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
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
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