Echoes in the Dark (26 page)

“No,”
he said thickly. “No. You don’t need to remember.”

But
she did. The attack and fight the next morning.

“No.”
Faucon swung her up in his arms, held her close to his warm body. One of her
arms went naturally around his neck, the other slid along his lightly furred
chest to his heart that beat with a rhythm of passion she couldn’t deny.

She
let him carry her up the steep path, but as he went to the gardens, she wiggled
and said, “I want to be an equal partner, Faucon.”

So
he slid her down his body and her own thrilled to the strength and muscularity
of him, his need.

Again
she linked her fingers in his, glanced around to see they were near the ponds.
One little boat showed white sails as it moved on the water.

She
kept her eyes slightly unfocused so she could pretend the pools were just
pools, water and land, and not maps. Beyond the land was green and beautiful,
the plants lush from all the cool rain of the spring and summer, the tangy wind
off the ocean mixed with other fragrances that added piquancy to the soft
night. Leaves rustled from trees, rising in verdant levels from small
fruit-bearers to tall and thick-boled ancients. On the opposite side of the
garden was Faucon’s castle, appearing like a fantasy of bold lines and turrets
and warm yellow squares of windows, with the slight murmuring of distant
voices.

All
her senses increased. Most of all, she was aware of the man walking beside her
and her own throbbing pulse. “You have a lovely home.” Her words sounded
breathless.

Faucon
stopped, looked down at her, smiling. “I do.” He bent and pressed a small kiss
on her lips. “Thank you.”

His
arm tightened for an instant, then he relaxed it, though his heart had picked
up a beat. His gaze lingered on her and she felt her breasts swell, her limbs
go heavy.

Again
he leaned down, this time kissing her temple, then he shook his head. “I’ve
tried to avoid my fate for too long.”

Her
spine stiffened. “I don’t care to be thought of as part of your fate.”

He
slid his arm from her waist to link fingers, just held her hand, and her throat
tightened. The connection they’d established during their time on the water,
that link of joy of wind and water and sail, the laughter, the learning—her of
Lladrana, and both of them of each other—unfurled between them. It was a
shining bond like she had with no other. Small sexual tugs came from him to
her, or was she the one doing the tugging?

He
met her eyes, then his gaze dropped to her lips, his thumb caressed the back of
her hand. “You would be the best of my fate.”

She
shook her head, but didn’t pull away from his calloused grasp, kept in pace
with him. “I’m not.”

His
smile curved deeper. “You felt the connection between us, the attraction
flowing one to the other and back immediately, as I did.”

She
didn’t want to think, analyze—couldn’t they just pleasure each other? Not a
phrase she would have used on Earth, but somehow it fit the night. And the man.

Breath
unsteady, she said, “You feel that way for all Exotiques.”

His
smile faded. “Perhaps so, but the intensity between us has always been…more.”
His grip tightened a little. “Believe that, Raine. I deluded myself with
Elizabeth.” Now his expression turned grim, worse and worse. “I won’t lie and
say that I didn’t love her—I did. And if she’d stayed, we’d have made a good
marriage.” He let his breath out on a soft sigh. “But what we had at our best
was weak compared to what you and I had from our very first meeting.”

Then,
he opened himself and his Song flooded her, strong and male and fabulous,
making her tremble. Her mind swam and she instinctively leaned toward him, her
Song
reached
for his, found his, meshed.

When
his soft lips touched hers, all her senses focused on their mouths, their
mingling breath. Her body heated, needy, wanting more of him touching her than
just his mouth, his linked fingers. She opened her lips and took him in, felt
the slight roughness of his tongue, like the slight roughness of his hands
still holding hers. There was only sensation. She surrendered to the desire for
this man that she’d fought, that she’d thought she was alone in feeling, and
finally
knew
he’d wanted her all along. Had fought her…resisted
fate
…until
this moment.

Her
senses throbbed with stimulus. His taste was of man and crème brûlée and some
sort of liqueur, a taste she didn’t know that she’d craved but was exactly
right. He dropped her hands and she could press herself against his hard body,
slide her arms around his neck, let herself arch so she could feel more of him,
the solid breadth of his chest, his strong thighs, his thick sex.

She
moaned and his hands went to her butt and lifted her to fit her against him and
it felt so good she strained against him, rubbed. He made a rough sound, moved
his tongue against hers, then broke the kiss and set her aside. Her knees
wobbled and he supported her with a hand to her elbow. She was panting, her
vision blurred, her body pulsing with need. “Faucon.” It was a gasp.

“Not
here, there’s a place…over there,” he said between ragged breaths. He lifted
her into his arms and she was against his chest and she could slip her hand
around his nape and feel the tickle of his hair against her hand. That set off
sparks again. “Hurry,” she said.

He
groaned, ran lightly across the ground to an odd-looking domed structure that
appeared to be made entirely of vines. The bower was covered with pretty white
five-petaled flowers, as if indicating a special place only for lovers.

“Flowers,”
she breathed, and he understood her.

“No,
they were not there before, they’re night blooming.”

Then
the scent of them came to her, sweet temptation, a light, sensual fragrance.

When
she spoke the words, she wanted to cry, but they had to be said. “I’m going
back.”

19

“I
know,” Faucon
whispered. “My fate, but we’ll have a wonderful time until you do.”

Her
mind swam away again and she felt his hands on her, untying the gathered ribbon
of her nightgown above her breasts, sliding it down until she was naked. The
soft summer air against her legs, now the scent of the ocean. Perfect.

She
fumbled with his pants. Damn dreethskin, why did he wear it?

He
laughed shortly, answered her question. “It kept you from noticing I was
aroused when I was with you.”

“Fighting
fate,” she breathed. For one clear instant she wondered what this act would do
to
her
fate, her resolve to return home. But then his hands were over
her breasts and nothing was as important as his touch. She arched and moaned.

He
muttered something and pulled away.

No!
She jumped toward him before she saw him unbuckling the waistband of his pants,
stripping trousers and loincloth down until he stood nude before her.

Definitely
the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Her
hands curved over his shoulders to bring him down. She felt scars, round raised
bumps, a slice, and something she’d been guarding inside herself burst through
a locked box and swept through her like a fresh rain of her name.

He
grasped her hands, set her on her back on the thick, soft grass. His intense
gaze met hers, he was biting his lip.

“Can’t,”
he gasped. “Can’t control myself.”

She
set her hands on his face, felt beard, a little rough like all of him except
his manner. “Please don’t,” she said.

A
wild noise came from him, sent their Songs into a drumming beat, and he surged
inside her.

She
screamed at the pleasure and let the tide of passion take her to break like
wild surf against the shores of ecstasy.

S
ometime later
Faucon rolled until she was atop him and she lay, satisfied, listening to the
rapid beat of his heart slowly diminishing to an even thud. She fit on him.

“I’m
taking you back to my rooms,” he said. “I want to spend as much time together
as possible….”

“Not
just now. The night is so beautiful, this place is so lovely.” The fragrance of
the flowers was all around them, the breeze brought a hint of the ocean. She
could see the huge scarves of galaxies in the sky, and the white moon. “So many
stars. Lladranan night is brighter than home.”

“I
didn’t know that.”

“No?”
She realized she’d said the word in English, but was speaking Lladranan better.
The other women had told her this would happen if she took a Lladranan lover,
but she hadn’t realized she’d get other images and feelings and experiences
from his mind. Some of his lost father-figure, Broullard, many of sailing.
None, thankfully, of Elizabeth.

She
didn’t think he’d gotten any hint of her few past lovers, either.

He
pillowed his arm under her head, but lay on his side, looking at her. She gazed
back at him.

Tracing
her lips with his forefinger, he said, “Preparation for the trials begin
tomorrow, and the trials themselves the day after. I need to go back with the
others in the morning.”

She
didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want to think about that or any
ramifications of the trials. She put her fingers over his lips, and he kissed
them, but continued on. “I think you should stay here, near the ocean, where
you belong, Seamistress. Practice building your Ship.”

A
slightly better topic. She stroked his brow, his cheeks. “Ayes, I’d rather be
here.” Didn’t want to be in a Castle where people were excited about preparing
for war.

He
licked her fingers, and his eyes were serious. “You will always be welcome
here. Always.”

“Merci.”

There
was the whir of wings, a little squeak cut short. Raine stood, reached both hands
down to him. He took her fingers, rose on his own, then flashed a wicked grin
and scooped her up in his arms once more. “Now I can carry you, my prize, my
lover.” He kissed her hard. “My wonderful fate.”

“Our…fate.”

T
hey loved
several times in the night and in the morning had breakfast in his suite.

She
helped Faucon dress in his battle leathers—in case an alarm was sounded on the
way to the Marshalls’ Castle. Then she accompanied him arm-in-arm out of his
castle and toward the landing field, where the others waited.

Passing
the ponds, Faucon stopped. Raine didn’t want to, but she halted, too. A series
of pools that some long-ago ancestor of his had ordered built—for just this
time? She didn’t know and it was too scary to think of.

Despite
herself, she looked at the large pool of the northern continent and her model.
She studied the course it—they, not
she
—would take. There was the sweep
northwest around the last big peninsula of the continent, then back east to the
narrow S-curving channel between two continents, then nearly straight east to
the volcanic island that was the Dark’s Nest.

There
they’d find monsters, the horrors she’d seen mounted as trophies. The worst for
the invasion force and her ship were dreeths—looking like the flying dinosaurs
of old Earth, but with spines and claws and sharp rows of teeth. The large ones
were big as a house, the smaller ones breathed fire.

Staring
at her ship, she wondered if there was any way to protect it from dreeth fire.
They would need it to get back, wouldn’t they? The survivors.

“It’s
a beautiful Ship,” Faucon said.

She
gave him a resigned smile. “It could be better with more Lladranan input.”

He
inclined his head. “Ayes. Corbeau will be here for the days I’m at the trials,
then I’ll return and we’ll consult more on ship design and model building.” His
smile widened. “Corbeau has five children, I’m sure all of them would like a
ship from the hands of the Exotique Seamistress.”

“Thank
you,” she whispered.

He
held her for a moment, then they walked to the landing field. None of the
Exotiques said a word about Raine’s new intimacy with Faucon, and she thought
she heard cautionary humming between the women and their spouses and the men
kept quiet, too. The acceptance was a blessing, since she was feeling tender this
morning, like she’d stepped onto a dangerous path.

Or
maybe it was because she looked like she might cut and run.

She
endured the grins of the women, said farewell to the others with an embrace.
She hugged Luthan, who’d seemed preoccupied and hadn’t said a word throughout
the evening before. He held her, too, and felt solid and good, completely
brotherly.

Koz
winked at her and she winked back. He’d fallen into a sudden sleep after
working with the mirrors and the last she’d seen him, he was snoring on the
rugs. “Good hunting,” she said, giving him the standard Chevalier goodbye.

“Not
hunting,” he said cheerily. “Testing.” He flexed. “I’m gonna win.”