Jeff threw back his head and laughed. “I shouldn’t, should I?”
“You’re nearly as arrogant and audacious as Pete Reidinger was, Jeff Raven,” Isthia went on.
“He is not,” Rowan said loyally.
“Not around me, he isn’t,” Isthia said.
Earth Prime, and Jeran’s formal address reached all the telepaths, you are requested to return to Deneb Tower. Fleet and League representatives are urgently requesting transfer to Deneb to discuss the alien situation.
With a sigh, Jeff heaved himself to his feet, extending a hand to the Rowan to help her to rise.
“No rest for Earth Prime, arrogant or audacious,” he said, putting on an air of martyrdom and letting his back sag as if he supported an unmerciful burden. “Will you two be ready to go back to Aurigae tomorrow?” he asked in a serious tone.
“Yes, of course,” Damia said, nodding her head just as Afra, beside her, murmured agreement. His fingers squeezed her.
“Excellent.” Jeff bent to kiss his daughter’s cheek, then slapped Afra’s shoulder with every evidence of his usual affection for the Capellan. “That’ll soothe ruffled feelings: Gwyn-Ravens nobly respond to the demands of their League!”
In taking her leave, the Rowan gave Damia a brief caress on the cheek, her gray eyes thoughtful. “It will take time, you know,” she said, twitching her eyebrows in annoyance. She turned to Afra. “Gollee Gren is good but he just doesn’t have your subtlety.” She sighed. “But I’ll manage.”
Jeff laughed, gave his mother a swift hug and kiss, and, folding both arms about his wife, ’ported out of the kitchen.
“Show-off,” Isthia muttered before she turned to regard Damia and Afra with a speculative gaze. “Wiggled your way out of that one, didn’t you? Nothing like an emergency to get a family to close the gaps, is there?”
“Isthia,” Afra said, drawling her name reprovingly, his expression amused, “if Jeff is arrogant and audacious, what are you?”
“An interfering materfamilias,” Isthia retorted with an unrepentant grin. “I’ll clear up here. You two have a lot to organize before the morning, as well as getting a good night’s rest.”
“I can always try a lullaby,” Afra said, and ducked away as Damia swung at him, only half in play.
He continued on out of the kitchen, down the corridor to their room, and she followed.
“Afra, is there any way of canceling that dratted command?” she asked. “It could become exceedingly awkward.”
“Why?” and Afra’s yellow eyes danced with amusement. “It’s been exceedingly useful of late.” Then his expression altered to one of sudden and delighted comprehension as he sent a quick probe which Damia, laughing, did not resist. In a swift stride he closed the gap between them, pulling her into his embrace with one arm while he laid the other hand on her abdomen. “So! How could I have missed this?”
Shyly she smiled as she looked up at him. “Too many lullabies.” Supremely content, she nestled against him. They were turned toward the window from which she could see Larak’s grave.
“Can we call her Laria?” she asked softly.
Afra held her more tightly, opening his mind as completely as she had hers in this special moment, letting her see how long he had yearned for a child of his body—for her child; the blazing joy that burned through him for the gift of her love, for the new life within her, for the end of his solitude, for all this new and unexpected joy, and a restatement of the devotion that was so strong a bond now between them. Within him now swelled the resolve to manage a third generation of Rowan women.
“I’m glad we have a meeting of minds on that score,” she murmured. And because she felt his urgency rise to hers in that deserving and marvelous moment, their agreement was shortly expressed in another fashion, immensely satisfying to both.
Damia Page 36