Page 55

Entwined

Callum

The three settled into seats at a table, finding the smell of the delectable entrées made them all rather famished.

Rumi’s eyes were bursting with wonder and, at her pleading, they sampled each item on the menu after Jameson assured them Weston had it all covered.

He and Jameson placed a bet on which she liked better.

It was no surprise when Cal lost.

He always lost to Jameson.

Evidently, she preferred the fried prawns to the cranberried duck.

True to her word, and despite his inner seething, Rumi danced with Jameson when they’d finished.

Cal watched Rumi and Jameson float around the ballroom seeming far too at ease with each other.

She had pulled away from Jameson on their last turn and while he hadn’t argued, Cal couldn’t ignore the jealous twist in his gut at the palpable joy on her face with his friend.

There was something there between the two of them that he wasn’t privy to.

Something that had happened.

Cal figured it had to do with Jameson’s time with Sullivan while she was in his care. Callum rolled his shoulders and shoved a piece of shrimp in his mouth. Rumi and Jameson were developing a friendship. That was all.

He tried to tell himself that this was just what people did.

Everyone danced.

People made friends and Jameson was a great friend to have.

Jameson had not made romantic overtures and neither had Rumi.

The way her eyes warmed and the soft smiles were reserved for Callum and he couldn’t deny how right it felt to have her in his arms.

Like everything he’d sacrificed was worth it somehow. The stolen glances and timid touches that now eased into a lover’s comfort. At any rate, she’d earned some fun after all she’d suffered. Because of him. The guilt crushed his windpipe again, and he lost his appetite and shoved his food away. He found his way to the bar and drowned the ugly guilt with some honey mead while she laughed with Jameson. It was good she was laughing, he reminded himself.

Callum caught her eye and she waved as Jameson escorted her out of the ballroom, but he couldn’t bring up the nerve to ask where she was going.

The guilt and regret festered.

And yet, another seed of light argued that she had forgiven him.

Rumi was an honorable person and he could trust her—believe in her words.

She chose him, she’d said as much, and he’d never known her to be a liar.

He realized the grim thoughts that rammed his imagination while she was in the arms of the other men were merely a manifestation of guilt and that, deep down, he didn’t feel worthy of her.

He ordered another glass, suffocating the massive emotions that swelled out of his control.

This affection—no it was far more than that—was startling in its intensity.

It made the glass tremble in his hands and sweat break out on his brow.

The way Cal was prepared to throw away literally everything for her.

What the fuck had come over him? He needed to let some space come between them so he could regain his senses.

Some control.

So he stayed at the bar until she no longer plagued his thoughts.

When he finally made his way to the room, he found Rumi in the pull-away bed, a crumpled mess of crinoline and ruffled lace.

Her lipstick had smeared across her lips where her even breathing sighed across the pillow.

Tracks of grey mascara had pooled beneath her eyes, and smudged across her cheeks.

The dark lacing of the tattoo on her cheek had peeked through where the makeup had rubbed thin.

She hadn’t even removed her slippers before she had collapsed on the bed.

He lit a candle instead of the luminars overhead to keep the light low.

The small semblance of restraint he’d garnered at the bar fled swiftly as mist in the sun.

Fuck it all.

He knelt beside the bed, softly whispering her name “Rumi,”

He brushed the marks on her skin, the signs of her power, her legacy.

“Come stay with me, sweet Rumi,”

he whispered.

“You don’t look comfortable like that.”

She stirred beneath his touch, grumbling, her lashes fluttering before her eyes focused on his face.

Her breath still smelled of the sweet wine she had indulged in.

“Cal?”

she croaked, the nickname bringing a rush of heat to his belly.

Sleep still weighed heavy on her face and in her mind, her lids drooping over her eyes.

Warmth bloomed in a small smile on her face.

“Y’cameback,”

she mumbled.

“James’n said…”

she murmured something in her native tongue and Cal couldn’t help the smile that stretched his cheeks.

“Can I help you outta that dress? It can’t be comfortable.”

Groggily she sat up, the bed squeaking as she moved.

“I could not get it off.”

Her voice lost some of the grogginess of sleep as she reached behind her.

Her fingers traveled to her back where the lacing was a bit too high for her to reach.

She adjusted so he could undo the laces on the bodice, slowly becoming more alert.

In no time at all the lush fabric had loosened as she slipped it over her head, and Cal laid it carefully on the couch.

Ignoring the scars he could see just kissing the tops of her shoulders, he changed the subject in his mind.

“Why ain’t you sleepin’ on the big bed?”

He raised his eyebrows slyly, unbuttoning his suit coat and laying it beside her gown.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“In a way,”

she admitted, pulling her knees into her chest after she removed the stays and was clothed in only her shift.

“I did not wish to assume…”

“Miss Rumi, my feral sandcat, please assume.

If it means the privilege of you in my bed, then always assume.”

His laugh rumbled from deep in his chest and he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

She turned her head to meet his kiss and, for the second time that day, his head was spinning.

“You should sleep,”

he said, kicking himself, noting the tiredness still lingering in her features.

He lifted her and carried her slight frame to the bed, where he pulled the blankets up around her shoulders, then settled onto the other side of the bed.

She curled into him, her hand and cheek on his chest.

She was asleep before he could count to ten.

He slept too, and this time, the dark dreams that so often plagued his nights were nowhere to be found, leaving only the peace of sleeping with Rumi.

***

He watched as she woke bright as a star and brimming with excitement.

Her fingertips traced his nose, and he brought them to his lips to kiss the pads of her fingers.

“I can’t wait to show you around my home! You’ll love it.

We can go exploring and hunting together and swimming in the ponds.

My brother will adore you, and his wife too.

They are the sweetest couple.”

She paused to press her lips to his as she sidled closer.

He smiled at the hesitation in her features.

He rolled over her, looking down at her sleep mussed face with his hands on either side of her head, right beside her pointed ears.

“What is it?”

he asked, caressing her cheek.

“Cal…our papers say we are husband and wife…”

She bit her lip and he bent to capture it with his before letting her continue.

“I was just thinking…what if we were?”

Her fingers carved a line down his bare chest and disappeared beneath the covers.

She had no idea what her simple question had done to his heart, to his mind.

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

His teasing lilt fizzled in his chest.

“My answer is yes.

With my body and soul, I will be yours.”

Her body stilled beneath him.

He felt her pulse jump.

“Truly?”

she looked up at his face.

“Do you know of our ceremonies? Or do you mean marriage like in your culture?”

“I truly want to be with you,”

he assured her.

“How are the Arryvian ceremonies different from humans?”

“The day of the ceremony, the couple wakes with the sun, greeting Kephril and thanking him for shedding his light upon them.”

While she spoke, he nibbled at the soft skin of her neck, her voice soaking into his bones.

“They do not eat.

After the morning meditation, the mothers take the daughter to all the women in the area who have attended and they tell stories and share wisdom for the new couple.

The fathers do the same with their sons.

And then they exchange and the daughter goes with the men and vice versa so that they may each learn of the struggles and sources of strength that come in a lifetime together.

“When the sun has set, then the couple shares a meal by the light of the moon, symbolic of the many nights they will have to rely on each other, and they ask Amuna for her blessing.”

She smiled as she described the ceremony, remembering her brother and how happy he had been.

“Then, when the moon has reached its zenith, they give their vows to each other.

With guests present or not.

I believe the vows are similar to the ones here.

When the vows are made and a small morsel of food has been shared, there is a window of time in the very early dawn when both the sun and the moon are in the sky at the same time.

They stand with one foot in Behiba’s water and one on land.

They promise to care for the other until Kaelthor, the god of death, comes for them. If the couple wishes to complete the Bond, that is when they do it. ”

She smirked then, poking his belly, breathless from his kisses.

“Then the couple does not leave their home for at least a week, and no one disturbs them.

Gifts of food and drink can be left at their door, but it is bad luck to disturb a newlywed couple.”

A knock at the door made her look up in surprise.

“I requested room service last night,”

he said, tucking her hair behind her canted ear, no longer minding who saw her.

She’d be home soon enough.

Rumi rolled from the bed with an excited squeal and wrapped a fluffy robe from the hook on the wall around her shoulders.

He heard her thanking the server and then she carried the tray into the room, savory scents announcing a delicious breakfast beneath the silver-domed lids.

“You know,”

she began, taking a small plate and gathering food on it and offering it to him.

“If we were intertwined and Bonded before we arrived, then aba would have to accept the validity of our relationship.

I would not have to marry Zinhar nor make any appeals, and the people would have to accept you.”

“You’d bind yourself to me?”

The idea was preposterous.

After everything that had happened because of him…

“Cal, you silly oaf, have you not figured it out yet?”

She settled on the bed beside him and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering up at him.

“Figured out what?”

He bent his neck and kissed her forehead.

“I am in love with you, that is what.”

That single statement, spoken with such conviction, floored him.

Left his jaw and his stomach somewhere beneath him while he stared at her.

She only smiled and patted his chest.

“If you do not feel the same, I understand.”

Callum cradled her face in his hands, his whole body singing with delight.

“I do.

I very much do.

Rumi, I love you.

I have loved you for a while, I think.”

He sealed his truth with a heated kiss that stole both their breaths.

“Would you like to marry? Be married to me?”

he asked for confirmation.

“Bonded and entwined—that sounds like we become a tree,”

he said warmly.

“I would like that very much,”

she replied, her eyes glowing with sincerity.

“What is your marriage ceremony like?”

Callum explained the process of finding a chaplain or priest who would perform the rites of marriage and oversee the exchanging of rings, mentioning that there was likely to be someone on the ship who could do the rites.

“Till death do you part,”

he concluded.

“They actually say that? That after a lifetime together, then death cleaves them apart? That is so sad.

Kaelthor is said to protect the spirits’ Bond long after death, though now I suppose Behiba does.

I like the rings, though.”

She held her hand up to the light from the window, the ring from Jameson still on her finger.

“Should we invite Jameson?”

she asked, the ring clearly drawing her mind to his friend.

“He is like family, is he not?”

Callum chewed his lips, considering, before he gave a slight shake of his head.

“Jameson’s not one for weddings, but he’ll drink you under the table at the reception.

Let’s keep this between us until we get to your home.

See how your aba takes the news.”

“Jameson does not care for weddings?”

“Nah, for as long as I’ve known him, he avoids them.

I don’t push the matter.”

“Very well,”

Rumi said.

“How about we find a priest, exchange rings—new ones if we can find some—and we can have one foot in water and one on land, or the ship, rather.

Afterward, we can Bond, and it will be the best of both traditions.”

She smiled down at him as she spoke, the fur of the robe tickling her neck where his lips had been.

“I have one condition,” she said.

“What’s that?”

She pressed a finger to his chest.

“You may never call me Twiggy or whatever stupid nicknames you feel pressed to try.”

“What shall I call you then?”

He nuzzled her cheek and held her close while she considered.

“You may call me darling, love, honey…or Ru.

My ama used to call me that.”

His body tingled, understanding the weight of that statement and the honor it would be to use that name.

“Hmmm, not Toady?”

He teased, earning a giggle as he tickled her belly.

“It seems like such a lovely nickname—my wife the Toady.”

They both devolved into laughter, wrestling in the bed and sharing the warm joy with one another, professing their love with kisses and tender caresses.