Miami Days and Truscan (13 page)

“Patience has never been mine, but I think it might have its own rewards,” he replied with a slight smile. “Today’s been one of the best days I remember having in so long, since my family died. I love Dal and Johnny and Kiera, but this—I’d forgotten.”

He pulled Pegasus up as we approached the gates. The guards were a little lax; it took them more than the usual split second to begin to haul the gates up.

“You’re not so bad yourself when you’re not being an overbearing ass,” I conceded, bringing Andromeda to a stop beside the falton stallion.

He leaned toward me, and as the gates began to lift, the guards were treated to the sight of the Truscan royal couple as the king’s lips grazed the queen’s. He pulled back and smiled, and we entered the walls. I was almost sorry for the interruption. He really
wasn’t
bad at all. When he wasn’t being an overbearing ass.

He was obviously sincere in his intentions to give us a new start, to give me time to trust him. I half-way expected him to enter the royal bed chambers as I bathed the dust of the day’s ride away, but he didn’t come in until I was clean and dried and wrapped in my soft robe. He had obviously bathed elsewhere, as he was also clean and dried, and dressed casually in a clean tunic and leggings without the trappings of wolf fur. He smelled deliciously of some scent that was very familiar to me, which I finally pegged as similar to patouchli oil.

Saraya and her sister serving girls followed closely on his heels, spreading supper before us, and I ate somewhat mechanically, tired from the unaccustomed physical activity of the day-long ride. But it was a pleasant languor that left me soft and relaxed, and ready for sleep, unlike the stressful exhaustion of the Board Room which had required several hours of wind-down time.

I finished, or at least I stopped eating before he did, and leaned back in my chair, and although Dalph was speaking, I didn’t follow very closely.

“...of the western guards,” I caught, and realized that I hadn’t heard the first part of his sentence.

I brought myself up with a jerk.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

He laughed and, rising, came to my chair, bending over and picking me up as easily as he would a child.

“That I’m boring you,” he said, walking toward the bed.

“No, that’s not—”

He laughed again. “You’re not used to riding all day, Green Eyes. We have to build up your stamina.” He laid me on the bed and pulled the covers over me.

“Good night, my Queen.” His lips brushed my hair as he said something in Truscan that I didn’t catch.

I smiled as I settled back into sleep. “And you, my King.” But I didn’t know if I actually said it or just thought it.

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, three things filtered into my brain as I awakened, any one of which could have woken me, but I was uncertain as to which actually did. The first thing was that Dalph was not beside me, and I spared a small grimace at the thought. Surely, I wasn’t becoming so accustomed to his presence that his absence was the first thing I noticed? The next thing was that it was fairly late in the morning, and the red Truscan sunlight was streaming in the window and hitting me squarely in the eyes. And the last thing was that Kiera was bustling around the room, laying out my breakfast and pulling back window coverings.

I sat up abruptly.

“Why’d you let me sleep so late?” I asked and threw back the covers. “And where have you been, anyway? I didn’t see you at all yesterday.”

“There was much to do after the wedding,” she said as she sped around, straightening this and straightening that. “Such a happy night for Trusca! There is nothing a Truscan loves more than a party and what is a party without a mess? And then Dalph, he sweeps you out and away from the Rata! He has waited long to be happy, no one could fault him for wanting one day alone with his chosen one. You must eat. My McKay will be here soon. I believe he wants to take you to meet Dal.”

“Johnny? Not Dalph?” It was Dalph’s son; surely he intended to perform the introductions?

“Dalph has much to tend to.”

She continued to bustle around, and I submitted to her ministrations, as I had long since determined that there was no other way to survive them, and before long found myself fed and turned out in a soft kirson of a beautiful violet hue, and sitting before my new dressing table as she pulled my hair into the intricate braids of Trusca.

“Kiera... my riding clothes—”

“I am having them cleaned.”

“Can you get me more?”

“More? You only need them for riding. How many do you need?”

“I like them. They feel like the clothes I wore at home. I’m comfortable in them. Surely Dalph wouldn’t mind?”

“Dalph would give you anything, you are his Queen. You must know that. How many sets would you like?”

Dalph would give me anything. With what easy assurance she spoke the words.

“Another three?”

She frowned. “So many? I do not see the need, but of course, if you would like them—”

“I would,” I said firmly, staring at my hair. The braids bothered me. They were very attractive, but they pulled when worn all day. In fact, they gave me a niggling headache. And I didn’t intend to spend the majority of my time in the kirsons, but in the riding clothes, when I got them. My hair was longer than I had worn it for years, at Carlos’ implicit orders. He thought that wearing it in a more feminine longer style than in the shorter, easier styles most businesswomen adopted gave me an edge over them. “Conceals what a shark you are,” he’d said. But I had worn it for years before that in a chin-length full pageboy and sometimes even shorter that would look wonderful with the tunics and leggings. Later, I promised myself. When I got the rest of the riding clothes.

Johnny came to fetch me, and as we walked down the hall she said I looked the very epitome of a Truscan Queen.

“Thank you,” I said, and nothing more. I was still uncomfortable with Johnny and knew that I would be for some to come. Maybe for always.

“How’d yesterday go?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Haven’t seen Dalph that relaxed in years,” he said.

 “That’s none of your business,” I said shortly.

“What isn’t?”

“If the marriage is physically official yet. It’s none of your business, so don’t ask again, round about or otherwise.”

He gave up the attempt at personal small talk and led me into a wing of the Rata that I had never explored. That wasn’t surprising, I supposed, as I hadn’t explored half the Rata. After all, I hadn’t been here a full week yet. He opened the door to a sunny chamber where sat a young boy, leaning over a table with scrolls of some sort in front of him. The young man with him, obviously one of the boy’s tutors, stood up at our approach. Johnny spoke a few sentences and the young man departed.

“Dal, I want you to meet somebody.”

The boy rose. He was a handsome child, as he could hardly help but be, as he resembled his father greatly. He was ten, Johnny had told me, and like all Truscans, he was very tall. I was sure he wasn’t overly tall for Trusca, but on earth, he’d easily pass for older than he was. He stood straight, but when he moved toward us, he favored his right leg, and I could see that the high leather boot had been modified to support his right foot. The clubbed foot.

“My father’s wife,” he said. His English was quite good, but somehow, more mechanical than I’d expected, given the amount of English he was exposed to.

“Yes, this is Tess. Tess, this is also Randalph of Trusca. This is Dal.”

“Hello, Dal,” I said and held out my hand. Did Truscans shake hands? Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think I’d ever seen the gesture. He hesitated a minute, and then he took it. A voice from the doorway summoned Johnny. I didn’t catch much, other than the “McKay,” but it was obvious his presence was very much required elsewhere.

“Damn!” he exclaimed under his breath. “I won’t be long, Tess. You two get acquainted. Dal, why don’t you take Tess for a walk in the garden?” he suggested, and he hurried out the door.

“I do not like to walk,” Dal said flatly, and moved back to the chair, where he sat down. “I do not walk well.”

That surprised me. I recalled Dalph’s emphatic declaration that his son was not handicapped, he was merely inconvenienced, and I hadn’t expected Dal to think otherwise, to use his foot as an excuse for anything. And the continued mechanical, stilted flavor of his English, after Dalph’s fluency, was off-setting.

“Then we can sit and talk,” I said, moving to the chair beside him.

“I did not give you permission to sit,” he said.

I stared. One thing I had definitely not expected of Dalph was for him to have raised a spoiled brat. I knew that children often presented one front to a parent and another front to the rest of the world, but I wouldn’t have thought Dalph would be an easy father to run a scam on.

“That’s all right,” I said. “I didn’t
ask
your permission to sit.”

He glared. “You are an outsider and you are a woman. And I do not want you here. So it is good that McKay was called out, and no pretense is required.”

“I am definitely a woman and at present, I am an outsider. But I don’t want to remain an outsider, and I don’t want you to consider me the enemy.”

“Your wishes do not concern me. You have been chosen by my father to breed the sons who will replace me. I am not stupid, and the Rata has many voices.”

Enough was enough. I got up and headed toward the door. Did Dalph
know
what this child thought of him, that he was so insecure as to believe his position as Dalph’s oldest son meant nothing to his father? I couldn’t believe it, but Dalph stayed so busy and fathers often knew so little of what their children really thought. Perhaps he
didn’t
know what was really running through that young brain, but if he didn’t, it was certainly time he did.

“Where are you going? I did not give you permission to leave.”

I turned. “I do not require your permission, not to sit, not to leave, not to stand on my head, if I so choose to do. And I am going to find your father. The two of you need to have a long talk.”

“My father doesn’t talk to me,” he said, his face changing into a mask of insecurity. “He is ashamed of me. He thinks me unworthy of the Truscan throne.”

“I think you definitely need better manners before you ever claim the throne,” I said. “I thought your father’s were pretty bad when I first met him, but you sure got him beat. And I don’t know who’s been telling you these things, or if you’ve just manufactured them yourself, but they aren’t true, and I will not be made miserable while you throw a pity-party. Your father loves you very much and it’s the last thought in his mind to replace you with another heir, and he is certainly not ashamed of you. I repeat, you and your father have to have a talk.”

I turned back and started out the door again, where I careened right into the broad chest that suddenly filled the doorway.

“We do? About what?” asked Dalph, as he reached out to brace me in my stumble.

“Abba!” exclaimed the young terror, shouting the Truscan word for father and running, though he didn’t like to walk, with open arms toward the man whom he’d dismissed as being ashamed of him.

Dalph laughed and set me gently aside, opening his own arms, and pulling his son close to his side. The little ass! I thought. Was he really that consummate an actor?

“I think she’ll do, Abba,” he said, looking up at me with a grin.

“Do you now? I’m delighted to have your stamp of approval,” Dalph said. “What makes you say that?”

I stared. No kid was this good an actor.

He grinned wider. “Because I gave her the chance. I told her you were ashamed of me and wanted to replace me with another heir, and she didn’t tell me I was right, like she would have done if she was working for Baka and trying to win me to their side, to take the throne with me as a figurehead. And she didn’t tell me I was wrong and try to persuade me of that by herself, like she would have done if she was trying to build a powerbase for herself—”

Dalph was shaking his head as he looked at his son. “What’s the matter?” asked the terror. “I was just checking—”

Dalph roared, and Dal looked insulted.

“Her loyalty to you, and she was going to tell you just how awful I was—”

“Thereby proving her worthiness. Is that it?” asked Dalph.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“How funny are you going to see it when you eat bread and milk for supper for a week for this little prank?”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Don’t push it, Dal.”

I fought my own grin, hearing the shades of Dalph’s mother in those words. How often had she told her brood, and Lord, she’d had four of them, not to “push it”? Pretty often, I’d bet.

“All right, you would,” Dal conceded. “But you won’t. Will you?” His expression was priceless.

Dalph roared again. “That depends on how quickly you apologize to Tess and how well you behave for the rest of the day. Or don’t you care that she thinks you’re undoubtedly the most manipulative, spoiled little brat that ever drew breath?”