Captain Gareth's Mates (5 page)

“So I’m trapped any way you look at things.” Gareth scrubbed an agitated hand over his face. “On the bright side, I do like her...though not in the same way I like you. And I get the distinct feeling that you think I should go through with it.”

“To be perfectly truthful, I can see more advantages than drawbacks.” Brennar flashed him an enigmatic smile. “Marriages of convenience are not unknown in the world of interplanetary relations.”

Gareth lowered his voice. “You mean you’d still be willing to fool around with a married man?”

“Diplomats have been called upon to do far worse in the interests of maintaining peace.”

“My new father-in-law did extol the virtues of polygamy,” Gareth mused. “I doubt you’re what he had in mind, though.”

“I would expect not.”

“I’ll still need some more time to think everything over. Why don’t we go back to the ship and, ah...sleep on it? Zimeon can’t object. I’d need to make some arrangements of my own, anyway.”

Brennar crossed to the door. He paused with one hand on the ornately carved knob. “I will inform him that we shall both return in the morning.”

Gareth nodded. “Meet you at the travel pod in ten minutes.”

As he watched the door close behind Brennar, his bewilderment returned. “Krys Gareth” and “marriage” were words he had never expected to hear used together, much less speak himself.

At least Izbal understood, as he did, that what they were entering into was a business arrangement. She might even prefer a chaste, long-distance relationship. She’d already agreed it was impossible for them to stay together. He had his role in life to play, and she had hers. They both understood that, which made them compatible in an odd way.

And he wouldn’t have to give up Brennar.

Maybe he could pull this wedding thing off, after all.

* * * *

The following afternoon, the entire village turned out for a ceremony that thankfully proved as brief as it was tasteful. Gareth had never envisioned himself married, but he found himself moved as Izbal held his hand and recited vows of love and, not to his surprise, obedience. Still, by playing along with her father’s game, he was setting her free from her culture’s chains in a way a man of her own world would not.

Brennar stood beside him as he swore his own oath to her, serving as both witness and confidant. Gareth wondered how the assembled guests, not to mention his bride, would have reacted had they seen the way the two of them had spent the night before the wedding. He’d heard of an old Earth tradition called a bachelor party, but he doubted it had involved the groom banging away on top of another man or gulping down a thick, creamy cock and relishing every inch as it massaged his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Izbal whispered as she dutifully tied the traditional marriage band around his wrist and then held out her hand so he could do the same. “A wedding was not among your plans when you came here. Please believe me when I say it was not mine, either.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Gareth whispered back. “I suspect your father usually gets what he wants.”

The ceremony ended without a kiss. Gareth and Izbal turned from the elderly man who had officiated and walked through the cheering crowd, arm in arm. Brennar followed at a respectful distance, and behind him came the dozen women who had attended Izbal.

They crossed the village common, passing the spot where they had danced together as strangers only the day before. This time they were led to a pair of specially decorated seats from which they watched others dance for their entertainment.

Gareth caught a glimpse of Brennar being led to one of the many tables set up outside. The ambassador took a spot among some of the grand potentate’s older councilors, who seemed to be quarrelling. Brennar would be bored by them, Gareth suspected, though perhaps not bored stiff. At least he hoped not. Stiffening would be his job, later.

“We’re not expected to participate?” Gareth indicated the young people who pranced before them. As awkward as he’d felt yesterday, he would have preferred some activity to lounging on the periphery.

“My rank makes it unseemly for me to dance now that we are wed,” Izbal explained. “A married princess is expected to dance only for her husband, in private.”

Gareth was troubled to see color rise to her cheeks and her pupils dilate slightly. The question he dreaded rose to her parted lips.

“Would you like me to dance for you later?”

He was spared the necessity of answering right away when a servant brought goblets of wine. He spent longer than was necessary thanking her and tasting the offering.

When he looked back at Izbal, he found her still wearing that faraway expression. He could almost hear her pulse quicken when their eyes met. Or maybe he was hearing his own.

He couldn’t allow her to want him. Such a path, natural and tempting as it seemed now, in the heat of the moment would only lead to sorrow and embarrassment.

“Izbal,” he said slowly, resting his goblet on his knee, “yesterday we agreed that our wedding was a duty to fulfill. We followed through knowing full well what would happen afterward. You realize I plan to return to my ship as soon as this...event…is over.” He struggled to keep his tone neutral. Surely she understood the need to place diplomatic duties above personal concerns as well as he did.

Izbal’s eyes widened. “Has no one told you?” she asked in wonder. “I suppose we all assumed...”

“Told me what?” Gareth demanded, alarmed. “What did everyone assume?”

“That you knew the full scope of the marriage ritual. The ceremony and the feast are but a prelude. Within the hour, we will both be led away from here to a place specially prepared to receive us. We must spend one week together in complete isolation from all responsibilities and from the rest of the community. It is a sort of bonding ritual for the newly married couple. Anubians have practiced it from our earliest days on this world. There is no changing now.”

“A week?” Gareth erupted. “I’m expected to stay another week? What about my ship? My duties?”

“I’m sorry,” Izbal said. Her eyes grew bright with worry. Gareth hated himself for bringing her to the verge of tears yet again. Somewhat clumsily, he wrapped his free hand around hers.

“It’s all right. I probably have at least a year’s worth of shore leave stored up anyway. We’ll get through this, Izbal. Don’t worry. I won’t shame you or make your father angry.”

“I knew you were a man of honor, Captain Gareth,” she said, her voice cracking with strain. Then, before they could discuss it any further, the women came forward and surrounded her. One took her hand and tugged it gently away from Gareth’s.

“Plenty of time for that later,” one of the women said with a wink. Possibly she was one of his new sisters-in-law. Izbal had so many of them, he hadn’t learned to tell them apart yet. “We’ll get her ready for you.”

Gareth stood as they led Izbal away. He saw Brennar, along with many of the other guests, rise to watch the bride’s retreat. Gareth managed to catch the other man’s attention, but Brennar only smiled and gave a slight shrug.

Then a group of young men surrounded Gareth, and he, too, was whisked away.

Chapter 5

An hour’s walk through the forest brought Gareth and his escorts to a spot that would have fetched a handsome price from a Terran Council official seeking a rustic, otherworldly getaway. Cut into the side of a mountain, the structure featured simple but comfortable furniture, a fireplace big enough to sleep in, and an enormous bed replete with fresh, embroidered linens. Outside, a sparkling waterfall cascaded into a stream that meandered through a maze of thick, colorful trees.

He could hardly think of a more perfect setting for a couple to get to know each other. He cursed himself for wishing Brennar, and not Izbal, would soon join him.

A group of women followed the male attendants into the dwelling, carrying various jars, jugs, and covered dishes. An older matron took charge, directing them to spread the items out on the carved stone table in the corner. A few others got busy sweeping out, restocking, and lighting the fireplace.

“These supplies should last you for the full week,” she informed Gareth. “You will want to supplement them with what you can harvest from the forest. Izbal can show you what fruits are safe to consume.”

“Where is Izbal?” he asked, looking around to see if she had accompanied the serving women.

“Your wife will be along shortly. You need to be patient while we prepare her for you.” The woman smiled. “Clearly, you know nothing of our customs. But you will learn.” She pointed at the bed, then at him. “We might as well start at once. Go over there and take off your clothes.”

Gareth didn’t think he’d heard her right. “What?”

“No need for modesty. I am the grand potentate’s body servant and have prepared him for each of his wives on their wedding nights, not to mention many other men over the years. Unless you are built differently than most, I have no particular interest in what you hide beneath your clothes. Now do as I say, so you are ready when your bride arrives.”

Gareth opened his mouth to argue, but the stubborn woman standing in front of him with her arms crossed would not be dissuaded from her task. Resigned to his fate, he dropped to the edge of the bed, kicked off his shoes, then began to unbutton his dress uniform. Without expression or comment, the older woman grabbed each article of clothing he shed, handing it off to a younger woman who suppressed a titter as she stuffed everything into one of two woven baskets at her feet. Soon, he stood up and pushed down his trousers, baring himself to all of them. The older woman remained stone-faced, but he was acutely aware that her younger charges were staring at him and whispering among themselves.

“Enough!” The matron clapped her hands, and the noises stopped. “If you are through arranging the table, you may leave. He is not yours to look at. You all will have to wait until you find your own husbands. Now go.”

Reluctantly the servant girls filed out. The matron pushed aside the basket containing his uniform and reached inside the other one, drawing out a small clay jar and what appeared to be a sponge.

With an air of brusque indifference, she poured a scented liquid from the jar onto the sponge and began to scour him. Gareth had to admit the sensation was intriguing, as the coarse sponge deposited a soft unguent that sank into the skin of his chest and back. He flinched, though, when she moved to his front and dipped between his legs.

“Keep still,” she admonished. “You want to be ready for your bride, I assume? If you are to enjoy one another’s bodies, your bodies must be worthy of being enjoyed.” The touch of the oil-coated sponge on his groin prompted an involuntary, but not entirely unexpected, physical reaction from his lower region. The matron smiled and took a step back to admire him. “Ah. Izbal should enjoy her wedding night immensely.”

“Do you mean she’s undergoing the same...ah…preparations?”

“The procedure is a bit different for a woman, but yes. She will come to you ready to consummate your union.”

The matron stepped away and removed a bundle of cloth from the basket. As the oil on his skin dried, she unfurled a hand-stitched robe to wrap around him. Finally, she motioned for him to wait on the bed and left him to his own thoughts.

He paced for a few moments in agitation, but somewhat to his relief Izbal did not immediately appear. Gareth stretched out, hands behind his head, and tried to plan his next move. His first impulse was to slip away and find some method of returning to his ship, after which he could send some reasonable excuse and a request for annulment back to Izbal’s father. The only thing stopping him was the thought of her disgrace, perhaps even punishment, for driving him away. On the other hand, spending a week in isolation with a woman—a wife—he didn’t love weighed on him like a prison sentence. Suspecting she was attracted to him, as he now did, made the situation far worse.

If only he’d found a way to stop the madness before things had spiraled this far out of control. His sole remaining option was to find a way to let everyone down easily and extract himself from this world and this marriage without causing undue pain to the people involved. How to accomplish that, he hadn’t the faintest idea.

He sat up when he heard a rustling sound at the entrance to the dwelling. Three figures stepped inside—Izbal and two of the serving women, one on either side of her, holding her arms as if they were afraid she might run away. Gareth scowled, wondering why they saw the need to restrain her, even if her expression did suggest distress and embarrassment.

He understood when the two women suddenly nudged her forward and held her in place, presumably so he could inspect her.

Izbal was garbed in a dress unlike any he had ever seen before, even in space station bars with questionable reputations. Shaped like a simple tube, it dipped in the front not only to expose both her breasts but to cup them so they tilted toward him in a blatant offering. The front of the garment, too, was split to cover nothing but her hips and a small portion of her thighs. An inverse “V” framed the naked place where her legs came together.

“Izbal,” he whispered, both astonished and embarrassed—and, he couldn’t deny, aroused by the sight. His guilty eyes trailed up her long, shapely thighs, over the downy triangle between them, and higher, to her taut, cinnamon-colored nipples. The fabric of his own robe stirred and stretched as his erection climbed from beneath. Beads of sweat popped onto his brow as he looked from one serving girl to the other. “Go!” he barked.