A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [79]
The wind-ruffled silence, the warm sun, the beauty of the dancing light on the ocean all combined to help calm his racing mind and let him think. Slowly, logically, he reminded himself that she was doubtless right. If they were going to generate such an intensity of polarized power between them, the only thing to do with it was to let it run its natural course and find its proper outlet—an outlet that was as pure and holy as any other part of his life. The dweomer had never expected him to live like a celibate priest of Bel. He honestly loved her, didn’t he? And she was honestly offering. Then he remembered how he’d left her: sitting there openmouthed, probably thinking he was daft or worse, probably mocking him. He dropped his face in his hands and wept in frustrated panic. When he finally got himself under control, he looked up to find her standing there watching him.
“I had to come after you. Please, tell me what I’ve done to offend you.”
“Naught, naught. It’s all my fault.”
Her lips slightly parted, Dallandra searched his face with her storm-dark gray eyes, then sat down next to him. Without thinking he held out his hand; she took it, her fingers warm and soft on his.
“I truly do love you,” Aderyn said. “But I wanted to tell you in some fine way.”
“I should have let you tell me. I’m sorry, too. I’ve had lots of men fall in love with me, but I’ve never wanted anything to do with any of them. I’m frightened, Ado. I just wanted it over and done with.”
“Well, I’m frightened, too. I’ve never been with a woman before.”
Dallandra smiled, as shy as a young lass, her fingers tightening on his.
“Well, then we’ll just have to learn together. Oh, by those hells of yours, Ado, here we’ve studied all this strange lore and met spirits from every level of the world and scried into the future and all the rest of it. Surely we can figure out how to do what most people learn when they’re still children!”
Aderyn laughed, and laughing, he could kiss her, her mouth warm, delicate, and shy under his. When she slipped her arms around his neck, he felt a deep warmth rising to fight with his fears. He was content with her kisses, the solid warmth of her body in his arms, and the occasional shy caress. Every now and then she would look at him and smile with such affection in her eyes that he felt like weeping: someday she would love him, the woman he’d considered unreachable.
“Shall I move my gear to your tent tonight?” he said.
She had one last moment of doubt; he could see it in her sudden stillness.
“Or we could let things run their course. Dalla, I love you enough to wait.”
“It’s not that.” Her voice was shaky and uncertain. “I’m just afraid I’d be using you.”
“Using me?”
“Because of the Guardians. I feel sometimes that I could drift into their sea. I want an anchor, Ado. I need an anchor, but I—”
“Then let me help you. I said I would, and I meant it.”
With a laugh she flung herself into his arms and clung to him. Years later he would remember this moment and tell himself, bitterly, that he’d been warned.
Yet he could never blame himself—indeed, who could blame him?—for ignoring the warning when he was so happy, when every day of his new life became as warm and golden and sweet as a piece of sun-ripened fruit, no matter how hard winter roared and blustered round the camp. That afternoon he carried his gear over to Dallandra’s tent and found that among the People this simple act meant a wedding. In the evening there was a feast and music; when Aderyn and Dallandra slipped away from the celebration, they found that their tent had been moved a good half mile from camp to give them absolute privacy, with everything they owned heaped up inside.
While she lit a fire for warmth as well as light, Aderyn laced the tent flap. Now that they were alone, he could think of nothing to say and busied himself with arranging the tent bag and saddle packs neatly round the tent. He moved them this way and that, stacked them several different ways, as if it truly