DARK DREAMS Page 21

  “The flame burns bright attracting the moth, but if it ventures too close it will be consumed. You may think you can warm yourself at Imoshen’s fires and escape unscathed. But the T’En work their way beneath your guard. Believe me, I know.” The Beatific’s hand closed on his arm. Her smile was luminous with painful self-knowledge. “Reothe and I were lovers. He coached me, helped me attain this position.”

  Tulkhan was stunned. A married Ghebite woman would face death if she admitted this. An unmarried Ghebite woman would kill herself if defiled by a man.

  “I went to hear Reothe debate in the great library of the Halls of Learning. His passion for knowledge and truth was inspiring. I was fascinated by the brilliance of his mind. It drew me with such intensity I had to walk away.” She shook her head wryly. “I think that was why he first pursued me. It annoyed him to have someone walk out while he was speaking. When he came after me I should have been on my guard, but I lied to myself. He was only seventeen; I was nearly ten years older. I let myself believe I could enjoy him and remain aloof.” She sighed. Tulkhan did not want to hear this, yet he was captivated. “At that time I was working my way up through the Church hierarchy. Knowing what I know now, I believe he saw ability in me and wanted a lever on the Church for the future. Reothe plans for the long term, you see, and he is utterly ruthless.” She held Tulkhan’s eyes. “He was under the Empress’s protection, related by blood to her and her heirs, but that was not enough for him.”

  Tulkhan said nothing. He suspected the Beatific would continue until she got the reaction she wanted from him.

  “You know that he and the Empress’s heir, Ysanna, were lovers. Reothe wanted control of the royal family.” The Beatific shrugged. “The Empress loved him when he came to her as a tragic youth. She reared him with her own children. Ysanna played off her suitors against Reothe. Could they sail, ride, hunt, or write poetry as well as he? He never committed himself, for there were those who did not wish to see him as the future Empress’s bond-partner. When he asked Imoshen to bond with him it was the lesser of two evils, or so they thought.” She fixed troubled eyes on him. “You don’t know what the T’En can do. With every touch they cement their hold on you, slipping insidiously into your mind, sifting for what they can use to further their own ends.”

  Tulkhan nodded once, reluctantly. This time when he looked into the Beatific’s face, he understood that despite everything, she still felt for Reothe.

  “What better way to control someone than through love?” she whispered.

  Something twisted inside him. Hadn’t Imoshen said the very same thing? “She is not like that.” It was an instinctive denial.

  The Beatific smiled tolerantly. “Imoshen is T’En. They protect themselves. Reothe was a youth in a palace of intrigue, searching for a way to ensure his safety. You can forgive them anything. I know I did.”

  Tulkhan sensed movement. The game had broken up and Imoshen was coming towards them, laughter dancing in her eyes. He watched that joy turn to wariness as she read his expression.

  Before he could move, the Beatific glided forward, spoke softly to Imoshen, then made a formal obeisance and left.

  Imoshen paused a little beyond touching distance. “Well, General?”

  “Protector General.”

  She eyed him thoughtfully. He could tell she was trying to understand him. A True-woman would have tried to read his face and stance; Imoshen resorted to her gift. The overflow of her power made his skin crawl, yet he still wanted her.

  “Bed.” The word left his lips unbidden.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  In A blur they slipped away unnoticed. Tulkhan knew Imoshen was cloaking them but he did not care. A madness was upon him.

  The passage was long and echoed with the night’s revelry. The servants were absent from their posts, even the Stronghold Guard.

  Imoshen felt light-headed. Her feet seemed to fly over the glossy parquetry floor. She could see the same strange excitement in Tulkhan’s eyes. It was heaven to escape the confines of their official roles. She had waited too long for this.

  Suddenly, she could wait no longer. With a wordless cry of challenge, she took to her heels. She heard the General give chase and laughed, increasing her speed.

  Habit led her to her own bedchamber, even though they should have entered the grand suite reserved for the Emperor and Empress.

  There was no fire or light in her room. She sprang to one side of the door and pressed her back against the wood panel. Her heart thundered, echoing the rapid thud of Tulkhan’s boots.

  He thrust the door open and charged in, stepping out of the shaft of light immediately. She saw his body grow still as he listened for her. He was the perfect warrior, poised for the hunt. She could not resist baiting him.

  Silently she slipped her shoes from her feet, then slammed the door shut and tossed the shoes to different ends of the room, presenting Tulkhan with three sources of movement.

  She heard him spin, heard his muffled curse.

  With a laugh, she sprang on his back. He staggered under the impact before regaining his balance.

  She held an imaginary knife to his throat. “Yield, you are my captive, General!”

  “Never!” He threw her over his shoulder, halting her fall at the last moment so that she landed lightly, but his imaginary blade stayed at her throat. “The assassin is dead!”

  “I thought we were past this!” Imoshen heard his angry chuckle. Instinctively, she clasped his bare arm, seeking his motivation.

  The General sprang away, muttering Ghebite curses. She heard him walk towards the fireplace where the makings of a fire had been prepared but not lit. In a moment he had struck the spark and ignited the tinder.

  She rolled into a crouch and watched as he lit the candles on the mantelpiece. “What did the Beatific say to you?”

  The broad planes of his Ghebite features were illuminated by the flickering flames, but his expression revealed nothing. Looking down at her, his dark eyes were hooded, cloaking his expression even further. Again Imoshen felt the urge to touch him and discover his thoughts.

  “It is time I made one thing clear,” he said.

  She felt uneasy but kept her tone light. “And what would that be, General?”

  “We are no longer captor and captive. Come here.”

  Though she was prepared for a battle of wits, her treacherous body was preparing for him. Every caress of her satin underdress was a foretaste of his touch.

  She could sense the ephemeral but impregnable layers of his formidable will shutting her out. “Speak, General.”

  He grimaced. “Why don’t you touch me and learn what you want to know?”

  “You don’t like when I do that.”

  “No. Yet I can’t live without touching you.”

  It was a raw admission. Something inside her clenched in response.

  “I know. It is the same with me.” Heat stung her cheeks. It was hard admitting this to Tulkhan when he was so distant. She would much rather embrace him and let him feel how much she wanted him.

  “You say you already carry my child. I need never touch you again. I could walk from this room and our bonding would be nothing but a marriage of state,” he told her, yet his voice vibrated with repressed passion.

  Pride made Imoshen school her features and call up an amused smile. “You could try but I doubt it would be feasible.”

  “No. These weeks have proven that. I could not see you every day and want you as I do. Not without . . .”

  Triumph flashed through her and he ground to a halt, visibly angered.

  “Then you’ll just have to accept me for what I am, General.”

  “No! Either you vow never to invade my mind and use your T’En gifts on me, or I will turn my back on you.” His expression was implacable. “I will have you escorted to the Beatific. Surrounded by a thousand priests and watched over by the Tractarians, the rebels won’t be able to touch you or use you. The people will
think you safe and I won’t be tortured with the constant reminder of your presence!”

  “Murgon’s Tractarians!” How she hated those priests, betrayers of their own kind. A deep anger coalesced in her. Was she such a loathsome creature that she must be shut away from the light of day? She wanted to strike the General, to make him suffer the same pain she endured.

  Instinctively she weighed the odds. Physically he might be stronger than her, but was his will equal to hers? If it came down to this, only one of them would survive, and she would never give up.

  Yet . . . she could not bring herself to hurt him. The thought of causing General Tulkhan pain caused her pain.

  Her feelings for him made her weak and she despised herself for opening her heart to this Ghebite.

  Imoshen sucked in her breath, feeling the rush of air chill her teeth and tongue. How had it come to this?

  “Do you understand?” he demanded. “I will not have the privacy of my mind invaded.”

  She nodded, numbly. Yes, she understood that fear only too well. It was why she feared Reothe. But she did not seek to manipulate Tulkhan and he should know this. It was the threat of incarceration which cut deepest. The General would use her own people against her!

  “You misjudge me, Tulkhan,” she said, hardly able to speak for the knot of sorrow which filled her throat. “I might have offered such a vow freely. But—”

  “But?”

  She wanted to defy him, to declare that she would not be bullied. She wanted him to back down. With a flash of insight she understood what she really wanted was for him to accept her without reservation. But he was a Ghebite, a True-man with all the limitations of his birth and culture.

  “Imoshen?” The word was barely audible. “I will not be your puppet.”

  Then she understood his deepest fear, and in understanding it was able to reach inside herself for a deeper compassion. “You underestimate yourself and me. If it will satisfy you, I promise not to invade your mind except in an emergency. But I won’t let you come to harm if I can save you.”

  When she held his eyes Imoshen thought she saw a flash of remorse.

  “You would swear to this?” he asked finally.

  She nodded.

  He took her hand to place it palm down over her belly. “Swear on this life.”

  Imoshen felt an odd little flame inside her. “I swear on the life of my . . . our unborn child not to use the mind-touch on you, except in an emergency.”

  “Or any other T’En gift—no compulsions, no tricks of any sort,” he prodded.

  Imoshen gave a moan of protest.

  Tulkhan felt it like a knife slicing his soul. He had not thought it would cost him so dearly. He could see he had hurt her by devaluing her trust. With this vow he had reduced what they might have shared. But he had to have peace of mind. “Well?”

  “You are denying what I am!”

  “If I cannot trust you, I will not touch you.” He steeled himself against her pain. “The choice is yours!”

  It was a bluff, but Imoshen could not know that. He had no choice where she was concerned. She was a compulsion which drove him to madness.

  “You would have me deny myself to be with you? Is that truly what you want?” Her tortured eyes searched his face.

  He wanted to tell her no, that she was everything to him and the rest of Fair Isle could rot. But even now he could not be sure that this feeling wasn’t prompted by some T’En trick. “Make this vow or there can be nothing between us.”

  “How do you know I will not say the words then break my vow?” Unshed tears glittered in her eyes.

  “If your word meant so little you would give it more freely.”

  She bunked with surprise, freeing the tears, which ran down her cheeks. “You know me so well yet you insist on this?”

  He wanted to kiss the tears from her face, to pull her down to the fur before the fire. He wanted to tell her with his body what he could not admit.

  “I will make this vow, General.” Imoshen shuddered. “But until the day you free me from it, it will stand between us!”

  Despite the warmth of the fire, a shiver passed over his skin. He could not imagine a day when he would willingly lay himself open to her T’En gifts. “The vow?”

  “I vow on the life of our unborn child not to use my T’En gifts on you, except in dire emergency.” Her lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “Will that satisfy you, General Tulkhan?”

  He could feel the anger vibrating in her. His body was totally attuned to hers and he sensed the power building.

  “You are angry with me. I’ll leave you alone tonight.” He raised her hand and brushed his lips across her inner wrist. It was a gesture he had seen the Keld use, one which could be formal, or very intimate.

  Every instinct screamed at him to stay, but he made himself walk away. When the time came, he wanted theirs to be a joyous union.

  “Tulkhan!”

  He turned to see her standing before the fire in her finery, her face taut, tear tracks in her ceremonial makeup. He waited.

  “Would you have me beg?” The words were torn from her.

  Her desperation called to something primal inside him. Yes, he wanted her to beg for him, to welcome him. He was greedy for her.

  She lifted one hand in supplication.

  When he approached, she turned away, unwilling to reveal her naked need. He took her shoulders in his hands, feeling the tension in her body. An answering tension ignited him.

  He noticed that the delicate lace of her overdress had torn and silently he lifted her thick hair to undo the lacing at the back of her neck. The silver tabard slipped from her shoulders and fell to her feet, glittering in the ruddy firelight. When he released her hair it ran through his fingers like silk. Unable to stop himself, he stroked it, feeling the tension drain from her. Gradually she relaxed into him, her back pressed to his chest.

  His arms slid around her body, pressing her closer so that she could feel his growing need. Her hips melded against his, her welcome unmistakable.

  A spasm of naked desire made him arch in response.

  “The body’s needs are powerful,” she whispered; but he had no time for words.

  Imoshen intended to hold herself in reserve. Deep inside her, a little knot of cold resentment burned to be expressed, but when he tilted her face to his with such infinite tenderness, and his lips claimed hers, she experienced a rush of completion.

  The love she wanted to deny welled up, swamping her defenses so that she gave herself utterly to the moment, luxuriating in his ardor.

  Eagerly she turned within the circle of his arms to slide her hands inside his shirt, exulting in his hot flesh, the hard planes of his chest. His great heart hammered, pacing her own.

  Impatiently she tore at the lacing of his shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders to reveal his coppery skin, criss-crossed by the fine silver scars of long healed wounds. To think he might have taken a fatal wound and she would never have known him.

  Suddenly he was unutterably precious, as necessary to her as the very breath she took. The moment was luminous in its intensity.

  His callused hands closed on her, rasping across her shoulders as he fought to undo the ties of her underdress. In a fever of desire she came to his aid and they discarded their formal garments. To meet flesh to flesh was the ultimate imperative.

  When her gown fell to pool at her feet, he stepped back, a ragged gasp on his lips. Suddenly shy, she felt his gaze on her like a physical thing illuminating her. Hardly able to breathe, she dared raise her eyes to his. Naked need suffused his features.

  Wordlessly she opened her arms to him and he came to her. She pulled him down before the fireplace, accepting him even as she sank into the fur. There was nothing but this moment, nothing but this man.

  Much later as they lay on the furs before the fire, it struck Tulkhan that they had chosen to consummate their marriage in primitive surroundings, ignoring the royal chambers, rich with every decoration and
comfort.

  “Why do you smile?” Imoshen’s skin was flushed, only a smudge of color remained of her formal makeup, and her hair lay damp and knotted, a riot of pale silk.

  Tulkhan shook his head slowly and she blushed. Their lovemaking couldn’t have been more perfect. Recalling it made him feel almost reverential. How could two people know such ecstasy in the union of their bodies and yet be strangers?

  All this long day and for the long weeks before he had waited for this night. Replete at last, the tension drained from him.

  Imoshen heard Tulkhan’s breathing grow deep and even. Propping her weight on one elbow, she watched him as he succumbed to sleep.

  Relaxed like this, he looked much younger. His dark hair mingled with the dark fur. Drawn, she leant closer to feel his warm breath on her face. With each exhalation she inhaled his breath, willing him to become a part of her. A delicious languor stole over her body as she absorbed his being, focusing on his essence. A tingling awareness of their two separate entities surfaced in her mind’s eye and she . . .

  Cold reality shocked her from this pleasant intimacy. She had vowed not to use her T’En gifts. Reluctantly she relinquished the sweet contact. She hadn’t meant to bind him to her. It had been an instinctive act.

  Pulling away, she studied the perfection of his sleeping profile. When had his broad cheekbones and coppery skin become her ideal of male beauty? It had been a gradual thing, a shift in her perception.

  A little worm of anger writhed within her. How dare he threaten her! She searched her mind for the trigger and recalled the General’s closed face when she approached him as he stood with the Beatific.

  What had the Beatific told Tulkhan?

  He stirred in his sleep. She could trawl his sleeping mind without his knowledge. Why stop there? Why not plant ideas, compulsions, even suspicions which she could later use against him?

  Bitter self-knowledge shook her. It would be easy to make the attempt and far too easy to justify her actions. After all, she was only protecting them both from the Beatific’s machinations.