Free Moreta by Anne McCaffrey Page A

miss the wistful, yearning expression on Oklina’s face, but then B’lerion had that effect on many women. He was handsome and tall with a fine strong body, sparkling dark eyes, a mobile expression, a ready laugh. He always had a quick remark and a fund of light gossip. Moreta and he had enjoyed a brief association when she’d first come to Fort Weyr and she was certain that he was the father of her third child. She regretted that she had had to foster, but she had always been the healer and that duty had priority. Though B’lerion was not the same caliber wingleader as Sh’gall, Moreta had hoped that Nabeth would have flown her queen during that crucial mating flight. But then, the strongest, cleverest dragon flew the queen: That was the only way to improve the breed. Twice Sh’gall’s Kadith had been strongest and fastest. Or so Moreta kept telling herself.
    B’lerion was in a good mood, not yet deep in his wine for his words weren’t slurred and his step was firm. He’d heard of her dousing, teased her about monopolizing the young Lord Holder, told her that her love of racing would be her undoing, and asked why Sh’gall was not there to protect his interests.
    “I never understood why you let Kadith fly your queen when she could have done much better with Nabeth and I’d be Fort Weyrleader. I’m much more fun to be with than Sh’gall. Or so you used to tell me.”
    By the intense gleam in his eyes and the sharp hold he took of her waist for the last figure of the dance, B’lerion was half in earnest, Moreta realized. Moreta reminded herself that B’lerion was always in earnest for the duration of any given encounter. A charming opportunist who didn’t limit his activities to any one Weyr or Hold.
    “What? You be Fort Weyrleader? You don’t like that much responsibility.”
    “With you as Weyrwoman, I’d’ve improved beyond all knowing. And it’s only eight more Turns and then we’re all free to enjoy ourselves.” He pulled her tighter still. “We did enjoy ourselves before, you know.”
    “When didn’t you enjoy yourself, light wing?”
    “True, and tonight is meant for enjoyment, isn’t it.”
    She laughed and swung away from an embrace that had best be broken. B’lerion’s attentions might be misconstrued by some. She owed Sh’gall her undiverted support at least until the Fall ended. As she made her way back to the table, B’lerion followed, smiling at Oklina in imperturbable good humor. Moreta wished he hadn’t followed her, noting Oklina’s breathless reaction as B’lerion smoothly set himself down beside the girl.
    “May I have the next dance with you, Lady Okilna? Moreta will tell you I’m harmless. I’m also B’lerion, bronze Nabeth’s rider from the High Reaches. May I have a sip of your wine?”
    “Oh, that’s Lady Moreta’s wine,” Oklina protested, trying to regain possession of the cup that B’lerion had seized.
    “She’d never deny me a sip of wine, but I’ll drink to you and your big dark eyes.”
    Schooling her own expression, Moreta watched Oklina’s, saw her blushing confusion at B’lerion’s compliments. She could see the pulse of excitement beating in the girl’s slender neck, her quickened breathing. Oklina could not have been more than sixteen Turns. Hold-bred, she’d be married off very soon to some holder or craftmaster to the east or the south, far from Ruatha, strengthening Bloodlines. By the time the Pass ended, Oklina would have children and this Gather day would have been long forgotten. Or, perhaps, better remembered for B’lerion’s attentions. She smiled when the harpers struck up a slow and stately dance and B’lerion lead the delighted girl onto the square.
    As most people felt their talents adequate to that dance, the tables had emptied. Lady Oma remained at one end, listening gravely to a prosperously dressed holderwoman. When both smiled indulgently toward the dance square, Moreta caught sight of Alessan sedately guiding a young