But now she had Gaborn's electrifying touch to contend with. This is innocent, she told herself as he stroked her cheek. Merely the touch of a friend.
Yet she craved his touch so, wanted him to move his hand down farther, along her throat. She dared not admit even to herself that she wanted him to touch her deeper.
She took hold of Gaborn's hand, so that he'd stop stroking her chin.
He responded by taking her hand, kissing it softly, letting it rest between his lips. Gently, so gently it took her breath away.
Iome opened her eyes to mere slits, looked up. The darkness had fallen so completely, it was as if the two of them lay hidden beneath a blanket.
There are trees between us and the house, Iome thought. The woman there can't see us, doesn't know who we are.
The thought made her heart pound fiercely. Certainly, Gaborn must have felt her heart pound, must have seen how she fought to keep from drawing a ragged breath.
He placed his hand beside her face, began stroking her cheek again, Iome's back arched slightly at his touch.
You can't want me, she thought. You can't want me. My face is a horror. The veins in my hand stand out like blue worms. “I wish I were still beautiful,” she whispered breathlessly.
Gaborn smiled. “You are.”
He leaned down and kissed her, full on the lips. His moist kiss smelled of plums. The touch of his lips made her dizzy; he took the back of her head in his hand, pulled her up and kissed her fervently.
Iome grabbed him round the shoulders, scooted up until she sat in his lap, and felt him trembling softly with desire. In that moment, she knew he believed it: he believed she was beautiful despite the fact that Raj Ahten had taken her glamour, felt she was beautiful though her father's kingdom lay in ruins, felt she was beautiful and wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Gaborn held some strange power over her. She wished he would kiss her roughly. He nuzzled her cheek and chin. Iome raised her neck for him, so he might kiss the hollow of her neck. He did.
Wanton. I feel wanton, Iome realized. All her life, she'd been watched, had been handled so that she would remain proper and free of desire.
Now, for the first time, she found herself alone with a man, a man whom she suddenly realized she loved fiercely.
She'd always kept such a tight rein on her emotions, she'd never have believed she could have felt so wanton. It's only his magic, she told herself, that makes me feel so.
Gaborn's lips strayed over the hollow of her throat, up to her ear.
She took his right hand in her own, brought it toward her breast. But he pulled away and would not touch it.
“Please!” she whispered. “Please. Don't be a gentleman now. Make me feel beautiful!”
Gaborn pulled his lips away from her ear, stared hard into her face.
If what he saw in the dim light displeased or repelled him, he gave no sign of it.
“I—uh,” Gaborn said weakly. “I'm afraid I can be nothing but a gentleman.” He tried to smile reassuringly. “Too many years of practice.”
He pulled away a bit, but not entirely.
Unaccountably, Iome found her eyes full of tears. He must think me brazen. He must think me wicked, a voice inside her whispered. He sees me truly now, a craven animal. She felt sickened by her own lust. “I...I'm sorry!” Iome said. “I've never done anything like that!”
“I know,” Gaborn said.
“Truly—never!” Iome said.
“Truly, I know.”
“You must think me a fool or a whore!” Or ugly.
Gaborn laughed easily. “Hardly. I'm...flattered that you could feel that way about me. I'm flattered you could want me.”
“I've never been alone with a man,” Iome said. “I've always had my maid with me, and a Days.”
“And I've never been alone with a woman,” Gaborn said. “You and I have always been watched. I've often wondered if the Days watch us only so that we will be good. No one would want to have their secret deeds recorded for all the world to see. I know some lords who are generous and decent, I believe, only because they would not want the world to know their hearts.
“But how good are we, Iome, if we are only good in public?”
Gaborn hugged her, pulled her back against his chest, but did not kiss her. Instead, it seemed an invitation to rest again, to try to sleep. But Iome could not rest now. She tried to relax.
She wondered if he meant it. Was he trying to be good, or did he secretly find her repulsive? Perhaps even in his own heart, he dared not admit the truth.
“Iome Sylvarresta,” Gaborn said, his voice distant, highly formal. “I have ridden far from my home in Mystarria to ask you a question. You told me two days ago that your answer would be no. But I wonder if you would reconsider?”
Iome's heart pounded, and she thought furiously. She had nothing to offer him. Raj Ahten was still within the borders of her country, had taken her beauty, destroyed the heart of her army. Though Gaborn claimed to love her, she feared that if Raj Ahten lived, Gaborn would never see her natural face again, but would instead be forced to gaze on this ugly mask for as long as she lived.
She had nothing to give him, except her own devotion. How could that hold him? As a princess of the Runelords, she'd never have imagined herself in this position, where she would love a man and be loved, though she had nothing but herself to offer.
“Do not ask me that,” Iome said, lips trembling, heart racing. “I...cannot consider my own desires in this matter. But, if I were your wife, I'd try to live in such a way that you would never rue the bargain. I'd never kiss another the way I just kissed you now.”
Gaborn held her, comfortably, easily, so her back was cupped against his chest. “You are my lost half, you know,” Gaborn whispered.
Iome leaned back against him, luxuriating at his touch, while his sweet breath tickled her neck. She'd never believed in the old tales which said that each person was made of but half a soul, doomed to constantly seek its companion. She felt it now, felt truth in his words.
Playfully, Gaborn whispered into her ear. “And if you will someday have me as your husband, I'll try to live in such a way that you will never think me too much a gentleman.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugged her tightly and let her lean her head back against his chest. The inside of his left wrist rested on her breast, and though she felt aroused by his touch, she no longer felt wanton or embarrassed.
This is how it should be, she thought—him owning me, me owning him. This is how we would become one.
She felt tired, dreamy. She tried to imagine what it would be like in Mystarria, in the King's Palace. She dared to dream. She'd heard tales of it, the white boats on the great gray river, floating through the canals in the city. The green hills, and smell of sea salt. The fog rolling in each dawn. The cries of gulls and endless crashing of waves.
Almost she could imagine the King's Palace, a great bed with silk sheets, the violet-colored curtains flying through the open windows, and herself naked beside Gaborn.
“Tell me of Mystarria,” Iome whispered. " 'In Mystarria lagoons lay like obsidian, among the roots of the cypress trees...' ” she quoted an old song. “Is it like that?”
Gaborn sang the tune, and though he had no lute, his voice was lovely:
“In Mystarria lagoons lay like obsidian, among the roots of the cypress trees. And pools are so black they reflect no sun, as they silently buoy the water lilies.”
Those lagoons were said to be the homes of water wizards and their daughters, the nymphs. Iome said, “Your father's wizards, I've never met them.”
“They are weak wizards. Most of them have not even grown their gills. The most powerful water wizards live out in the deep ocean, not near land.”
“But they influence your people, all the same. It's a stable country.”
“Oh yes,” Gaborn said, “we in Mystarria are always seeking equanimity. Very stable. Some might say boring.”