Crystal Dreams

by Astrid Cooper

  “But it was enough for you, was it not? I understand you only too well. You were always afraid of real love. And not just because of that childhood incident, either! You lived out your fantasies on your infernal bed. And when you had a real man, for a change, you ran the first moment you could!"

  “Con...” Liandra closed her eyes as the room pitched and spun. That dizziness was back to plague her. She put a hand to her temple.

  Connal jumped to her side, supporting her, leading her to the sofa. “What is it? What's wrong?” He knelt in front of her, taking her hands between his own. “You be thin and pale. You should not be upsetting yourself."

  “You were the one shouting at me."

  “Aye for that I'm sorry. I forget your condition. Your nature, ’tis so contrary."

  Liandra closed her eyes. His fingers, stroking her hands, made it difficult to think. Almost she thought she caught a faint sending from him. She wished she could open herself to him so that he could see all and know all. He wouldn't shout at her then.

  But maybe, though, if he saw the extent of her love for him, he'd just run, as she had from him!

  Connal stared at her, taking in her every detail. Angrily he berated himself. Had he learned nothing of her in their time together? Surely he remembered that the more he ordered and dictated, the more obstinate and defiant she became. Infuriating though her stubbornness could be, it was one of her traits, which he loved the most. She kept him guessing at her moods. He never knew what to expect. Such a challenge to coax and coerce her, sometimes a gentle teasing game which he had taken pleasure from, but until she had gone he had not known how much he had enjoyed their sparring. Now, by acting the arrogant barbarian again and storming into her apartment, he had forced her into a corner. Of course she came out fighting. In her place, he would do the same.

  Connal raised her hand to his cheek. Her eyelids fluttered open. He was almost lost in that brilliant sapphire gaze of hers. “Forgive me, darling. I did not mean to come charging in here like some wild beast. Truly, sometimes.” His smile was gentle, tender. “You be a thistle beneath my kilt,” he added huskily.

  “I didn't expect to see you here, ever again. It was such a shock. And seeing you in your belted plaid, I feared you might be here to take Bronnia back to MacLachlan."

  “No. For my attire I have my reasons. As for MacLachlan, he be subdued. My gift of a strip of land, which he has ever coveted, proved an irresistible inducement to renounce his kinship to Bronnia."

  “And his daughter? When do you marry her?"

  Connal grimaced. “Did you truly think I could have another woman after you? She marries Andrew MacTiernan. The two are well suited."

  Liandra smiled and took his hand and rested it against her stomach. “Con, send greetings to your son. He'd like that better than your shouting at me."

  Connal frowned and though he went to snatch his hand away, her fingers held his prisoner.

  “I'm not able to do this, I'm not a mind reader."

  “Why are you afraid, Con?"

  He smiled tightly. “Aye, afraid of my own bairn. What a coward I be!"

  “You aren't a coward!"

  His fingers fanned over her stomach. “By the Seven Stars!” he whispered. “I—I felt a spark—I'm not sure."

  Liandra smiled. “You sensed our son. Deny it if you want, but like most Caledonians, you have a remnant of your ancestors’ empathy. I always considered it uncanny, your ability to devise appropriate punishments for your people. I now know why."

  Connal pushed himself to his feet, staring down at her while she gazed up at him. Liandra watched the change occur in those beautiful eyes of his. No longer ice and steel, now they were softer, gentler. Almost lover's eyes, like those of the man she had cherished in the cottage. Then, even as she watched, they altered yet again to become dark as space and full of pain.

  “I want you with me willingly. I shall not force you, Liandra.” He turned away. I love you too much, he thought as he all but ran to the door.

  He did not reach it. The two ball servitors flew around him, barring his way. They crashed into him, trying to force him back. Connal swatted at them with his hands.

  “What did you say, Connal?"

  “Call off your servants, Liandra. Ouch! Stop that! Ow!” Although they poked and prodded him, he would not budge an inch.

  Laughing, Liandra stood up. The servitors flew back to hover beside her. “What did you just say, Connal?"

  He turned to her and their gaze met and held across the room. “I asked you to call off your servants."

  Liandra shook her head. “No, before that. Something about love, or am I mistaken? Is it so difficult for you to say? Why didn't you tell me before I left Caledonia?"

  “Why did you not tell me about Alaric?” he countered.

  “I know how much you hate the idea of a mind-touching alien. I'm both these things and more besides. That being so, what would you have thought about our son? Perhaps something to loathe—an alien who has the same powers and needs as his witch-mother.”

  “I would never think that of you, or the bairn. You wrong me, woman!"

  “Do I? When you and I joined in the cottage I reached out to you with my mind. There was a block I could not, would not, break through. To me, the joining of our minds is more important than our physical union. I needed more than you could ever give me, Connal. I would never force you to be something you did not want, or do something you found repulsive."

  Connal strode up to her and she gasped as his hands curled over her shoulders. Fire raced through her at his touch. He shook her just once, a gentle caress, not meant to chastise.

  “Liandra, how do you know what I can give unless you ask it of me? When I joined with you, it was not just for a night's easing. I gave you the gift of my body. When I knew I had taken your maidenhead, I was full of joy. On Caledonia, such is considered a special treasure. The woman does not give it lightly, nor the man receive her gift with little regard. Yet you seemed uncaring, even laughing at my concern. I truly thought you a whore. I was furious with you for thinking so lightly of what you gave me."

  Liandra stared at him. “I gave you the gift of my body, too. After, I thought your only concern was that I might be pregnant."

  “Then, I thought you had just used me, as a means to revitalize yourself, the loss of your maidenhead a small price to pay..."

  “Dear Con, I would never use any creature in any way, especially you! You wondered why I was a virgin, and I told you about my childhood experience. Yet, as you have perceived, the real reason has nothing to do with the man who tried to hurt me."

  “Aye?"

  “Why is it, do you think, that I allowed you—an insufferably arrogant barbarian—to love me as no other man had ever done? Because no man had ever awakened me as you did. As you will always do!” Her voice caught in her throat.

  “Then the greater fool I! I should have listened with my heart, not my ears. Ever it has been so. I won't be making the same mistake, again. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

  “We Asarians are very passionate. I was afraid I'd frighten you with the way I felt."

  “Aye. You could've trusted me. Was nothing we shared worth the risk?"

  “The greater risk to drive you from me in hatred or loathing, if I told you of my needs. I hoped in time to return to Caledonia as your friend, though I wanted so much more. And now the only reason you seek me out is because of the child."

  Liandra half turned away. Connal still held her. Gently, but firmly, he turned her back to face him.

  “For a trained counselor, Mistress Tavor, you have misjudged me."

  “Have I?” She raised her chin. “You who kept your thoughts and feelings to yourself, except when angry? For a short while in the cottage you were different. Then I thought all things were possible. But in the morning you were, once again, the stranger. I thought your joining with me revolted you. If I told you about the child, before I left Caledonia, you would have made me stay onl
y for him. I wanted you to ask me to stay just for me. Now all your words are just for the sake of Alaric."

  Liandra bent her head, so he could not see her tears. He held her head tenderly between his hands.

  “Do not cry so, My Lady Witch. ’Tis not good for you, or the bairn. Hush, listen to what I have to say."

  He drew her back to the sofa and gently took her onto his lap and held her, rocking her like a child as he had done weeks before in his sitting room. “I have come across the galaxy for you, even before I knew for certain about our bairn. I need you. I would give up all for you, Liandra, if I could. And therein lies our greatest problem. As the last son of Arran, I have my clan duty. If it were not for that fact, I would leave Caledonia forever to be with you."

  “I would never ask that of you, Con."

  He smiled sadly. “I know that. A man or woman who asks their lover to forsake all, that love will not last. If you return home with me, I'll ensure your comfort and happiness. You'll want for nothing. Any contrivance of the League, which you desire, you have but to name it and it will be yours. If you want the whole damn Castle filled with servitors who answer to the name of Dougall, then so shall it be."

  “You hate mechanical things."

  “I was wrong about machines, Liandra. Besides which I hate the loneliness more. Come back to Caledonia with me. And any time you need to go off-world, the MacArran star-ship will be at your disposal."

  “Truly?"

  He gently dried her cheeks with his kisses and then cupped her cheek with his palm. Liandra took his hand and kissed each fingertip. “You wear my ring,” she said.

  “Aye,” Connal said. He glanced down at it, and stared. The colors were brighter. He cleared his throat. “You mentioned before that I wear my belted plaid. As I told you before, we men of Caledonia wear such only on special occasions; funerals, clan-gatherings.” He raised her chin gently, his eyes full upon her. “And hand-fastings.” Connal drew a ring from his sporran and held it out to her. “On my world when a lover gives their partner a ring, it's considered special. A betrothal ring. I wear my plaid to honor you, my greatly beloved. For I formally ask you to become My Lady.”

  Liandra stared in stunned silence, shocked by Connal's words, his gentleness, by the beauty of the ring he was holding out to her. A perfect crystal surrounded by purple and green stones held in a delicate silver filigree setting.

  “I will do everything for you, Liandra. Be everything you want and more, if you'd just let me. Give me the chance. Don't be so stubborn! Arran's Mercy! Do you accept the ring?"

  “Aye, with all my heart."

  He smiled then, and placing the ring on her finger, he kissed her hand. Liandra ran her fingers over his cheeks, gently brushing away his tears.

  “I know how important your work is to you,” Connal whispered. “Now that Caledonia is opened to the League, you can practice your counseling from the Castle. Only I'll not have you sharing your bed with anyone but me! In other respects you are free to perform your work."

  “You'd do that for me?"

  “All that and more for you, witch, you have but to name it."

  “Con...” She took his head between his hands, and ran her fingers through his hair. “Counseling is no longer a joy for me. I was preparing to return to my father and help him act as League liaison to the Caledonian Council.

  “What about your therapy-work?"

  “I can't do it any more. Besides I have Alaric to consider."

  “Yes, Alaric...” Connal paused.

  Liandra frowned, almost caught his thought, before it was suppressed, buried behind a veil of fear and silence. “What is wrong, beloved?"

  He tried to avert his face, his eyes, but she held his chin firmly. This time his anguish washed over her; he made no effort to hide it.

  “Dear Con. Alaric remains within me until he wishes to be born."

  He smiled, tentatively, tracing a finger over her stomach. “You're not disgusted by the result of what I did.”

  Liandra laughed. “How could I be? Besides, you can't take all the credit for Alaric. I did play a part in his conception, too, you know! You insufferably conceited barbarian!"

  “That's not what I meant. You told me once how revolted you were at the thought of physically conceiving and bearing a child. The pain, the other things, I will not force you to endure something you find abhorrent, but the thought of Alaric in some infernal mechanical contraption ... Liandra, are you certain?"

  “I am a trained counselor. Pain holds no fears for me, Connal MacArran."

  “Truly you are a warrior! I will do everything I can to always ensure your comfort."

  Liandra nodded. “Medi-bays will be one of the first League contraptions I insist on importing to your barbarous world. Not just for me, for every Caledonian. There's much work to be done. I have a feeling I'm going to be kept very busy with the demands of the Castle. And other things. Do I have the right of it?"

  “Aye.” Connal grinned. “I can be very demanding. I intend to keep My Lady MacArran fully occupied. My promise to you."

  “Connal, truly?” Liandra frowned.

  He studied her, shrewdly. “Why are you still afraid? Tell me.” He kissed her gently.

  “How can you forget your aversions so readily? I need more than you know or understand, Connal."

  “My fears belong to the past, Liandra."

  “What am I going to do with you, barbarian?"

  Connal laughed. “Anything your heart desires."

  “Anything?"

  “Aye. I'm not afraid of your witchery."

  “Do you truly mean that? Do you understand what it is you're telling me? I gave you my body, but for an Asarian, the greatest gift we can give is our mind touch."

  As she looked into his eyes she saw them turn a turbulent gray-black. Not through fear, but with longing, with burning desire. How he wanted this bonding. Wanted it as much as she.

  “Aye, I understand, My Lady. I will give you this gift, too. Look into my very being to read the truth. To know my words are not false, that I don't trick you solely because of the bairn. I want you with me on Caledonia. Not afraid. Not a prisoner. But as my wife. I need your love."

  “Do you remember when I told you about the risks Asarians face if they fully bond with another? That if something should happen to one, then the other partner can die from loneliness."

  “You're worth any risk, beloved. Death does not frighten me, Liandra. What does terrify me is to be apart from you. I'll not lose you again. I have no wish to abduct you, again, but Seven Stars, woman! You don't give me much choice!"

  She stroked his cheek and laughed. Throughout their confrontation, she'd noticed how his speech had changed with the use of word contractions, amid his formal Caledonian.

  “Aye,” he said. “I talk like an off-worlder."

  “You've just given voice to my thought."

  “Aye, I can read you a little. I fought very hard against your contamination, little realizing I'd lost the battle before it had started. If I had any wit, then, I could have saved us both a lot of heart-ache."

  “Come.” She tugged him to his feet.

  “Where are you taking me?"

  “To meet an old friend."

  “I am not in the mood, Liandra."

  “Don't be so stubborn. That's my prerogative."

  He bit back the words as Liandra drew him into her bedchamber.

  “It is high time I found out if there truly is a thistle beneath your kilt!"

  He laughed gently. “More than a thistle, I assure you, witch! Or have you forgotten?”

  She unlaced his shirt, and drew it over his head. She pressed her lips against his bare chest, bringing each nipple to a taut peak. Connal groaned as her mouth teased his body. His ornate leather belt fell onto the floor, his plaid hung loosely over his nakedness. He kicked off his ankle boots.

  “What does My Lady MacArran ask of me?” He captured her mouth and tongue in a deep kiss.

  “Nothing
you are not prepared to give me, darling."

  Connal held her out at arm's length. “There is one thing I want you to do, Liandra."

  “Name it."

  He laughed. “So easy to agree? Why do I think this will be only a temporary thing? Do you remember the time you imaged me in the Asarian bonding robe? Image me in this way again, so that I can be the man you want. If you want, I'll even do that dance for you."

  Liandra put her fingers to his lips. “I don't need to dream-image you, for you are exactly how I love you."

  She tugged at his hand, to lead him to the bed, but Connal swept her up into his arms and placed her gently against the covers. He lay beside her, cradling her body against his. She moaned as he kissed her tenderly.

  “Mistress! Mistress!” Dougall-the-droid called.

  “Damn it!” Connal swung around to confront the silver creature.

  “The man is in close proximity to you, Mistress. Do you allow it?"

  Liandra laughed. “It is allowed, Dougall."

  Connal picked up a pillow and hurled it at the ‘droid. It ducked elegantly, but refused to budge from the doorway.

  “Understand this well, you metal monstrosity! Henceforth you keep your distance, or I will melt you down. Leave at once!"

  “Do as you're told, Dougall."

  “Aye, Mistress.”

  Liandra laughed again and put her arms around Connal's neck. She kissed him gently. “Dougall is only protecting me."

  “'Tis my duty. My duty alone!” His tongue traced along the line of her lips and as Liandra drew in a sharp, deep breath he invaded her mouth entwining sinuously with her.

  With one arm holding her firmly against him, his free hand unraveled his kilt and sent it flying into the corner of the room. Liandra's fingers teased off his hose.

  Carefully he drew the jeweled clasp from her hair, and now free of any restraints, her tresses flowed like molten silver over his hands. He rubbed his face against the silken river, breathing in the heady perfume of her hair.

  “I thought you would have changed your hair to green,” he whispered.

  “I no longer hide what I am to others. To myself. You taught me that much, Connal."

  “I can teach you much more if you desire it."