Back From Chaos (44 page)

“
It would not do for us to die from a poisoned stew.” He gave Brensa a wry grin, as she caught the joke and laughed with him.

For the first ten days they spent together, Klast made no attempt to bed her. Instead, he put his efforts into helping her relax enough to fall asleep with her head on his shoulder; stroking her hair, kissing her face, head and neck, and gradually caressing her in more intimate places.

By the end of that period, Brensa began responding by reaching up to stroke his face, resting her arm across his chest, and squeezing him back when he hugged her. He did his best to make sure she never felt his arousal.

To Klast’s great surprise, their first attempt came at Brensa’s suggestion. In spite of his efforts to hide his desire, he had known she sensed his frustration.

As they talked about it, she shyly agreed it might be best if he tried to enter her from behind, in a spooning embrace so she would not see, thinking it might help her control her fear. Alas, she was mistaken. As soon as she felt him try to slide between her thighs, she panicked, leapt out of bed, and pressed her back against the wall, gasping short pants of fear. It took Klast several moments to calm her and coax her back into bed, where he soothed her by holding her close and crooning the old lullaby he had sung in the cave.

Their second attempt proved only moderately less disastrous. Brensa told him she might not be so frightened if she could see Klast’s face, holding in her mind the love she knew she would see there. While she did not leap away this time, his fumbling with her nightshift made them both feel awkward. When he finally made the attempt to enter her, she froze and squeezed her legs tightly together. Klast desisted instantly. He comforted her by insisting that this showed progress, and he told her again and again that he could wait as long as she needed.

~ 103 ~

BRENSA

Meanwhile, their woodpile stacked up much more swiftly than necessary. The morning after their second attempt, Brensa walked around the cabin and stood watching Klast unobserved, as he chopped wood. She knew from the single-minded purpose and force he put into each stroke of the axe that he was using this to release some of his frustration. Even with the last frost still on the fields, he had stripped to the waist, and sweat sheened his bare back. She watched the corded muscles ripple in his arms and roll across his strong shoulders, remembering the feel of that skin under her fingers, and the gentleness of those great hands upon her body.

Sadly, she turned and went back into the cabin. She knew deep inside that she desired him, too. But as soon as she became aware of his hardness, it flooded her with the memory of those others and the searing, burning pain they had inflicted. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes, as she despaired of overcoming those memories. She sat on the side of the bed and thought intensely on the problem, unaware of the sounds of the axe falling and the cracking of the wood as it split.

Brensa tallied up what she knew to be true. Both Nellis and Marja had told her that they never experienced pain when their husbands entered them. Both they and the midwife had told her this was how it ought to be, how most women experienced it. The midwife had explained that the only cause for her pain lay in the fear which made her tighten against it. She had certainly been in immense fear when those beasts had attacked her. But knowing a thing did not help her to overcome it.

She let her thoughts travel to Klast, a man who could, if he chose, kill her with one hand, effortlessly. Yet those hands which had dispatched so many had shown her only the utmost tenderness, even in the cave when he needed to clean her wounds and she had been a stranger. She let her memory recall the touch of those hands caressing her, the look of love in his eyes as he did so, his expression whenever she caught him watching her at her work. She recalled the desire she had felt when he stroked her back under her shift in bed, how his kisses around her neck gave her shivers. He would never hurt her. Never. She knew this just as truly as she knew her own love for him. Oh, Klast, she wept, silent tears making tracks down her cheeks. What are we to do?

She decided, with grim determination, that tonight they must try again. This time she must not prevent him from entering her. But how? The fear came upon her so suddenly. She decided that tonight she would stoke up the fire in the hearth, to make sure they were very warm and would not need the blankets, and that she could keep his face in view by its light. As well, she planned to set the tallow lamp on a chair beside the bed for even more light. She promised herself she would not allow her eyes to close, that she would concentrate so hard on his face, on the love she knew she would see there, that there would be no room for thoughts of those others. She would focus on the love in his touch, the softness of the skin on his back, the tenderness of his kisses. She would hold in her mind the truth that he would never inflict pain on her. Had he not proven himself over and over again? Had he not shown her? She would keep herself so immersed in these, that no other thoughts would be able to divert her from them. It must work. It just had to.

So deep was her concentration that she did not notice when the fall of the axe ceased. As she came out of her trance, she saw Klast watching her intently from the doorway with a surprised, questioning expression.

When she became aware of him he closed the door, looked at her a moment and asked, “What is amiss? You weep and did not hear me come in.”

Brensa rose and embraced him, resting her head on his chest. They stood that way for a moment. Then she raised her earnest face to his. “Klast, I have a plan.”

She smiled bravely up at him and proceeded to explain her idea for how light would help her keep her thoughts with him. He tried to hush her by assuring her he would be patient and she need not press herself, but she would not hear it. “No, Klast, I must try. I cannot continue seeing you so thwarted. I truly want to do this for you … for us.”

Klast gave her a long, searching look as he fingered an errant curl back into place behind her ear. Then, satisfied that she would not be swayed from her purpose, murmured, “Very well,” kissed her lightly and let her go, changing the subject.

“
Brensa, I have business with Lord Gaelen tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to see Lady Marja and Nellis? The shed is ready and we could bring your mare back with us.”

Brensa brightened. “That sounds fine. It will be good to see the children again, too.” She smiled in anticipation.

Klast nodded agreement and left the cabin again.

~ 104 ~

KLAST

The patch where Brensa wished to plant her vegetables had dried enough to turn over. After that it would be hers to do with as she wished. Klast shook his head again at the thought of Brensa gardening without any experience. He reached for the spade, wondering absently if one of the gardeners in the city might be able to offer her some advice, since he also knew little of gardening.

As the dark loam gave under the pressure of the spade, and the worms he uncovered hastened to find new hiding places, he thought about how he might do things differently tonight. How could he help Brensa avoid the tension that prevented them from completing their union?

He knew how desperately she wished to please him. He sensed, too, that she desired him, at least until that moment when her fear set in. He went over all the tricks that Simna had taught him, those which had shown promise, and those he had not yet tried. By the time Brensa called him to supper, such as it was, a plan had shaped in his mind. He hoped to Earth it would work.

That night as they prepared to retire, Brensa set the chair with the lamp by the bed, while Klast built up the fire to burn bright. We will roast, he told himself, suppressing a shake of his head. Once more, he fervently hoped all would end well.

To Brensa he said, “I have yet another way we may try. Come. Let me show you.” And he drew her to him in a standing embrace. He saw Brensa’s surprise when he did not lie down. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed and had her straddle his lap. Resting her on his knees, he watched the question in her eyes, as he caressed first one calf and then the other before placing them to either side around his waist. As he did so, her shift stretched a bit across her knees, its remaining length puddling in her lap. She remained calm as she watched him fumble with the fabric. He could not stop his hands from trembling slightly as he freed her shift, and, profoundly relieved when she did not flinch, reached underneath the back. There, with feather-light touches, he stroked her lower back with one hand, while gradually working his other underneath one buttock, until her full weight rested on it. They remained in that position for some time while his free hand and his mouth found all the places he had learned she liked to be touched.

When Brensa got over her surprise, her hands began caressing his face and back, exploring the muscles beneath his damp skin.

Slowly, Klast drew her toward him. As he did so he lifted her with his one hand, until she rested against his chest, her eyes level with his, knees bent, heels on the bed behind him. As promised, she kept her eyes on his face. For a second, she seemed overwhelmed and squeezed them shut. Klast sensed it was not fear. Her eyes had shone liquid before they shut, and he had seen his face mirrored in them. True to her vow, she reopened them and fixed them again on his face.

Klast had unrivalled strength in his arms, and Brensa was only a small woman, but after several moments her weight had his arm quivering with the effort of holding her up. Sheer determination kept him from moving too quickly. When Brensa seemed ready, he began to lower her onto himself as he teased his member inside, watching her face for signs of distress. All the while he kept up the kisses and the stroking with his free hand. When he felt himself halfway, unable to hold her up any longer, he lowered her further until she rested against his groin.

Brensa’s mouth formed a small, “Oh,” of surprise when she realized what had happened. He felt her tense slightly, and watched the play of emotions cross her face; surprise, flicker of fear, joy and surprise again.

“
There is no pain,” came the tremulous whisper, a hint of incredulity in it.

He acknowledged this only with a simple, quiet, “No.”

Then he rewarded her with a tender smile, pulled her gently against him, and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his back and hugged him tightly in return. They stayed that way for a long moment, neither moving. Klast began to rock her against him, almost imperceptibly at first, then with more purpose. It was not much movement, but Klast had waited so long, and built up so much need, it was enough. At the last, he gave a spasmodic groan and clutched her to him. Then, as he hugged her tight, one ragged word escaped him.

“
Brensa.”

That one word carried all the longing, pain, and fulfilment he had held back for so long. Brensa, understanding, clasped him with all her strength, her eyes welling with unshed tears of relief and elation. They held each other thus, in silent communion. How long, neither had any idea.

* * *

For the rest of her life, Brensa would recall that moment with perfect clarity. Though she had, by now, shut her eyes, she sensed the room filling with a rose and gold light that could not be attributed to the fire. It seemed alive and bathed them in approval. Earth … showing them Her pleasure. Later on, whenever the fear from bad memories threatened to creep in, she would bring back that memory of Earth’s glow, and it would calm her again.

They rested like that, unmoving, until Brensa felt him slip from her, and Earth withdrew Her light, leaving the room, once more, as it had been. Klast leaned her slightly away from him and studied her face. In his, she saw the mirror of her own joy.

“
It worked,” Brensa breathed, “and it did not hurt.”

“
Yes, my love,” he answered. It was the only time he would ever use an endearment. It was not his way. He always used his eyes to show her his feelings. And she could read those as no other could. That was as it should be.

~ 105 ~

DESTINY FULFILLED

Klast woke early into the night, as was his habit, unable to sleep. He eased himself from the bed, taking care not to wake Brensa, and moved to the rocker beside it. He watched her soft breathing, still amazed that they would find themselves together. As his gaze lingered over her sleeping form, he sent his mind back and searched it for memories of his own mother. The only one he could dredge up was the sound of a soft, slightly husky voice, crooning the same lullaby that had come to him unbidden when he had needed to comfort Brensa in the cave and again when she had been near death from the fever. He had a vague idea that his mother had dark hair but could not be sure it was a real memory. He did recall people telling him, as a child, that he resembled his mother. Yet he could never reconcile the hard-bitten soldier that looked back at him from a still pool or a polished silver disc with such an image.

Brensa had asked him about his parents, and he had explained to her that he had stopped trying to think of them many years ago. It seemed a useless, even harmful exercise that brought only pain. It always carried with it a self-loathing from his belief that he had been somehow responsible for his father’s death, that he had not done enough to save him.

Brensa had done her best to convince him that the best parts of him had come from those years, that as a child, he could have done nothing to save his father. She had even suggested that his choice of occupation might have been a way of punishing himself. He had rejected that idea at the time. Now he felt moved to look at it again and wondered if she might be at least partly right.