The Men of Anderas I: Jardan, the King Read online

  While one part of her wanted nothing to do with the dark-haired man, another part marveled at his thoughtfulness.

  “I guess I’m going to have to ask for your help after all.” She could feel the heat climb from her neck into her cheeks. “I’d hate to ruin something this pretty just because I’m shy.”

  “There’s no reason to be shy with me.” ArDell grinned as she helped Melodie remove the bathrobe. “I serve only you. Your secrets will be as my own, I won’t abuse your trust. I give you my vow.”

  “I’d rather have a friend than a maid.” Melodie admitted while stepping into a pair of white, ruffled, knee-length pantaloons. “I’d like it if you called me Melodie.”

  “When we’re here, alone in your quarters I’ll call you by name.” ArDell agreed softly. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to do so when others can hear. Turn around.”

  Melodie couldn’t prevent the shiver of excitement that tickled her spine when the silky gown of deep rose slid past her shoulders. The dress was plain with a scooped neck and long straight sleeves. Gathering her hair over one shoulder, she waited while ArDell laced the back together, causing the material to mold itself against her figure.

  “I’ve never worn anything so pretty. Do people wear something this fancy every night?” She twirled in a slow circle, enchanted by the flair of the skirt. “Shouldn’t I have a slip or something?”

  “The under dress is all you wear beneath your gown. This is the gown.”

  Melodie stared, open-mouthed, at the dark green dress ArDell brought from the wardrobe. It was heavier than the silky under dress with a deep square neckline and long, full sleeves that fell in graceful points almost to the floor. Delicately embroidered flowering vines covered the entire dress from neckline to hem.

  “Sweet peas!” She whispered, fingering the needlework.

  “Prince JarDan told me they were your favorite flowers and I passed the information to the seamstress. Now, let me lace you into the gown or you’ll be late.”

  Melodie slipped her arms into the voluminous sleeves, holding them out from her body while ArDell laced each side of the dress from armpit to just below her waist. The sides fell open from the hips to the floor, revealing the softer pink under dress. The same pink material gathered softly above the square neck to accent the slender column of her throat. The sleeves ended just short of her wrist allowing a glimpse of rose whenever she moved.

  “I feel like I’m going to a costume party. I look like a princess.” Melodie whispered, staring at her reflection.

  “What else would you look like?” ArDell asked smoothing the tendrils of dark hair back into place. “You are a princess.”

  ArDell’s matter-of-fact attitude did little to calm the butterflies currently churning away in her stomach.

  I can’t do this! Panic snipped at her reason. I’m just plain Melodie Anne Smith. What do I say to these people? I don’t know what to do at a fancy dinner. Please, God. I want to go home.

  “Now,” ArDell placed matching green slippers on the floor as a gong sounded deep and resonant somewhere in the castle, “it’s time to go. I thought Prince JarDan would escort you down, but he’s likely still with the Council of Elders. I’ll show you to the top of the stairs. Come, Princess.”

  The darkened hallway brightened when ArDell opened the door. As they traveled down the corridor, light shone for about ten feet ahead of them and disappeared about ten feet behind them. Melodie had the oddest sensation of walking with a personal spotlight.

  “How do you do that?” She finally had to ask.

  “Do what, Princess?”

  “Turn the lights on and off without touching a switch.” Even turning the corner didn’t stop the light.

  ArDell didn’t spare her a glance before shrugging her shoulder in dismissal. “It’s the energy stone.”

  This was some rock. It gave off heat, provided light and replaced her hair dryer. This fairy tale was beginning to show signs of becoming a science fiction ordeal. Space ships, galactic travel, kings, castles, servants and now magic rocks. No wonder she was dizzy.

  “This is as far as I go, Princess. Just follow the staircase and you’ll enter the great hall. Hurry now. You must not keep the prince waiting.”

  Melodie stared at the spiraling steps until ArDell gave her a gentle push. Descending into the bowels of Hell couldn’t be any worse than this. She heard the voices, muted by the stone walls. Each slow, careful step was an agony as the voices grew louder with her descent, deep male laughter and other softer, higher pitched female sounds. Glancing back at ArDell still standing at the top of the stairs, Melodie forced a smile and a wave in answer to her maid. The lights of the hall glowed around the next bend of the staircase.

  Wiping her damp palms against the heavily embroidered gown, Melodie straightened her shoulders and turned the final corner. In for a penny – in for a pound. Just please, Lord, don’t let me trip on the stairs.

  Chapter Nine

  Melodie stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared. Why did they have to pick tonight for a big costume party? There had to be two hundred people in the room, all dressed up like Knights of the Round Table. Room? The place was closer to the size of a gymnasium!

  Rows and rows of tables covered with white cloths and set with sparkling crystal stretched across the room. From what she could see from her corner, there were at least three huge fireplaces. She couldn’t begin to imagine why anyone needed a fireplace – they had magic rocks.

  Women in dark dresses covered with long white aprons hurried from table to table placing and filling glasses. No one seemed aware of the bustling activity as the men and women gathered in small groups talking and laughing.

  One long table was set apart from the others on a wide platform. Three steps carpeted in gold led from the main floor to this special area. Behind the table and chairs that stretched across the front of the dais, there were several upholstered chairs placed around the fireplace inviting cozy conversation. That was where she spotted JarDan. His arm rested with familiar ease across the shoulders of an older man so like JarDan, Melodie knew in an instant that he was King Zeth, JarDan’s father. There was only one female with them, a young girl who couldn’t be a day over eighteen. The top of her head of fiery auburn hair barely reached the center of JarDan’s chest. With her dark coloring and red gown, she looked like an exotic pixie. Melodie searched her memory of the tapes JarDan made during the voyage for any mention of a young woman. Nothing. Who was she? And why did the sight of her in animated conversation with JarDan cause her heart to slow?

  JarDan looked up at that moment and caught her staring. He excused himself from the young woman and his father and headed straight toward her. Like a slow motion film, she noticed everything about him. His hair lay thick and dark past his shoulders. A slender gold band circled his head to rest about an inch above his eyes. His familiar grin brought out deep dimples and sent a wave of longing straight to her core. A longing she firmly ignored.

  The sight of him in his costume sent her heart into overdrive. A tunic the same green as her dress covered his massive chest and shoulders with narrow bands of dark rose around the neck, sleeves and hem. Even the skin-tight leggings and knee-high boots were the same deep green. The wide black belt at his waist held an ornate gold scabbard and sword. A party like this took a long time to plan, yet they were dressed alike. But since her dress was new when was his costume made? He probably already had his costume and had hers made to match his.

  Before she could get a grip on her nerves, he was standing in front of her. Did you really expect to just slip into the room unnoticed?

  “You look lovely, Melodie.” He whispered, extending his hand to her. “Did you find everything to your satisfaction?”

  Melodie stared at his hand, knowing he expected her to put her hand in his. She couldn’t look at him without remembering their one night aboard the Destiny. How could she touch him? Without realizing it, she clenched her hands at her waist.

  �
�Are you still afraid of me?”

  His whispered question was stark. Filled with pain? She wished she could remember more about the morning she went into space sleep.

  “No.” She answered quickly, looking into his eyes. “At least, I don’t think so.” She shrugged and tried to smile. “Maybe.”

  JarDan chuckled deep in his chest. “My ego may never be the same.”

  Melodie didn’t resist when he pried her fingers apart, giving her hands a gentle squeeze before raising them to his lips. The heat of his kiss against her fingers warmed her to her toes.

  “Come, my lady,” he whispered against her skin, his eyes still locked with hers. “My father is anxious to meet you.” Placing her hand atop his, he turned to escort her across the room.

  Her fingers tingled from the touch of his lips. His touch, like a trigger, opened her senses to maximum reception. The solid strength of his hand, the gentle caress of his thumb against her fingertips, even the cold, metal wrist band -- his bonding band -- swamped her with memories of slow, deep kisses and whispers in the dark. She could smell the lingering traces of soap and something else -- something she should know -- every time his shoulder brushed hers.

  As they crossed the floor and climbed the steps the voices in the hall quieted until all Melodie heard were the whisper of fabric as they walked and the soft clink of JarDan’s sword. She kept her gaze fixed on their joined hands, refusing to think about the disturbing memories of their first dinner together and equally determined to ignore the crowded room, now silent as a tomb. JarDan’s father separated himself from the small group and stepped forward.

  “Father,” JarDan turned toward Melodie and brought her hand to his lips for the second time. “This is my princess, Melodie. Melodie, I’d like you to meet my father, Zeth, King of Falcon Tor.”

  “Don’t be so stuffy, JarDan.” The older man’s smile was wide and welcoming and Melodie couldn’t stop herself from smiling in return. It was a surprise to realize how easy it would be to like JarDan’s father.

  “Really, JarDan” came a soft, reproving female voice from behind Zeth, “you should have taught your … mate how to greet the king. She didn’t even attempt a curtsey.”

  “Tiana!” JarDan gasped.

  Melodie stiffened in embarrassment and shock. Shocked that the young red-haired woman would openly confront JarDan and embarrassed at being the cause of his public shame. She knew something like this would happen. What did she know about greeting kings? Before she could apologize to everyone for her ignorance, King Zeth wrapped his arms around her.

  “Behave, Tiana,” Zeth warned gently. “Melodie is my daughter now and doesn’t have to bow to me any more than you do.” Zeth turned his attention back to Melodie. “Welcome to Falcon Tor, my dear. JarDan has spoken of little except his beautiful bride.”

  She relaxed at Zeth’s gentle reprimand to his daughter. No, she’s not his daughter. There was nothing in the tapes about a sister. I’ll have to ask JarDan later. The confident pressure of JarDan’s hand against her back was public acknowledgment of her status in his household and more of an anchor for her unsettled emotions than she wanted to admit.

  “Come and meet the rest of our little family.” The king turned her away from JarDan to face the two people standing near the chairs she noticed earlier.

  “This unruly sprite,” he kissed the younger woman on the cheek, “is my ward, Tiana. She’s a delightful child standing on the verge of womanhood and often speaks before considering the consequences of her words. I’m sure you two will become great friends in no time.”

  Melodie smiled and offered her hand to the young woman. Just when she believed Tiana would ignore her gesture, the girl reached out and acknowledged her greeting with a weak response of her own. Tiana’s bright green eyes were open and guileless until Zeth turned to introduce Melodie to the next person. For the space of a heartbeat, Melodie saw hatred so deep it stunned her -- and gone in the blink of an eye. Friends? I don’t think so.

  “And of course,” continued Zeth, “you remember Beldon Dak? He has lived with us since he was a young boy.”

  Melodie’s memories were shadowy and sporadic where Dak was concerned. JarDan mentioned him often on the tapes he made for her but those images didn’t fit with her memories.

  “Your Highness,” Dak bowed deeply over a hand she didn’t recall extending. Here was another problem. Outwardly, she couldn’t see anything to suggest Dak was any more than he appeared. Why did she feel like she’d made him angry?

  “Now, JarDan,” Zeth returned her to JarDan’s side. “You must present her to your warriors and their ladies.”

  Melodie followed silently when JarDan led her to the edge of the dais. She must be more nervous than she realized if she managed to forget the crowd assembled in the huge room. One crisis at a time. You didn’t fall down the stairs or trip the king. What can two hundred strangers do?

  “Ladies of Tor,” JarDan’s deep voice carried across the wide room, “my life mate, Melodie of Tor.”

  As if on cue, every female in the room dropped into a deep curtsey -- and stayed there. Should she do something? Tell them to stand up? 4-H and FFA never prepared her for this. JarDan solved the problem for her when he continued.

  “Warriors of Tor!” His voice was apparently the signal for those who escorted a woman to reach out and help her to her feet. “Princess Melodie is my chosen mate. From this day forward you will protect her as you do the kingdom and honor her as your future queen.”

  Instead of bowing, the men dropped to one knee with their right hands placed over their hearts and just as suddenly stood, yelling TOR! Melodie jumped when each of them drew his sword, brought the hilt to his chest and raised the blade high in the air.

  The warriors shouting Tor! Tor! Tor! repeatedly were unsettling and Melodie leaned closer to JarDan. His grip on her hand tightened in understanding.

  King Zeth finally put an end to the riotous yelling by ordering dinner.

  JarDan escorted Melodie to the seat between his father’s and his own. Protocol dictated he sit on the other side of his father, but protocol be damned. He had to be close to her. Close enough to touch her. Close enough to inhale the delicate floral fragrance of her soap. He remembered the lingering scent of crushed blossoms in the steamy bathroom when he took his own bath. Having such tangible evidence of a woman in his quarters made him feel -- complete. Melodie would be upset if she discovered the hidden passage into the bathroom -- and furious with him for using it. He didn’t know what he enjoyed more -- his first bath in his own quarters in more than a year or listening to the arguments between Melodie and ArDell. His bride would learn to hold her own. She was too independent to remain passive for long. He couldn’t wait for the fireworks to begin. By the Beard of the Prophet he wished he could have been there when she tossed Tallie and Dora out of the tub. That was the act of a jealous woman!

  He watched his wife fidget with her bonding ring, the only jewelry she wore, and grinned like a fool. She hadn’t run screaming from the room when he touched her. That was definitely a good sign. Her reasons for dismissing his staff were unimportant. Her acceptance of her position in his life -- that was important.

  JarDan reached over and covered her hands with his. The sight of their joined hands -- his larger and darker, hers slender yet strong -- gave him a good feeling. The words of the bonding ceremony rang in his head -- join hands, join hearts.

  He felt the trembling in her fingers and realized she was nervous. “Relax,” he whispered in her ear, inhaling the soft perfume of her hair, “the formalities are over. Just think of this as a quiet dinner with your in-laws.” He watched the army of kitchen personnel carry tray after tray of roasted meats, vegetables of every color and variety and mounds of freshly baked bread.

  “A costume party for hundreds of people,” she finally mumbled after their plates were filled with more food than she could eat in a week, “is hardly a quiet dinner.

  “Costume?” JarDan scanned the ass
embled crowd below them. “There’s no one in costume, Melodie. The ladies obviously took extra care with their dressing in your honor, but this is just a simple evening meal.” Something about this conversation struck JarDan as odd -- as if he were missing an important piece of information.

  “Simple?” She cried, blushing when everyone turned in her direction.

  JarDan laced his fingers with hers, letting instinct guide him since he was as confused as Melodie appeared. She was staring at her hands again so he reached out with his free hand and turned her face up to his, caressing the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “I’m not … I can’t …” she drew a shaky breath. “I want to go home.” She finally whispered.

  He knew she wasn’t referring to their room upstairs. Panic urged him to argue. Common sense told him she needed a little solitude.

  “Come with me.” He stood, his fingers still laced with hers.

  “JarDan?” His father questioned as he, and every other man in the room, stood when Melodie did. “Is something wrong? Where are you going? This dinner is in your honor, yours and Melodie’s.”

  Placing an arm around his wife’s waist, JarDan pulled her close to his side. “I’m sure you’ll all understand,” he announced to the hall in general, “but I have a strong desire to be alone with my bride. If you’ll excuse us?”

  Ignoring the ribald comments of the men, softened because of the ladies present, JarDan headed toward the stairs. Instead of turning toward their room, he led Melodie down a different flight of stairs to a door that opened into the deserted rose garden.

  He could feel her relax with each step into the garden with its lush blossoms clearly visible in the bright moonlight. She pulled out of his embrace but didn’t fight when he took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers again.

  “You shouldn’t have said that.” She finally spoke, looking out over the rows of bushes. “Now they’ll think we’re … that you …”