The Morcai Battalion: Invictus

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Her lips parted. She searched his eyes. “I don’t have the words,” she faltered. She touched his face and all the intensity of her feelings for him made her radiant, as if she were glowing inside with some secret heat. “You’ll have to find them, in my mind.”

Her awe and delight were there, along with her feelings for him, so intense that he almost felt the impact physically.

He seemed fascinated with her. And not just with her. His gaze dropped to her stomach. He reached down and touched it with just his fingertips, and caught his breath.

She frowned. He looked shocked.

As he was. The Dacerian woman had told him, decades past, that she carried his child. And now he knew that it was a lie. He knew it, because he felt his child, communicated with his child at some molecular level, sensed the child in every cell of his body. His teeth clenched as he relived the anguish just after her death. He had blamed his father. Now, horribly, he was forced to face his own error. If she had lied about one thing, it was certain that she had lied about others.

He recalled the Dacerian’s easy acceptance of him when they mated, her bland submission. It was different with Madeline. Madeline had fought him. But then, she had become as fiercely responsive as she had been fiercely resistant. Madeline loved him. The Dacerian woman...never had. And he only now realized it.

She felt the indecision and sorrow. She smoothed her hand gently over his black hair. “You can feel the child,” she whispered, surprised that she knew that so certainly.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. Sensation overwhelmed him. He felt comfort, sympathy, joy in her touch. “Yes,” he said after a minute, and he smiled gently. “I can feel our child.”

She leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. It was a moment out of time, when she wished the clock would never move again. She wanted it to last forever.

There was a faint noise at the door, like scratching. He lifted his head and stared into Madeline’s soft eyes for another few seconds. His were still that incredible shade of gold. She didn’t know what it meant. But before she could ask him, he stood up, suddenly remote and stoic, as if they were in his office together discussing strategy. The intimacy fell away at once.

He turned. The door opened and a tall, somber woman with her black hair in a bun approached them. She bowed.

Madeline looked at her with curiosity. She smiled shyly. The smile was returned.

“Sfilla,” the woman told her. She pointed to herself. “Sfilla.”

“Madeline,” came the gentle reply.

Dtimun turned to her. “Sfilla will be your companion on our journey. She will act as cook and personal aide, as well. She has been with my family for many years, and is one of its most trusted members. You will go with her now to your own quarters.”

“Yes, sir,” Madeline acknowledged.

Sfilla looked at her with astonishment. “You call him ‘sir’?” she exclaimed, and worked hard at pronouncing the unfamiliar Standard. Still, there was hardly a trace of an accent.

Madeline blinked. “I’ve been calling him ‘sir’ for almost three years,” she explained and smiled as she looked at him. “Habits are hard to break, even under the circumstances.” She shrugged. “Hey, at least I’m not saluting you,” she said in her defense.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Do that at Benaski Port and I will lock you in a bath cubicle and lose the key,” he threatened.

In defiance, she stood at attention. “Notice I’m not saluting,” she said with irrepressible humor.

Sfilla giggled. Dtimun sighed. “It is a complicated situation,” he told the woman, with a wry smile.

“As you say,” Sfilla replied.

“Are all those people still out there?” Madeline asked suddenly, bringing Dtimun’s amused eyes back to her.

She was tugging at the flimsy fabric and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“They have been told that the mating was productive,” he told her. “They have retired to the great room, where they will consume beverages and food for another little space of time, and then they will go home.”

“They won’t... I mean, they can be trusted?” she worried.

“Even if they could not, Caneese can be quite intimidating,” he chuckled. “I assure you, no word of this will reach the Dectat, if that is what concerns you.”

She nodded.

His eyes swept over her and narrowed with pure possession. She was more beautiful now than he had ever seen her. And she was his now. She belonged to him. She would never be able to mate with a human. It gave him a sense of utter delight to know that.

She didn’t understand the look in his eyes, one she’d never seen in them, and he didn’t answer her curiosity. He turned away and abruptly left the room.

Chuckling, Sfilla went to fetch a robe out of what passed for a closet and helped drape her in it.

“You must not be embarrassed,” Sfilla said softly when she noted the discomfort in Madeline’s expression. “It is part of life. And you have a child from it. A noble result. A son!”

Madeline hadn’t thought to use her wrist scanner. She touched the slight, hard mound with wonder. “A son.” The word sounded as if it held magic.

Sfilla laughed. “You have been a soldier for many years. Now you must become a Cehn-Tahr aristocrat’s consort, so that you are not identified at Benaski Port as the soldier that you are. That will be my chore, to tutor you.”

Madeline raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Sfilla pursed her lips. “And perhaps you can teach me the art of hand-to-hand combat,” she said, smiling at some private joke.

Madeline grinned. “Deal!”

* * *

LATER, AFTER SHE had bathed and a small meal had been brought to her, she sat in the sunlight filtering through her window and tried to make sense of what had happened. Everyone said that the mating was brutal and barbaric, that Cehn-Tahr women sometimes would forsake bonding because they were so frightened of it. Madeline had not found it barbaric at all, except just at first. She wondered what other females had found so terrifying.

“Passion,” Dtimun replied to her silent question.

Her head turned, her expression questioning. He was dressed in robes, as he had been when they attended the Altair reception. He looked elegant.

She smiled. “You said once that I would have nightmares.”

He chuckled. “I underestimated you. In many ways.”

“Sir?”

He groaned. “Madeline, you must stop referring to me as ‘sir.’ It will arouse suspicion.”

“Sorry.” She peered up at him. “I really have to stop saluting you, too?”

He glared at her.

“Okay, I’ll try. I promise.” She cocked her head. “I thought I might have sprains or broken limbs from the way everybody talked about it,” she said. “It wasn’t brutal. Not as I define brutality.”

He moved closer. “Cehn-Tahr women dislike physical boldness. A predator attacks weakness.”

She began to understand. His aggression had diminished when she fought him.

“Exactly,” he replied. He perched on the edge of the bay window that overlooked the formal garden. His eyes were a soft golden color as they searched hers. “You were not afraid of me.” He pursed his lips and reconsidered. “Well, perhaps a little, at the beginning.”

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me deliberately,” she said simply. She glared at him. “Although...”

“It was unavoidable.” He chuckled softly. “And you were not without defenses,” he added wryly, and held up a forearm with tooth marks to show her.

“Sorry,” she said with a grin. “It was unavoidable.”

He smiled. “You bit me as a child when I helped your father rescue you from terrorists,” he reminded her. “I prefer spirit to acquiescence.”

“Fortunately for you, I’m never acquiescent,” she said.

He searched her eyes. It was only beginning to occur to him how large a place she occupied in his thoughts, in his life. “You know me as few people ever have,” he said after a minute. “I find it difficult to relate to most outworlders.”

“I know how you feel. I don’t get along well with most humans,” she agreed. “I’m very fond of Strick and Holt, but even so, I could never talk to them about things I could say to you.”

That made him feel warm inside. He didn’t like her closeness to the other males, but he didn’t remark on it.

“Would you have attacked Flannegan, that day in the gym?” she asked abruptly, alluding to an incident that had almost betrayed his need of her to the military authorities, before her nearly fatal crash on Akaashe. It would have cost him his life, if his government had found out.

“I would have killed him,” he said bluntly. “Possessive behavior is part of the mating ritual. Even now, Stern and Hahnson are not safe if they come near you.” He laughed shortly. “I had to fight my instincts to permit Hahnson to treat you. It was difficult.” His eyes narrowed. “I do not want another male to touch you.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m glad to hear it, because I would go ballistic if any other female touched you,” she confessed firmly.

Her possessiveness of him was a delight. He smiled. “Jealousy. It is an odd concept. I have never felt it until now.”

“It’s just the mating ritual,” she assured him. “When we save Chacon and the princess and the child is gone, and my memory is wiped, you won’t feel it anymore.” She didn’t look at him as she said it. The removal of the child was something that hurt her even to think about. Amazing, since regressing it had been her own solution to the aftermath of their covert mission.

She felt a tremor in her stomach and put her hand on it with mingled delight and scientific curiosity. The cell division progressed at an exponential rate. Cehn-Tahr babies, she’d learned from researching in the fortress’s extensive library, grew at a vastly accelerated rate. Odd, that there were no pictorial depictions of them in any of the literature, she thought idly. She could not know that Dtimun had ordered the images concealed when he learned of her research efforts.

“Anything you require will be provided,” he told her. “And Hahnson will be nearby until our departure. I had Mallory sent to the capitol on a pretext so that she will not know of the pregnancy.”

She nodded. She drew in a long breath. The child was growing quite rapidly, despite the herbs that were meant to retard the growth, and it was painful. She had nausea as well, that became debilitating from time to time. She had to carefully monitor her health. The disparity in sizes between human and Cehn-Tahr was going to be a real problem if the mission lasted longer than expected. “When do we leave for Benaski Port?”

“In a few days,” he said. “The child must be visible when we arrive there.”

She looked up, frowning. “Why couldn’t I have pretended to be pregnant?”

“It would have been discovered. Cehn-Tahr are not the only telepaths in the three galaxies,” he said, surprising her. “The deception, once uncovered, would destroy any chance of saving Chacon and Lyceria.”

“I see.”

He was looking at her intently. She lifted her eyes to his and found turbulence in them. “Why are you looking at me that way?” she asked.

He reached down and touched her hair, smoothing it with his fingers. “What we imagine the future to be is usually quite different from the reality. In another place, another time, many things might have been possible that are not, now,” he said quietly. He stopped, letting the thought trail away, as his voice did.

She was confused by the feelings he aroused when he looked at her. She shifted in the chair. Her eyes met his again, and were puzzled once more by their burnished gold shade. It was one she’d never seen before.

“It is a color which is not shown to anyone outside the family,” he explained patiently. “That is why you have not seen it.”

“Oh.” She laughed, then frowned. “But I have. Your eyes were that color when you rescued me, on Akaashe,” she added, puzzled.

“A result of the mating behavior,” he lied. It had been more than that, but he didn’t want to think about it just yet. He traced her cheek, his gaze still intent on her face. “So many differences,” he mused. “But in many more ways, we are alike. We must concentrate on the similarities during our time in Benaski Port, so that we do not arouse suspicion.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll arm me for the mission?” she murmured mischievously.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Only under threat of immediate attack by squadrons of Rojoks.”

She sighed. “I might have known.”

“You will not require a weapon. I will protect you and the child,” he said.

Odd, the feeling those words provoked, in a very capable and independent spirit. They made her feel warm inside, in a way she never had before.

It made him feel the same. It was disturbing. He turned away. “I have duties to attend to. If you need anything, you have only to call. A servant will answer.”

“Servants, luxurious clothing, every whim attended to,” she said. “It’s difficult to adjust.”

He smiled. “Despite how it may seem, my own life has been quite regimented and sparse in the way of luxuries. It is a change for me, too, this new lifestyle.”

Her gaze slid over his handsome face. “It’s only temporary.”

He nodded. His eyes went to her belly, where his child was growing. His face hardened and he turned away. It wouldn’t do to get too involved with her pregnancy.

She watched him go with sad eyes. She touched her stomach with wonder. She hadn’t really believed it was possible. She was amazed at how much she wanted the child. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. She turned back to the balcony. It would be unwise to dwell on impossible things. She looked up as a small, personal transport flew over and sighed. It was going to be a long few days.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_67e05e71-4775-5ac8-9e16-9a4bd52261e2)

MADELINE THOUGHT SHE knew the commander of the Holconcom quite well after serving aboard his vessel for almost three years. But, the private person was far removed from the military leader.

Despite the somewhat disturbing physical events of the recent past, she was still comfortable with him when they were alone. He walked with her in the gardens of the fortress, pointing out the various forms of flora and even quoting the names in High Cehn-Tahr, the ancient language, the holy tongue.

“That dialect is familiar,” she said. “I’ve heard it spoken by the kehmatemer. But it isn’t in current use widely, is it?”

“No,” he agreed. “The emperor insisted on keeping the ancient language alive, so that the roots of our people would endure. He considers that language is the basis of culture.”

“I see. So the Dectat uses it in discussions, and the kehmatemer use it among themselves, since they protect the officials of the Dectat.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

She closed her eyes and drank in the exquisite fragrance of the canolithe, which grew in the nearby woods. “I smelled canolithe for the first time in a library on Altair 6 where we were on maneuvers,” she recalled with a smile. “It had been recorded in the sensor logs and reproduced by an olfactory process known only to the Altairians.”

He turned and looked down at her with quiet appreciation of her beauty, enhanced by the child she was carrying. His child. He felt possession wash over him like a wave. He had never felt it like this, certainly not for the Dacerian woman long ago whom, he was only beginning to realize, had an agenda that he had never perceived.