But, as usual, Gryph had proven unpredictable. He had not come back to the cabin after dinner. It was almost midnight.
Sariana gave up trying to sleep and sat up against the pillows. A pale wash of moonlight bathed the cabin in a gentle glow. By western standards the room was quite restrained. Of course, she reflected half humorously, that still left a lot of leeway for artistic license. Some ship's designer had taken advantage of that leeway.
The cabinetry was beautifully finished with fine metal fittings and precision carving. The elaborately detailed bed on which she sat was solidly anchored to the deck, unlike most beds on shore. Presumably a suspended bed had been deemed too dangerous for shipboard use. There was a mill-dpaned window behind the bed through which the moonlight shone in a series of intricate prisms.
Prisms.
Sariana shied from the image. It reminded her of prisma crystal and the lock on her husband's weapon kit.
Damn it, he was not her husband, Sariana told herself for what must have been the millionth time. Unfortunately local law and custom disagreed with her, Sariana was finally convinced that the only way
out of the situation was to leave the western provinces and return to the eastern continent.
But she couldn't do that just yet. Her future in the east at this point was bleaker than the one she faced in the west. Her mouth curved faintly at the thought that at least here life held a certain amount of adventure and excitement. She would find neither at home.
Sariana swore softly and climbed out of bed. The fact that she could find something positive about such things as adventure and excitement was probably a sign that she had already been living in the west too long. It reminded her uncomfortably of how she had felt when Etion Rakken had made his businesslike marriage proposal. She had found herself thinking it would have been nice to have had a declaration of love and passion thrown in on the side. That had been a very western thought, too. No easterner in his right mind would have worried about the role of love and passion in a marriage that had everything else going for it.
Well, she had gotten a clear demonstration of passion, at least, from the man who had married her. Whatever else had happened on her wedding night, there had certainly been an element of passion involved. Gryph had wanted her with an intensity that had burned its way right into her soul. She had been vibrating with the aftershocks ever since she had left his bed.
This morning he had saved her life.
Tonight he had not tried to press his claim on her, even though he genuinely believed he was married to
her.
Gryph Chassyn believed a lot of strange things, Sariana reflected. But, so did the other inhabitants of the western provinces. Their First Generation legends had taken some weird twists and turns. Which was understandable when one considered that The Serendipity had carried a whole class of storytellers and dramatists.
Sariana found her traveling cloak and slipped it around her shoulders. As long as she kept the front closed no one would know she was wearing only her sleeping chemise underneath. She stepped into her slippers.
At the cabin door she stopped, questioning her own actions. Then she opened the door and stepped into the corridor. There were things that had to be settled tonight. She had been floundering in a morass of emotions for far too long. The rule to follow when one found oneself in an untenable situation was to negotiate.
The scarlet-toe, nestled for the night on a glove Sariana had left on a nearby table, hissed questioningly. "Go back to sleep," Sariana told it. "I'll be back soon. I am finally thinking clearly again."
Gryph sensed her presence a second or two before he caught the sweep of her cloak out of the corner of his eye. He had been leaning against the rail, nursing a mug of ale and hoping the sea breeze would calm his restless, hungry senses to a point where he could sleep. Whatever progress he might have been making was undone completely, when he realized Sariana had come looking for him.
He held the mug in both hands, his forearms resting on the railing, and turned his head to look at her. In the moonlight she looked very beautiful and infinitely compelling. The hood of the cloak framed her face, giving her a hint of feminine mystery. In the shadows he could see the mixture of caution and determination in her huge eyes. A few tantalizing tendrils of her unbound hair had escaped the confines of the hood. The long folds of the garment drifted around her slender figure, revealing even while concealing.
This was his wife, he told himself as he studied her in the moonlight. This was his Shieldmate, whether she knew it yet or not. The realization still had the power to daze him. He wanted to reach out and take hold of her to ensure himself that she was real and solid. He restrained himself with difficulty.
She had sought him out of her own accord tonight. He would take that as a hopeful indication that she was beginning to accept the situation. He did not know all that much about women, but he decided this was probably not the moment to push her. He had been telling himself that bit of wisdom since dinner, though his body had raged against the decision. She deserved some time to herself, Gryph had determined. By the Lightstorm, she had been through a lot today. His stomach still twisted into a cold knot whenever he thought other on the docks.
"The luck of the evening to you, Sariana," he said formally. He was afraid he'd send her running back to the cabin if he tried any other greeting. A kiss, for example, She'd probably turn and flee if he tried to kiss her. His hands tightened around the mug.
"And to you. Shield." She inclined her head regally.
Gryph's mouth twisted. She hadn't called him husband. She hadn't even called him by his name. She had addressed, him by his social designation which was about as formal as a woman could get. "Can't you sleep?"
"No."
He nodded. "That's understandable, considering what you went through this morning."
"My life here has been one surprise after another."
He heard the dry note in her voice as she stood beside him at the rail and he felt a flicker of sympathetic amusement. "You adjust well, for the most part. We'll make a true westerner out of you yet."
"I thought your goal was to turn me into a true Shield-mate."
"You already are a true Shieldmate." He couldn't resist catching a tendril of her loose hair between two fingers. Its silkiness fascinated him. He looked down into her eyes. "I knew that for certain the night you
came to my bed. You proved it again this morning when you saved yourself from the man who followed you into the warehouse. A woman who can link with a Shield is strong in many ways."
She searched his face for a long moment. Gryph wondered what she was thinking. He knew that he would be able to sense certain strong emotions from her at times of stress or passion, but the link between them was not true telepathy. They wouldn't be able to read each other's minds, although gradually, over time, they would become more aware of each other's thoughts. A few Shields and their mates who had been linked for years could almost read each other's minds at times. But that kind of communication took many years to forge and it was certainly not unique to Shields. Gryph had known other couples who had lived together for years who seemed able to second guess each other.