Wedding (23 page)

But all that changed with the wound. Without
intending it, Dominic had tested us, all three of us, and found we
measured up. My communion with Dominic had proven worthy of what
Dominic had resisted before—marriage in the ’Graven Rule. And
Stefan had earned the right to be considered his
companion
in its deepest, most significant meaning—the devoted comrade in
arms who would die for his lover. Dominic’s gamble with the weapon
had paid off in an unexpected way, convincing him that this ideal
threesome that had occurred by chance was in truth a marriage, the
only kind of marriage that was practicable for him.

It was Stefan who had made this possible,
Stefan who had given Dominic what he needed—a masculine
companionship of love. Without a lover of his own sex Dominic was
incomplete, starved and dangerous. He had been driven to cruelty,
to abuse, because of that lack, and although he would always love
me, that love would be best expressed as an addition to, not a
replacement for, his dominant passion. I settled in beside my
soon-to-be husband, experiencing the extraordinary security that
comes from sleeping in communion, the comfort of our new accord
wiping away the pain of our earlier conflict more thoroughly even
than our lovemaking of the previous night.

Successful marriage with Dominic was a
triangle
, I thought to myself,
or at least an angle, not a
straight line
. Stefan and I were each tied to Dominic, moving
through our own trajectories, and the stability of the resulting
formation depended on there being three of us, to balance and
support each other. I lay waiting for sleep, words like
hypotenuse
and
equilateral
in my head.
Isosceles
, I found the word I wanted at last, and Dominic,
his own mind confused, said,
Enough, cherie. I love you. Now go
to sleep
.

I woke in my own bed. Sometime during the
night, slumbering or in a trance, Stefan and I had left Dominic
alone and returned to our separate beds. We were still in light
communion, rising through the levels of sleep into gentle waking,
free from pain, rested, whole.

Like yesterday, I felt Dominic’s sexual
presence, his early-morning hardness. But today was no longer the
Midsummer festival and Dominic was not in the same bed with me.
Later
, I thought to him in wifely dismissal, heard no
answering thought, and turned on my other side, closing my eyes
against the dawn. He was gone at my word, leaving me to sleep.
Something of his presence remained with me, though, for I dreamed
of him, an active, passionate dream, and I lay in an erotic
reverie, enjoying the effortless pleasure that rewarded my sloth so
generously despite my rejection. The dream was realistic,
evocative. Like our sexual communion of festival night, I shared
Dominic’s sensations, as if I inhabited his mind and body, while he
made love—

I came awake with a start. During festival
night there had also been my own body’s reactions, my own responses
to my lover’s touch. This morning there was only Dominic’s
sexuality, his powerful, masculine need… I was not dreaming.
Dominic was making love—to someone else.

An image of the hated Ndoko woman came to my
mind from depths of buried possessiveness. I could see her—tall and
lithe, aristocratic yet accommodating, a sensuous woman with the
body of a thoroughbred. The irrational jealousy almost had me out
of bed, ready to fight, with
crypta
if necessary, to reclaim
Dominic for myself, but dawn fatigue saved me from making a fool of
myself. I used my brain for once, saw what should have been
obvious. Dominic had felt the surge of desire for the other, the
need for symmetry that follows the satisfaction of being with one
partner. It was Stefan he was making love to, Stefan whose slender,
firm body was stirring Dominic’s passion.

That’s all right then
. I heaved a sigh
of relief. As I lay back down to sleep again my mind stayed in the
communion, and I continued to participate in Dominic’s actions.
Stefan had awakened readily at Dominic’s touch, eager for Dominic’s
love, his adolescent energy compensating for the abrupt reveille.
Stimulated despite my drowsiness, I accompanied Dominic as he knelt
over his lover on the bed, kissed and fondled him. I shared the
kisses unthinkingly in Dominic’s mind, felt the heat and force of
his passion growing within him.

In my languorous daze I allowed myself a
forbidden indulgence. The mere idea of love between men had always
excited me. Now, with my affianced husband and his companion, I
lost myself in the reality of it, forgot manners and propriety that
would have told me to retreat. I followed in increasingly
breathless arousal the stages of lovemaking from within my
husband’s mind and body, experienced sexuality as a man with a man.
Tossing on the bed, gasping as if in my own orgasm, I made love to
Stefan from within Dominic’s consciousness, appreciating his skill
that gave Stefan pleasure even as Dominic took his own.

At the moment of Dominic’s release I sat up,
breaking the communion. This was the second time I had intruded on
them, I realized, remembering my first “visit” to Dominic from La
Sapienza. It had begun inadvertently this time as then, but I had
stayed in Dominic’s mind much too long after I became aware of my
spying because I had enjoyed it.
What I had done was wrong,
dreadfully wrong.

I buried my face in my hands, as abashed as
if I had been caught masturbating in public. Stefan had appeared
oblivious to everything but his lover and the immediate sensations.
But if he had become conscious of a third person in the bed he
might simply be too shy or too polite to let on.
Oh gods, what
if I had ruined everything?
Tears of fright and shame welled in
my eyes.

Before a teardrop fell there was a brief
caress in my mind, a soothing kiss.
If it pleases you,
beloved
, Dominic thought to me,
it is not wrong. And Stefan
did not know. You are an accomplished sibyl after all
. Having
seen to my consolation, Dominic returned his consciousness to his
lover beside him.

Reassured, I dozed. When I had slept out it
was late in the morning, well past breakfast. The healing, like the
exertions of Midsummer night, had exacted a toll in energy. Once
again I would have dinner for my first meal, I decided, floating in
the big bathtub, recalling Dominic’s sensuous lovemaking, both to
me and to Stefan. Memories of festival night, and ripples of
aftershock from this morning, ran over me like bubbles. When I
relived my enjoyable intrusion on Dominic and his lover, I sat up
suddenly in shock, as I had in the bed earlier, creating a tidal
wave that splashed out onto the tiled floor.

Then I remembered Dominic’s easy acceptance,
how he had teased me, calling me a sibyl for my proficiency in
voyeuristic communion. My presence in his mind had not inhibited
him nor disturbed his equanimity. Months ago Dominic had vowed
never to shut me out of our communion. I saw now that he had not
lied, had not been merely kind or careless. He had been honest.

I held my nose, submerging my head, relishing
the feel of my long hair drifting around my face. Dominic’s
reaction had been more complex than simple acquiescence. He was too
perceptive for me to lurk in his mind undetected; he had known I
was there from the start, but he had not warned me off or shielded
himself. It was as if he had tried not to disturb me, had hoped to
keep me with him, like sliding into bed beside a sleeping wife
without waking her.

I had not offended Dominic, had not
embarrassed Stefan. In the future I would be more careful. Somehow
things would work out. So it would be, throughout our lives
together, an intricate dance among husband, companion and wife. My
marriage would not be like every woman’s, not even here. But for
me, for us, it would be right, and good.

I was singing to myself as Katrina combed my
damp hair and again managed to make the betrothal ornament stay in
place. “You slept well, my lady?” she asked, giving me a strange
look. She had never seen a woman so happy in the morning who had
spent the night alone.

“Very well,” I said, smiling as I went down
to dinner.

T
he castle was emptying
rapidly on this second day after the festival. My late descent from
the bedroom had spared me the formal goodbyes; most people left
after a dawn breakfast to allow ample travel time. Only Sir Karl
and Lady Ormonde, who lived less than half a day’s ride away, were
staying for dinner, and could take their leave of me in person.

They might have saved themselves the trouble.
Sir Karl bowed as if to a dueling opponent, looking over my head
and filtering his words through clenched jaws and lips that barely
moved. Luisa was slightly warmer. “We wanted to thank you,
young
mistress
,” she said, simpering at the girlish phrase and
studying my face for clues to my age, “for a most interesting
festival.” She shook her head in a knowing way. “When you are
’Gravina Aranyi you will be far too busy to sleep through breakfast
very often, I promise you.”

Stefan appeared at my side in time to hear
his mother’s last remark. “It’s the healing,” he said, stretching
and yawning in his shirtsleeves. “Takes it out of a man. Or a
woman.”
Don’t mind them
, he thought to me.
They don’t
dare lord it over Dominic, so they do it to you while they can get
away with it. When you are ’Gravina Aranyi
, he mimicked his
mother’s precise way of speaking,
you can have breakfast in bed
every day of your life if you want to.

Stefan
. His father directed his
attention to his son, who like me had not perfected his blocking
technique.
Show your mother respect at least, even if you do not
feel it
.

Stefan had a radiance about him this morning,
as if his own nuptials were imminent. Such petty things as parental
disapproval and proper filial conduct could not ruffle his
composure. “Mother,” he said, bowing absurdly low. “Father,” bowing
even lower. “I have the greatest respect for both of you. Please,
don’t let us keep you from your dinner.” He turned to me and
straightened up, looking as if he had grown a couple of inches
overnight. “Dominic said I could be his second at your wedding, if
you agree.”

I picked up what I could from Stefan’s eager
thoughts. The groom’s second was an essential part of any Eclipsian
wedding. No big ceremony was needed for what was usually the verbal
affirmation of a carefully negotiated agreement between families,
but there must be four people present: the bride and groom, and a
companion for each. It was the groom’s man who, according to
tradition, fought off the bride’s angry relatives while the new
husband and wife spoke their vows and consummated the marriage.
Nothing like that had happened in living memory, and I had no
family to object, but without a groom’s second and bride’s
attendant to act as witnesses the ceremony would not be valid.

Dominic could have chosen someone else,
someone closer to his own age and rank, like Josh, for this
position. He had offered it instead to the young cadet from the
proud gentry family that anchored Aranyi’s southern border. He had
offered it to his companion.

Why didn’t Dominic just arrange it?
I
thought in irritation, before understanding came. Dominic was
consulting me before announcing things. He was using Stefan as an
agent of conciliation, to show that he would ask my opinion and
await my consent before making decisions that affected us both. In
this area of Dominic’s life—his choice of companion and the place
he would occupy in our family—permission was not mine to give. I
was Dominic’s second self; if I did not participate in his love and
need for his companion I would not now be discussing the details of
our wedding. But I appreciated the gesture Dominic was making.

Stefan was waiting for my answer. His parents
hovered in the background, too proper to show open curiosity, too
interested to withdraw. “There is no one I would rather have at my
wedding,” I said, seeing no need to shade the truth and gratified
by Stefan’s elation. Sir Karl and Lady Ormonde, unsure whether the
growing friendship between their son and the future wife of his
lord was a welcome development, walked in thoughtful silence toward
the high table.

Dinner was a pleasant meal, happiness and
contentment surrounding us in lieu of the departed crowds, the food
simple and plentiful. Stefan conveyed my answer, winning from
Dominic a kiss for himself and a smile for me. Dominic’s hand and
arm appeared completely restored. I felt no residue of pain in his
thoughts, no barrier of
crypta
acting as an anesthetic.

After the siesta Dominic sought me out in the
kitchen where I was ostensibly estimating, with the help of Magali
and a cook, whether our stored supplies were adequate for the
number of mouths we still had to feed. “Once you’ve been with a
gifted partner, you see why ’Graven keep to each other.” Magali,
entranced by the novelty, and disregarding the general reticence
when among friends, boasted of her festival night with Sir
Nicholas. “Imagine! A man who does exactly what you want, when and
where, and you don’t have to say a word.” She winked at me. “Lady
Amalie knows what I’m talking about. Only one thing makes a woman
smile like that.” Her hearty laugh was cut off by the sound of
Dominic clearing his throat. “My lord!” two voices exclaimed at
once.

Oh, Dominic
, I thought to him in
dismay.
It was just women’s talk
.

“Please,” Dominic said, “pardon the
interruption. I need Lady Amalie’s opinion as to exactly
when
and
where
we should be married.”
I’m lucky I
found you,
Dominic teased me in the embarrassed silence,
before all our secrets were revealed
. He motioned for me to
precede him to the front of the house.