Dusk deepened. Stars appeared, and the western hills became a silhouette against the last trace of afterglow. The silence peculiar to the hour descended, the birdsong of daytime now stilled, while night-singing insects in their myriad thousands had yet to waken and trill. Since this garden was farthest removed from the soldiers’ barracks and servants’ quarters, it was silent; Mara enjoyed a rare moment of peace.
She found herself thinking of Hokanu. His visit a few months earlier had been disappointingly brief – a lingering dinner; then at first light, after breakfast and what seemed a short chat, he took his leave and departed. Some development in the game had compelled his return to the Shinzawai estates sooner than Mara would have liked. Left with a sense that Hokanu felt he should have bypassed the house and returned straight upriver to his father’s estates, Mara felt flattered he had compromised his sense of duty a little and stolen a visit with her.
But she had said nothing to him, sheltering her feelings behind tradition’s accepted behaviour. His wit might make her smile, and his intelligence inspire her own wit, yet she shied from contemplating any final outcome of this handsome noble’s attentions.
Attractive as she found Hokanu, the thought of returning to any man’s bed made her shudder. Even now she had nightmares of her late husband’s rages and the bruises he had inflicted in his passions. No, she decided, she had no desire to encourage the company of a man.
And yet, when Hokanu’s small caravan had drawn out of sight, Mara had been astonished at how swiftly the time had fled. The young man’s company had pleased her. She had not had a comfortable moment while he had been there, but she missed his lively company.
Footsteps approached on the gravel path. Mara turned in time to see a tall, long-strided figure invade her temporary sanctuary.
‘There you are,’ called a voice. Even without the heavy accent, the disrespectful address and the boisterous tone identified her visitor as Midkemian. And as often as Mara was astonished by such directness, she was also attracted to it.
‘I’ve been looking for you since sundown,’ Kevin added, treading a winding path between kekali bushes to reach the bench where she sat. ‘I asked Nacoya, and the old witch just grunted and shrugged. The servants looked nervous when I spoke to them, and finally I had to track down Lujan at the change of the guard.’
‘He must have known you were following him,’ said Mara, unwilling to believe her best soldier would be so lax in his duties.
‘Of course.’ Kevin rounded a last island of flower bed and paused before her. ‘We were discussing the fine points of swordplay. Your methods differ from ours. Ours are better, naturally,’ he added. Irritated that his intentional baiting always worked, Mara raised her head. She found him grinning in anticipation of her rejoinder, and realized he played with her. She refused to be teased and studied his new attire.
The lantern light caught Kevin in profile, burnished his wavy hair copper, and caught the long, flowing sleeves of the white shirt just collected from the seamstresses. Over this he wore a jerkin belted tightly around his waist, and hose that clung tightly to a muscled length of leg. The neutral grey colour flattered him, for it set off his hair and beard and the deep tan of his face, and somehow made his blue eyes more intense. Mara glanced down, to find the effect spoiled at the ankle by the same worn sandals he had been given on the day of his arrival. Aware of the Lady’s gaze on his feet, Kevin laughed. ‘The boots aren’t finished yet.’
He looked very exotic, handsome in a barbaric way. Fascinated by the sight of him, Mara forgot to reprimand his lack of form. However, this time, Kevin kept courtesy. He made his bow Midkemian style, from the waist.
‘Is that how you show respect for your Kingdom ladies?’ Mara asked somewhat acidly, mostly because she could not take her eyes off his wide, strangely clothed shoulders.
Kevin gave back a wicked smile. ‘Not quite. Have I your permission?’
Mara inclined her head, then started as he reached and took her hand. ‘We greet our ladies like this.’ He confidently touched her fingers to his lips. The caress was very soft, barely a brush of flesh against flesh. Mara shivered slightly and stiffened to pull away.
But Kevin was not finished taking liberty. The feel of proper clothing and the mildness of the night lent him a spirit of recklessness. He firmed his grip, not so much that his mistress could not break away, but enough that she must struggle or follow his lead. ‘Sometimes we take the ladies dancing,’ he invited, and he drew her to her feet, grasped her lightly around the waist, and spun her in a circle through the lantern light.
Mara laughed in surprise, not feeling in the least threatened. Glad to be distracted from the morass of difficult memories, the Lady of the Acoma abandoned herself to this single moment of fun. And between Kevin’s breathless laughter and the heady perfume of the flowers, she discovered that the touch of him was pleasing. His strength did not intimidate but warmed her. Small as a doll in his arms, she tried to keep pace with him; yet she did not know the steps of his wild dance. Her feet got in his way, and he stumbled. She felt his muscles tense in response. He had reflexes swift as a cat’s. But the backstep he initiated to save his balance tangled disastrously with the basket she had abandoned on the path.
The wicker container overturned, showering the gravel with kekali. Kevin tripped sideways, dragging Mara with him. The plunge happened too suddenly to allow the Lady to cry out. Caught in Kevin’s embrace, she felt him turn his shoulder to cushion her fall. She landed sprawled across his chest, slightly breathless, and still entangled in his arms. His hands moved, slid down her back, and paused at her waist.
‘Are you all right?’ he said in a voice that was unfamiliarly deep.
Overwhelmed by a rush of strange sensations, Mara did not answer at once.
Kevin shifted under her. He freed one hand and picked up a kekali blossom from the ground. He pinched the stem in his teeth and, by touch, stripped off the thorns. Lantern light softened the planes of his face as he finished and carefully wound the flower in a strand of Mara’s hair. ‘At home we call flowers that look much like these by another name.’
Mara shut her eyes against a strange rush, something like dizziness, yet not. His fingers brushed her neck as he finished with the flower, then withdrew, leaving her aching. Huskily she asked, ‘What name?’
‘Roses.’ Kevin felt the slight quiver that coursed through her flesh. The hand on her back moved, drew her closer. Softly he added, ‘Though we’ve none this wonderful shade of blue.’ His touch was tentative, and gentle in a manner that did not frighten. Aware through her confusion that he offered comfort, Mara did not tear herself away. For a moment he went still, as if he awaited some form of reaction.
Mara returned none. Her body felt strangely languid. When she made no move, Kevin held her more firmly. He shifted again, until her hip lay cradled in the hollow of his flank, and her hair loosened from its pins and cascaded in a rush across the opened laces of his shirt. The hand on her back slid down and under her arm, and traced the neckline of her robe. The touch raised fire in her, a warmth that seemed to melt her from within.
‘Lady?’ he said softly. His other hand brushed the hair back from her face. She saw that his eyes were very wide, the pupils dark in the lantern light, and the irises narrow bands of silver. ‘Do you want this? A man on my world gives roses to a Lady when he loves her.’
‘I care very little for love,’ Mara answered, her voice oddly rough to her own ear. Now her body tensed against his. ‘My husband taught me more than I ever wished to know.’ Kevin sighed, changed his position, and lifted her.
Overwhelmed by his strength, she felt a giddy sense of familiarity, reminiscent of a time when a tiny girl was held gently by her warrior father’s powerful hands. Yet Mara sensed no danger, for despite the power of those hands, their touch was only loving. Mara felt a chilly rush of air as she and Kevin separated, when he gently sat her upon the bench. Her robe had pulled askew. He did not stare at her exposed breasts but
sought something within her own gaze. Her eyes followed his as he carefully stepped back, awaiting her command.
Mara settled against the stone seat and recovered the semblance of poise. Yet the control she had schooled to be second nature came with difficulty. Inside, she remained in turmoil; despite the memory of her former husband’s brutality, despite the ingrained fears, her body ached to be touched again by such tender strength. Kevin made no move toward her, and this only made her flesh cry out all the more. Battling to impose logic over confusion, Mara said nothing, which left Kevin the task of smoothing over the awkwardness of the moment.
‘My Lady,’ he said, and bowed again from the waist. For some reason the movement gave her the shivers. He turned his back, bent, and methodically began to gather the blossoms strewn across the path. ‘A man might also give a woman a rose if he admired and respected her. Keep the flower in your hair; it truly does become you.’
Mara reached up and touched the blossom which rested, still, twined in the lock above her ear. She became absorbed by the play of muscles under his loose-fitting white shirt. The sensation in her middle mounted to an ache. She shivered again as Kevin stretched and recovered the tipped basket. Lantern light caught his hair and his sinewy wrists as he laid the recovered flowers inside. A few remained, crushed by his body during the fall, and as he arose to return the basket to her, he grimaced and said, ‘Curse the thorns.’
Instantly Mara felt contrition. Moved by an unfamiliar instinct, she reached out and touched the back of his hand. ‘Did you receive a wound?’
Kevin looked at her wryly. ‘No, Lady. I’d hardly call a few pricks in the back on your behalf a wound.’
‘Let me see,’ demanded Mara, pressed by a recklessness that made her giddy.
The barbarian regarded her, his moment of surprise well hidden. Then his wryness expanded into a smile. ‘As my Lady wishes.’ He loosened the laces of his cuffs, shed the shirt in an enviably smooth movement, and straddled the bench by her side.
Presented with a view of his back, Mara hesitated. Plain in the light she could see scratch marks, studded with embedded kekali thorns. Shaky now, and frightened, still she fumbled until she found the handkerchief lent by Jican. Tentatively she dabbed at a cut. Kevin held motionless. The feel of his skin was silken smooth, not at all what she expected. The handkerchief fabric caught on a brier. Gently Mara drew it out. She ran her fingers down and down, found more thorns, and drew them, until finally none were left. Her hands did not want to leave him. She traced the side of his flank, felt the hard muscle there, and then flinched back with a gasp as memory of Buntokapi made her start.
Kevin swung his knee over the bench and spun to face her. ‘Lady? Is something wrong?’
The concern in his voice suddenly broke her heart. She fought against tears, and lost.
‘Lady,’ whispered Kevin. ‘What makes you cry?’ He gathered her to him, held her shaking against the hollow of his shoulder. Mara tensed, at any moment expecting his hands to turn brutal, to twist at her clothes and seek out her most tender parts. But nothing happened. Kevin simply held her, unmoving, and in time her fear unlocked. Mara realized that he was not going to be rough, but would only offer her comfort. ‘What troubles you?’ he asked again.
Mara stirred, then surrendered to his warmth and leaned against him. ‘Memories,’ she said softly.
Now Kevin’s hands did harden. He caught her firmly, lifted her, and resettled her in his lap.
Mara caught herself just short of a scream. Shame burned her cheeks, that she had so nearly disgraced her heritage. She choked a breath to call Lujan, but Kevin’s hold loosened. He stroked her hair, gentle once more, and relief made her cry all over again.
‘Your memories must be painful,’ Kevin murmured in her ear. ‘I’ve never seen a beautiful woman so frightened at a man’s attentions. It’s as if someone beat you when another man would have kissed you with tenderness.’
‘Bunto,’ said Mara, her voice lowered to a near whisper. Her coldness was unexpected, and prompted by a resentment she had never before given rein, except in confidence with Nacoya. ‘He liked his women bruised. His concubine, Teani, loved such abuses.’ She paused, then added, ‘I don’t think I ever could. Perhaps that makes me a coward. I don’t care. I’m just glad I no longer have a husband to share my bed.’
Now Kevin was silent, shocked to an outrage that made him cup her chin until she faced him. ‘In my land, a husband who strikes his wife is nothing but a common criminal.’
Mara managed a weak smile. ‘How different our cultures can be. Here a woman has no power over her fate, unless she is Ruling Lady. A man may dominate his wife as he would a slave, and in the eyes of other men, his manhood is increased by her submissiveness.’
Now Kevin’s anger could be heard in his voice. ‘Then your lords are no better than barbarians. Men should treat women with respect and kindness.’
Excitement coursed through Mara. Time and again Nacoya had told her that all men did not behave like Buntokapi; yet the fact that they owned the god-given right to be brutal had caused her to distrust even Hokanu, whose outward manner seemed mild. Where she had not dared to give herself to a suitor of her own culture, with Kevin she felt oddly safe.
‘Then your people treat their wives and lovers like flowers, cherishing them without causing pain?’
Kevin nodded, his fingers stroking her shoulders as lightly as the wings of small birds.
‘Show me,’ Mara whispered. The touch of him made her tingle, and she felt, through his breeches, the pressure of his own aroused manhood.
The barbarian’s brows rose mischievously. ‘Here?’
The ache inside Mara mounted, became unbearable. ‘Here,’ she repeated softly. ‘Here, now, I command you.’ When he looked as though he might protest, she added, ‘No one will disturb us. I am Ruling Lady of the Acoma.’
Even now she tautened, as if at any moment she expected to be manhandled. Kevin sensed her tension. ‘Lady,’ he said softly, ‘right now you rule more than the Acoma,’ and he bent his head and kissed her lips.
His touch was soft as a whisper. Reassured, she yielded almost immediately. Then, as his lightness teased her to desire, she leaned into him, demanding more. But his hands stayed soft. He stroked her breast through the fabric of her robe, maddening her with his gentleness. Her nipple turned hard and hot. She wanted his fingers on her bare skin, more desperately than she had ever wished for anything.
He did not comply. Not all at once. Barbarian that he was, he acted as if her very robe were precious. He slipped the silk slowly from her shoulders. Mara moaned and shivered. She tugged at his shirt, wanting the feel of him, but her hands tangled in his unfamiliar dress, and as her fingers encountered his skin, she hesitated, wanting to return the feeling he gave her, but uncertain what she should do.
Kevin caught her wrists, still handling her as if her flesh were fragile. His care made her desire mount further, tormented her to an ecstasy she had never dreamed existed. She could not have named the moment he slid her robe off and touched his lips to her breast. By then her world had dissolved into dizziness and she moaned for his touch against her loins.
Midkemian clothing was more complicated than Tsurani dress. He had to shift her to remove his breeches. Somehow they ended up in the grass, lit by the golden sliver of Kelewan’s moon, and also by a soft wash of lantern light. Abandoned to pleasure amid the scent of blooming kekali, swept away by the passion of a redheaded barbarian, Mara discovered what it was to be a woman.
Later, flushed with the elation of newfound release, Mara returned to her chamber. Nacoya awaited her there with news of a business transaction in Sulan-Qu, and a tray of light supper. One look at her mistress’s face, and she forgot the contents of the scroll. ‘Thank Lashima,’ she said, correctly interpreting the cause of Mara’s euphoria. ‘You’ve discovered the joy of your womanhood at last.’
Mara laughed, a little breathless. She pirouetted like a girl and sat on the cushions. Kevin
followed her, his hair still tousled and his face more guardedly sober. Nacoya regarded him closely for a moment. Then, her lips pursed in mild disapproval, she turned upon her mistress.
‘My Lady, you must excuse your slave.’
Mara looked up, her first flush of surprise changing to annoyance. ‘First Adviser, I shall do as I please with my slave.’
Nacoya bowed deeply in respect for her mistress’s prerogative. Then she went on as though Kevin were not present. ‘Daughter of my heart, you now have learned the wonder of sex. This is good. And you are not the first great Lady who has used a slave. It is not only useful, it is even wise, for no slave can use you. However, Desio of the Minwanabi will be waiting to take advantage of every weakness, however small. You must not make mistakes and let the pleasures of the flesh grow into infatuation. This Midkemian should be sent away to keep your thinking clear, and you should take one or two different men to your bed soon, to learn they are merely … useful.’
Mara stood motionless, with her back turned. ‘I find this discussion inopportune. Leave me at once, Nacoya.’
The First Adviser of the Acoma returned a deeper bow. ‘Your will, Lady.’ Stiffly she arose, and with a last lingering glare at Kevin she left the room. As the indignant tap of her sandals faded down the hall, Mara motioned to her slave.
‘Join me,’ she invited. Then she shed her loosened robe and dropped naked upon the cushions of the mat that served as her bed. ‘Show me again how the men in your land love their women.’
The Complete Empire Trilogy Page 63
