Claim deridia book 5, p.10
Claim (Deridia Book 5), page 10
He had meant to reassure her, to explain their methods, but all it had truly done was affirm that there was a danger, and it could just as easily decide to move back toward them.
His thumb stroked lightly against her skin, and she tried to take deep, full breaths so that panic did not overtake her. That was pointless, she reminded herself firmly. The Marzon were clearly experienced in the way of travel, and Dhorn would see her safely to his people.
She swallowed, praying that was true. That he liked her well enough to ensure no lasting harm came to her.
And surely she would be less comely to him if some great beast were to maul her.
“Hush,” he soothed, leaning down and murmuring softly. “We’re all safe, you most of all. There are plenty of weapons between us and none of us would allow anything to happen to you.”
She did not see any weapons, but she supposed that meant little. Had the elders known that they were equipped with such things? Had they been also?
The light was growing dimmer. It seemed early yet, for even the first sun to have descended, but the trees were thick and perhaps that made the last hours of daylight pass even more quickly.
The result were long shadows where the light managed to catch, adding an eerie quality to the forest that already she was beginning to mistrust.
Her breath was becoming more shallow, and she was aware of many eyes that were beginning to notice her upset, and she ducked her head and forced herself to breathe, to push away the fears of unknown terrors and simply accept... what exactly?
A night spent in an unfamiliar bedroll, surrounded by strangers?
A whimper caught in her throat, and Dhorn withdrew his fingers. He no longer touched naked skin, but his hold remained on her, keeping her close and moving forward, although their pace had slowed considerably.
Their words were low and hurried, and she would not have been able to make out individual words even if she had the presence of mind to attempt it. She was too focused on losing her tenuous hold on her self-control, all too aware that she was embarrassing herself.
All they had asked of her was to walk further. They had not even frightened her by sharing that the forest sensed a threat—she had managed to do that all on her own.
But she was tired, in mind and in body, and every time she thought she was getting the best of herself, it slipped away again, leaving her perilously close to tears.
Of fright. Of frustration.
The forest would grow darker still when night fell. Colder too, and they would be in it. There would be no bed to comfort her, no walls to surround and protect her and...
And she even found herself missing the one that surrounded the city. It was not always visible, most especially the pasturelands forced it into the distance, long plains of grasses truncated only by the occasional fence to separate either kind or ownership.
She was not one prone to losing herself to imagination, but Arla had whispered musings to her often enough that she was not oblivious to some. Of what lay beyond, of adventure and, during her sister’s more fanciful talk, a great love that could only be found if she could get to the other side.
Cynestrine would always put an end to such nonsense, her mouth tight and her head shaking low in bemusement, and Arla’s eyes would flash with a hint of rebellion before sighing wistfully and squeezing Vilya’s hand.
Not Vilya now.
Naida.
Who feared the dark, even when it was just the shadowy halls of her father’s house, let alone when it was full of dangers so real that every creature in the wood knew to silence themselves.
It was a girlhood fear that had no place creeping into her new role of wife. He would think her silly, ridiculous even, if confessed how she had often clutched a lamp or candle if she had to creep out of bed, how she had conjured all sorts of little rituals that would ensure she was safe. The blankets would keep her hidden, so as long as her toes were kept hidden, nothing in the shadows could find her. If the draw for water was too strong, a candle’s glow was enough to banish monsters back to their realm, far away from her.
Yet still, her steps would be quick, her movements hurried, and sometimes even that would not be enough and she would find herself at the edge of her sister’s bed with tears in her eyes, warring with herself if she should wake her so she might sleep there instead.
It was only after their mother had died that she had stopped troubling Cynestrine. When she grew old enough to see how worn she had become, how weary, and her sleep did not need to be troubled by a girl young enough to still have her sleep plagued with dreams.
So she had made her bed her haven, where none could touch her. Where sleep was a respite, and hers, and later, when on occasion it was L’ora who came to her for comfort, she shared that sanctuary with her as well.
But still, she carried her lamp when the work ran late. Whispers of old haunts flittered through her mind so readily if she even gave it a moment’s purchase.
And it gripped her now, as fiercely as it had when she was a girl, and the shadows grew longer, and fear edged into terror.
And she was so blessedly grateful that Dhorn had removed his hand, that she could wrestle with such feelings alone as they continued on their march, and she nearly sobbed in relief when at last the males conferred when the ground beside them began to arch upward, darkening further as the opening appeared. Whether it was a cave or merely a depression in the soil, she could not say, and she was torn between fearing what might have found a den within its midst, and being grateful that they would be granted some shelter in its confines.
Two of them entered, and for the first time she saw a glint of a knife as it appeared from beneath a sleeve, pulled so its hilt was grasped tightly within an overly large palm.
It only confirmed her right for caution, if they saw danger in the darkened maw as well, and she took a step away from Dhorn lest he reach for her and feel... if he should know...
He glanced at her, a frown coming to his lips, but she turned her head and focused on where the Marzon had disappeared.
There was no great growl that echoed from it that suggested they had trespassed in a den. No sound came at all except for their eventual cry that did not sound terribly alarmed from what she could tell.
The males began to scatter, and she looked after them, and Dhorn reached for her then, his hand again, waiting for her to take it, and she chewed at her lip miserably.
She did not want to oblige him, did not wish to talk about her troubles, and surely he would pry and she would be forced to share it with him, no matter how much the thought repulsed her.
But he was waiting, and she almost wished he would complete the bond so that at least she would not have to know when he focused on her feelings, and she gulped in an anxious breath before putting her hand in his.
His eyes widened as she made contact, and he took a step nearer, and it took everything in her to keep from flinching away from him. She did not want this, did not wish to indulge the inevitable conversation that would transpire, and a tiny sliver of anger trickled through her fear.
And that...
That was easier.
She grasped it, held it to her, allowed it to burn for a moment, driving away the vestiges of her panic. She hated this part of herself, that she should be so irrational as to conjure monsters in the dark when there were plenty that abounded in the world itself. But when her thoughts turned toward him, to the circumstances surrounding their marriage and the journey itself, she winced, her ire replaced with a sudden dread.
That was a pointless thing to allow to embitter her mind. She had made this choice, this bargain for herself, to spare her sister. And despite it all, she would do so again. If it meant that L’ora would not be the one to curl up in that cave, longing for a sister she would not see again. For it not to be her that inevitably would have to receive the large male beside her.
The one that currently was regarding her with...
She dared not glance up to see his expression for herself.
“Have I done something?” he asked at last, and she grimaced, although she scolded herself firmly and smoothed her expression quickly. “Or... not done something?”
She swallowed, frustration mounting.
Mostly at herself.
She was so tired, and that made everything a great deal worse. There had been little sleep before the trek, a large order taking her days and most of her nights. But the coin had been needed, as her father liked to remind her whenever she had to account for the ledgers, and she had promised herself a long and much needed sleep when it was finished.
Only that had never come, and she wanted to rub at her eyes, wanted to sit, wanted to...
Wanted to cry.
Wanted to be held by her sisters, or perhaps even her mother, and simply weep for all she had lost.
And instead she had a husband who wanted to know if he had done wrong.
And the thought dismayed her, and she did not know how to manage his feelings as well as her own. She had not been taught to do any such thing, and she was floundering.
“No,” she croaked out, her voice strained and ugly to her own ears.
Light was fading, and it made his features more difficult to make out when she forced herself to glance upward and regard him properly. Were his eyes more accustomed to the dark? Could he see the strain in the set of her mouth, the way there was a shudder to the edges of her breath where sobs threatened to come?
He said nothing for a moment, and others came, arms burdened with wood, and she supposed that meant their camp had been chosen for the night. It should bring relief, and for a moment it did so, when she thought of the fire that would accompany it, a bedroll of her own where she could think without any to intrude upon her feelings.
He sighed deeply, and his grip on her hand tightened. “I’d like to believe that,” he replied at last, his eyes still searching her face, although for what she could not say. “But you are...” he shook his head. “You are all tangled up inside. I should like to help, if I can.” He did not smile, but there was warmth in his eyes, and sadness too, and she did not know what to make of it.
She wiped at her eyes with her free hand, and longed for...
For a great many things.
None of which she could have.
Not anymore.
And the ache was there, so sharp and painful she nearly gasped from it. But instead her shoulders hunched, and she found herself collapsing inward.
Perhaps not physically, as she managed to keep herself standing, but she felt unmoored, as if everything that had held her together had suddenly been cut all at once, and there was... nothing.
Just a grip on her hand.
Just the memory of icy water all around her.
Of warm skin beneath her fingers as she struggled against arms intent on holding her beneath the chill.
And suddenly they were there again. Not dragging her downward, but present all the same. Hesitant at first, but growing more firm as he pulled her to him, his hand at the back of her head as he brought her tense form into his embrace.
His skin did not touch hers, so his words were lost to her, and perhaps he did that purposefully. They turned instead to a warm lilt, and she decided it was better that way, as she could pretend they were full of comfort, full of promise, that all would be well if she just held on a little longer.
Her throat burned with tears she dare not shed, but the longing for a moment alone dulled slightly as her muscles began to loosen. He did not tug at her, did not pull, merely held her.
And lent her his strength when hers was failing.
No one at the market had whispered about this. How different an embrace felt when it came from a male, when she was acutely aware of how much taller, how much stronger he was when his arms wrapped so easily about her. She was not even certain that her arms could reach about him fully if she tried to return the gesture.
Not that she would. Not when she was uncertain of her welcome.
His words ended and instead came a hum, rumbling against her ear as he kept her close to his chest. It was soft, more breath than sound, but it soothed in ways she had not expected. If she closed her eyes, she could well imagine that she was safe, that he would protect her.
Perhaps even from himself.
She could hear others pass about them, voices low as they whispered to Dhorn. That it might have been about her sent a pull of embarrassment through her, and she turned her face so she could hide all the more completely, and his fingers delved beneath the scarf about her head and his voice was soft when he murmured to her. “Let us get you inside. Food and water, then sleep most of all, yes?”
She felt worn and raw, as if he had managed to find the little corners of herself that she had wanted hidden from even those closest to her.
Any wife would claim full honesty with their husband, she was certain, just as she was sure none of them truly meant it.
She would be afforded no such luxury with hers, and as he released her, she wiped at her eyes again and took a breath, deep but shaky. He would tire of her dramatics soon. He would want a quiet and dutiful wife, one without complaint.
Maybe in the morning. If she managed to sleep well despite it all, with the potential for a real bed and...
She swallowed thickly, remembering what that bed would bring with it. He had promised her privacy for the joining, and he had mentioned time as well, but that could be rescinded without any blight against his character. He would want a son, and soon, so he could prove as blessed as his father before him.
She could feel him looking at her, but she could not bring herself to glance back at him, not unless he commanded it. She kept her eyes on the hard-packed earth beneath her feet, the glow of the fire a welcoming one. The Marzon were seated about it, each with their own bedroll. They were thick and lined with some sort of fibre, brushed and combed until it resembled a great cloud. She could not quite make out the exterior, but they appeared clean, and that was something.
There appeared to be no available spots for either Dhorn or herself, and she felt a moment’s hesitation, but Dhorn squeezed her shoulder and led her onward, urging her further into the cave. Another fire, this one very near to the edge of the cave itself, a great wall of earth reaching up and shielding them overhead. She could just make out the tendrils of roots that tangled up above, and she looked away again before her mind could conjure anything frightening about the way they seemed to creep toward her.
There was a pack settled beside the fire, but no bedrolls, and Dhorn went to it with a reassuring smile, and then she remembered his earlier description. He would put out their beds for the night. And give her food to eat, and water to drink, and she would sleep without being asked to receive him first.
She was unused to a male keeping his word. Oh, his father was capable, as he was very prompt at fulfilling his threats of punishment if she or one of her sisters displeased him. But he often would claim that there would soon be coin enough for help in the workroom, for fabrics to be used for L’ora when she had outgrown her girlhood things and her sisters’ garments were too thin and patched in places to be suitable any longer.
He claimed that heirlooms would be bought back from wherever he had sold them, just as soon as he had success at the gambling tables.
The elders would say she should believe him each time. That she should trust her father implicitly and to do otherwise was one of the deepest insults she could give him.
But privately, she had ceased to listen.
And, she realised, she had expected Dhorn to be much the same.
He started with her bedroll first, much too long for her much shorter frame, but he patted it invitingly when he laid it out, and she realised he meant for her to sit there while he tended to the rest of it. She felt guilty, to be idle while he worked, but she was not going to insist, not when he had made his intentions plain.
His bedroll was next, then the food he had promised, then more sips from his flask. When he was certain she was satisfied, her having to wave a guilty hand when he tried to ply her with more, he even showed her how to clean her teeth with a little pouch of herbs and a freshly washed finger.
That they should care for such things, even while in the midst of their travels, was disconcerting, but welcome all the same.
She dared a peek toward the opening of the cave and found them all seated there, talking quietly amongst themselves. Did he wish he was amongst them? It was surely a tedious thing, to have to care for a new wife without even the diversion of a joining to look forward to, and she almost wished she could tell him to be with his brother and friends rather than waste his time looking after her.
But he reached for her hand and there was no sign of any impatience in him. “I speak from experience when I say it is more comfortable to use the cloak as a blanket rather than keep it in the bedroll. I’ve woken more than once convinced I was being strangled by a foe, only to find that it was my own cloak instead.”
She hastened to oblige, and with some hesitation, unwound the borrowed scarf as well. She felt naked, exposed, and she had kept herself from looking to the males beyond, certain they were watching and finding fault with her immodesty.
“We camped here on the journey in, and it was without incident. You can rest easy,” he assured her. He eyed her, almost expectantly, and she glanced down at her person, dismayed to realise she did not know what else he wished for her to remove. Should she remove everything down to the ceremonial gown? The thought was a mortifying one, and her hands began to shake at the prospect of it with others so close, but when he tapped her chin she startled, looking up at him as he gave a sad little smile. “Your boots,” he encouraged, and she felt utterly ridiculous.
