Myla By Moonlight (19 page)

Myla whirled, outrage glittering in her eyes. “In the past day, your father has struck you and thrown a blade at you. Your friend held a knife to my throat. These are not comforting things.”

“Go, my guardian. I’ll be fine here. I promise.”

Grudgingly, she allowed the queen to pull her into the bedchamber while scowling at him. Taric grinned until the door shut. Then he gave free reign to the sudden hot flash of rage in his gut. He spun to Bryton, pushed him to the wall and held him there, his fists balled on his tunic front.

“
You
held a knife to her throat?”

“I— Look, Tar, I was trying to help you.” Bryton held his hands up in surrender but his voice never wavered. “That’s my duty. At that minute, I viewed her as a threat. I was trying to protect you.”

“Myla’s never a threat to me. She’s my heartbeat.” A woman had never come between them before. They were too close. But Myla meant more to him than the very air in his lungs.

Their eyes locked and Bryton slowly nodded his understanding. “Then she too falls under my care, not that she needs it. I’m your captain, Taric, and will give my life for you or your princess if needed.”

A harsh breath heaved in Taric’s chest. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth but he relaxed his fingers. Bryton tugged his tunic down, never dropping the visual connection. Their balance returned but Taric still held a grudge. Without warning, he plowed his fist into Bryton’s stomach. Bryton heaved and his knees buckled.

“I don’t want your death but you ever draw one drop of her blood again and I’ll make you puke like a dog.”

Chapter Nine

Lunian chatted and planned while Myla stood robed in a long white shift, arms outstretched like a bird in flight. Words like
menu
,
minstrels
and
guest lists
spun from the queen’s mouth like a spinning wheel spits thread. No response from Myla was required—and there was no space for one—had she understood the conversation. But if she dared move, Lunian jabbed sharp pins into her flesh and muttered about fidgets, whatever they were.

In the past half hour, she had been stabbed three times. This gown-making was a bother. She searched for Taric with her mind. He spoke with the others in hushed, contemplative tones of the coming days.
Safe.

Kneeling on the floor, silver pins clenched in her lips, Lunian looked up and smiled. “Do you have a color preference for the wedding?”

Myla had never thought of colors or dresses or necklines and merely shook her head. Did all human women prattle about nonsense? Her stepson was to go on trial, her husband’s crown was at risk and Lunian was more concerned about lace patterns and color choices?

“No? All right then, what about sleeve length?” Seeing Myla’s confusion, the woman sighed and shook her head while replacing pins in a small cloth ball. “I’ll just choose what I think best, I suppose.”

“Yes, that would be best. Are we through? May I return to Taric now?”

“Soon,” Lunian replied, gathering her full skirt to stand. The look she settled on Myla was kind and a small sting of guilt forced Myla to bow her head. She was trying very hard to be friendly and Taric would not like it if she insulted his stepmother.

“I thank you for your kindness, Queen Lunian.”

“You’re to be my step-daughter-in-law although I’m not much older than you…I don’t think. How old are you, Myla?”

Head to the side, she considered. Age. She didn’t quite know. She had been in this form since Taric was an hour old but before that she had existed, somewhere. It was hazy and vague, more flashes of color and light than form. The queen looked at her expectantly so she answered simply, “I was created in this world an hour after Taric’s birth.”

“So you share a birthday, how sweet.” Her laugh was pleasant, Myla decided, like a bird’s song in early dawn. “I’ve been jabbering away and you’ve yet to tell me any preferences. Do you have a favorite food? Or an epic tale for the minstrels?”

“I like berries.” Myla smiled in memory and her nose wrinkled. “I do not like pickled vegetables.”

“Then there won’t be a pickled carrot in sight.” Lunian frowned at Myla’s feet, nodded to herself and began pulling the shift over her head. The white fabric covered Myla’s face and she struggled to aid in removing the pinned and tucked garment. A smudge of blood stained the snowy length from her hastily bandaged hand.

Lunian frowned, peeking beneath the cloth. “Oh, that should be stitched.”

Myla removed her hand from the inspection. “It will heal as I return to Taric.”

“It will?”

“Yes.” Myla slipped the familiar red silk over her head and reached for her belt. “I am reborn each time I return. My wounds heal, I do not age and I replenish my magic.”

“Reborn? Oh my, I didn’t think… You’re his heartmate.” Lunian covered her mouth with a slim hand, her eyes wide. “Myla, is there is a reason Taric wants the wedding so quickly?”

“You would have to ask Taric about his reasons.” Myla concentrated on tying her sandals.

The queen blew out a sigh then cocked her head. Between her teeth, her lip grew red and swollen. “Oh…oh, out with it. Do you carry his child, Myla? Are you pregnant?”

Stunned, Myla leapt to her feet with too much force, startling the woman. “No. It is impossible.”

“Then you’re still a maiden.” After a troubled sigh, Lunian took her uninjured hand and pulled her to sit on the wide bed. With a slow breath and a deep swallow, the queen faced her. “Myla, do you know what occurs between a man and his wife?”

This seemed important knowledge and Myla searched her mind. If she was to be a wife, she wanted to be the best wife she could be but her skills were more battle-ready than bridal-ready. Taric had never been married and Balic had had no bride in his son’s formative years so she’d gleaned little information of husbands and wives. She couldn’t cook or sew, things she had heard soldiers speak of their wives doing, but there was no need with the castle servants. She shook her head.

Lunian closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped. They suddenly squared and she squeezed her hand once more. “When a man marries a woman…that is…to consummate a marriage…you give yourself to your husband. All of yourself, Myla, body and soul.”

Myla angled her head and frowned.
Shouldn’t there be more? Haven’t I done that?
“Taric has my body and my soul now.”

Jaw opening, the queen gawked. “He has your… Why, that scoundrel. He is too much like his father.” She shook her head and Myla saw her small smile before she hid it behind firm lips. “Taric shouldn’t have taken liberties or your virginity without a wedding.”

“He took only what I gave to him. I like loving with Taric a great deal.”

“Well…good.” The queen giggled before her face softened in compassion. “Then you know what I mean. I’m sorry you must be pained each time he loves you.”

“Pained?” Myla withdrew her hand, puzzlement in her voice. “There is no pain in Taric’s love.”

Lunian rose, fumbling with the pinned shift and keeping her pink face turned away. “Maybe we aren’t speaking of the same thing then. When you say Taric has your body…do you lie with him? Without clothing? Did you bleed?”

“I have lain with him many times. There is no pain. The first time we loved, there was some stinging and blood but both were slight and went away quickly. He assured me it was normal.”

“It is,” Lunian hurried to comfort her. “But you said all your wounds heal and you’re reborn. Does…
that
not heal? Do you not become a virgin each time you return?”

The blood had stopped seeping from her hand, drying along the edges into a thin crust of crimson. Myla studied it and pondered. There had been faint smears of pink on her thighs after Taric loved her in Istimar. They had not reappeared. Why?

“I do not know why I… Perhaps because my innocence was not taken but given freely and with love. I would give Taric the breath of my body if he desired it without question but I cannot create a life. I cannot carry his child. That is why he searches for a way to make me fully human. If none is discovered, he will have no heir. I would see him married to another if it would save his throne.”

Lunian folded the shift over her arm and bent to press a sweet kiss to Myla’s forehead. “What a princess he has found for Eldwyn. Go to him, I’ll see to your gowns.”

Myla quickly nodded and went to leave. Her hand stopped on the door latch, a question burning in her mouth. Lunian pushed the low stool back beside the bed and Myla studied her. The queen seemed so genuine and caring, perhaps her questions would not offend her. Taric would answer anything for her but some things a man simply wouldn’t know.

“Queen Lunian, may I speak with you? As a woman?”

Lunian smiled broadly and nodded. “Of course, Myla. Let’s not have a formality between us. You’re to be family.”

“Thank you.” Pressing her shoulders against the wood door, she tilted her head. “You are not Balic’s heartmate yet he has obvious affection for you. You are not an old woman. Did the absence of children…concern you before you married?”

“Not really.” Lunian crossed to her and gently smoothed an errant lock from her face. The move was so…motherly that Myla stared. “Balic loves me in his own way and I love him. It is enough. I know Tarsha has his true heart but there are enough good and decent parts left in him to hold me. He had a son, grown by the time we met. I had no children from my first marriage and never minded. I don’t need a baby to bind him and have never felt the urge to birth my own. We’re well suited to each other. Why? Do you worry what might be if Taric can’t—”

“No. I trust he will do as he says. I but wondered if… Will I be woman enough for him? I am a spell. Becoming human will not give me a past or schooling or any of the things women of this world know from childhood. I’ve seen married soldiers who think nothing of taking other women to their beds. How do I keep him from looking to another? I wondered…many things. Taric will tell me anything I ask, but he…he is a man. I know in my soul I will kill for him again and soon. I have no fear in that act. But if he went to another…that thought frightens me. I have the power to kill a man as a warrior or as a jaguar but how does a woman keep a man without a sword or claw?”

“A woman’s life is complicated, even more so when you wear a crown. I’m always here if you want to talk of womanly things. But don’t ever wonder if Taric will stray. Like his father, he loves with every breath in his body. The bondmarks are secondary. The love comes first, the mark is just an outward sign. It’s not in their nature to go seeking pleasure outside a marriage bed. A woman keeps with her heart. It is mightier than any blade, Myla.”

Lunian did something then which startled Myla more than an ambush. She wrapped her thin arms about her shoulder and hugged her. Slowly, Myla hugged her back. The softness and comfort in the queen’s embrace seeped into her soul and a small smile grew.
So this was a mother’s love. It was…welcoming.

a
b

Taric had called it flirting. Seated beside Taric above the crowd of gathered nobles, Myla watched Bryton. Then she cocked her head and watched the busty young woman pretending not to notice Bryton staring.

Lowered lashes would rise to reveal unusually flecked eyes of blue and green before lowering again if Bryton were looking. He was looking. Intently. The young woman smiled to her goblet before sliding another gaze his way. Bryton’s lip lifted in a small grin and he nodded toward her. Immediately, a rosy pinkness bloomed on apple cheeks and she looked away.

“I do not understand the objective of flirting.” Myla shook her head in confusion. “You find her appealing. Why not approach her and speak?”

“Spoils the fun.” Bryton laughed. Turning to her, he set his knife against his plate and raised rusted-iron brows. “Think of it as a hunt. It’s not as satisfying if you go out and the deer just lie down. It’s the pursuit that gets your blood moving.”

“The objective of hunting is fresh meat.”

“Exactly.”

His sudden smile was even more confusing and she sat back. The informal gathering of participants in the Elders’ Council congregated in the great hall of Nemury Castle, eating and laughing as if the crown did not hang in the balance. A division line existed between each side of the hall, invisible but clearly marked by conversations and hateful looks. Center point for the land of Eldwyn, Nemury boasted white walls, rich food and a beautiful dark blonde who was casting shy eyes at the captain.

Lunian’s quickly cut-down gown bit into Myla’s waist and she winced. She hated the new restrictive dresses and wore her chiton whenever possible. It wasn’t possible tonight. Taric, engaged in discussion with his father, reached without looking and grasped her hand. Warm and hard, his hand engulfed her smaller one on the white linen tabletop and sent a burst of joy to her breast. She didn’t mind the dresses if she could have his touch.

Thistlemount had exploded in activity once word of the prince’s impending marriage was discovered. Taric insisted she not hide herself and get to know the household she would be joining. Eager to learn what being a princess entailed, she complied.

Immediately, Myla was the center of attention from servant and soldier alike. Nearly swallowed by the hordes of people wishing to greet her, poke her for a measurement or express good wishes, she quickly learned the first rule of royalty—say nothing, smile and nod.

Bryton did just that and drew Myla’s gaze again. Across the dining hall, the petite blonde grew bold and faced him. His mouth moved with a greeting but no sound escaped him and Myla wondered how the young woman would hear his unspoken words. She must have for she repeated the motion before glancing down at her cup.

“Why does she keep looking away? It’s clear she finds you appealing as well.”

“One can hope,” he murmured before leaning back against his chair. Maintaining eye contact, he brought his cup to his mouth. The woman mimicked his move yet kept her gaze locked with his.

“I don’t see the benefits of this exercise.”

“Myla…ask Taric.” Pushing from the table, Bryton strolled to the bench where the woman sat. Myla wrinkled her nose in confusion. He said something which made the woman smile and then laugh. She in turn angled her chin and moved forward, bringing her ample cleavage more fully into his sight. He leaned close and whispered into her ear. A bright bloom colored her cheeks and she covered her mouth with a delicate hand before touching his arm.

“You’re staring. It’s impolite.” Taric’s breath bathed her neck with a whisper.

“Bryton said I should ask you to explain the goal and benefit of flirting.”

Her betrothed smirked. “He would pass that off… Uhm, the goal is…pleasure. The benefit is prolonged foreplay.”

“Foreplay? What is foreplay?”

Heat erupted in his eyes and he leaned closer. Lips caressing her ear, he slid a tongue down the curve below, bringing a shiver of want to her bones. “That’s foreplay. I’ll show you more when we retire.” Propriety insisted Myla be given her own chambers but she would not use them. Nothing could keep her from Taric’s bed at Thistlemount or his side at Nemury, where dangers abounded.