Moonlight (2 page)

Navarre stared at the girl for a long while, unable to think
or speak. Except for his mother, he had never seen a woman. Isobele had been
tall and regal, with blonde hair and dark blue eyes; this girl was small and
delicate, with a mass of curly black hair and deep green eyes fringed with long
black lashes. Her skin was fair, like those of the gray-robed men of Kenn. She
wore a long, loose-fitting blue robe. Her feet were bare.

He thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

He wondered who she was, and why she was imprisoned, and
even as the thought crossed his mind, he remembered that his father and mother
had been imprisoned in cages, permitted to see each other, to speak to each
other, but never to touch until the time of mating.

He stared at her, his body tensing.

Was this ebony-haired woman to be his mate? It took him a
moment to find his voice. “Who are you?”

“Katlaina.”

Her name was as sweetly feminine and lovely as she was. “Why
are you here?”

She tipped her head to the side. “Don’t you know?”

Navarre swallowed hard. “Are you…are we…?”

The girl nodded, her cheeks flooding with heat. “I am to be
your mate.”

In the days that followed, Navarre grew to love the woman
with the ebony-colored hair. She told him of her home high in the mountains of
Grenalde where she had been born, how she had entered a sacred order and taken
vows of poverty and chastity, and how, a short time later, she had been
abducted and brought to this place. She had been told that she was to be mated
to the male destined to be sacrificed to the goddess Shaylyn.

“And if I do as I am told,” Katlaina said, “they promised to
send me back home when I am no longer needed here.”

“And my child will be the next sacrifice.”

“Yes.”

“There will be no child,” he said adamantly, yet even as he
spoke the words, he knew that, should he refuse to mate with Katlaina, the
priests of the goddess Shaylyn would drug his food or his water, as they had
done to his father.

What would be better, he mused night after night, than to
rut with the woman like a mindless beast in heat, or take what pleasure he
could find in her sweet flesh? Drugged, he would pay no heed to her wants or
needs, nor would he have any memory of the act itself. And since this was the
only opportunity he would ever have to enjoy the company of a woman, he thought
perhaps he would like to savor it, to remember it.

As the days passed, and his feelings for Katlaina grew, he
knew he would willingly take her to his bed, that he would be gentle with her.

Through Katlaina, he learned of the land, of the way of life
beyond the cage. She told him of snow-covered mountains, of lakes that were as
blue as the sky, of trees that were taller than the roof of the palace. She
described animals he had seen only in pen and ink drawings: great tawny cats,
furry black bears, elephants, llamas, swans and eagles. She told him of her
childhood, of frolicking in the snow with her brothers and sisters.

The idea of growing up in a family, with a mother and a
father and siblings left him speechless. He could not imagine such a thing.
Could not think what it would be like to live in a house, to sit in front of a
hearth on a cold winter day, to work in the fields beside a father, to be able
to come and go as he pleased. Imagine, being able to go outside, to have the
freedom to run, to play, to lie on the grass and watch the clouds, to feel the
rain on his face. It was beyond his comprehension.

There were many things he knew, he thought ruefully. He had
a vast store of knowledge, but no chance to apply it. He had read scrolls on a
wide variety of subjects. He knew how to plant a garden, yet he had never held
so much as a handful of earth. He knew that apples came from trees, yet he had
never seen fruit growing. He had tasted fish, but never seen one swimming; he
had eaten eggs but never seen a chicken.

Hour by hour, the day of his twenty-fourth year approached,
and with each passing day, his yearning to hold Katlaina grew ever stronger.
Her skin was smooth and clear, without blemish. Was it as soft as it looked? He
longed to run his fingers through the dark wealth of her hair, to touch her
lips with his, to discover for himself what made a woman different from a man.

Each cage was provided with a screen to insure privacy for
their intimate needs. Once each week, they were allowed to bathe.

At such times, when Katlaina stepped behind the screen,
Navarre paced the confines of his cell, plagued by feelings he did not fully
understand as he imagined her disrobing, sinking down into the tub, the water
closing over her.

It was the night before his twenty-fourth birthday when the
High Priest appeared at the door of Navarre’s cell.

Navarre stood in the far corner, his heart pounding, as he
waited for the hooded man to speak.

“You will be four and twenty on the morrow,” the High Priest
said. “Will you breed the woman willingly?”

Navarre’s gaze slid toward Katlaina. They had taken away her
blue robe and clothed her in a diaphanous gown of shimmering silver shot
through with fine gold threads. It clung to every inch of her body, outlining
her full breasts, the curve of her hip, the slender length of her legs.

Never had he seen anything lovelier. Her hair, as black as
ink on parchment, fell over her shoulders to her hips like an ebony waterfall.
Her eyes were as green as the grass that grew on the hillside.

He swallowed hard, unable to speak.

“I require an answer, Navarre,” the High Priest said. “Will
you breed the woman of your own free will?”

Navarre’s blood sang in his veins, then settled hot and
heavy in his groin, and at that moment he thought that dying would be worth the
price of holding her in his arms just once.

“Navarre?” There was the faintest note of amusement in the
High Priest’s voice, as if he were aware of Navarre’s every thought, every
yearning.

“Yes.” Navarre managed to force the word from his throat. He
had no wish to father a son to be the next sacrifice, but he remembered all too
clearly his mother’s words, her horror at being bedded by a man who had been
drugged. If he was to bed Katlaina, he wanted to be fully aware of each moment.

“We will bring her to you on the morrow then.”

On the morrow, Navarre thought.

And for the first time, he willed the hours to pass swiftly.

* * * * *

They brought her to him at dusk. He stared at her for a long
moment, unable to think, unable to move. She was here, within his reach at
last.

The silver gown shimmered like molten ore in the
candlelight.

“Katlaina.”

She stared back at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. She
was trembling all over. He could see the pulse beating wildly in her throat.

“Are you afraid of me?” he whispered.

Slowly, she nodded.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You will.”

“No!”

“You will,” she replied, her voice filled with quiet
resignation.

Slowly, so slowly, he stood and closed the short distance
between them.

Slowly, so slowly, he lifted his hand. Stroked her cheek.
Touched her hair. Traced the outline of her lips. Soft, so soft. Never had he
touched anything so soft, so smooth, so warm.

Never had he seen anything so lovely.

“Katlaina…”

“Please do not do this,” she begged. “Please…”

“I must.” He smiled at her, a sad smile that tugged at her
heart. “It’s what I was born for,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from
his voice. “Would you deny me these few moments of pleasure before I die?”

She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears. In the
days they had been together, she had told him of her life, and he had told her
of his. Nights, when he slept, she had wept for him, for the freedom that had
been stolen from him, for the things he had never seen, would never see, the
life he would never live.

Though she was not experienced in the ways of men, she was
not totally ignorant of what went on between male and female. She had grown up
on a farm. She knew about breeding, about mating. She had helped bring her baby
brother into the world. Her mother had told her that childbirth was a woman’s
duty but that, if a woman was lucky in her choice of a husband, if he had the
patience to be kind, to be gentle, the getting of children was not altogether
unpleasant.

She could not deny Navarre the only pleasure he was ever to
know.

Slowly, she reached up and unfastened the ties of her gown.
The silver fabric slid to the floor with a whisper. She wore nothing
underneath.

Navarre stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry, his heart
beating hard and fast as his gaze moved over her. She was a study in
perfection. Her skin was smooth and supple, her breasts were high and full and
beautifully formed. Her legs were shapely, her feet small.

She was beautiful, so beautiful, he wanted to weep.

Instead, he took a step forward, his gaze searching her
face, and when she didn’t back away, he caressed her shoulder, let his
fingertips slide down her arm, felt her shiver at his touch.

“Katlaina, I want…”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know.”

With hands that trembled, she removed his robe, and he stood
naked before her.

He might not know what he wanted, she mused, but his body
knew. There was no mistaking the evidence of his desire, or his embarrassment
that she should see him in such an aroused state.

He was tall and lean. Clean of line and limb, with broad
shoulders and narrow hips. A man in his prime, lusty and virile.

Swallowing her fear, Katlaina took him by the hand and led
him to the narrow bed, drawing him down beside her.

“Touch me, Navarre,” she said softly.

It was what he wanted more than his next breath, but she was
so small, so delicate. What if, in his haste and his ignorance, he caused her
pain?

“It will be all right.” Her words were low and filled with
encouragement, but her eyes held a trace of wariness, of fear.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

“Yes.”
This is my first time, too. Please be gentle with
me.

Tears burned her eyes as he began to touch her, his hands
trembling with eager uncertainty. Curious hands. There were no calluses on his
palms, no scars anywhere on his body. Unlike her, he had never done a day’s
work, never washed a dish or milked a cow or scrubbed a floor. He had never
scraped his elbow while chasing after the chickens, or cut his knee when he
fell from a tree.

He was going to die.

The thought pounded in her head as his hands grew more bold.
Now and again, he looked at her, his dark gray eyes filled with such
tenderness, it made her want to weep.

He could touch her as he wished. Caress her hair, the curve
of her breast, the slender column of her throat. He stroked her smooth flesh,
and his own body came alive. He pressed his lips to hers, and heat spiraled
through him. Did it affect her the same?

He groaned softly as his body’s need grew painful, afraid of
the wild emotions that were raging through him, afraid of hurting her, of
disgusting her, of doing something wrong. Of having her laugh at him.

But she lay there, quietly urging him on. And then her hands
were touching him, measuring the width of his shoulders, exploring the fine
layer of hair on his chest. Her fingertips traced the muscles in his arms and
back. In all the years since they had taken his mother from him, no one had
touched him with kindness or affection. In all his life, no one had ever
touched him intimately. No one had ever caressed him, or aroused him.

He trembled beneath her questing fingertips, his whole body
yearning toward her, wanting her, needing her, loving her the more for her
patience, her gentleness as she helped him find that which he sought.

The touch of her hands thrilled him, excited him, until he
thought he would burst, and then he was sheathed deep inside her, moving to a
rhythm older than time, and he did burst, his body flooding with heat,
shuddering, shattering, exploding in the warm sweet heat of her flesh…

“Katlaina?” He drew back, whispering her name as the world
stopped spinning. “Katlaina, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

She turned her head so he couldn’t see her tears.

“Katlaina?” He forced her to look at him. “What’s wrong?
What have I done?” His expression filled with self-loathing. “I hurt you, didn’t
I?”

“No, Navarre, you didn’t hurt me.” How could she explain how
she felt? He was a part of her now. For a brief time, they had been one flesh.
Her heart had beat in time with his. When he died, a part of her would die with
him.

“Forgive me,” he begged. “Please, Katlaina.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” She stroked his cheek,
unmindful of the tears that welled in her eyes. “I love you, Navarre.”

“Katlaina!” Joy and pain warred in his gaze.

“Make love to me.” Her fingers dug into his arms, drawing
him closer. “I’m not afraid when I’m in your arms.”

With a low groan, he buried his face against her breast and
she felt the heat of his tears. And then he was moving within her again, making
her forget everything but the wonder of his touch, the ecstasy of his kisses,
the miracle of two hearts beating as one…

When he woke in the morning, she was gone.

Alarmed, Navarre sat up, his gaze darting to the cage on the
other side of the room. A vast sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw her
there, asleep in her own bed.

“Katlaina. Katlaina!”

He called her name, needing to know she was all right, that
he hadn’t hurt her, but she didn’t stir, and after a while, he realized they
had drugged her. But why? Never had the hours passed so slowly as they did that
day as he waited for the sun to set. He paced the floor for hours, his desire,
his need, growing stronger with each passing moment.

She woke an hour before dusk. A guard brought her food,
water to bathe in, a transparent gown made of golden cloth.

And then she was in his cage again.

In his arms again.

In his bed again.

And his need was so great, he took her quickly, swiftly,
burying himself in her softness, burying his fear of the future in the velvet
warmth of her femininity.

Later, when his desire had subsided, he gathered her into
his arms, one hand stroking her hair.

“Katlaina, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No, Navarre.”

“They drugged you last night. Why?”

“To insure that I give birth to a son.”

“And if the child is a girl?”

“I do not know. Perhaps they will let you try again. I do
not know.”

“Have any of the sacrifices ever fathered a girl child?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Katlaina, I am sorry this has happened to you. I wish…”

“What, Navarre, what do you wish?”

“Don’t you know?”

She nodded, because she did know. Her mother had told her
that there was one special man meant for each woman, and that only those
blessed by the gods ever met the one man who was mate to their heart, to their soul.

She knew Navarre was that man. A part of her could not help
but rejoice that they had met; a greater part of her grieved because they could
have no life together.

He made love to her all night long, tenderly, gently.
Passionately.

And then, as the dawn threatened to steal the darkness from
the sky, and the drug they had given her with her dinner began to take effect,
she felt his tears dampen her cheek.

“Navarre…” Needing to comfort him, she tried to fight the
darkness closing in on her. “Do not cry…Navarre…” she whispered as her eyelids
grew heavy. “Please…do not cry…”

* * * * *

It was the pattern of their days and nights for the next two
months, and then he woke one morning to find her cage empty, the linen stripped
from the bed, the door open.

“Katlaina!”

He screamed her name over and over again until one of the
guards came.

“Where is she?” Navarre demanded. “What have you done to
her?”

“Done your part, you have,” the guard said. “Your seed has
taken root. She’s breeding, the woman is.”

Navarre’s hands curled around the bars, his knuckles white. “When
will I see her again?”

The guard stared at him for a moment, and then he shook his
head. “You will not,” he replied quietly.

“Please, tell me where she is.”

The guard started to shake his head, and then he sighed. “She
is in a room above stairs. You need not worry about her. Well cared for will
she be.”

“Please, let me see her.”

“I cannot.”

“Please.” Navarre blinked back the tears that burned his
eyes. “Please.”

“I cannot.”

“Shall I beg? Is that what you want? I’ll go down on my
knees, down on my belly, whatever you ask. Only let me see her one more time.”

The guard fingered the hilt of his sword, and then he
sighed. “Tonight,” he whispered. “If I can, I will bring her tonight. But for a
few moments only.”

Navarre nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
It was the first kindness that had ever been shown him.

It was in the last dark hour before dawn when the guard
brought her to him.

“Back I will be in a quarter of an hour,” the guard said.

“Wait!” Navarre called as the man turned to leave. “Can you
not put her in here with me?”

“I have not the key,” the guard said. “Best make good use of
the time you have.”

Navarre waited until the man was gone, and then he reached
through the bars, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Katlaina, are you well?”

“Do not worry,” she said quietly. “No harm will come to me.
Or the babe.” She caressed his cheek. “My poor Navarre. You will be alone
again.” A tear slid down her cheek as she placed her hand over his heart. “I
will never forget you.”

“Nor I you.”

“I shall pray for a girl,” she said tremulously. “Perhaps,
if the gods are kind and my child is female, they will let us go.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

She slid her arms around his waist, drawing him as close as
she could with the bars between them.

“Kiss me, my Navarre,” she whispered fervently. “Kiss me
until they take me away.”

Slowly, reverently, he lowered his head, his mouth slanting
over hers to sip her sweetness. She tasted of milk and honey, and he drank
deeply, imprinting her taste, her scent, on his memory. His fingers moved in
the black silk of her hair, slid inside her robe to caress her breasts,
memorizing the softness of her skin, the feel of her in his hands.

“Katlaina…” He breathed her name, and then he kissed her
again, silently cursing the iron bars that kept them apart.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I will love you as long as I
live.”

“Katlaina, I…” The words died in his throat as he heard footsteps,
and then the guard was there, taking her by the arm, leading her away.

And he was left alone, with only the memory of her voice
whispering that she loved him.