The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [205]
She was shaking her head slightly from side to side, her eyes concealing nothing, her face a mask of sorrow.
“To keep other men from you?” F’nor demanded, giving her a little shake. “Why? Whom are you keeping yourself for?”
He knew the answer before she spoke, knew it when she placed her finger on his lips to silence him. But he couldn’t understand her sorrow. He’d been a fool but . . .
“I have loved you since the first day I saw you. You were so kind to us, yanked away from Craft and Hold, dazed because we’d been brought all the way here on Search for Wirenth. One of us would actually be a Weyrwoman. And you—you were all a dragonman should be, tall and handsome, so kind. I didn’t know then—” and Brekke faltered. To F’nor’s concern, tears filmed her eyes. “How could I know that only bronze dragons fly queens!”
F’nor held the weeping girl to his chest, his lips against her soft hair, her trembling hands folded in his. Yes, there was much about Brekke he could understand now.
“Dear girl,” he said when her tears lessened, “is that why you refused N’ton?”
She nodded her head against his shoulder, unwilling to look at him.
“Then you’re a silly clunch and deserve all the anguish you’ve put yourself through,” he said, his teasing voice taking the sting from his words. He patted her shoulder and sighed exaggeratedly. “And craftbred as well. Have you taken in nothing you’ve been told about dragonfolk? Weyrwomen can’t be bound by any commoner moralities. A Weyrwoman has to be subservient to her queen’s needs, including mating with many riders if her queen is flown by different dragons. Most craft and holdbred girls envy such freedom . . .”
“Of that I’m all too aware,” Brekke said and her body seemed to resent his touch.
“Does Wirenth object to me?”
“Oh, no,” and Brekke looked startled. “I meant—oh, I don’t know what I meant. I love Wirenth, but can’t you understand? I’m not weyrbred. I don’t have that kind of—of—wantonness in my nature. I’m—I’m inhibited. There! I said it I am inhibited and I’m terrified that I’ll inhibit Wirenth. I can’t change all of me to conform to Weyr customs. I’m the way I am.”
F’nor tried to soothe her. He wasn’t sure now how to proceed, for this overwrought girl was a different creature entirely from the calm, serious, reliable Brekke he knew.
“No one wants or expects you to change completely. You wouldn’t be our Brekke. But dragons don’t criticize. Neither do their riders. Most queens tend to prefer one bronze above the others consistently . . .”
“You still don’t understand.” The accusation was a hopeless wail. “I never saw any man I wanted to—to have—” The word was an aspirated whisper. “Not that way. Not until I saw you. I don’t want any other man to possess me. I’ll freeze. I won’t be able to draw Wirenth back. And I love her. I love her so and she’ll be rising soon and I can’t . . . I thought I’d be able to, but I know I’ll . . .”
She tried to break away from him, but even with one arm the brown rider was stronger. Trapped, she began to cling to him with the strength of utter despair.
He rocked her gently against him, removing his arm from the sling so he could stroke her hair.
“You won’t lose Wirenth. It’s different when dragons mate, love. You’re the dragon, too, caught up in emotions that have only one resolution.” He held her tightly as she seemed to shrink with revulsion from him as well as the imminent event. He thought of the riders here at Southern, of T’bor, and he experienced a disgust of another sort. Those men, conditioned to respond to Kylara’s exotic tastes, would brutalize this inexperienced child.
F’nor glanced round at the low couch and rose, Brekke in his arms. He started for the bed, halted, hearing voices beyond the clearing. Anyone might come.
Still holding her, he carried her out of the weyrhold, smothering her protest against his chest as she realized his intention. There was a place behind his weyrhold, beyond Canth’s wallow, where the ferns grew sweet and thick, where they would be undisturbed.