“Then you’ll pull out before the festivities culminate. It isn’t full proof but it’ll be something,” I muttered.
Suddenly, the cloth was gone and Lahn’s face was in mine, his big body looming over me and I noticed immediately he no longer thought anything was funny either.
“I will not spend my seed on your skin.”
Uh-oh.
I stared in his face and knew I said something very, very wrong.
“Lahn –”
“A warrior’s seed is his essence; it is the future of Suh Tunak. It is not wasted unless used to deliver the worst insult he can give or released on the body of a Xacto. Traitors, enemy warriors weak enough to get captured alive, spies foolish enough to be detected, they receive wasted seed. And a warrior does not plant his seed in Xacto and you, my golden queen, are not Xacto.”
Okay, it was safe to say this conversation had taken a drastic turn down a road I did not want to go. So I had to detour us, pronto.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He glared at me. Then he clipped, “Okay.”
“I, uh… didn’t know,” I said quietly.
“Now you do.”
I sure did.
I lifted a hand to cup his bearded jaw and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby. I won’t speak of it again. I just really don’t like being sick.”
“I don’t like it either. It means I cannot take your xaxsah in the mornings. I like to take your xaxsah in the mornings. What I do not like is having to wait until the evening.”
Hmm. Clearly my apology hadn’t put him in a better mood.
So I sought to better his mood and suggested softly, “How about you try to take my xaxsah with your lisa and we’ll see how it goes.”
“I do not wish courting you being sick with my mouth between your legs, Circe.”
Okay, well, that didn’t work.
I rolled into him, fighting the nausea as I ran my hand down his chest and then wound an arm around his back, whispering, “Lahn –”
Suddenly, he pulled in breath through his nose and he did this so sharply, I shut up.
When he expelled it, his eyes locked with mine and he whispered,
“We ride on Maroo in two days.”
I closed my eyes and tipped my head forward.
I knew this and I didn’t want to talk about it. Not then, not ever.
I’d be living it soon enough.
A second later, I felt his lips on my forehead so my eyes opened to see the beautiful column of his throat.
Against my skin, he said, “We could be on campaign a month or we could be on campaign a year. And you will be here and I will not.”
All right, he wasn’t pissed about the birth control discussion, he was worried. That was good. What was bad was, for my husband, I needed to talk about this and I didn’t want to.
“I’ll be okay,” I said gently.
“I know you will be okay.” His hand again pressed into my belly and I felt his mouth move from my forehead so I tipped my head back to catch his eyes. “But every day, he or she grows in you and this I will not see. You will grow heavy and I will not be here to watch your beauty bloom to be even more beautiful. And he or she could come and I will not be here to cut the connection and be the first being they gaze upon so they will know their father.”
“They’ll know you, honey, even if you’re not here. They’ll know.”
He stared down at me in mild affront, his brows drawn. “I must be at the birth. It must be me who pulls him from your womb. The first being a child must see, Circe, is their father. The first touch they must feel is the touch of their father. Their connection to their mother is established for months, their father must have those to establish his. ”
Wow, that was beautiful. But as beautiful as it was, I was hoping for someone like a midwife who would “pull him from my womb”.
Even the midwife serving a savage, primitive horde. My guess was my husband hadn’t handled or even attended very many births (as in, none) and she’d likely have experience I might need.
You know, just in case.
I decided it was wise not to share this.
Instead I sighed. Then I gave him a squeeze.
Then I said, “Well, you better kick some Maroo ass, baby, then get yours home to me…” I paused then whispered, “S afe.”
His eyes roamed my face for long moments before his lips twitched up.
