Chapter: Control Issues: 21 of ?
Author: Sam
Series: A Deeper Magic
Last Chapter: Lavender and Ahamo reach the Thousand Years Grassland and meet with Gyles. Fynch introduced.
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Stepping into the masculine room, DG put the tray on the floor then straightened and seemed to pause, perhaps thinking through everything she'd heard. Wyatt finished locking the washroom door and turned to her. He watched her as she slowly dropped her hands to her trim waist, unhooking his gun belt. Slipping the heavy leather with the holstered revolver onto the dressing table, DG finally turned, her blue skirt swishing around her ankles.
Her brilliant blue eyes still held anger, barely leashed, despite the length of time since she'd lost her temper over Leona's attack.
Unsure exactly how to soothe her anger, Wyatt slipped out of his uniform jacket. Hanging it on the chair, he turned to the princess. With a sigh, he said "it's going to be hours before night." He began to explore the contents of the dressing table.
Turning, DG looked over the rest of the sparsely furnished room. "Maybe we can make plans for when Glitch is well enough to escape?" she said, watching as Wyatt pulled open the drawer and began emptying it: a stack of fine paper, several metal-tipped quill pens, a bottle of ink, and a small pouch of drying sand.
Carefully pushing aside the gunbelt, Wyatt put the supplies on the dressing table, turning back to DG with a frown. "Not much here," he said and walked quietly to the window, looking out over the cracked lands four stories below.
DG's slightly hoarse sounding voice drew his gaze. "If we're careful we can raid the rooms on this floor. We'll need more medical supplies . . . bandages and stuff for Glitch." She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling up one stocking-clad foot to hug her knee, the long skirt covering her foot completely.
Wyatt strode over, crystal blue eyes worried. He sank down next to DG. "Yeah . . . linens and underclothes might have to do. We've got to be real careful about sneaking around."
She gave him a small, amused looking smile, but didn't explain the apparent joke. Instead, she leaned closer, her smile slipping back into a frown. "Wyatt, you need more sleep."
Frowning back at her, he couldn't deny he would appreciate some down time. The couple of hours from earlier had been nowhere near enough . . . and it was only zenith. Giving in to his exhaustion and her wisdom, the Tin Man nodded and stood then hesitated.
"What's wrong?" she frowned.
Clearing his throat but giving her the respect of meeting her eyes, he said "Randu's going to be back to check on us and get that tray." He eyed the bed then the floor and sighed. "He'll never believe we're married if I sleep on the floor."
"Ah . . ." DG looked towards the door, her brilliant blue eyes appearing thoughtful. "That's true. It's a big enough bed, Wyatt. We can share it . . . we did earlier."
Reluctantly, Wyatt agreed but hesitated. Finally, he stripped off his shirt and belt, leaving on his trousers and undershirt. He reached for the covers, but DG's next words stopped him.
"You should at least wear pj's, Wyatt. He'll notice if your uniform isn't complete," she gestured towards the shirt and jacket on the chair."
Wyatt had trouble erasing his surprised look. Of course, she was right; he had to acknowledge that. If they were going to convince Randu that they were newlyweds and she was off limits, they had to play the part. Wyatt nodded once and strode to the armoire, pulling the door open and finding a pair of pajamas and a long night gown. He turned only to freeze in surprise as DG, standing right behind him, nearly collided with his chest. He dropped the clothing to grip her arms in large, work-calloused hands.
She tilted her head up to flash him a smile, her eyes reflecting a flicker of an unidentifiable emotion, and something seemed to clench in Wyatt's chest. He dropped his hands as if burned and backed up a step practically stumbling into the opened closet. DG caught him by the arm and the waistband, preventing a nasty tumble and possibly broken furniture.
"Easy, Tin Man," she joked with a raspy laugh.
He noted her voice got hoarser, rougher with heightened emotion. It was one of her endearing quirks. "Now where the hell did that come from?" he thought desperately. As DG knelt to pick up the clothes, he watched her with guarded eyes. "She's barely older than my boy . . . and she's the princess." Wyatt knew he'd been feeling too attached to the woman by the end of their Emerald Quest; it was one of the reasons he'd gone south with Jeb to start anew and take up smithing again. Proximity with this woman spelled trouble. Recalling the single suitor's braid she'd been wearing only that morning, Wyatt knew there was one more reason to avoid letting himself get even closer to DG: she was seeing someone.
"Head's up, Wyatt!" DG called, and he reacted quickly, instinctively catching the pair of sleep trousers she'd throw his way.
With a nod, Wyatt quickly crossed the room and unlocked the washroom, heading in to change. When he came out, he nearly turned and went right back in, not too sure about the wisdom of their pretense after all. DG had opted not to wear the nightgown he'd provided but the shirt that went with his pajama trousers . . . and nothing else. Her long legs were quite a distraction, and Wyatt had to ruthlessly push away such thoughts about the woman he protected.
She seemed to ignore his state of undress as she walked over and took his uniform trousers then folded them, along with the under shirt, and placed them on the dressing table. She then walked over the the bed and slid under the covers, her back to the center of the bed.
Drawing a deep breath and trying to ignore his whirling thoughts and confused reactions, Wyatt slid into the other side. Turning his back on DG, he tried to regain his earlier sleep, but the proximity of a half-clad DG made it hard to relax. She seemed to have no problems and apparently drifted right off. Feeling old for the first time in his thirty-five annuals, Wyatt knew he had to get them out of there as soon as possible: for their safety and his own peace of mind.
He closed his eyes and, despite his heightened awareness and his jumbled thoughts, finally drifted off in exhaustion.
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DG laid perfectly still, staring at the bathroom door, her heart racing. The twenty annual old woman listened carefully as her companion's breathing slowed into a sleep rhythm. She waited a few more minutes before gently sliding from the bed and walking softly to the dressing table. She picked up his uniform and moved it carefully to a shelf inside the armoire. Sinking onto the dressing table chair, DG put one foot up on the seat and wrapped her arms around her knee, watching Wyatt as he slept.
Finally, she allowed herself to deal with the last few minutes.
Normally, Wyatt was in total control, almost cold in his reactions and manner. But just a moment ago his crystal eyes had not seemed cold in the least; they'd seemed lit by a burning heat. Her own heart had leapt at the emotions she thought she'd seen. DG had fought hard to tamp down her reaction. There was no way she'd interpreted his reactions correctly: this was Mister Cain, the Tin Man.
Frowning, DG picked up a quill and opened the ink bottle, carefully dipping the metal tip into the ink. Without much thought, she put pen to paper and began drawing, something she had always done when trying to sort her confusing emotions back on the farm. Oddly, it had been a month since she'd made time to sketch; her last drawing had been the portrait of the lavender eyed woman from her cave nightmare: her mother.
As she absently sketched, DG puzzled out her quiet, steadfast companion's apparent reactions. He'd had two hours of sleep in three days. But exhaustion had never made other men she knew react with such heat. Frown easing, DG recalled that he'd been trapped for eight years in that iron suit. All that time, he'd thought his wife was dead, even though he'd been hopeful down deep. And, last month, he'd found that Adora had indeed died, even though it had only been a few months before and not years. Still, DG knew Wyatt had been without female companionship for years . . . no wonder he'd reacted to her. If he had . . . DG flushed. She was only assuming that the fire she'd seen in Wyatt's eyes had been desire.
Biting back an embarrassed groan, DG tamped down her own feelings again. She knew she was interested in Wyatt, had known since he'd shown up at the tower disguised as a Long Coat after the Mystic Man had been killed. But she knew that he thought of her as a kid, a couple years older than his own son . . . not that fifteen years difference was that big back on the Other Side in farm country; most women seemed to prefer a mature man rather than a reckless early-twenty-something for a long-term relationship. She hadn't seen such an age gap in couples in the Outer Zone though.
Suddenly, she recalled that people here married if they got pregnant. That meant that even accidents were treated like a pledge for life: how medieval. Frowning once more, DG made a few darker, bolder strokes as her emotions spiked. Sure, she wanted a lasting, forever kind of marriage, like her parents, but one mistake and stuck for life? One attack and chained forever? The O.Z. made little sense to the Kansas-raised farm girl turned princess.
A movement from the bed caused her to freeze, and DG looked over at Wyatt's restless form. She watched as the man turned, facing the center of the bed, his face creased with troubled dreams. Sighing, DG shook her head. He deserved the chance to fall in love again . . . as he had with Adora. DG couldn't let her reactions to him take advantage of his years of celibacy. Apparently 'casual' wasn't a word associated with relationships in the O.Z.
Slowly, DG went back to her sketch.
The sound of a key in the lock of the hall door drew her immediate attention. Suddenly wishing she'd grabbed a robe from the armoire, DG made a quick dive for the bed, slipping under the covers as the door opened. Unfortunately, her rough movements woke Wyatt, but DG felt it was safer to not let Randu see her in practically nothing. The thought made her flinch inside: she'd actually worn this in front of Wyatt, too. "Way to push," DG thought, frowning fiercely.
"Well, something bothering you, Mrs. Gale?" Randu's genial, amused tone broke through her black study and she looked over at him.
The man strode into the room and glanced over the couple, but didn't seem troubled or surprised by seeing them in bed in sleepwear. Rather, he signalled someone behind him to enter the room. Two more Long Coats came in, one stopping just inside the door and the other heading to collect the tray from the floor. Randu strode over to the dressing table and studied the not-quite finished drawing DG had been working on. A look of surprise crossed his face and he picked up the sheet of paper.
Looking at DG, he held up the portrait of Wyatt sleeping. "You are quite talented for a farm girl, princess."
She flushed and ducked her head, not letting him see that she was angry rather than embarrassed.
The Long Coat commander chuckled. "So, you rule chickens, draw portraits, and teach small children." Randu watched as the man with the tray left. Putting the paper back on the table, he looked back at DG. "And do you know anything about nursing?"
DG looked up and tried to ease her frown. Softly, she said "I know some first aid. Is someone hurt?"
Randu shrugged lightly, giving no sign of the injury Leona claimed she'd given him. "Well, that patient from the medical ward . . . what was his name?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think I've met him." She looked at Wyatt who had remained quietly watching their interplay. "Wyatt? The general wants to know about that patient you were guarding."
Wyatt pushed himself to a sitting position, revealing to Randu that he was also under-dressed in only the trousers which matched DG's top. In a sleep-fuzzed voice, he ran a hand through light blond hair and said, "the mechanic? Um . . . I think it was . . . uh . . . Alan?"
Randu smiled and nodded amiably. "And you said he was in a coma?" The man's eyes roved over the pair.
With a nod, Wyatt frowned. "Yes, Sir. I was told he had a head injury and was in a coma. They didn't think he'd live." After a long moment he asked, "he died, didn't he, Sir? I should've stayed on duty!" Wyatt starting pushing his blankets off his legs but Randu held up a hand.
"No, no. You were ordered off duty. And unless you're a medico in disguise, there's nothing you can do." He lowered his hand to his own gun hilt. "Actually, the patient isn't in his room, Lieutenant Gale. He's missing."
At that, Wyatt slipped out of the bed and headed for his gun belt and boots. "I'll help you look for him, Sir."
Randu immediately dropped his genial, relaxed manner. "No!" Wyatt shot to attention and Randu frowned, looking over the room. "My guards are looking for the man and any medicos who may have stayed behind. You are still under orders to remain with your wife until I come for you tomorrow. Now, back to bed with you both," he frowned fiercely at them.
Wyatt obeyed but looked disturbed by such an order. "Sir? Why are you locking us in?"
"Safety, Lieutenant," Randu promptly responded. "There are dissenters on the loose and I want to know my . . . queen's supporters are protected." He held up a hand and claimed, "no more questions, Lieutenant." At that, the Long Coat commander turned smartly and strode from the room, his guard following. The sound of the lock clicking seemed to echo.
DG looked at Wyatt, who slipped back into bed with a severe frown. She sighed. "They're looking for . . ." she looked to the door and realized she hadn't heard the sounds of boots walking away. Carefully, she finished, "a missing coma man? Could he have woken up and walked away?"
Wyatt, taking her cue answered "maybe a medico took him out of there when we were talking in the lab?"
She playfully added, "talking? I thought we were kissing . . ."
The sound of three pairs of boots walked away then and DG knew the Long Coats had been eavesdropping in the hopes of catching them in a lie. Her vibrant blue eyes met Wyatt's crystal-colored ones. She sighed, but he nodded.
"I'm going to try to sleep some more. They'll probably leave us alone for a few more hours, at least until dinner. They might check the door a couple of times, but we might be starting to convince them." Wyatt ran his hand through his short hair again, looking at the door.
She nodded and laid down, turning her back to Wyatt once more, intent on keeping their relationship on a professional princess-bodyguard level. "Sure, sleep. I think I'll take a nap, too." She closed her eyes and listened as Wyatt settled down, turning his back to her, and seemed to relax. His breathing slowed, but DG had to work on controlling hers. "Damn!" It was one thing knowing she had to control things for his sake, but it wouldn't be easy: especially when trapped in a small room for an unknown length of time with a man apparently built from any girl's fantasy.
DG squeezed her eyes tight and tried to think of anything but the man lying beside her.
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Continued in Chapter Twenty-Two: Powerful Reactions
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The Twelve Clans of the Outer Zone with the Ruling House of Each Clan:
Aquam Clan/ House of Rimi . . . (Ice- Mount Runcible)
Cogitatio Clan/ House of Idae . . . (Milltown)
Corde Clan/ House of Animum . . . (Viewers)
Fortitudo Clan/ House of Greyhatt . . . (Guilds- Munchkins)
Lux Clan/ House of Gale . . . (formerly House of Ozma- Gillikin)
Mortem Clan/ House of Shiz . . . (Alma Mata- Gillikin)
Nature Clan/ House of Terrae . . . (Vinkus- Thousand Year Grasslands)
Papay Clan/ House of Somniabunt
Phlogiston Clan/ House of Pyre . . . (Fire- Desert surrounding O.Z.)
Sapientiam Clan/ House of Quinolui . . . (Quadling- Realm of the Unwanted)
Spiritus Clan/ House of Aeris . . . (Air- Lake Country)
Tenebris Clan/ House of Fugae . . . (Witch's Dark Tower- Gillikin)
