Lara (41 page)

Lara stood abruptly. “When I escaped the Forest Lords I swore I would never again be used by any man. At Shunnar, Prince Kaliq educated me to make my own decisions. One night in his hall I willingly shared myself with all of his fellow princes, and it was glorious, for I wanted it. I belong to no one but to me, Vartan. If you would be my husband, my mate, then you must acknowledge that not just with words but by your deeds. I do not know if you can do that. For all your scorn of Hetarians, you are much like them in your need for order and discipline.”

“I am in love with you, Lara. Whatever I must do I will do, but say you will accept your place by my side as my wife,” he said.

She shrugged. “I wish I could feel love for you, my lord,” she told him sadly.

“You will one day,” he told her. “I promise you that.”

“You cannot know that,” Lara replied. “You wish it, but you cannot be certain that what you say will come into being, Vartan. I do not want to hurt you.”

“Would you shame me before my people?” he asked quietly. “I have only resorted to trickery out of my desperation.”

“You could have had my body if you had but asked,” Lara responded. “I am not averse to sharing pleasure with you, but I must be free. A wife cannot be free, Vartan.” She put her hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort.

“Your body tempts me, Lara—I would be a liar if I denied it. But it is your heart I want. You say faerie women have no hearts, yet you are but half faerie. And as you have told me yourself, your mother cared so much for your human father that she would not wed again until your grandmother faded away, and as queen she needed to sire a faerie heir. I think you do have a heart, but you are fearful of giving it because you do not want to be hurt. I will never hurt you, my love. Never! And if the time comes that you feel compelled to leave me, I will release you, though it breaks my own very human heart to do so. Accept me as your mate, Lara, and know that I truly love you.”

Something within her softened. It was a feeling such as she had never before experienced. Was it possible she could actually care for this man? And could she trust him to keep his word? She realized her hand still rested on his arm. She could feel the muscle beneath his shirt. They were strong arms. In a moment of very human weakness, she realized they were arms in which she could hide. And sometimes even she needed a safe place. With a sigh she looked up into his anxious blue eyes.

“Very well, then. I will accept my place by your side as long as you understand that if I say I must go, then I must,” Lara replied.

He picked her up and swung her about, his big hands meeting as they spanned her tiny waist. “I adore you!” he told her, grinning happily.

“Put me down, you great fool. It has been months since I have known the pleasure of a manroot inside me, and I long for it, Vartan, my lord!”

He set her upon her feet again, and taking her face between his hands, began to kiss her. His mouth was hot and eager. His kisses touched her mouth, her eyelids, her face. And Lara stood quietly enjoying them. He sat down in his big chair by the fire, loosening his garments to reveal his manroot. She looked at it admiringly, easing her gown off to stand naked before him. His eyes devoured her, and she smiled at him. Her hand reached out to touch him. He was hard, and his skin warm.

“I have never seen a manroot so large,” Lara said, stroking the pillar of flesh. “The Forest Lords were big men, but not like this.”

“And your Shadow Princes?” He was reaching out for her.

“Skilled, and well-made, but not like you,” Lara admitted. She bent and kissed the ruby head of it, then climbed onto his lap.

Reaching out, he began to fondle her breasts while she caressed his manhood. He groaned as her delicate hands reached beneath him to fondle his seed sac. She gasped when he pinched her nipples, leaning forward to lick at the soft twin mounds. He unplaited her thick gilt hair and spread it about them like a curtain. Then lifting her he slowly, slowly impaled her upon his manroot until he was fully sheathed. Lara sighed deeply as their two bodies were joined so neatly and easily.

She wrapped her slender arms about his neck whispering to him, “You fit me perfectly, my lord. More perfectly than any other.”

“Because our bodies were created for each other,” he told her. Then he said, “You must ride me now, Lara, like the great horsewoman I know you to be. Ride me, and give us both the joy we know awaits us.”

She began slowly, rising and falling until he was moaning with delight. Then she moved faster and faster until finally he cried out, and she felt his love juices flooding her. To her surprise, however, he remained hard and when he had recovered slightly he stood, still buried deep inside her. Lara clung to him as he walked across the hall to the high board. Laying her upon the great rectangle of the table, he took the dominant position, and she trembled with excitement. He moved as she had, slowly and deliberately at first, and then more quickly until they were both lost in a white-hot passion that when it peaked left them both weak and exhausted as his juices flooded her a second time.

There were no words to be said. He gathered her up in his arms, and carried her to his chamber behind the hall. It was there Lara awoke several hours later to find herself in his embrace. When she attempted to slip from his arms he growled a sleepy “No!” and his arms tightened about her.

“I must go,” she whispered.

“Nay, we will share the lord’s chamber from now on. Noss will bring your possessions in the morning.”

“I must clean the high board before anyone finds our juices all over it,” she said.

“The servants will clean it,” he said. “Go back to sleep, Lara, my love.”

Obediently she closed her eyes, her fingers going to her crystal as she began to grow sleepy again. She was Vartan’s mate, his wife. Yet he had promised he would not stop her from following her destiny. She knew he meant what he said when he said it, but the proof would come when that moment arrived. In the meantime, he was a good man and a passionate lover—the coming winter would not prove dull. But first there was the Gathering to attend. She was concerned by the news he had shared with her this evening. She suspected that Bera did not know it yet. And was Bera aware of the union between her son and Lara? Still more questions.

She awoke with his lips on hers, his big body covering her as he entered her slowly. “Vartan!” she chided him, amused by his great lust for her.

“I cannot resist you,” he admitted. “I could spend the next six months in this bed with you, my Lara.”

She squeezed his manroot as it filled her, and he cried out. She licked his ear, her tongue tracing the whorl of flesh, pushing into the cavity to tickle him, murmuring to him what she thought of his masculine attributes and what she wanted him to do to her.

“You are a wicked faerie wench,” he told her as she wrapped her legs about him. “I will pleasure you more than you have ever been pleasured before, Lara, my love.”

“Actions,” she said softly, “speak louder than words, my lord Vartan.”

In reply he pulled her two arms above her head, holding her wrists firmly in one hand. Then he began a slow, deep, deliberate thrusting. Again, and again, and yet again he pushed into her body with a leisurely measured cadence. Shortly, Lara’s green eyes widened with surprise as she found herself responding to him strongly. She had known great pleasure with her Shadow Prince, but it had been an elegant pleasure. The feelings she now felt were wild and uncontrollable. She gasped in shock, for she had never imagined passion could go so deep or be so fierce. She struggled against him, but he gently mastered her, forcing her to his will, yet loving her so sweetly that she found herself weeping.

He kissed and licked the salty tears from her face. “Let go, Lara, my love. Trust me enough to let go.” And when she did, his great desire for her burst forth, leaving them both breathless and weak. Satisfied, he drew her into his arms, kissing her face, his big hand smoothing her hair. “We are fated to love each other, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” he told her quietly. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

She burrowed deeper into his arms. What had just happened to her? She could not believe that she had released herself to him so freely. It was all very confusing, and as her tears subsided she found herself falling asleep once again.

He smiled to himself, his hand still stroking her soft gilt hair. In all his life he had never felt so happy. He would need her in the days ahead. This difficulty with the Piaras and the Tormod clans would not be easily solved, and he worried about the other clan families as well. Throughout the centuries past, they had found that keeping to themselves for most of the year was what kept them from fighting among one another. But if Hetar had been bold enough to invade the Piaras and Tormod territories, what was to prevent them from moving deeper into the Outlands? It was very troubling.

When Lara awoke again Vartan had left her side, and Noss was bustling about the chamber putting her few possessions away in a small painted trunk. “Good morning,” Lara said, smiling at her young friend.

“’Tis more like afternoon.” Noss grinned back. “I had heard he was a mighty lover. He has obviously exhausted you.”

“You know not of what you speak,” Lara replied, irritated.

“They say you are his wife,” Noss answered, not in the least intimidated. “Are you? And how did that happen?”

“They have some law or other that says if you spend two nights with a man you are his wife,” Lara said. “While we were visiting his villages we had no choice but to share a bed, but that is all we did. And we never even got out of our clothing.”

“Until last night,” Noss giggled, holding up Lara’s gown which she had retrieved from the floor of the hall.

“There are hard times coming to the Outlands,” Lara responded. “I shared pleasures with him to soothe him. Then he told me of this law of theirs. But I shall go when my destiny calls me again, Noss, and Vartan knows it.”

“But you are his wife,” Noss repeated.

“I suppose I am, even if I was ignorant of these laws of the Fiacre,” Lara agreed. “I don’t know why our people call them lawless barbarians.”

“Perhaps because Outlanders are not like Hetarians,” Noss suggested.

Lara nodded. Then she said, “I need a bath. I stink of horse, of man, and of woman’s lustful nature. Have you discovered if they have a bathhouse?”

“No,” Noss said.

“Then how do they keep clean?” Lara demanded.

“They bathe in their houses in small round tubs,” Noss replied.

“Then have a tub brought, and hot water, too,” Lara commanded. “It has been too many days since I bathed. My skin is beginning to itch.” She climbed from her bed, heedless of her nudity, and stretched. “Where is Vartan?”

“He has been out since just after sunrise overseeing the last of the winter preparations. We leave for the Gathering in the morning, Bera says. I’ll go get your tub, but cover yourself, for I doubt your husband wants his serving men seeing you in all your halfling glory,” Noss told Lara.

“Halfling? What is a halfling?” Lara asked.

“Half one thing, half another. Bera says you are a halfling. Half faerie, half Hetarian. She is very happy you are Vartan’s wife. She says you are strong where he is weak. She says you will be the making of him for she has always thought he could be a great leader of the Fiacre. They are the largest of the clan families, you know.” Then turning Noss hurried from the bedchamber to fetch a tub for Lara.

Lara looked about for something to cover her nakedness. Opening the little painted trunk where she had seen Noss store her things, she drew out a chemise and slipped it on. Noss was just full of information, Lara mused. Comfortable in safety, she had become friendly and full of gossip. Bera—or was it Liam?—had worked a magic of her own on the girl. Love, it was said, changed people. If she believed in love she might believe that was true.

The tub was brought, and Lara was amused by its small size. Well, it was all they had, and she was grateful to be able to bathe herself. When the tub was filled Lara disrobed again, washing first her body, and then her long hair. Noss had brought her a small hard cake of soap with a faint fragrance of wildflowers. It lathered well, and Lara was grateful for it. Wrapping herself in the drying cloth, she began to towel her golden hair. She sought for her hairbrush, smiling as she pulled Kaliq’s gift from the trunk. It was beautiful. The prince had obviously kept her simple pearwood brush, and replaced it with this gold one with fine boar’s bristles. The top of the brush bore a single heart, and twining around it and down its handle was a vine of delicate flowers.

There were several leaded windows set together in the chamber wall with a window seat built in beneath them. Lara sat before one of the open windows and began to brush out her long hair. As it dried in the gentle breeze of the sunny autumn afternoon, the silken stuff flew like a banner from the window. Riding in from the fields Vartan could see it, and felt a surge of contentment well up within him. His wife, he thought happily. His wife was awaiting him.

Her hair dry, Lara dressed herself in one of her two simple gowns, pale green to match her eyes. Then she went out into the hall as Vartan entered it. He immediately enfolded her in his embrace and kissed her mouth tenderly. Lara smiled up at him. She could not help it, and she realized that she was happy for the first time in a very long while. Not relieved at escaping the Forest Lords, or protected by Kaliq, but deeply happy. Was this what love was? she wondered.