“So this dress is like our traditional bridal gown? It is only worn this one night?” he asked.
“My gown?” Clara looked at her dress. “It is new, but I thought I might wear it again. If you do not like it, I have others. I assure you I came with a full trousseau.”
“Trousseau?”
“Bridal chest. As I am female, my family provides everything I might need to start my marriage so that the burden does not fall upon my new husband.” She again looked at the gown. It was the finest quality. In fact, it was her best one. “I should thank you for allowing your crystal to glow.”
“Thank me?” He glanced down at the stone that still illuminated his chest with a soft light. “I had nothing to do with the glowing. It is fate, the will of the gods shown to us. You were meant to be my wife, that is all.”
The comment stayed with her as she turned her back to him. She touched a braid, pulling at the end of it. For a moment, she’d allowed herself to think that he’d chosen to be with her—quickly, yes, but still chosen. He said a force had chosen for him—gods, parents, emperor, it didn’t matter. An arranged marriage was an arranged marriage. She suppressed the hope that had filled her upon their meeting. This marriage was a duty, an arrangement. She would do her duty. She would bare her children and then she would go home to live her days alone.
“Are you finished speaking to me?” she asked. “It has been a long journey and I would sleep before tomorrow’s ceremony is concluded.”
“Of course,” he answered. “Would you care to eat first?”
“No, thank you,” she said, not very hungry. With Eula gone she felt very alone. The only traces she had of her life were waiting for her behind the thin material leading to her dressing chamber. She wanted to surround herself with them, meager as the belongings were. Sadness filled her. Quietly, she said, “To a good night, Lord Vlad.”
* * *
Vlad watched his bride move into the private dressing area and frowned. She was going to sleep? On this night? So early?
Yes, their conversation had been a little stunted. Her expressions and the tone of her voice were very hard to interpret. Though he was sure he would learn the nuances of reading her in time. She had expressive purple eyes. He noticed the widening of her pupils when she talked of her home and family. It was a tiny shift, but it was there.
He looked at the wig. Such a strange thing, so alien in nature. It created a dome over the head, tall and towering, adding an almost ridiculous amount of height. When he’d lifted it from her, it had been surprisingly heavy. Vlad glanced at where she’d disappeared and picked the wig up. Curious, he set it briefly on his head. The experiment lasted all of four seconds before he took it off and set it back on the table. It was like carrying a small child atop his brain. The hairpiece would be the first thing to go. He would not have his wife tortured.
Clara’s gown also appeared to be weighted down with tiny gemstones. He could tell by the way the material moved and by her deliberate steps as she walked. Why would a woman choose to torture herself thus? Strange, strange aliens. He made a mental note to buy her a new wardrobe immediately. His wife would not be brutalized by her clothing. Besides, the cumbersome dress would hamper him when he seduced his beautiful bride after the ceremony was complete.
He closed his eyes and let a partial shift wash over him. Being a dragon shifter was not something they publicized. The Draig preferred their privacy, and the less the outside universe knew about them the better. Lack of knowledge was a powerful deterrent to those who would think to harm them and an advantage if an off-world enemy ever tried to attack.
The smell of her lingered in the room. What a strange alien scent, the perfume she wore enhancing the subtler smell of her skin. With his superior senses, he could detect it easily.
He listened, finding the gentle sound of her breathing behind the thin veil of a door. Though steady and deep, it came a bit too fast. It was punctuated by a light scraping sound, even-tempoed and repetitive. Nails against flesh? Perhaps against her palm? A nervous gesture?
Vlad wanted to go to her. This was not how a wedding night should be. Instead, he went to the table and forced himself to eat. It was possible things were as she said. She’d had a long journey and was tired. He would have to force himself to be patient. They had a lifetime to get to know each other. The gods would not have chosen her for him if it was not fated. He trusted destiny and respected the gods. Lady Clara was meant to be his bride and they would live their days happy. End of story.
* * *
Get pregnant and then I can go home to my family, Clara thought, digging her fingernails into the flesh of her palm. It was an old habit, one she’d had since childhood. She only did it when she needed to redirect an overabundance of emotions…or in this case, erase the feel of Vlad against her skin. Undoubtedly, Eula would report the kind of primitive place Lady Clara had been exiled to. Then, when Clara arrived home carrying a child—a male child if the Draig genetics were to be believed—surely her father and mother would allow her to live out her days in their home. The next generation would begin and she would be a marvelous aunt to her sibling’s children. And her one child would grow around much family. She just wouldn’t tell them about the male-dominated genetics of the Draig, or else her father might change five to twenty in hopes of getting more grandsons—primitive genetics or not. Then there was the idea that an animal of some kind resided in her husband. A shifter? She had not been told these men were shifters. Her parents would be most surprised to discover it. Out of all the females in her family, she was the most sensitive to animals. The idea of one residing in her husband didn’t frighten her as it would her delicate sisters.
Only one child? The idea of a lone child with no siblings was sad. She did not want to be the breeder her mother was, but one seemed like a very lonely number. She could not imagine her childhood without the constant activity of her siblings.
Vlad would satisfy his people’s tradition of the glowing crystal by taking her as a bride. When she left, he would be free to take lovers. At the very logical course of her thoughts, she frowned. For some reason, the idea of her husband taking lovers made her uneasy. Sure, that was the way of things. Men took lovers, sometimes many. What else were they supposed to do when their wives were in stasis, or pregnant, or recovering from delivery? Such was common knowledge, and Clara hadn’t really stopped to think about it too hard until Eula mentioned her own worries. Besides, the women of the planet Redde had a grand way of dealing with such knowledge—they pretended it didn’t exist.
Clara did not like so much pretending.
She closed her eyes, forcing steady, deep breaths. It was time to grow up and put away her girlhood fancies. She was beginning an arranged marriage. Fate and love had nothing to do with it. Soon she would go home to live out her life as a matronly aunt and mother of one. She convinced herself Eula’s report would carry weight with her parents, who would surely be stunned at the true level of barbarity their last married daughter was to endure. The companion would tell them how she had unrolled the expensive material to cover the dirt floor. And then there was the appalling lack of material on the wedding gown they had wanted her to wear. Well, perhaps Eula wouldn’t tell her mother that part. The conversation would be positively too indecent for a maid to share with a lady. Furthermore, Clara was being made to sleep in a tent where anyone with a knife could slip through the thin walls, though for some reason that was the least of Clara’s worries this night. Even she could admit she felt a sense of safety. Who would want to kill a bride on her wedding night?
Slowly, her heart calmed and the scratching of her nails erased the intimacy of Vlad’s touch with the pain of sore flesh, at least enough that she could concentrate past the memory of it. All would be well. This detour to the planet Qurilixen was simply a small part of her life’s story.
Chapter Four
Sleep would not come, and Clara found herself scratching at the paint on her arms, trying to dig the true color of her flesh from benea
th the sheen of bluish white. There was a bath waiting in the other room of the tent, though the water was most likely cold by now. Outside, evening darkened the sky. Inside, the only way she could see was from the torchlight flickering near the edges of the tent. The fire was arranged in such a way that it didn’t burn the enclosure. The tent was quiet. Vlad had most likely left to join the festivities.
Without Eula, it had been hard to remove her heavy gown herself, and the idea of trying to put it back on caused her tired muscles to scream in protest. She took her robe and slid the soft material over her arms and wrapped the extended bottom flap around her waist several times before fastening it into place. Her steps were short because of the robe’s tighter skirt. She pulled the tent flap aside, seeing first the table towering with food.
In preparation of the day, she had not dined as she was accustomed. With that thought in mind, she went to the food, studying the massive spread. At home, the female diet was very strict. Each meal amounted to about half the size of her hand. Only men were given larger portions. She reached slowly for a piece of fruit.
“You may have all that you like.”
She gasped, quickly looking around the tent for Vlad. It took a moment to find him, but when she did she saw he had helped himself to the bath. A goblet of wine sat on the floor next to a pitcher, easily within reach of his hand. Fingers tapped lightly against the side of the tub.
Her gaze followed his arm up a strong shoulder and corded neck. He watched her with intensity. Moisture beaded on his face and slicked back his hair. A tiny rivulet trailed down his cheek, disappearing into the dark shadow beneath his jaw. The soft glow of the crystal was muted by the water, but she saw it beneath the surface.
“I thought I was alone,” she said, not reaching for the food. Clara wondered if she should offer him privacy, but it was not unusual on her home world for wives to help bathe husbands, and he seemed perfectly at ease with his circumstance.
“It would please me greatly if you ate something. If what is offered does not tempt you, I will send servants for more.” He watched expectantly. She didn’t move. “I will order different foods brought until you eat. At some point they will suspect you are purposefully refusing the hospitality of our planet.” He gave a small smile, as if he knew he was manipulating her.
The manipulation worked. Feeling guilty for not accepting the generosity of her new home, she took the piece of fruit and ate it. None of the food was cut into small pieces for her so she was forced to take the smallest option. The tiny morsel was incredibly sweet, almost too much so.
Vlad’s smile widened as she chewed. “Thank you, my lady. I would hate for you to wither away.”
Taking a knife from one of the platters, she cut a thin slice of the blue bread, set it on trencher and cut it into small size cubes. They were uneven as she was unused to holding knives in her hand. She tried the bread. Despite the strange color, it tasted very much like the grains on her planet. She finished the bread, well aware of his eyes watching her.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping away from the food.
“You may have more.”
She shook her head in denial. “I had a lady’s portion. I am fine.” Before he could comment further on her eating habits, she turned her attention to the dark tent wall. Anything was better than staring at the droplets of water clinging to his jaw. “I thought there were festivities on this night of darkness.”
“There are,” he said, “in the valley below.”
“You do not wish to join the others?”
“My festivities are here.” The softness of his tone made her shiver.
“You do not have to remain here for my benefit.” Clara wondered what a Draig festival might look like. She imagined them to be a rambunctious affair. Even as she wanted to see it, she did not wish to participate. She wanted to peek in from a safe distance and merely observe it. Too bad her mother had not sent a portable viewing screen for her to use—not that she would have been able to pick up any signals in the tent.
She heard movement behind her. Water stirred and dripped. How could she resist one quick look?
Clara turned back to him. He was her husband. She should be free to look if he chose to show her. Already the Draig custom of walking about half-clothed was very apparent. Instantly, her eyes were drawn to the crystal. It bounced against his chest as he lifted a foot from the water. The wet stone pointed downward, drawing attention to the illuminated breadth of his chest and the tapering of his lean waist.
Clara wasn’t so sheltered as to not know the difference between men and women, yet seeing that difference in very real, very naked glory was something else altogether. His member lay nestled between his thighs only to shift and move as he reached for a white square of material stacked nearby. He bent over to grab the cloth, giving her a full view of his backside. She had the strangest urge to touch him—it warred with the urge to quickly avert her eyes, which was overcome by the desire to continue watching.
When he stood, his eyes met hers. He gave her a knowing grin. Vlad clearly knew she watched and he didn’t care.
“You look nice with your hair down.” Vlad blotted his skin before moving to tie the white material around his waist.
Clara touched her locks. She’d brushed them out but had yet to re-braid. Her attention was drawn to her blue hand. “If it is not too much trouble, I would like to bathe.”
He gestured behind his bathing tub. “I had another brought for you.”
She moved closer to see where he indicated. There was a second bath.
Vlad drew his hands through his wet hair, slicking it back and wringing the excess water from it. He tilted his head to the side. Droplets rained behind him on the ground. His eyes narrowed and he lifted a finger to her chin, slid a thumb over her jaw in a light caress. “Would you like me to bathe you?”
“Bathe me?” she asked in surprise. He’d shocked her with that very same offer earlier. “That will not be necessary. I have no wish to reduce you to be my handmaid.”
At that, he laughed. It was a deep, rich, highly amused sound. He dropped his hand. “And I can assure you, my lady, I have no wish to be a handmaid. Such a position was not what I had in mind.”
“You plan something?” she asked for clarification. Her voice was not as strong as she would’ve liked, but for some reason she could barely catch her breath. Perhaps she had tied the flap of her robe too tight against her waist. She followed the movements of his hand against her face.
“This night is about discovery. I had thought to let you sleep, but since you are now awake I would like to continue with the custom.” He took a step closer, towering over her. His chest was near her face. She looked at the crystal, watching the pulsing light grow in intensity. It was as if she felt the pulsating rhythm inside her, slow and steady, unfurling in her lower stomach. “I would very much like to bathe you, my lady.”
“As a lady, I cannot allow that,” she answered.
“What about as a woman?” He dipped his head close to her ear. He didn’t touch her, but she felt his heat against her clothing and his breath against her neck.
“As a lady, I cannot allow that,” she whispered, not really thinking about what she said.
“Pity.” The soft tickle of his breath mesmerized her senses. Men did not get this close on her world. Well, one suitor had tried, but her father had thrown him from the estate and fined him a thousand space credits for the presumption.
“I have been instructed, if you wish to begin the next generation.” Clara had no idea a man’s nearness could make her all fluttery inside.
He laughed again. Clara stiffened, drawing physically back. She had not expected her offer to meet with such a response.
“I have never heard the marriage act referred to in such,” he paused, still grinning, “terms.”
“Thank you for the meal, my lord. I will now retire.” Clara forced herself to walk with dignity toward her dressing area.
“No, bride.” Vlad grabbed h
er wrist to stop her, instead directing her toward him. “Do not look so vexed with me. Your words simply took me by surprise. When I look at you, it is not with thoughts of beginning a new generation.”
“Oh.” Clara pulled her hand back. She lightly rubbed her flesh where he’d touched her. The pulsing crystal caught her notice, drawing her attention toward it. Monitoring her expression, she focused on projecting a serene image.
The blue paint probably did look strange to him. No wonder he was not thinking of taking her to bed. Then a terrible thought occurred to her. She was assured she made for a pretty woman. What if he was one of those men who preferred the company of other men? Such things were not unheard of. Lord Dane was proof of that. In fact, no one really cared if men took male lovers so long as they did their duty by their wives. Would Vlad do his duty by her and get her pregnant so that she could return home?
“I understand now,” she answered. “If you do not mind, I would like to bathe. Please, join the festivities if you like.”
“I cannot leave the tent. It is tradition.”
She nodded. Her hand went to her waist. Even if he wasn’t interested in looking at her, she still felt uneasy about allowing him to see. Yes, eventually he would watch her undress—as her husband—but it would not be tonight. Clara eyed him expectantly. He still wore the cloth around his waist and made no move to turn from her.
“Is it also tradition that you inspect me before the ceremony is complete? I assure you my race is compatible. I would not have been allowed to come otherwise.”
“It is tradition.” His voice sounded strained. Perhaps this was not pleasant for him.
“Very well, if it is tradition.” She turned her back to him and reached for her waist to begin unwinding the material. Her fingers shook, but she did not let any personal insecurity stop her from doing what she must. That was not the kind of lady she had been raised to be.
Clara slipped the robe from her shoulders and neatly folded the soft material over her arm. The thin material of her dressing gown offered little protection. She only now became aware of how very little. When she looked behind her, his eyes were on her, intensely watching. They made her nervous. Nothing about this man’s expressions was familiar. They burned with fire and struck with humor. They were open, yet unreadable. What was she to think when there was so much inside his gaze? She was used to the controlled, dispassionate expressions of her people. Things that need to be said were said with words, or they were just understood.
The Reluctant Lord (Dragon Lords) Page 5
