TICEES (10 page)

Chelan moved to him when he was finished, placing her arms around his neck and allowing her towel to fall. “I wish I could accompany you,” she stated, her face almost sorrowful.

“I wish you could, also,” he murmured, his shroud enveloping her cool body with warmth.

She continued to stare into his azure eyes. “Will you return to me tonight?”

Korba smiled and kissed her. “I’m sure I could persuade Tarn to do some extra duties this week until the Koll.”

Chelan couldn’t believe her ears, and she bubbled. She had just assumed that he would be absent until the Koll, as her secrecy was still paramount, and no doubt the demands on him would be many.

He hugged her, pleased with her exuberance. “You don’t think I would totally abandon my beautiful mate and the future mother of my child, simply to command the Empire’s greatest and most exalted battleship, do you?”

She giggled and hugged him tightly, her heart swelling. “No, I suppose not,” she smiled. “After all, a one-hundred-twenty-pound alien is far more important than a one-hundred-twenty-kilometer-long ship.”

Both chuckled, and then Korba kissed her one last time. He stepped back and scooped up her towel. He placed it over her shoulders and pulled it tight. “I’ll be gone during the days,” he told her. “You will have Fremma for company.”

Chelan smiled and nodded.

“I’ll leave Lazen and his men with you. If the need arises for anything, use him for whatever task as Fremma is still too weak.”

Chelan nodded again. “Can I tell Fremma about us?”

Korba faltered momentarily. “Why would you wish to tell him?”

“Because it means so much to me. It shows our commitment to one another, and I want to share that with a friend.”

Korba smiled, acknowledging her innocent intent while mulling over the devastating effect it could have on the weakened man. “I think we should keep this between us for now. There are still too many unknowns involved, too many decisions to make, and too many plans to arrange.”

Chelan hesitated. “I guess you’re right. Besides, I suppose it might not be as welcome news to Fremma as it is to me.”

Korba nodded as he ran a gloved hand down her silky hair. He kissed her chastely on the forehead, and then turned and left her as he went to reclaim his ship.

Chelan watched him go, her heart momentarily melancholy, but suddenly she thought of the new gown, and she was once again afloat in a sea of delight. She bounded into the bedroom, slipped into her gown, and then wasted no time in heading for Fremma’s quarters.

She entered the doors quietly so as to not disturb him, but the bed was empty. She could hear the shower running, and she tiptoed into the en suite, ducking behind the vanity and out of his sight. She remained silent, and the water eventually ceased. Suddenly, she wondered if she should attempt to surprise him. After all, his wound was still painful. And worse, memories of surprising Solis edged into her mind.

But Chelan did not have time to ponder the wisdom of her actions for long, as Fremma spoke. “Your attempt to hide from me, my Lady, is futile. I could detect your presence anywhere.”

Chelan stood up slowly. “Do you miss anything?” she asked, her quiet voice betraying a tinge of disappointment.

Fremma stepped from the water and waited for the droplets to cascade from his body, the cleansing bar having woven its magic about him. But he had not bothered to use it on his hair, and so he reached for a towel. “Not where you’re concerned, Chelan.”

Chelan smiled, but she had to fight the urge to take a step back from him. She looked to the floor and began to ponder their physical differences. Then she met his quizzical gaze. “Am I that …” she began shyly, but couldn’t continue.

Fremma’s brows rose. “Are you that what, Chelan?”

Chelan hugged herself, unbearably self-conscious. “My scent,” she elaborated hurriedly, and she blushed a bright red.

Fremma laughed and then shook his head. “Quite the contrary, my Lady.” He chuckled at the reason behind her embarrassment. “You are virtually scentless, especially when compared to my people. But you are unique, and, therefore, you are unmistakable. Our warriors are bred for that sensory area to be highly developed. It aids us on the battlefield when we cannot see, and underground when our eyes cannot get enough light to function fully, or where our sensors are inoperable. We can scent weapons, explosives, bodies, fear, blood—all we need to know that our eyes cannot tell us. We can even distinguish one another easily if we are within range. And I am serious when I say you are almost scentless in comparison. There is nothing to be self-conscious about. You are different, and simply that.”

Chelan finally relaxed. Fremma could always buoy her spirits and allay her concerns no matter what the situation. She watched him as he sat on the edge of the large soaking tub and began rubbing the towel through his hair with his left hand. She moved to him quickly, taking the towel and drying his hair for him.

When she had finished, she moved silently to the vanity and returned to him with her comb. She knelt before him and began smoothing his long, blue-black hair into place. His attentive eyes never left her. When she was satisfied, she sat back on her heels and smiled. “Perfect,” she purred, her eyes sparkling.

Though his hair had provided a temporary distraction, she could not help looking quickly at his wound. She sucked in a deep breath and winced at his skin’s discoloration. She straightened and touched his damaged flesh tenderly, wishing with all her heart that her touch could heal.

Fremma took her hand and raised her fingers to his lips. Chelan watched him as he savored her slender hand, and she stilled. She saw him take a deep breath, his eyes misting with love.

“Has Korba been good to you?” he asked, his voice suddenly laden with emotion.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Fremma’s grip on her hand increased, and he closed his eyes as he struggled for words. Finally, his gaze returned to her. “Was he gentle with you?”

Chelan’s heart skipped several beats. She was unsure of how to answer such a personal question, especially as she recalled her self-inflicted injury. But then she also remembered Korba’s original refusal to take her. “Yes,” she uttered meekly. She looked down, a flood of unexpected feelings for the warrior before her hitting her forcefully.

Fremma reached for her and pulled her forward between his thighs and into his lap. She pressed her head into him as her arms surrounded his waist. Fremma stroked her face and hair. Closing her eyes, she spoke slowly. “When you are well,” she whispered, “I will be able to accept you easily.”

She felt him become very still, and then his hand slipped under her chin, and he raised her face to his. “I’m glad,” he murmured. “I could not bear to hurt you.”

Chelan was nearly rendered breathless by her own feelings. How could she love these three men so much, each love different, but each love no less intense? And for the moment she was glad that Dar was absent, an accessible trilogy being too much for her heart to handle. Finally, she released him. “Come on,” she urged, reaching for his uniform. “I’ll help you dress.”

Fremma nodded, smiling as she helped him ease into his clothes, her brushings on his skin sending his heart into alternate spasms of pain and love.

Once she finished, she stood before him. “Can I do anything else for you, my gentle warrior?”

Fremma’s face became serious as he started to speak, but then thought better of it. “No,” he whispered. “I think I’ll just lie down for a while.”

Chelan grinned. She had noticed his momentary hesitation, but she had decided to let it go. Following him to his bed, she observed that his gait was much stronger, and she was elated. He sat down and lay back against the stack of pillows. His eyes beckoned to her, and she crawled up beside him, cuddling under his strong arm, his body warming her.

“So, tell me about your gown, Chelan.”

Chelan looked at him skeptically. “Since when are you interested in women’s apparel?”

Fremma grinned. “Since I know it will adorn your body and it is of your design.”

Chelan shrugged. “There is nothing to tell. You will see it literally materialize before your very eyes. Dredon will be here each day to help me, and you can be my primary critic.”

Fremma chuckled, hugging her close. “Somehow, I doubt there will be much to criticize.”

Chelan wanted to needle him, but she stayed very still as she watched him reach stiffly for the intercom button.

“Sir, it’s Dredon, for the Lady Chelan.”

Fremma smiled at Chelan. “Speak of the devil,” he commented lightly.

The doors parted. Dredon entered and stopped in his tracks, confusion apparent on his face as he witnessed their embrace.

He was surprised that a Warlord such as Korba would allow a woman so special such intimate contact with another man. Yet he was not sure why he assumed that. There was nothing in their law or culture that forbade such an arrangement. But Dredon was still surprised. He remained mute as Chelan kissed Fremma affectionately and then parted from him. Her step was light and sure as she approached him, her smile bringing him back to reality. “Oh, my Lady, I think you will be very pleased.” And with that he exposed the volumes of petal pink material, its surface shimmering in the light as though it were alive.

Fremma rose from his pillows, his eyes widening at the beauty of the fabric. Chelan scooped the material from Dredon, allowing it to unravel about her. Skipping back to the bed, she held it to herself. “Well, what do you think?”

Fremma’s heart had stopped. The pastel pink highlighted her beauty beyond life itself. “Oh, my Lady, I think you shall put our Overlord in his grave.”

Chelan quivered with elation. She reeled around and headed quickly back to Dredon. “Okay,” she said breathlessly, “Korba will be gone all day. Let’s get to work. Oh, and I have one other request. I will need a special pair of shoes. I will sketch them for you, as I know that your women have nothing similar. We call them high heels. I mention it now because I will need another ten centimeters added to the length of the gown all around.”

Dredon nodded, somewhat perplexed by the term ‘high heels,’ but he had no doubt that she would enlighten him.

Fremma moved to a chair, spellbound as he watched Dredon and Chelan work together. Both were equally competent, and both extremely artistic. The pattern designs emerged quickly, and Dredon transferred everything to a heads-up display that left Chelan dumbstruck. Then she watched with rapt attention as he smoothed out the material over the table and then simply manipulated the display. The pattern outlines, once vertical, simply tipped through space to the horizontal and dropped to the fabric. Chelan shook her head with wonder.

Dredon smiled at her, taken by the way the technology mesmerized her, but he was not finished yet. With the touch of a button, the outlines of the pieces flashed and disappeared, the fabric perfectly cut.

Chelan’s fingers rose to her lips and her eyes widened. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “That’s amazing.”

Dredon then gathered up the fabric pieces. “I will fold and bind all the sections with a temporary bonding agent that will not mark the fabric. While I do that, maybe you could sketch out your shoes.”

Chelan nodded enthusiastically and set to her work, and all their tasks progressed rapidly and flawlessly. Neither Chelan nor Dredon spoke, their minds working together in perfect harmony, their movements beautifully attuned to make the most out of the time available to them. When he finally picked up the constructed garment, Chelan frowned. “That is going to take forever to sew. Then to trim all the seams and finish the edges …”

Dredon looked at her, his expression puzzled. “Sew!” he exclaimed. “You mean bind with a laser. It will take no time at all.”

Chelan looked at him in disbelief once again. Then she reached for one of the nearly invisible seams of her own white gown. She had never taken the time to notice how the garments had been constructed before, and her eyes sparkled with delight. “When can we start?”

Dredon shrugged. “Right now if you want. But I need you as a model first. There are no seam allowances, as the laser’s touch is final. There can be no room for error. So this must fit you perfectly now before the final binding is done.”

Chelan nodded to him and then turned toward Fremma. “Is there anything I can get for you before we begin?”

“No. I’m fine, Chelan. I’m quite content to sit here and watch the production of this masterpiece.”

Chelan walked over to him. “You should rest. We can go to the Command Center.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Korba could return unexpectedly. You are safer here. He would not walk in unannounced when he knows I am here with you.”

Chelan saw the spark in his eyes, and she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. His hand immediately grabbed a large lock of her flowing hair, and he held her to him, savoring her oral caress.

Chelan finally pulled away from him and smiled impishly. “I see that you’re recovering.”

Fremma smiled back, his fingers relinquishing her hair to her. “And none too soon,” he whispered.

Dredon paused, still confused by their relationship. Then, without warning, the doors parted and in walked yet another piece to the complicated puzzle.

Chelan gasped. “Dar!”

Dredon rose to his feet immediately and bowed in respect, but Dar hardly noticed the man. The Warlord’s goal was Chelan, and he moved to embrace her passionately. “Well, well,” he smiled. “I see that all is fine with my Lady.”

“Ah yes, my Lord,” she replied, her hands travelling beneath his shroud and encircling his waist. “I see that you have been released from your command?” she teased.

Dar’s fingers dug playfully into her ribs, and she squirmed. “Yes. It seems I have been replaced by that black-haired rogue that I so mistakenly returned you to.”

“Oh, come on now. No sour grapes,” she quipped.

Dar chuckled and then finally looked beyond her and the stunned Dredon to Fremma. “Oh, yes. I see now. It must be the black hair.”

Chelan glanced over to Fremma and then smiled at Dar slyly. “What are you talking about?”