Free Moreta by Anne McCaffrey

respectfully murmuring greetings as the two moved closer to the dance square. Having guided Moreta to the head table, opposite the harpers’ platform, Oklina would have left, but Moreta took the girl by the hand. When Alessan rose to his feet, gesturing for Moreta to sit beside him, she pulled Oklina down, too, ignoring the girl’s protest.
    “There’s room enough, isn’t there?” Moreta asked, giving Alessan a significant glare. “She was so good about waiting for me.”
    “Room enough, of course,” Alessan replied graciously, motioning to the table’s other occupants to adjust. As Moreta seated herself, Alessan peered at her, a frown beginning to pucker his brows. “Is that the best that could be supplied you?” He pinched at the sleeve with disapproval.
    “This suits me very well. Much better for dancing than mine. Though I had many to choose from,” she added hastily as the reason for his frown became clear to her. “I think I should make it a practice to bring two dresses to a Gather: one to see races in”—she grinned mischievously up at him—“and one to be seen in.” She gave her chin an arrogant tilt and pretended hauteur.
    Placated, Alessan smiled back at her and signaled for wine to be poured in her cup. “I’ve more of the Benden white for
you.
” He raised his cup in a quick toast.
    She had not had more than a sip when the harpers struck up a loud and lively dance tune.
    “Will you honor me with a dance, Weyrwoman?” Alessan asked, jumping to his feet and extending his hand.
    “Why else am I here?” She turned to Oklina with a smile. “Guard my place and my cup.” Then she took Alessan’s hand and allowed herself to be spun onto the square, finding the beat of the measure and stepping out into the pattern with a strong man’s body against hers and firm hands guiding her.
    She loved to dance and, though the Weyr had musicians and songs in the evening from time to time, dancing was generally reserved for Hatching festivities. Occasionally the blue and green riders indulged in wild acrobatics, usually when they were well into the wine after a bad Fall or the death of a dragon and rider, but Moreta dreaded those dances. Leri and L’mal had felt that such excesses purged the riders, but Moreta preferred to absent herself, taking flight on Orlith to be far from the maddening drum beat and the posturing dance.
    But the Gather’s music soon exorcised those memories, and she was breathless by the time Alessan whirled her back to the table, both of them heartily applauding the harpers’ music, the sweet, uncomplicated, merry, familiar tunes.
    “I must dance now with Falga,” Alessan said, seeing Moreta settled, “but save me another dance?”
    “Did you enjoy dancing with Alessan?” Oklina asked in a shy wistful voice as she set the goblet of Benden Wine before Moreta.
    “Indeed I did. He’s light on his feet and knows the dance well.”
    “Alessan taught me to dance. When there’s music in the Hall, he always asks me at least once, but I don’t expect he’ll be able to tonight with so many other girls.”
    “Then I shall find you another partner.” Moreta turned to search out an idle dragonrider.
    “Oh, I mustn’t.” Oklina looked scared and her eyes flitted nervously to the crowded square where a new dance was forming. “I’m expected to help with the guests.”
    “You are, by making sure of my comfort and guarding my Benden wine.” Moreta smiled warmly at the child. “But you
must
dance tonight!”
    “Moreta!” A firm hand clasped her on the shoulder, and she looked up at B’lerion, bronze Nabeth’s rider from the High Reaches Weyr. “There’s good music begging your step. And me!”
    The bronze rider did not wait for her consent, but took her hand and pulled her into his arms, laughing down at her. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.” And he winked over Moreta’s shoulder at the astonished Oklina as he spun the Weyrwoman off to the square.
    Moreta did not