Under Distan Moons Page 2

  Suddenly she opened her eyes, and there was an almost fierce look in them. She gripped his shoulder with her free hand and pulled him on top of her. She nipped at his lips, and Arnis kissed her hard, unable to hold back the floodwaters of desire coursing through him. This mattered little—he knew that her need was upon her just as forcefully. He curled his hands into her hair, gripping the back of her head as their mouths moved together, fast and fierce.

  Mairead made a frantic sound of need, and he could not hold back any longer. He pulled back and met her eyes, and then plunged into her. They let out a mutual cry that echoed in the dim light under the tree. She murmured something incoherent again, and he sealed his mouth over hers. Her body was supple and soft beneath him, and she rocked her hips against his. They moved together like the moon and the tide, an inexorable union of need, and Arnis clutched convulsively at her hands, knowing, and not caring, that both of them would have fingernail marks to show for it later.

  She came to climax a few seconds before he did, her spasms sending him over the edge to a place where the swirling colors of ecstasy were all he knew or heeded.

  He came to himself to find that he was still lying on top of her. Still joined, they lay together, both breathing heavily, the air around them warm despite the cool of the night forest. The sounds of the feast were still distant, though the glow of the light illuminated them and the shadows of the revelers occasionally passed over them.

  Arnis lifted his head and met her eyes—there were questions and answers and sadness and desire, and a certain quiet joy, all mixed up in them. And something else too, that he couldn't bring himself to name. If he named it, he would have to admit that it was also written on his own heart, and their parting on the morrow would be all the more bitter.

  But something else in the heart of Arnis of the Northern Forest forbade despair. He opened his mouth to speak it, but Mairead quickly placed a finger on his lips. "Do not say it," she whispered. "Things cannot be other than what they are, no matter how much one desires it."

  Arnis frowned. "I could go with you."

  She shook her head sadly. "No. There are still many mornings under the trees for you, Arnis, and only starlit skies for me." Her eyes shifted away from him, and her face took on a faraway look. "You will know when it is your time."

  Arnis frowned again; he didn't understand these words, but he suspected they were only her way of trying to ease this parting, a parting he knew now could never be eased. A weight grew in his stomach as he realized how much more difficult the morning would be now, and he started to roll off of her.

  She held him close to her, though, not letting him move. "Do not despair, my Arnis," she whispered. Her eyes beseeched him not to let the beauty of this night decay into bitterness, and he could not help but heed their message. "Besides," she whispered against his shoulder, causing him to shudder, "there are hours yet before the dawn."

  She moved her lips to his neck, and his desire reawakened in him, almost against his will. But there was no helping it, no way to stem the tide that drew his mouth to hers once more, and it was then he understood that she was the one thing against which he was powerless.

  Their parting the next morning was a chaste affair at the end of the bridge, full of hidden bitterness. She touched his cheek softly and whispered, "Do not forget me. I will not forget you."

  It was all she could give him in front of the others, he knew. But that did not ease the heavy ache in his heart as he watched Mairead and her companions move away along the forest path, the soft glow of their robes lost too soon in the dark shadows of the forest.

  The next few months were a whirlwind of activity—the goblins began attacking openly, and there were armies to muster. Arnis might even have forgotten her, had her face not been sealed in his mind, had she been anything less than what she was. But he often thought of her, while waiting for his father's commands in battle, even while in the midst of fighting. He wondered where she was, whether she had found her other favorite places of this world, whether she had found the stairs and ascended far from his heart. Even in the calm after the battle, when the survivors had returned in triumph to his father's halls, and the shadows of the forest had lifted somewhat, her face flashed through his mind during every evening feast. He even searched for the willow once or twice, but it eluded him. He wondered if it had ever existed, began to wonder if both she and it had been nothing more than a dream.

  Again and again he asked the wind for news of her passing, but it was silent.

  Arnis stood as a streak of light cut the nighttime gloom. At least one star had chosen to fall this night. He charted its path down to earth, and knew at once the southern grove in which it had landed. The few others who had come to the hill to watch stood also, but none of them moved. Arnis ignored them and started down the hill, toward the grove to greet this newly fallen kin.

  It was hard to believe that it had been nearly a hundred years since Mairead had left him in the cold morning light. The others were surely whispering behind him now, as they always did—he was known for being a bit mad to come to the hill every night, but he didn't care. How was it possible that he had not yet felt the pull of the sky that would allow him to find the stairs, when he longed for Mairead every day and night?

  Arnis reached the foot of the hill and wound his way through the trees. As he approached the grove, the glow of starlight filled the night—the remnants of the sky protecting the newly fallen one until he or she joined the others in the world. Arnis could not yet make out the figure, but he warned himself against hope, as he always did. It was highly unlikely that she would have come back to him. Few stars ever fell twice.

  But it's always possible, said his heart, as he strode forward into the clearing.

  The Exploits Of Her Thief

  "But Vermad is horrible!" Chala cried, swiping at her eyes. "How could Father do this?"

  Her mother sighed and patiently stroked her hair. "You knew the announcement was coming. It was unavoidable."

  "But why him?" Chala replied, throwing herself down onto her bed, aware that she was acting like a petulant child and caring little. "He's old, and he smells."

  "He was the wealthiest of the suitors. He will take good care of you."

  Chala snorted. "That's not what Father cares about. He only chose Vermad because he's got a castle and a safe place to hide the Star Diamond." Saying it out loud felt good, allowed her to let her grief over the announcement of her engagement transmute into anger at her father.

  "Chala," said her mother reproachfully, but there wasn't much force behind it. The Star Diamond had been her mother's dowry, and how her father had achieved most of the power he had gained as the Duke of Seven Fields.

  "It's true," said Chala, and she blew her nose loudly into her handkerchief.

  Her mother frowned. "Your father has been under a lot of strain lately. He must keep the diamond safe. The thief has been pressing him more closely."

  Chala tensed. The thief had been breaking into the manor for years, taunting Duke Harinod by stealing small, valuable items, many of which later turned up for sale in the village, or on the fingers of visiting nobles. Nothing enraged her father more than seeing one of his jeweled pins on the vest of a neighboring duke, or recognizing his linen bed-hangings draped drying in the sun outside one of the huts in the village below. The fact that the thief seemed to move in and out of the manor undetected enraged him even more, and though he had doubled and tripled the guard, the nighttime visits never stopped. Chala had heard the serving girls saying that the thief had lately started leaving messages for her father, written in the dust of his expensive shaving powder scattered over his dresser, or even inked onto his finest leggings.

  "He's threatened to steal the Diamond, hasn't he?" Chala said softly.

  Her mother looked at her sharply. "How do you know that?"

  Chala shook her head. "I overheard Margaretta and the others talking."

  Her mother pursed her lips, and Chala knew the se
rving girls were in for a talking-to. She turned her face away from her mother and rolled her eyes. She was nineteen after all—one would think that, if they thought she was old enough to marry off to such a horrid man, they would at least think she was old enough to know the reason why.

  Her mother sighed. "His last message said he would steal your father's most precious possession. What else could he mean?"

  "You think he can do it?" Chala asked. Her heart pounded with a strange excitement at the thought; her father deserved such humiliation. He could have had her marry any one of the more attractive suitors—there had been not a few of these.

  But she hated the thief now just as surely as she hated her father. It was his fault she had to marry Vermad—she tried not to think about what her wedding night would be like, with Vermad's oily whiskers close to her face, and his fat fingers touching her. All men were greedy, like her father, she supposed.

  The thief had been in her room, too, many times, though he had never stolen any of her possessions. She'd often found them moved—earrings laid out in strange patterns on her dressing table, stacks of books knocked awry, a dress laid out on the chair instead of hanging from the mirror as she had left it. He'd obviously wanted her to know he'd been there. A few times there had even been gifts of flowers or jewelry. She wasn't sure why she had never told her parents about these things. She was even less sure why, the time the ruby earrings had appeared on her dresser, she had worn them openly, and claimed to have borrowed them herself when her mother had identified them as her own.

  Now she wished she had told them—maybe the guards would have been able to catch him in her room. But her father's pride had been rankled now, and it wouldn't make any difference.

  Besides, she was savagely glad that there was someone who could undermine Duke Harinod so easily. She hoped the thief did steal the Diamond.

  "I don't know if he can steal it or not," said her mother. "But your father does not wish to take a chance. It will be safe in Vermad's castle, and so will you."

  Chala made a face. She'd be a prisoner, and she knew it. She thought briefly of running away, as the heroines of the stories she read did when faced with such prospects. But where would she go?

  Her mother bent and kissed her forehead. "It won't be so bad," she said softly. "You may even learn to love him."

  "Like you learned to love Father?" said Chala with false sweetness, then immediately regretted it when her mother's face fell. It wasn't her mother's fault she was being sold like cattle.

  "Yes," her mother said softly, after a moment's hesitation. "Go to sleep now. It will seem less horrid in the morning. We'll send for the seamstress to start on your wedding dress. It will be a lovely wedding, you'll see."

  She stroked Chala's hair once more and turned to go, shutting the door softly behind her.

  Chala changed into her nightgown and went to the basin to splash water on her face. There was no sense in pouting any longer. Her father's will was like iron, and even her mother had never been able to change his mind. At least when she married Vermad, she would get away from her father.

  She blew out the candles and climbed into bed. The windows were open to the summer air, and she could see the glimmer of the guards' lanterns on the walls outside. She prayed for sleep to come quickly—perhaps then she could escape from the nightmarish images she kept having of Vermad trying to kiss her. She tried to distract herself with thoughts of her other suitors—handsome Simeon, son of the Earl of the North Bay, and the young and hapless Meier Tolman, professor at the university. She'd rather have had either of them than Vermad. Come to that, she'd rather have the dirty, fair-haired blacksmith's assistant down in the village than Vermad.

  Chala fell into a restless state of half-awareness, and woke only when a shadow flitted across the moonlight flooding in from the window.

  She sat up. "Who's there?" she said softly. She needn't have asked. She should have known the thief would come tonight.

  He didn't answer, and anger flared in her chest. She could scream for the guards. He would deserve that. But then, who would humiliate her father?

  Besides, she knew he would be gone by the time the guards arrived.

  Chala pulled her blanket up around her. "You dare to come into my room," she said haughtily.

  He stood motionless in the shadows by the window—she could barely make out his outline. "I have come here many times before," he said, his voice low.

  "I know," replied Chala. She swallowed hard.

  "And yet you never told anyone."

  Chala pulled the blanket up around her higher. Did he know everything about her? "I…I felt sorry for you," she said, attempting to recapture her arrogant tone.

  She sensed his smile, though she could not see it. "Is that so?"

  "Yes," she said angrily. She leaned over to the table beside her bed, felt around for a match, and lit the candle. She held it up, but he retreated into the shadows.

  "Come forward," she said. "Or are you afraid?"

  He laughed softly and stepped into the pool of light. Chala's breath caught in her throat as she saw the broad shoulders under his black tunic, the handsome, sly curve of his mouth. He wore a close-fitting black mask that covered his hair and the upper half of his face, but she saw pale eyes glittering at her through the holes. He must have been wearing soft boots as well, for his footsteps made no sound on the floorboards. A pouch hung from his waist—no doubt it was already full of small valuables from her father's rooms.

  "You must be a skilled thief," she said in a measured, disdainful tone.

  "Some say so," he replied mildly.

  Chala sniffed. "I think you're horrid and boastful."

  The mask moved fractionally, and Chala realized he had raised his eyebrows at her.

  "Some would admire my cunning."

  "I don't," said Chala flatly, and perhaps a bit more loudly than she should have. The thief did not flinch. "It's because of you that I have to marry Vermad Eliam."

  He did seem surprised then. "And you don't wish to?"

  "No," Chala replied shortly. She replaced the candle on the table and blinked back the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes.

  The thief took a step closer; Chala pulled her blanket close around her again.

  "Do you love another?" he asked.

  Chala looked up hesitantly. It was none of his business, of course. She really should scream for the guards, if only to cause him to flee. "Perhaps."

  The thief stepped closer to the bed; Chala watched him warily. He perched on the edge of the bed, close enough for her to see the dark golden hair curling under the edges of his mask. He lifted one callused hand to her cheek. "You are beautiful," he said softly.

  Chala stiffened against the warmth of his fingers. "I could scream," she said softly.

  He smiled. "I would disappear before they arrived, and you would be accused of bad dreams."

  Chala smiled back. "Perhaps." She wondered if this was, indeed, a dream. She felt no fear, no trepidation at having him so close. She let the blanket fall around her waist. "I do not wish to marry Vermad," she said quietly.

  His hand paused on her cheek, and his eyes met hers. "Do you swear this?"

  She nodded, her throat tight.

  The thief was silent for a long moment. Chala became aware of the sounds of the summer night outside—crickets chirping and tree limbs swaying in the night breeze, and, closer at hand, the thief's steady breath. Her own breath, loud in her ears.

  At last he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, letting his warm lips travel downward to her neck. Chala's eyes dropped closed of their own accord. "Then you shall not marry him," he said, close to her ear. "I will ensure it. But first I need some bond from you."

  She ought to have felt embarrassment as she untied the front of her nightgown and let it fall open. She ought to have been ashamed or enraged. But her blood pounded in her ears, and she had never felt so desirable as she did under the thief's appreciate gaze. He breathed in and swept his
eyes over her bare breasts, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

  Chala let herself fall into his kiss, delirious with a sudden liberty. He could steal her from her father—she could steal herself. At the very least, she would bear the thief's child. He pressed her backward, into her pillow, and she let her fingers move up his back, tracing the heated muscles beneath his tunic. He slipped one hand beneath her head and let his fingers tangle in her hair. Chala moaned softly, and lifted her fingers toward the mask that covered his eyes.

  He released her and sat up, breathing heavily. "No," he said, almost harshly. "You shall not see my face tonight."

  A thrill of excitement ran through Chala's body; she lay motionless on the bed, watching him. He leaned over her again and kissed her, hard, and she did not protest as his hands pushed aside her blankets and slid her nightgown down over her hips. Chala closed her eyes and tipped her head back into the pillow as his mouth moved over her breasts, pausing to take each nipple into his mouth. Her body writhed beneath him, arching to his warm lips, and she let out a low, breathy moan as his lips trailed lower, over her stomach.

  And then his kiss found the place that had known no man's touch before, and she rocked against him. She gasped and reached toward him, but he twined his fingers through hers and held her hands away, and she was powerless to do anything but savor the swirling motions of his tongue as he pushed her further toward a place where her own body was revealed to her as a thing of radiant heat.

  She shuddered as the spasms overtook her, and did not realize she had cried out until he clapped his hand over her mouth. His expression was amused rather than annoyed, however, and he sealed his mouth over hers once more. Chala twisted beneath him and lifted his tunic, letting her hands slide up over the bare skin of his back. She pushed at his leggings, longing to feel his skin against hers.

  The thief sat up and swiftly removed his tunic without dislodging his mask, then bent and removed his boots. He stood and met her eyes as he untied his leggings and let them fall to the ground, and his sex was revealed to her.