The Swords of Gregara - Jenala, a sci-fi romance (10 page)
Read The Swords of Gregara - Jenala, a sci-fi romance Online
Authors: Cynthia Woolf
“A baby?
You’re having a baby?
Why didn’t you tell me?
Why…?”
Jenala turned away, tears too close to the surface for her to look upon his beloved face.
“I didn’t want this to sway you.
I wanted you to come back of your own free will.
Because you wanted to, because you…”
He was by her side in two long strides.
“Jenala.
Look at me, love.”
He raised her face to him.
“I came as soon as I was able.
It took much longer than I expected to find someone to replace me as Valmud.
My father no longer wants the position.
He was ready to retire and have me succeed him.
I explained that I could not do that.
But I couldn’t leave until I’d made arrangements for my tribe to go on without me.”
“I never wanted to be a burden to you.
Neither of us.”
She patted her belly.
Santro held her face gently in his palms and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.
“You are my wife, Jenala Delasa Baltin and I love you more than life itself.”
“You do?”
“I’ve been yours since I saw your glorious red hair flying about as you fought with Zlaten.
Then when you looked up at me, with so much trust in those beautiful blue eyes of yours, I fell completely, hopelessly in love with you.”
“And I you.
Since the moment I first saw you.
I knew you would not harm me, that you would protect me.
It was as though I’d met my other half, my soul, my heart.”
“And what of our little one?”
He touched her stomach with such gentleness, Jenala almost cried.
“When is he or she due?”
“In less than a month.
I have already thought of a name for a boy.
Kreston Oliria Baltin, to honor both of our fallen family.
Do you like it?”
“Very much.”
He took her in his arms, her back to his chest, and rested his arms across her belly.
“What if it is a girl?”
“I have not given it much thought.
What would you like?”
“I’d like to name her after our mothers.
My mother’s name was Jenuvia,” said Santro.
“What was your mothers name?”
“Vian.
How about Jenuvia Vian Baltin if it is a girl, which I’m certain it is not.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“This little one has been fighting with me since I was able to feel him.
He is just to ornery to be a girl.”
Santro laughed.
“So girls are not capable of being tiny terrorists?
I would bet your father would have disagreed.”
Jenala pouted.
“I’ll have you know I was the most well behaved child.”
Then with a naughty laugh, “most of the time.”
He hugged her close.
“I don’t care what variety of child it is.
He or she is wanted and loved by both of us.
We will raise them right here in this valley, safe and secure.
Of course, we’ll have to work on having many more children.
They’ll need to have each other to play with and…” he paused.
“And what?”
“Mommy and Daddy need to perfect their baby making skills.
And you know,” he kissed her, “practice makes perfect.”
*****
Santro and Jenala went to stay in town a full week before the baby was due.
There was no way Santro was taking a chance with Jenala.
He wanted the new doctor to deliver his child and make sure his wife was well taken care of.
Little Kreston Oliria Baltin did not arrive on time but was fifteen days late.
He had his mother’s fiery hair and his fathers green eyes.
Luckily for his mother, he also had his father’s gentle nature.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cynthia Woolf was born in Denver, Colorado and raised in the mountains west of Golden. She spent her early years running wild around the mountain side with her friends.
Their closest neighbor was one quarter of a mile away, so her little brother was her playmate and her best friend. That fierce friendship lasted until his death in 2006.
Cynthia was and is an avid reader. Her mother was a librarian and brought new books home each week. This is where young Cynthia first got the storytelling bug. She wrote her first story at the age of ten. A romance about a little boy she liked at the time.
She worked her way through college and went to work full time straight after graduation and there was little time to write. Then in 1990 she and two friends started a round robin writing a story about pirates. She found that she missed the writing and kept on with other stories. In 1992 she joined Colorado Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America. Unfortunately, the loss of her job demanded the she not renew her memberships and her writing stagnated for many years.
In 2001, she saw an ad in the paper for a writers conference being put on by CRW and decided she'd attend. One of her favorite authors, Catherine Coulter, was the keynote speaker. Cynthia was lucky enough to have a seat at Ms. Coulter's table at the luncheon and after talking with her, decided she needed to get back to her writing. She rejoined both CRW and RWA that day and hasn't looked back.
Cynthia credits her wonderfully supportive husband Jim and the great friends she's made at CRW for saving her sanity and allowing her to explore her creativity.
SNEAK PEEK
THE SWORDS OF GREGARA – HONORA
BOOK 3 in the series
by
Cynthia Woolf
“Oww” a woman’s voice awash with pain reached his ears.
“You disappoint me, Honora.
You continue to try to escape me.
When will you learn?” asked a whiney voiced man.
The whip struck flesh and the woman moaned but didn’t scream.
She didn’t scream.
When he woke again he was not alone.
Chained across the room from him, hung by her wrists, was a woman.
He could see the lash marks on her back.
Lash upon lash, new over old. They obstructed the beautiful tattoo of a dragon on her back.
Crawling to her he released her hands from the chains holding her up.
She collapsed in a heap on the floor.
He crawled back to his side of the room as darkness overtook him once more.
*****
The dried blood on her back cracked with each movement, but she worked through the pain as she stretched.
Breathed deep and accepted the pain.
Her sword weighed heavier in her hand than usual.
More evidence of the lashing two nights ago.
She looked down at the unconscious man at her feet.
A new recruit.
A Zolthor like herself.
Another reason Perdor punished her for her attempted escape, her sixth try in as many months.
This last punishment was the worst.
Five lashes.
Not enough to incapacitate her but enough to make her remember.
Perdor wanted her to be able to train the new slave.
He wanted them to be a team, good enough to take on all contenders.
He’d be the only owner with two Zolthor fighting for him.
Not just one, but a team.
He was salivating at the thought of the coin it would bring.
Again she looked down on the naked man.
Long lashes lay against his cheek.
What color eyes did they hide?
Blue?
Green?
Brown perhaps.
She’d find out soon enough.
He was a beautiful man.
Well formed.
Broad shoulders.
Trim waist.
Long muscular legs.
He looked like a warrior.
Would be a good fighter.
Maybe even a good lover as he appeared well endowed there as well.
He’d awakened from the drug induced sleep long enough to crawl over and release her from the chains.
For that she was grateful.
Her wrists didn’t hurt as much as usual because of him.
Using her blades was easier than it had been after her previous punishments.
Time to wake up the sleeping man and get him trained.
Time was short and she intended to make the most of it.
He would learn or he would die.
*****
“Abra dit, Zolthor.”
Cold metal slapped his buttocks.
His naked buttocks.
What the hell?
“Jkss mokymas prasideda,” said the female voice in words he didn’t understand.
He swatted at the irritating object, sat up immediately, reeled from whatever drug they’d given him, and nearly fell back to the ground.
“My name is Joridan Dolana, sergeant in the Centaurian Army. CA number 5551234”
“Oh, an Army man,” she scoffed speaking perfect Centauri.
“You look like a Zolthor, therefore you are a Zolthor.
I am Honora.
Your trainer.
I will teach you to use a sword.
So whether you are Zolthor or not, you will fight like one when I’m done with you.”
“I’m not Zolthor.
I’m Centaurian which you must know sind you’re speaking Centauri.”
“I speak many languages.
You carry the tribal mark on your hip.
You are Zolthor.”
“That’s a birthmark.
My sister has one just like it.”
“Exactly.
A tribal tattoo.
I have one as well.”
She pulled the waistband of her short pants down to reveal the mark.
A small crescent moon on her hip.
“They are given to every Zolthor at birth.”
He looked down at her hip and then at his, not believing what he saw.
Gram had told them it was a birth mark that every family member had one.
She’d even showed them hers to prove it.
“Even if what you say is true, I am still Centaurian, not Zolthor.
I know nothing about you or your people.
They mean nothing to me.”