Chapter Twelve
Acutely aware of the scent of burning medicine wood, Ran-Del glanced down at his betrothed—his betrothed! It seemed bizarre to describe Francesca that way. He had never heard of medicine wood burning in a betrothal lodge. Surely this was the strangest betrothal any Sansoussy had ever had. “There are no more words or actions that are prescribed,” he said, trying not to sound stilted. “We can do whatever we please.”
“Good.” Francesca shot a quick glance around the single, open room of the lodge. “I’m going to sit down.”
There was nowhere to sit except the wide, low bed. She plopped down on the end of it and leaned back with her weight on her hands. She seemed to Ran-Del to be glowing, and he realized it was because she was aroused.
To distract himself, Ran-Del took a moment to survey the room. There wasn’t much to see. The lodge was large but quite bare. The bed occupied the center of the room, under the open ceiling flap, with the brazier near the foot so the smoke could get out easily. A small clothes chest stood against one wall. His grandmother had promised to stow their everyday clothes there, for tomorrow. Ran-Del hoped she had remembered. He didn’t want to have to walk back to his own house decked out in betrothal clothes in broad daylight.
A pitcher of water and two cups sat on top of a corner cupboard; a chamber pot stood under the bed. There was nothing else.
“What is it?” Francesca asked. “Is anything wrong? You look a little … abstracted.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Ran-Del sat down next to her. His great-grandfather must have known how Francesca would feel. Doubtless he had intended that the medicine smoke would make it impossible for Ran-Del not to know it.
Francesca slid a little nearer. “Nothing has to happen tonight, Ran-Del. If you don’t want to do this, then don’t. Your great-grandfather has no right to order your life like this.”
Ran-Del shook his head, feeling as if he were moving in a fog. Her desire had almost a physical emanation, as if it were something in the air he was breathing. “I’ve said that I’ll obey him, and I will. We will be betrothed.”
Francesca laid a hand on his good arm, intensifying the feeling of arousal. “Even if something does happen, it doesn’t mean you have an obligation to me—that you have to be tied to me forever. I’m not a dewy-eyed innocent. I’ve had many lovers.”
Ran-Del could feel his blood pounding in his head in an unfamiliar rage. He eyed her hungrily, noting the lines of her body, the curve of her breasts under the beaded gown. The beads reflected the firelight, gleaming like a timber cat’s eyes. He took her by the shoulders and held her so tightly that she winced. “Do you wish this betrothal, Francesca Hayden?”
Francesca stared into his eyes, meeting his gaze without wavering. “Yes, I do. I need a husband, and you suit me just fine.”
He pushed her backwards, so that she was flat on her back, and held her down with his own body.
“Listen to me, Francesca,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not some city dweller who holds nothing sacred but his own pleasures. I’m a man of the Sansoussy, a warrior. I will not be made into a nothing. If you become my wife, then you’ll have no one in your bed but me. If I find another man there, I’ll cut his heart out and make you eat it.”
Francesca met his gaze with unblinking intensity. “Very well, Ran-Del. I’ll abide by that rule, so long as it cuts both ways.”
The idiom puzzled him; he stared at her in confusion.
“If I can’t have lovers,” Francesca said, “then you can’t either. You have to be as faithful as you expect me to be.”
He made an exclamation of disgust. “I don’t plan to disgrace myself.”
“See that you remember that,” Francesca said, her tone almost scolding, “when some young nymph in a dress that conceals nothing but her motivation comes up to you at a party and offers you a tour of her bedroom.”
Ran-Del curled his lip at the thought that he could be so weak as to forget his vows. “I care nothing for such amusements.”
“What do you care for, then?” Francesca challenged him.
Ran-Del’s body was pressed against hers, and he could feel her breath on his face. Her nearness was having an effect on him. “I care for you, Francesca.” He kissed her.
She responded just as eagerly, caressing his sides with practiced ease. Breathless, Ran-Del unfastened the Sansoussy gown and pulled it off over her shoulders. The moonlight that came in through the ceiling flaps made her skin gleam golden, and the firelight flickered and made dappled patterns of light and shadow on her body.
Francesca slid Ran-Del's embroidered vest off, then reached for his trousers.
When they were both naked, Ran-Del stood up so he could see her better; he stared openly, enthralled by every line of her body. She let him look, taking her time in studying him, too, and then she pulled him down to the bed and began to caress him. Ran-Del felt her desire rise, and flow over him, and merge with his own needs. He gave himself up to it, letting her guide him at the same time she inflamed him with an aching need.
Eventually, they lay still, and Ran-Del pulled Francesca close to him to feel her warm, happy sense of satisfaction. He fell asleep feeling contented and more at peace than he had been since his great-grandfather had summoned him to his great room.
The Sixth Discipline Page 41
