Wedding Page 17

  Even drowsy as he was, Dominic could not be unaffected by the threesome. His erection tented up the sheet as soon as we had snuggled in on either side. Dominic was like a man drunk to the point of complete candor. “By all the gods,” he said, “this is exquisite torture. The perfect fantasy realized, and too weak to enjoy it.” He laughed in the languid, ungrudging way of the inebriated; the next moment he was snoring.

  Slowly I let go of my tension, closing my eyes, focusing on the communion. It was early for sleep, but in the shared thoughts it was as if we dreamed. I saw a vision of Dominic being wounded by the fragment of the Eris weapon, grasping it in his hand, screaming like a man being burned at the stake, his head thrown back, throat arched in agony. Stefan rescued him, a fact he had been too modest to tell me directly, but could not conceal in communion. He had rushed in like a man prepared to die, grasped Dominic’s hand locked around the cauterizing glass, pried his fingers loose until the glass fell out, and kicked the evil thing away. It seared a large area black and scored where it landed, all grasses dead even to the roots. Dominic had dropped like a corpse and Stefan had not been able to support the dead weight. But he had broken the fall, and they had lain together on the ground, where Stefan wrapped them both in Dominic’s cloak and soothed his lover’s pain with his communion and his love.

  Stefan dreamed too, seeing my moment of communion here in Aranyi, how I had felt the pain in my own arm and known Dominic’s despairing thoughts as he had them. Between us, Stefan and I had shielded Dominic, provided a buffer against the full force of the weapon’s destruction. Each of us had sustained some damage, although Dominic had suffered the most. Now, together in the large bed, the three of us could merge consciousness in sleep, restoring ourselves as we healed Dominic.

  He became my companion then, Dominic said. He offered himself to the enemy in my place, acted as my sworn partner. You see how much I owe you, beloved, he thought to Stefan. Still lying on his back, without shifting his position, Dominic shared a reverent kiss with his companion, a meeting, not of lips, but of love and thought that was, like sexual intercourse while in communion, superior to the experience of either one alone.

  And you became my wife. Dominic turned to me in the same way, immobile, only changing the direction of his regard. You took my pain on yourself. As a husband does for a wife when she bears his child, so you did for me.

  It was unconscious. I denied such heroism. It happened without my awareness.

  Proof, Dominic said, of what we are to each other. He kissed me as he had kissed Stefan, a wondrous act of the mind that allowed the body so much pleasure without exertion or even movement.

  We lay at peace while we followed our own thoughts. Until Dominic’s impetuous seizure of the weapon, his relationships with both me and Stefan had been the uncomplicated pursuit of sex and love. Whatever Dominic might have called us, we were each his beloved, the woman and the young man who attracted him at the moment. If the communion between Dominic and me was unusually strong, it was necessary to bring Dominic together with so unlikely a person as myself. Whereas with Stefan, the communion had been instinctive and natural, based on sexual compatibility and the appealing character of a handsome, worshipful boy who looked to Dominic for guidance in becoming a man.

  But all that changed with the wound. Without intending it, Dominic had tested us, all three of us, and found we measured up. My communion with Dominic had proven worthy of what Dominic had resisted before—marriage in the ’Graven Rule. And Stefan had earned the right to be considered his companion in its deepest, most significant meaning—the devoted comrade in arms who would die for his lover. Dominic’s gamble with the weapon had paid off in an unexpected way, convincing him that this ideal threesome that had occurred by chance was in truth a marriage, the only kind of marriage that was practicable for him.

  It was Stefan who had made this possible, Stefan who had given Dominic what he needed—a masculine companionship of love. Without a lover of his own sex Dominic was incomplete, starved and dangerous. He had been driven to cruelty, to abuse, because of that lack, and although he would always love me, that love would be best expressed as an addition to, not a replacement for, his dominant passion. I settled in beside my soon-to-be husband, experiencing the extraordinary security that comes from sleeping in communion, the comfort of our new accord wiping away the pain of our earlier conflict more thoroughly even than our lovemaking of the previous night.

  Successful marriage with Dominic was a triangle, I thought to myself, or at least an angle, not a straight line. Stefan and I were each tied to Dominic, moving through our own trajectories, and the stability of the resulting formation depended on there being three of us, to balance and support each other. I lay waiting for sleep, words like hypotenuse and equilateral in my head. Isosceles, I found the word I wanted at last, and Dominic, his own mind confused, said, Enough, cherie. I love you. Now go to sleep.

  I woke in my own bed. Sometime during the night, slumbering or in a trance, Stefan and I had left Dominic alone and returned to our separate beds. We were still in light communion, rising through the levels of sleep into gentle waking, free from pain, rested, whole.

  Like yesterday, I felt Dominic’s sexual presence, his early-morning hardness. But today was no longer the Midsummer festival and Dominic was not in the same bed with me. Later, I thought to him in wifely dismissal, heard no answering thought, and turned on my other side, closing my eyes against the dawn. He was gone at my word, leaving me to sleep. Something of his presence remained with me, though, for I dreamed of him, an active, passionate dream, and I lay in an erotic reverie, enjoying the effortless pleasure that rewarded my sloth so generously despite my rejection. The dream was realistic, evocative. Like our sexual communion of festival night, I shared Dominic’s sensations, as if I inhabited his mind and body, while he made love—

  I came awake with a start. During festival night there had also been my own body’s reactions, my own responses to my lover’s touch. This morning there was only Dominic’s sexuality, his powerful, masculine need… I was not dreaming. Dominic was making love—to someone else.

  An image of the hated Ndoko woman came to my mind from depths of buried possessiveness. I could see her—tall and lithe, aristocratic yet accommodating, a sensuous woman with the body of a thoroughbred. The irrational jealousy almost had me out of bed, ready to fight, with crypta if necessary, to reclaim Dominic for myself, but dawn fatigue saved me from making a fool of myself. I used my brain for once, saw what should have been obvious. Dominic had felt the surge of desire for the other, the need for symmetry that follows the satisfaction of being with one partner. It was Stefan he was making love to, Stefan whose slender, firm body was stirring Dominic’s passion.

  That’s all right then. I heaved a sigh of relief. As I lay back down to sleep again my mind stayed in the communion, and I continued to participate in Dominic’s actions. Stefan had awakened readily at Dominic’s touch, eager for Dominic’s love, his adolescent energy compensating for the abrupt reveille. Stimulated despite my drowsiness, I accompanied Dominic as he knelt over his lover on the bed, kissed and fondled him. I shared the kisses unthinkingly in Dominic’s mind, felt the heat and force of his passion growing within him.

  In my languorous daze I allowed myself a forbidden indulgence. The mere idea of love between men had always excited me. Now, with my affianced husband and his companion, I lost myself in the reality of it, forgot manners and propriety that would have told me to retreat. I followed in increasingly breathless arousal the stages of lovemaking from within my husband’s mind and body, experienced sexuality as a man with a man. Tossing on the bed, gasping as if in my own orgasm, I made love to Stefan from within Dominic’s consciousness, appreciating his skill that gave Stefan pleasure even as Dominic took his own.

  At the moment of Dominic’s release I sat up, breaking the communion. This was the second time I had intruded on them, I realized, remembering my first “visit” to Dominic from La Sapienza. It h
ad begun inadvertently this time as then, but I had stayed in Dominic’s mind much too long after I became aware of my spying because I had enjoyed it. What I had done was wrong, dreadfully wrong.

  I buried my face in my hands, as abashed as if I had been caught masturbating in public. Stefan had appeared oblivious to everything but his lover and the immediate sensations. But if he had become conscious of a third person in the bed he might simply be too shy or too polite to let on. Oh gods, what if I had ruined everything? Tears of fright and shame welled in my eyes.

  Before a teardrop fell there was a brief caress in my mind, a soothing kiss. If it pleases you, beloved, Dominic thought to me, it is not wrong. And Stefan did not know. You are an accomplished sibyl after all. Having seen to my consolation, Dominic returned his consciousness to his lover beside him.

  Reassured, I dozed. When I had slept out it was late in the morning, well past breakfast. The healing, like the exertions of Midsummer night, had exacted a toll in energy. Once again I would have dinner for my first meal, I decided, floating in the big bathtub, recalling Dominic’s sensuous lovemaking, both to me and to Stefan. Memories of festival night, and ripples of aftershock from this morning, ran over me like bubbles. When I relived my enjoyable intrusion on Dominic and his lover, I sat up suddenly in shock, as I had in the bed earlier, creating a tidal wave that splashed out onto the tiled floor.

  Then I remembered Dominic’s easy acceptance, how he had teased me, calling me a sibyl for my proficiency in voyeuristic communion. My presence in his mind had not inhibited him nor disturbed his equanimity. Months ago Dominic had vowed never to shut me out of our communion. I saw now that he had not lied, had not been merely kind or careless. He had been honest.

  I held my nose, submerging my head, relishing the feel of my long hair drifting around my face. Dominic’s reaction had been more complex than simple acquiescence. He was too perceptive for me to lurk in his mind undetected; he had known I was there from the start, but he had not warned me off or shielded himself. It was as if he had tried not to disturb me, had hoped to keep me with him, like sliding into bed beside a sleeping wife without waking her.

  I had not offended Dominic, had not embarrassed Stefan. In the future I would be more careful. Somehow things would work out. So it would be, throughout our lives together, an intricate dance among husband, companion and wife. My marriage would not be like every woman’s, not even here. But for me, for us, it would be right, and good.

  I was singing to myself as Katrina combed my damp hair and again managed to make the betrothal ornament stay in place. “You slept well, my lady?” she asked, giving me a strange look. She had never seen a woman so happy in the morning who had spent the night alone.

  “Very well,” I said, smiling as I went down to dinner.

  PART FIVE:

  BELONGING

  CHAPTER 10

  The castle was emptying rapidly on this second day after the festival. My late descent from the bedroom had spared me the formal goodbyes; most people left after a dawn breakfast to allow ample travel time. Only Sir Karl and Lady Ormonde, who lived less than half a day’s ride away, were staying for dinner, and could take their leave of me in person.

  They might have saved themselves the trouble. Sir Karl bowed as if to a dueling opponent, looking over my head and filtering his words through clenched jaws and lips that barely moved. Luisa was slightly warmer. “We wanted to thank you, young mistress,” she said, simpering at the girlish phrase and studying my face for clues to my age, “for a most interesting festival.” She shook her head in a knowing way. “When you are ’Gravina Aranyi you will be far too busy to sleep through breakfast very often, I promise you.”

  Stefan appeared at my side in time to hear his mother’s last remark. “It’s the healing,” he said, stretching and yawning in his shirtsleeves. “Takes it out of a man. Or a woman.” Don’t mind them, he thought to me. They don’t dare lord it over Dominic, so they do it to you while they can get away with it. When you are ’Gravina Aranyi, he mimicked his mother’s precise way of speaking, you can have breakfast in bed every day of your life if you want to.

  Stefan. His father directed his attention to his son, who like me had not perfected his blocking technique. Show your mother respect at least, even if you do not feel it.

  Stefan had a radiance about him this morning, as if his own nuptials were imminent. Such petty things as parental disapproval and proper filial conduct could not ruffle his composure. “Mother,” he said, bowing absurdly low. “Father,” bowing even lower. “I have the greatest respect for both of you. Please, don’t let us keep you from your dinner.” He turned to me and straightened up, looking as if he had grown a couple of inches overnight. “Dominic said I could be his second at your wedding, if you agree.”

  I picked up what I could from Stefan’s eager thoughts. The groom’s second was an essential part of any Eclipsian wedding. No big ceremony was needed for what was usually the verbal affirmation of a carefully negotiated agreement between families, but there must be four people present: the bride and groom, and a companion for each. It was the groom’s man who, according to tradition, fought off the bride’s angry relatives while the new husband and wife spoke their vows and consummated the marriage. Nothing like that had happened in living memory, and I had no family to object, but without a groom’s second and bride’s attendant to act as witnesses the ceremony would not be valid.

  Dominic could have chosen someone else, someone closer to his own age and rank, like Josh, for this position. He had offered it instead to the young cadet from the proud gentry family that anchored Aranyi’s southern border. He had offered it to his companion.

  Why didn’t Dominic just arrange it? I thought in irritation, before understanding came. Dominic was consulting me before announcing things. He was using Stefan as an agent of conciliation, to show that he would ask my opinion and await my consent before making decisions that affected us both. In this area of Dominic’s life—his choice of companion and the place he would occupy in our family—permission was not mine to give. I was Dominic’s second self; if I did not participate in his love and need for his companion I would not now be discussing the details of our wedding. But I appreciated the gesture Dominic was making.

  Stefan was waiting for my answer. His parents hovered in the background, too proper to show open curiosity, too interested to withdraw. “There is no one I would rather have at my wedding,” I said, seeing no need to shade the truth and gratified by Stefan’s elation. Sir Karl and Lady Ormonde, unsure whether the growing friendship between their son and the future wife of his lord was a welcome development, walked in thoughtful silence toward the high table.

  Dinner was a pleasant meal, happiness and contentment surrounding us in lieu of the departed crowds, the food simple and plentiful. Stefan conveyed my answer, winning from Dominic a kiss for himself and a smile for me. Dominic’s hand and arm appeared completely restored. I felt no residue of pain in his thoughts, no barrier of crypta acting as an anesthetic.

  After the siesta Dominic sought me out in the kitchen where I was ostensibly estimating, with the help of Magali and a cook, whether our stored supplies were adequate for the number of mouths we still had to feed. “Once you’ve been with a gifted partner, you see why ’Graven keep to each other.” Magali, entranced by the novelty, and disregarding the general reticence when among friends, boasted of her festival night with Sir Nicholas. “Imagine! A man who does exactly what you want, when and where, and you don’t have to say a word.” She winked at me. “Lady Amalie knows what I’m talking about. Only one thing makes a woman smile like that.” Her hearty laugh was cut off by the sound of Dominic clearing his throat. “My lord!” two voices exclaimed at once.

  Oh, Dominic, I thought to him in dismay. It was just women’s talk.

  “Please,” Dominic said, “pardon the interruption. I need Lady Amalie’s opinion as to exactly when and where we should be married.” I’m lucky I found you, Dominic teased me in the
embarrassed silence, before all our secrets were revealed. He motioned for me to precede him to the front of the house.

  In the deserted breakfast room, Dominic moved a bench near the wall to lean against, sat down and patted his lap. I settled in happily, leaning sideways into his arm, resting my head against his chest. Our third eyelids, as always in such proximity, lowered in a sensual reflex. It would become our method of discussion, a way to talk face-to-face of serious things while maintaining the communion of touch. Dominic sat quietly with me for a few minutes, enjoying the connubial coziness. “I’m sorry, Amalie,” he began. “I must go away again.”

  I groaned. “Why can’t you just stay home for once, with me?” I clasped my arms around his neck and wished I could keep him here forever, never have to care about anything in the outside world.

  “I need ’Graven Assembly’s approval to marry you,” he said.

  I had almost forgotten. The torment of the past months flooded my mind again, the doubts and worries. I asked the obvious question, what had made me so angry two nights ago. “How could you call me your betrothed in front of everybody, if you don’t even know whether you can marry me?”

  Dominic unfastened my arms from his neck to hold my hands, and looked into my eyes. “Because you are my betrothed. You are the woman I am going to marry. I thought we understood each other now, that you know I want to marry you, that I love you. When I returned after all that time away, and you were waiting for me at the gate, wearing my gift, the symbol of our betrothal—” He paused, remembering. “And that night, when you called me your lord husband—I knew your mind then. You were telling me this is what you want, too. Can you deny it?”

  I could only shake my head and smile back at him. Dominic had said some of this before, during festival night, but it was more real now, in daylight, with our clothes on.

  “And when you welcomed Stefan so graciously,” he continued, “as I would expect my wife to do, I knew it then. When you and he touched, I felt it, knew it, that we were already husband and wife, and the ceremony is simply for the rest of the world to know it too.” Dominic held me against him, his face next to mine breathing hot on my cheek. “I always hoped you would be my wife, but at that moment, I knew.”