Moonlight Page 2

  Gritting his teeth, Navarre disrobed and stepped into the tub. Ignoring the guards, he closed his eyes, sighing as the hot water penetrated his aching flesh.

  When he emerged from his bath, one of the guards offered him a coarse cloth with which to dry himself, then handed him a long black robe. When he was dressed, food was provided.

  Navarre ate slowly, aware of the two men who stood at the door watching his every move.

  When he finished eating, they led him down another long, narrow corridor to a small, iron-barred cell that contained a narrow bed covered by a thick quilt. There was a square table, a single chair, a wooden shelf filled with scrolls. A covered chamber pot stood in one corner.

  The door closed behind him with a loud clang. Sinking down on the bed, Navarre closed his eyes against the pain that thrummed through him with every breath he took.

  Later, when the pain ebbed, he stared at his surroundings. He was really in a cage this time, a cage made of iron bars.

  A second cage stood some six feet away.

  And in it, looking back at him, he saw a young female.

  Chapter Three

  Navarre stared at the girl for a long while, unable to think or speak. Except for his mother, he had never seen a woman. Isobele had been tall and regal, with blonde hair and dark blue eyes; this girl was small and delicate, with a mass of curly black hair and deep green eyes fringed with long black lashes. Her skin was fair, like those of the gray-robed men of Kenn. She wore a long, loose-fitting blue robe. Her feet were bare.

  He thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

  He wondered who she was, and why she was imprisoned, and even as the thought crossed his mind, he remembered that his father and mother had been imprisoned in cages, permitted to see each other, to speak to each other, but never to touch until the time of mating.

  He stared at her, his body tensing.

  Was this ebony-haired woman to be his mate? It took him a moment to find his voice. “Who are you?”

  “Katlaina.”

  Her name was as sweetly feminine and lovely as she was. “Why are you here?”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Don’t you know?”

  Navarre swallowed hard. “Are you…are we…?”

  The girl nodded, her cheeks flooding with heat. “I am to be your mate.”

  In the days that followed, Navarre grew to love the woman with the ebony-colored hair. She told him of her home high in the mountains of Grenalde where she had been born, how she had entered a sacred order and taken vows of poverty and chastity, and how, a short time later, she had been abducted and brought to this place. She had been told that she was to be mated to the male destined to be sacrificed to the goddess Shaylyn.

  “And if I do as I am told,” Katlaina said, “they promised to send me back home when I am no longer needed here.”

  “And my child will be the next sacrifice.”

  “Yes.”

  “There will be no child,” he said adamantly, yet even as he spoke the words, he knew that, should he refuse to mate with Katlaina, the priests of the goddess Shaylyn would drug his food or his water, as they had done to his father.

  What would be better, he mused night after night, than to rut with the woman like a mindless beast in heat, or take what pleasure he could find in her sweet flesh? Drugged, he would pay no heed to her wants or needs, nor would he have any memory of the act itself. And since this was the only opportunity he would ever have to enjoy the company of a woman, he thought perhaps he would like to savor it, to remember it.

  As the days passed, and his feelings for Katlaina grew, he knew he would willingly take her to his bed, that he would be gentle with her.

  Through Katlaina, he learned of the land, of the way of life beyond the cage. She told him of snow-covered mountains, of lakes that were as blue as the sky, of trees that were taller than the roof of the palace. She described animals he had seen only in pen and ink drawings: great tawny cats, furry black bears, elephants, llamas, swans and eagles. She told him of her childhood, of frolicking in the snow with her brothers and sisters.

  The idea of growing up in a family, with a mother and a father and siblings left him speechless. He could not imagine such a thing. Could not think what it would be like to live in a house, to sit in front of a hearth on a cold winter day, to work in the fields beside a father, to be able to come and go as he pleased. Imagine, being able to go outside, to have the freedom to run, to play, to lie on the grass and watch the clouds, to feel the rain on his face. It was beyond his comprehension.

  There were many things he knew, he thought ruefully. He had a vast store of knowledge, but no chance to apply it. He had read scrolls on a wide variety of subjects. He knew how to plant a garden, yet he had never held so much as a handful of earth. He knew that apples came from trees, yet he had never seen fruit growing. He had tasted fish, but never seen one swimming; he had eaten eggs but never seen a chicken.

  Hour by hour, the day of his twenty-fourth year approached, and with each passing day, his yearning to hold Katlaina grew ever stronger. Her skin was smooth and clear, without blemish. Was it as soft as it looked? He longed to run his fingers through the dark wealth of her hair, to touch her lips with his, to discover for himself what made a woman different from a man.

  Each cage was provided with a screen to insure privacy for their intimate needs. Once each week, they were allowed to bathe.

  At such times, when Katlaina stepped behind the screen, Navarre paced the confines of his cell, plagued by feelings he did not fully understand as he imagined her disrobing, sinking down into the tub, the water closing over her.

  It was the night before his twenty-fourth birthday when the High Priest appeared at the door of Navarre’s cell.

  Navarre stood in the far corner, his heart pounding, as he waited for the hooded man to speak.

  “You will be four and twenty on the morrow,” the High Priest said. “Will you breed the woman willingly?”

  Navarre’s gaze slid toward Katlaina. They had taken away her blue robe and clothed her in a diaphanous gown of shimmering silver shot through with fine gold threads. It clung to every inch of her body, outlining her full breasts, the curve of her hip, the slender length of her legs.

  Never had he seen anything lovelier. Her hair, as black as ink on parchment, fell over her shoulders to her hips like an ebony waterfall. Her eyes were as green as the grass that grew on the hillside.

  He swallowed hard, unable to speak.

  “I require an answer, Navarre,” the High Priest said. “Will you breed the woman of your own free will?”

  Navarre’s blood sang in his veins, then settled hot and heavy in his groin, and at that moment he thought that dying would be worth the price of holding her in his arms just once.

  “Navarre?” There was the faintest note of amusement in the High Priest’s voice, as if he were aware of Navarre’s every thought, every yearning.

  “Yes.” Navarre managed to force the word from his throat. He had no wish to father a son to be the next sacrifice, but he remembered all too clearly his mother’s words, her horror at being bedded by a man who had been drugged. If he was to bed Katlaina, he wanted to be fully aware of each moment.

  “We will bring her to you on the morrow then.”

  On the morrow, Navarre thought.

  And for the first time, he willed the hours to pass swiftly.

  * * * * *

  They brought her to him at dusk. He stared at her for a long moment, unable to think, unable to move. She was here, within his reach at last.

  The silver gown shimmered like molten ore in the candlelight.

  “Katlaina.”

  She stared back at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. She was trembling all over. He could see the pulse beating wildly in her throat.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he whispered.

  Slowly, she nodded.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “You will.”

&n
bsp; “No!”

  “You will,” she replied, her voice filled with quiet resignation.

  Slowly, so slowly, he stood and closed the short distance between them.

  Slowly, so slowly, he lifted his hand. Stroked her cheek. Touched her hair. Traced the outline of her lips. Soft, so soft. Never had he touched anything so soft, so smooth, so warm.

  Never had he seen anything so lovely.

  “Katlaina…”

  “Please do not do this,” she begged. “Please…”

  “I must.” He smiled at her, a sad smile that tugged at her heart. “It’s what I was born for,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Would you deny me these few moments of pleasure before I die?”

  She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears. In the days they had been together, she had told him of her life, and he had told her of his. Nights, when he slept, she had wept for him, for the freedom that had been stolen from him, for the things he had never seen, would never see, the life he would never live.

  Though she was not experienced in the ways of men, she was not totally ignorant of what went on between male and female. She had grown up on a farm. She knew about breeding, about mating. She had helped bring her baby brother into the world. Her mother had told her that childbirth was a woman’s duty but that, if a woman was lucky in her choice of a husband, if he had the patience to be kind, to be gentle, the getting of children was not altogether unpleasant.

  She could not deny Navarre the only pleasure he was ever to know.

  Slowly, she reached up and unfastened the ties of her gown. The silver fabric slid to the floor with a whisper. She wore nothing underneath.

  Navarre stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry, his heart beating hard and fast as his gaze moved over her. She was a study in perfection. Her skin was smooth and supple, her breasts were high and full and beautifully formed. Her legs were shapely, her feet small.

  She was beautiful, so beautiful, he wanted to weep.

  Instead, he took a step forward, his gaze searching her face, and when she didn’t back away, he caressed her shoulder, let his fingertips slide down her arm, felt her shiver at his touch.

  “Katlaina, I want…”

  “What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I know.”

  With hands that trembled, she removed his robe, and he stood naked before her.

  He might not know what he wanted, she mused, but his body knew. There was no mistaking the evidence of his desire, or his embarrassment that she should see him in such an aroused state.

  He was tall and lean. Clean of line and limb, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. A man in his prime, lusty and virile.

  Swallowing her fear, Katlaina took him by the hand and led him to the narrow bed, drawing him down beside her.

  “Touch me, Navarre,” she said softly.

  It was what he wanted more than his next breath, but she was so small, so delicate. What if, in his haste and his ignorance, he caused her pain?

  “It will be all right.” Her words were low and filled with encouragement, but her eyes held a trace of wariness, of fear.

  “You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

  “Yes.” This is my first time, too. Please be gentle with me.

  Tears burned her eyes as he began to touch her, his hands trembling with eager uncertainty. Curious hands. There were no calluses on his palms, no scars anywhere on his body. Unlike her, he had never done a day’s work, never washed a dish or milked a cow or scrubbed a floor. He had never scraped his elbow while chasing after the chickens, or cut his knee when he fell from a tree.

  He was going to die.

  The thought pounded in her head as his hands grew more bold. Now and again, he looked at her, his dark gray eyes filled with such tenderness, it made her want to weep.

  He could touch her as he wished. Caress her hair, the curve of her breast, the slender column of her throat. He stroked her smooth flesh, and his own body came alive. He pressed his lips to hers, and heat spiraled through him. Did it affect her the same?

  He groaned softly as his body’s need grew painful, afraid of the wild emotions that were raging through him, afraid of hurting her, of disgusting her, of doing something wrong. Of having her laugh at him.

  But she lay there, quietly urging him on. And then her hands were touching him, measuring the width of his shoulders, exploring the fine layer of hair on his chest. Her fingertips traced the muscles in his arms and back. In all the years since they had taken his mother from him, no one had touched him with kindness or affection. In all his life, no one had ever touched him intimately. No one had ever caressed him, or aroused him.

  He trembled beneath her questing fingertips, his whole body yearning toward her, wanting her, needing her, loving her the more for her patience, her gentleness as she helped him find that which he sought.

  The touch of her hands thrilled him, excited him, until he thought he would burst, and then he was sheathed deep inside her, moving to a rhythm older than time, and he did burst, his body flooding with heat, shuddering, shattering, exploding in the warm sweet heat of her flesh…

  “Katlaina?” He drew back, whispering her name as the world stopped spinning. “Katlaina, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  She turned her head so he couldn’t see her tears.

  “Katlaina?” He forced her to look at him. “What’s wrong? What have I done?” His expression filled with self-loathing. “I hurt you, didn’t I?”

  “No, Navarre, you didn’t hurt me.” How could she explain how she felt? He was a part of her now. For a brief time, they had been one flesh. Her heart had beat in time with his. When he died, a part of her would die with him.

  “Forgive me,” he begged. “Please, Katlaina.”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” She stroked his cheek, unmindful of the tears that welled in her eyes. “I love you, Navarre.”

  “Katlaina!” Joy and pain warred in his gaze.

  “Make love to me.” Her fingers dug into his arms, drawing him closer. “I’m not afraid when I’m in your arms.”

  With a low groan, he buried his face against her breast and she felt the heat of his tears. And then he was moving within her again, making her forget everything but the wonder of his touch, the ecstasy of his kisses, the miracle of two hearts beating as one…

  Chapter Four

  When he woke in the morning, she was gone.

  Alarmed, Navarre sat up, his gaze darting to the cage on the other side of the room. A vast sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw her there, asleep in her own bed.

  “Katlaina. Katlaina!”

  He called her name, needing to know she was all right, that he hadn’t hurt her, but she didn’t stir, and after a while, he realized they had drugged her. But why? Never had the hours passed so slowly as they did that day as he waited for the sun to set. He paced the floor for hours, his desire, his need, growing stronger with each passing moment.

  She woke an hour before dusk. A guard brought her food, water to bathe in, a transparent gown made of golden cloth.

  And then she was in his cage again.

  In his arms again.

  In his bed again.

  And his need was so great, he took her quickly, swiftly, burying himself in her softness, burying his fear of the future in the velvet warmth of her femininity.

  Later, when his desire had subsided, he gathered her into his arms, one hand stroking her hair.

  “Katlaina, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, Navarre.”

  “They drugged you last night. Why?”

  “To insure that I give birth to a son.”

  “And if the child is a girl?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps they will let you try again. I do not know.”

  “Have any of the sacrifices ever fathered a girl child?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Katlaina, I am sorry this has happened to you. I wish…”
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  “What, Navarre, what do you wish?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  She nodded, because she did know. Her mother had told her that there was one special man meant for each woman, and that only those blessed by the gods ever met the one man who was mate to their heart, to their soul.

  She knew Navarre was that man. A part of her could not help but rejoice that they had met; a greater part of her grieved because they could have no life together.

  He made love to her all night long, tenderly, gently. Passionately.

  And then, as the dawn threatened to steal the darkness from the sky, and the drug they had given her with her dinner began to take effect, she felt his tears dampen her cheek.

  “Navarre…” Needing to comfort him, she tried to fight the darkness closing in on her. “Do not cry…Navarre…” she whispered as her eyelids grew heavy. “Please…do not cry…”

  * * * * *

  It was the pattern of their days and nights for the next two months, and then he woke one morning to find her cage empty, the linen stripped from the bed, the door open.

  “Katlaina!”

  He screamed her name over and over again until one of the guards came.

  “Where is she?” Navarre demanded. “What have you done to her?”

  “Done your part, you have,” the guard said. “Your seed has taken root. She’s breeding, the woman is.”

  Navarre’s hands curled around the bars, his knuckles white. “When will I see her again?”

  The guard stared at him for a moment, and then he shook his head. “You will not,” he replied quietly.

  “Please, tell me where she is.”

  The guard started to shake his head, and then he sighed. “She is in a room above stairs. You need not worry about her. Well cared for will she be.”

  “Please, let me see her.”