Servant of the Empire (19 page)

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.’

Kevin returned his familiar wry grin. Then he raised his eyes toward heaven in a show of mock appeal. ‘Pray to your gods to give me the strength,’ he murmured. Then he slipped off his shirt and his drawers, and joined her.

Later, when the lamps burned low, Mara lay awake in the clasp of Kevin’s arms and reflected upon the joy she had found in the midst of so many worries. She reached out and smoothed back her lover’s tousled hair. She regarded the punctures traced across his shoulder by the sharpened thorns of the kekali; the wounds were slight, already scabbed over. Only then did Mara appreciate the bittersweet nature of the love that had overtaken her at last.

Kevin was, and always would be, a slave. There were certain unarguable absolutes in her culture, and that fact was one.

Caught up in a moment of melancholy, and frowning at the waning moon through the screen, Mara wondered whether the bad luck that had brought down her brother and father might not stalk her yet. Desperately she prayed to Lashima that the blood from Kevin’s scratches had not seeped through his shirt and touched the ground. Lord Desio of the Minwanabi had sworn the vengeance of his house into the hands of Turakamu. And with or without invitation, the Death God walked where he would. If he chose to favour the Minwanabi, the Acoma would be swept away without trace from the land and the memory of man.

Mara stirred.

Her hand brushed warm flesh, and she started awake. In the predawn gloom, she saw Kevin as a figure of greys and blacks. He was not asleep but propped on one elbow looking at her. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he said.

Mara smiled drowsily and snuggled into the crook of his elbow. She felt tired but content. Through the months since Kevin had come to her bed, she had discovered new aspects to herself, a sensual side, a tender side, kept hidden away until now. The pleasures she shared with the barbarian made the brutalities of her marriage seem a distant and unpleasant dream.

Playfully she ran her fingers through the hair on Kevin’s chest. She had come to value their morning chat after lovemaking as much as council with her advisers. In ways not fully realized, she was learning from him. His nature was far more guarded than she had guessed upon first impression; she now understood that his direct and open manner stemmed from a cultural surface trait that masked an inner privacy. Kevin remained intentionally vague about his previous life and family, and though she asked often, he avoided talk of the future, as if he concealed his plans in that regard, as well. Different as he was from a born Tsurani, Mara judged his character to be complex and deep. She found it astonishing that such a man could be a common soldier, and wondered if others with like potential lay undiscovered among her warriors.