Free Dance With the Enemy by Linda Boulanger

throat.
    “You are mine ,” he growled, straightening, though never releasing the pressure that held her to him. “No matter what, my blood runs through your veins. Mine !” His hands rubbed along her bare arms, moving to the exposed flesh of her back and down to press her even tighter to where there was no mistaking his desire. “My seed alone shall spill into you.” His lips again on hers, he whispered, “With me, only me, shall you become one.”
    Voices approaching had him stepping away. He stared down at her, his breathing ragged, labored. Elenya trembled in his arms.
    “You are mine ,” he repeated, before disappearing through an opening on the far side of the alcove.
     
    Always her guide, Nema appeared seconds later. “Come with me,” she told the dazed maiden. “Let’s pay a visit to the family seamstress. She can begin to show you the fine fabrics we have available. We must take advantage of the short time we have.”
    Elenya simply nodded and allowed herself to be led away, unsure the turmoil inside would allow ladylike words to spill forth should she speak.

 
    Chapter 13

     
    The remainder of the afternoon was spent at the mercy of a woman with graying hair swept into a haphazard bun that served as holder to many of the tools of the trade. She unnerved Elenya to an irrational degree, especially as ill thoughts of her treatment by the men of Zanak simmered just under the surface. Exactly how they should have acted rather escaped her. Had her own words not labeled her as glorified breeding stock? Why then was she angered when the father spoke of her coming together with his son as a duty ? And why when she thought of the fulfillment of that obligation did her heart race and heat rise to her cheeks? These men! The man whose blood she carried, his father… and that brother of his! His manners toward her were deplorable. It was all so irritating!
    She felt herself nearing the end of her endurance when a knock rattled the door just before Tahruk let himself in.
    “You nearly knocked me down!” The seamstress glared at him from behind the opened door.
    “Then you should bar your door next time or plan to stay out of the way.” He sent her a look that had her scurrying back to the silk draped maiden waiting none too patiently atop the pinning stool. His eyes roved over Elenya before he turned his attention to Nema. “She seems ill prepared so close to the dinner hour. How am I to collect her in that ?”
    Nema’s chuckle had them both glaring at her. “Seems tension reigns all around,” she spoke to a dressmaker’s figurine in the far corner. “I think we shall all be better off once this night is behind us.”
    “You try my patience, Nema.”
    The older woman shrugged at the warrior’s bark. “I must say you have maintained far greater restraint under the circumstances than one might have expected, my lord.”
    Elenya frowned. Nema was the one person she’d thought had understood her and her predicament. Now she was praising the warrior for his ability to maintain his distance. She threw her hands up and stepped off the stool, her actions causing all eyes to be drawn to her.
    “What?” she snapped at them before stomping toward the screen where her own clothing had been deposited upon her arrival. “You people act as if I am not even here. And when you do acknowledge me, it’s … it’s only … you treat me as if … Oh!” Again her hands went up. She gave them one more dour look, then mumbling, she disappeared behind the screen.
     
    Tahruk stood dazed for a moment then stalked across the floor ignoring both the older women’s demands for him to halt. Forehead and chin both wrinkled in contemplation, he followed the path of his chosen.
    “This space is not nearly big enough for the both of us, my lord.” She whirled to face him then stood, one fist on a shapely hip, the other hand holding up the bodice of her gown not yet where it should be. Chin up, lips pressed tightly together,