviously had some bad memories of earlier rides, but there was no other transportation on Anderas.
For the past ten minutes she had argued with him about their travel arrangements. The kitchen managed a remarkable meal in record time and he was anticipating an afternoon alone with his mate. Provided he could get her on his horse. He sat astride Storm, his favorite mount, and she still stood on the step, her arms crossed in militant defiance. Enough was enough.
“Dak!” He bellowed over his shoulder. When the man appeared beside him, JarDan signaled with a slight twitch of his head. With a frown and fierce scowl Dak grabbed Melodie around her waist and lifted her into JarDan’s waiting arms.
Ignoring her scream of outrage, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her firmly against his chest. “Be still or you’ll have us both in the dust.”
She must have realized the precariousness of their situation because she stopped struggling and sat stiffly across his thighs. With a flick of the reins, he headed through the gate. Once past the town, he turned Storm’s head in the direction of the mountains. Easing the horse into a gentle, ground-covering lope, JarDan wished Melodie would relax against him. She would be sore tomorrow if she continued to fight the motion of the horse. Silence enfolded them as they traveled through fields rich with early growth, acknowledging the waving farmers they passed.
The Men of Anderas I: Jardan, the King Page 10
