M’barak’s eyes widened.
“I’ll be right with you,” Alessan told Tuero and M’barak, who left him. Alessan swung down the pack he carried. “I did not come,” hi said with a wry smile, “in expectation of bounty. I can, however, return your gown.” He took out the carefully folded gold and brown dress and presented it to her with a courteous bow.
She managed to take it from him but her hands trembled. She thought of the racing, the dancing, her joy in a Gather as one should be, her delight in the perfection of that Gather evening as she and Oklina had made their way to the dancing square for an evening she would never forget. The pent-up frustrations, angers, suppressed griefs, the mandatory absences from Orlith that she thought of as betrayals of Impression, the whole accumulation burst the barrier of self-control and she buried her face in the dress, weeping uncontrol-lably.
As Orlith crooned supportively, Moreta was taken into Alessan’s embrace. The touch of his arms, fierce in their hold, the mixed odors of human and animal sweat, of damp earth, combined to free her tears. Abruptly she felt the heave and swell of his body as his grief found expression at last. Together they comforted and were comforted by each other’s release.
You needed this, Orlith said to Moreta but she knew that the dragon included Alessan in her compassion.
It was Moreta who recovered from the catharsis first. She continued to hold Alessan tightly, to ease his shuddering body, as she murmured reassurances and encouragements, repeating all the praise for his indomitable spirit and fortitude that had come to her through K’lon: trying to make her voice and hands convey her own respect, admiration, and empathy. She felt the shuddering subside and then, with one final deep sigh, Alessan was purged of the aggregation of sorrow, remorse, and frustration. She relaxed her grip and his arms became less fierce and clinging. Slowly they leaned apart so that they could look into each other’s eyes. The lines of pain and worry had not diminished but the strain had eased about his mouth and brow. Alessan raised his hand and with gentle fingers smoothed the tears
228 Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern
from her cheeks. His hands tightened and he pulled her toward him again, bending his head to one side so that she could evade him if she chose. Moreta tilted her head and accepted his kiss, thinking to put the seal of comfort to their shared sorrow with that age-old benison. Neither expected their emotions to flare to passionMoreta because she had stopped thinking of relationships outside the Weyr, Alessan because he had thought himself spent from his losses at Ruatha.
Oriith crooned serenely, almost unheard by Moreta, who was caught up by the surge of emotion, the flow of sensuality so remarkably aroused by Alessan’s touch, the hard strength of his thighs against hers, the sensation of being vital again. Not even her girlhood love for Talpan had waked such an uninhibited response, and she clung to Alessan, willing the moment to endure.
Slowly, reluctantly, Alessan raised his mouth from hers, looking down at her with incredulous intensity. Then he, too, became aware of the dragon’s crooning and looked, startled, in the queen’s direction.
“She doesn’t object!” That amazed him further, and he was sensible of the risk he had taken.
“If she did, you’d know about it.” Moreta laughed. His expression of dismay swiftly altering to delight was marvelous. Joy welled up from a long-untapped source in her body.
Oriith’s croon changed to as near a trill as the dragon larynx could manage. With great reluctance, Moreta stepped back from Alessan, her smile expressing that regret.
“They’ll hear it?” he asked, smiling back at her ruefully, his hands clinging as he released her.
“It may be chalked up to the joys of clutching.”
“Your gown!” He grasped at the excuse of retrieving the crumpled folds where the dress had fallen unremarked to the stone at their feet. He was passing it to her when M’barak and Tuero entered the Hatching Ground, Tuero with a keen sparkle in his expressive eyes.
“With so much on your mind, Alessan,” Moreta said, amazed at her self-possession, “it is very good of you to have remembered.”