22 Nights (11 page)

THE
social gathering that was their task for the day went very well, all things considered. The villagers were amused by the situation, and though that annoyed Merin, he could not blame them. If this was happening to someone else, he’d find it funny.

A local man played the lute without making too many mistakes, and there was dancing in a grassy square lit by blazing torches. A young lady at the lute player’s side occasionally joined in, playing a lilting gemshorn. It was apparent from their skill that they had performed together in the past—and both had been more than happy to trade their musical abilities for meat.

The boar was well done and tasty, and plenty of ale was drunk. Children of all ages ran and played, with endless energy, and those who were not able to dance because of age or infirmity sat on chairs Merin had collected from the pub. Talking and laughing with those around them, they probably passed the evening gossiping about him and Bela, but maybe they were allowed.

Bela’s friend Jocylen and her husband were obviously happy with one another. They would likely never find themselves bound together for twenty-two days—not that they would mind such a situation. Bela and Jocylen seemed anxious to share some womanly talk, but thanks to his proximity they could not speak freely. Instead, they exchanged cryptic glances and a few fluttery hand signals he had no chance of deciphering, and more than once Bela leaned over to whisper in her friend’s ear. Merin tried not to listen. If she was talking about him, the words were probably not flattering.

Bela swore she did not care for womanly things, and then she acted very much like a woman. She was perplexing.

Though he did not attempt to listen, did not move closer to catch an occasional word, Merin did wonder what Bela would tell her friend about him, if he were the topic of conversation. Would she list all his faults, or were there a few virtues she would discuss? They didn’t get along well at all, and neither of them wished to be in this untenable situation, but she did think he was “beautiful.”

No one was more beautiful than Bela, not tonight. Odd that he should even think the word in regard to her, since she was not pretty in any traditional sense. Her features were too strong, too sharp, to be called beautiful. It was the hair and that revealing dress, he supposed, that made his mind turn to admiration of beauty. She should wear the thick chestnut tresses down more often, rather than always catching them up in that staid plait. Tonight her hair waved very nicely, full and silky as it rippled over her shoulders and down her back. The golden band she’d been wearing on his arrival was her only adornment. It was simple, and added just a touch of shine and sparkle to a woman who needed no adornment at all.

She should also wear dresses more often. The one which had been provided for her was striking. Bela looked like a goddess in that dress, tall and curvaceous and strong. She looked as if she could tempt any man to long for things he should not. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t tempting enough in britches and manly shirts, but in that revealing gown which made it so clear she was a woman . . . she was amazingly tempting and utterly female.

Merin’s brow furrowed. Was it his fault that Bela hid her femininity behind manly clothes and pursuits? Had their one time together been so traumatic that she shunned all womanly things so she would not be subjected to such an ordeal again? That night had been a disaster. Drugged and close to senseless though he had been, he remembered that much.

He’d thought she was ready as she stripped away his clothes and climbed atop him. No, more than ready—she’d been anxious, or at least she’d pretended to be. She hadn’t been able to undress herself or him fast enough. She’d known what went where and had been eager to begin. Well, he’d thought she’d been eager. Knowing her better now than he had then, he realized that what he’d seen as eagerness had instead been impatience.

She’d jumped on his erection and lost her maidenhead, squealing in surprise and pain before making a hasty escape. Thanks to the potion she had used to take half his senses, he’d been unable to chase after her. Even though he’d been confused and frustrated at being abandoned so early in the act, he could do nothing but lie there, unsatisfied and befuddled.

He had never before considered that she’d been almost entirely ignorant when it came to matters of sex. Ignorant and impatient—not a good combination, not at all.

Apparently their brief and unfinished encounter had been a harrowing experience for her, one that made her wary of a natural relationship between a woman and a man. He could fix her ignorance, though, if he had a notion. He could fix it very easily.

Merin was not altogether surprised when the seer Rafal Fiers ordered him and Bela to dance. She was openly annoyed by the command, but Merin found he did not care. They slept in the same bed, they worked side by side, they lived unrelentingly in one another’s shadow. One dance wouldn’t change anything.

Bela had to teach him the steps of the Turi Calchas Dance, which was slow and sensuous and often demanded that their bodies be very close. Only a handful of couples participated in this particular dance, he noticed, so he had to ask, “Is this some sort of secret ceremonial dance that’s going to pledge me to something or someone?”

“No,” Bela said tersely. “this dance is reserved for men and their wives. Like it or not, we qualify.”

“For the next fifteen days,” he clarified.

“For the next fourteen and a half days.”

“Of course.”

The steps were simple, their bodies brushed now and then. The dance was not so primitive as to mimic the act of sex, but it was definitely arousing. The tempo, the way their bodies came together and then moved apart, the soft and rhythmic sound of the lute and the trilling gemshorn—yes, this was a dance not of joy or celebration but of passion.

“What do the colors mean?” he asked, anxious to change the subject. “Red, black, and white. What do they symbolize? ”

Bela sighed. “Later.”

“I could ask someone else.”

“Go right ahead,” she said, but in the wash of firelight he could see her blush. “You are so annoyingly impatient.”

She thought
he
was impatient? No one was more impatient than Bela. “Later, then,” he said. The dance called for him to lift her off her feet and spin her around, and he did so easily. Bela was tall, she was muscled, but she seemed light as a feather at the moment, as if she almost floated from the ground. The wind caught her skirt and her hair and whipped them gently around, right before he placed her on her feet.

The music ended, and the party was over. Couples collected their children, if they had them, and headed for home. Others simply walked away arm in arm. Many said good night to Bela and Merin and thanked them for the meal and the entertainment, as if the host and hostess had had a choice in the matter. Clyn and Tyman glared at Merin before they left, Clyn with his wife, Tyman with a young girl he had been courting. Gayene Haythorne and her chieftain husband looked pleased with themselves as they said their good nights.

“We should clean . . .” Bela began.

Merin grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. You shouldn’t be cleaning anything in that dress.”

“It’s not as if I’ll ever wear it again,” she protested.

Merin raked one finger down a length of black fabric. “You never know. Maybe your next husband will want to dissolve your marriage,” he teased.

“There will be no next husband,” Bela said sharply.

It made him sad to think that she would never have what her friend Jocylen had found. It made him angry to realize that she would close herself from all things womanly because of one bad night.

“Anything is possible,” he said.

She looked aghast in the fading torchlight. Soon the flames would burn out and all would be dark, as was right at this time of night. “I suppose you will marry one day,” she said, more than a hint of accusation in her voice.

“I suppose I will,” he said.

“You’ll likely pick some brainless, childlike woman who will expect you to take care of her.” Bela almost sneered. “Why bother?”

“I would like to have children one day.”

“Why?” she sounded horrified.

Merin found himself smiling. “You don’t like children? ”

“Once they’re of an age they’re all right, I suppose, but babies stink and they require constant care. They can be uncommonly loud and demanding, considering their small size, and they expect to
drink
from their mother’s breasts as if she were a sow.”

Merin brushed a thumb against Bela’s nipple, and she gasped. He felt it harden instantly, as her body unwillingly responded to his touch.

“I did not ask for a demonstration,” she said primly. “I know very well where my breasts are located.”

They stood there for a while, and the light of one torch died. Another soon followed.

“We should go inside,” Merin said.

“We should, I suppose. I’m very tired.” She glanced toward the door to their small cottage as if there might be a monstrous beast hiding behind it. “Nothing has changed,” she insisted.

He disagreed. Somehow, everything had changed.

 

MERIN
lit a single lamp inside the cottage. Bela tried very hard not to look at him as he began to remove his uniform without bothering to ask her to stand outside or turn her back. Maybe he just planned to sleep in his trousers, as he sometimes did.

But like it or not, she had to get out of this blasted dress, and she did not want him watching while she shed it.

Merin stripped down to plain, dark green trousers and then stopped to fold the rest of his uniform. It was easy to forget that he was a general of high station in other parts of Columbyana, given all they’d done in the past few days. He had never complained about the menial labors which had been required of him. He had never once tried to use his position to weasel out of this untenable situation.

He sat on the side of the bed and removed his boots.

“Would you stand outside while I put on my nightgown?” she asked, thinking her voice was amazingly sweet and serene and reasonable.

“No,” Merin said. “I don’t think I will.”

Bela placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. So much for reason! “We have an arrangement, and it has worked quite well until now. Why become obstinate now? ”

“I’m tired, just as you are,” he said, and in truth he did sound weary enough. “I don’t want to step outside and stand there while you wrestle with that gown and your nightdress, when it would be so much easier if I helped you take it off.”

Bela took a step back. “No! Just because we danced, just because I let you brush my hair, just because . . . just because . . .”

“Don’t you ever wonder, Bela, why all these other women of your village are so happy with their husbands? You are curious about other aspects of life, and yet you don’t seem to wonder why you are the only woman who runs from a man’s attentions as if he plans to slit your pretty throat at the first opportunity.”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps I am different from other women in some ways.”

“You are different in many ways, Bela, some very good and some very bad. I feel rather responsible for your distaste for men, even though what happened six years ago was not entirely my fault.”

“Let’s not discuss . . .”

“Let’s,” he said. “I have a proposition for you. You let me show you what you’re missing, and if I’m wrong, if you still want nothing to do with men when I’m finished, then tomorrow I will do your work as well as my own. You can sit and watch, if you’d like, sipping water or wine and resting as comfortably as is possible, given the situation, while I labor away.”

She smiled. “You will begin the day cleaning up the mess from tonight’s party.”

He nodded his head, and still Bela felt a rush of panic. “This is a bad idea. I don’t want to be hurt, and we can’t take the chance of making a child. If there’s a baby, we can never dissolve this marriage.
Never
.”

“There will be no baby,” Merin said confidently, “and I can and will stop what I’m doing at any time. All you have to do is tell me to stop, and it is done. I’m not a monster, Bela. I don’t plan to attack you and I won’t hurt you.”

“You can’t know . . .”

“I promise.” His voice was smooth as silk, and the sound caused her blood to do a little dance, and a little something somewhere tugged and fluttered. It was quite unusual.

Bela could not say she was not curious. Jocylen was delighted with her marriage and her husband, and other brides seemed more than happy enough. Still, she could not help but remember the pain and invasion and horror of their first encounter. Was she hopelessly broken? Could Merin fix her? Was it possible that she was
wrong
? “If I say stop . . .”

“I stop.”