Free Retribution by Ann Herendeen Page B

man and
woman, love is entangled with property and families, children and
land. But between men it’s pure, or can be—a love between equals.
And that means honor is everything.”
    “But you’re going,” I said. “You’re not
staying to prove your honor.” I knew he wouldn’t hit me and waited
to see what he would do.
    He went white with anger. “No,” he said. “It
seems I would rather live as a boy than die like a man.”
    “Very sensible,” I said. “But then I’m only a
dishonored woman who tricked my husband into marriage by crying
rape.”
    Niall sighed. “That’s why Dominic told me, so
I wouldn’t think that. Look, I have no quarrel with you.” He gave
up on speech. Lady Amalie, will you grant me the favor of a
kiss? He was requesting from me the farewell kiss he could not
share with Dominic.
    Niall seemed unaware of any effect his
offensive words might have had on me. He was using his crypta like a lover, or a husband, compelling me to lift my
head and look into his amber eyes that had grown round and feral
behind the deceptively white inner eyelids.
    I couldn’t blame Niall for having the outlook
of every other Eclipsian man. And there was genuine affection
behind the request, a wish to assure me, and perhaps through me,
Dominic, that there had been love between us, that the relationship
had been real even if it had ended.
    We were already compromised, alone behind
closed doors; there was no point in behaving innocently. My body
seemed to melt at the physical closeness, the imminent sense of
loss at Niall’s departure. I lifted my face, raised one arm to
bring his head to mine. We touched gingerly, wary of disturbing our
respective crypta fields. Yet I felt only a slight buzz and
crackle, a shiver of excitement, as our telepathic auras met and
merged. His hair was soft and fine, his skin so thin the pulse
behind his ear pushed against my fingertips. There was a light
misting of sweat on his upper lip; our sparring emotions and his
outdoor clothes had given Niall the heat of passion. Our lips met
and locked, our tongues darted and tasted, then pressed together.
The communion was immediate and intense.
    Locked in the connection, our minds spilling
their secrets into the other like unset custard oozing out of a
cracked bowl, thoughts and recent memories swirled between us. In
the wavering reflection of a large wall mirror, two male bodies
stood in the posture of deadly combat. Niall, naked, beautiful in
his youth and tall, lean body, glorious despite his fear and his
rage, held Dominic off with Dominic’s own sword. I saw Dominic as
Niall had seen him—head back, laughing with cruel delight at his
lover’s distress, reaching without turning his head, feeling around
behind him for a weapon. Quite a swordsman, cheri, Dominic
was saying. On the battlefield or in the bedroom .
    Nothing could have brought us back more
completely to reality. We jerked apart in violent haste. Niall’s
hand had found my breast, the nipple already stiff in anticipation
of his touch, and he snatched his arm away as if from an open
flame. His face was white, his whole body trembling, as he sat with
his back to me, on the bed now, where he had moved from the chair
during the forbidden kiss.
    Niall attempted to laugh it off. “Dominic
always said that I could handle his sword, but the scabbard was his
alone.” It was just the kind of thing Dominic would say.
    “Now do you see?” I asked. “It’s not
something Dominic is doing deliberately.”
    “I see that I should not have kissed you,”
Niall said. “Repaying dishonor with dishonor isn’t the answer.”
    Tears stung my eyes and I lowered my head in
shame. I had been used. What had seemed like a strange but mutual
swell of desire had been only another act of vengeance.
    Niall moved closer to me, or perhaps it was
only the reappearance of our lingering communion. No,
beloved , he thought to me, the same word Dominic used. That
is not what happened. So gifted a