“He's not a bad man,” Myra replied, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did to her but he wasn't about to let another incident happen if anyone took a hostile stance.
“Myra!” a heavy tenor called out, the accent almost as musical as hers. “Are you here?”
“Wait for my signal,” she pleaded to Za'Ryan, and he nodded slowly, trusting her. He would always trust her, it was the other bastard he was worried about. Then she smiled at him reassuringly, opened the door and stepped out. She snapped it closed quickly. He went and cracked it open just a hair's width. It was just enough to let him see without being seen.
The slender dark blue haired man was armored with short metal plates with a sword on his hip. It wasn't a dress sword, but a much used leather wrapped hilt that had plenty of life left in it. His helmet was fancy, a broad design that looked like etched leaves in the bright metal, adding importance to his rank. He had a serious look on his thin, almost feminine face, and his eyes were jade green. He had just got off his horse and nodded to Myra as she walked up to him and curtsied politely. She talked first however, to correct him.
“Lady Myra of House Ven'Krue,” she informed him, tone neutral. Her musical accent sent a surge of pride and affection up Ryan's spine, and Vendegal's expression went from serious to utter surprise.
“Lady Myra of House Ven'Krue,” Vendegal repeated graciously, then bowed to her, a definite upgrade from a mere nod. Ryan wasn't letting his guard down however, and was ready to spring out of that door at a moment's notice. “When did you get married?”
“Recently,” she told the garrison commander, pride riding every word. “Lord Za'Ryan is a kind man, but not tolerant of abuse towards me.”
The fancy helmet bobbed and mailed gauntlets spread in supplication, indicating that was the reason for his visit. “I'm here about that issue. A certain hysterical Avrohom claims he was attacked by a huge demon with the strength of ten men. I'm certain you wouldn't marry a creature from hell,” he added, an amused look washing over his face.
“Of course I wouldn't,” Myra exclaimed lightly, sharing the humor for a moment. Then she got serious. “My husband is a very large man, a powerful warrior from a distant land. He's even a lot taller than me,” and she gestured towards the sky. Now Vendegal's dark blue eyebrows crept up again in surprise, he had to look up slightly to meet her gaze at it was. Now there was somebody taller?
“Is Lord Za'Ryan here?” he inquired, almost in disbelief.
“Yes,” she said, then lifted her chin slightly, which made Vendegal blink. She snubbed his tone, an act of total assurance in being distinctively right over a man's belief. “I had to prepare you so no more untrue stories of my husband circulates, he is no demon.” she explained carefully, not lowering her chin. “If I had not, I promise you might have misunderstood too.” Then she raised her volume. “My Lord, you're expected!”
Za'Ryan opened the door and stepped out, pausing for only a fraction of a second for the new arrival to get a good look. Then he walked up to stand next to Myra, his long strides closing the distance in only four steps where Vendegal might have had to use twice as many.
The garrison commander's mouth dropped open, face went slack and eyes bugged out as he almost had to tilt his head back to look up into a pair of ice blue eyes. The first words out of his flabbergasted mouth were, “May the gods be merciful!”
“I'm sure they will,” Ryan said, and his calm baritone made Vendegal take an involuntary step backwards. The volume had been normal and the tone respectful, but it was so low as to seem impossible to the garrison commander's pointed ears. Za'Ryan continued with his introduction, “I'm pleased to meet a man who won't put a mean hand on my wife after the taxes are collected, especially while her husband is waking up from a sound sleep.” Even though they weren't married when the incident happened, he felt that the significance would add weight in making the case for his actions while Vendegal was reeling from the initial encounter. Besides, only they knew the little white fib for what it was, and their time together could have been intimate a lot longer if he had not messed up so much. So it counted to him as accurate for the time being. The garrison commander's reaction was expected.
“Avrohom what?” Vendegal replied sharply while blinking a few times, probably checking his vision as he regarded Za'Ryan's girth.
“That's how it happened,” Ryan replied, solemn and to the point. “Though I'm certain the lying bastard didn't tell his side that way.” There was no need for hostility in his voice, the words alone were spoken calmly and sounded far more truthful than an outright hostile accusation. It was enough to set Vendegal to nodding.
“You're right, Lord Za'Ryan. He didn't tell it that way.” He sighed, gestured towards the general direction of Ocaza. “His authority to collect taxes allows him a lot of leeway, but you put the fear of death into him for sure. He even said you threw him twenty feet into the wagon, of all things.”
Ryan sighed back, then took the time to tell the tale and left nothing out including the final toss into the wagon. He ended his narration with a warning however. “I have no reason to give an untruth, Lord Vendegal. That man is to understand that he will get his taxes on time and the amount we settle on, but if he's not polite to Myra and makes to put hand to her again, it will be the worse for him. Can you make that crystal clear to his face?”
“I suppose I can tell him,” Vendegal pondered, and this time Ryan's features grew slightly grim and determined.
“I can go to Ocaza and make it clear to him myself, if need be,” the large man offered, knowing what the reaction might be and was correct.
Both mailed palms went out to him at chest level as if to stop him from moving forward. “Goodness no,” Vendegal exclaimed, growing afraid. “Don't go to Ocaza. At least not yet, please. You would panic all five thousand citizens at first sight. You're a mere rumor to only a few, most haven't the faintest idea you exist.”
“Is there something you can do about that?” Myra asked. Her features were hopeful and proud at the same time. She added her infectious smile and Vendegal agreed quickly.
“Yes Lady Myra, I can do something about that, but I will need some time.” The garrison commander seemed to hesitate a moment before continuing. “Give me a week to spread the word and put up a poster in the main forum with details. I need to describe him very carefully and set a date for the arrival. That way we can keep any upset or fearful reactions to a minimum.”
“Agreed,” Ryan replied, a grin spreading on his features. Soon this mysterious town would know of him and he would know of them, and it would make life for them both so much easier. He nodded his head to Vendegal much like the commander did to Myra when he first arrived. The nod was returned as he remounted the horse, picked the reins up from where he tied them to the saddle.
“I'll send a messenger with the date and time,” he said to them both, then saluted with his right hand over his heart. After taking a long last look at Ryan, he wheeled his horse and kicked it into a gallop towards Ocaza.
Chapter Six - Invitation
He was a young lad, no more than his early teens and his big gold eyes were riveted on Ryan as he was hauling bushels of corn. He sat on the fast horse in a crouch, ready to gallop off if the frightening large guy made a run towards him. Myra came out of the cottage and gave him a polite nod. The moment the message was in her hand the young fellow turned his horse and got out of there, head buzzing with the story of how he saw the giant first.
Her eyes flew over the script and she called out, “Lord Za'Ryan, it's here!” His head swiveled, long curly brown hair swishing. He placed the bushel basket down and hurried over where she was waving the message.
“When?” was his tired reply. He had thrown himself into getting the crop harvested before the second planting season was over, which made the difference between going hungry during the winter or not.
“Tomorrow morning,” she exclaimed, bright lavender eyes twinkling from the excitement. “I'm so glad I f
inished your new set of clothes, I made them just for this event.” He grinned at his wife and enjoyed her energy even when he was tired from hard work. He looked up and regarded the position of the sun and came to a quick decision.
“I better clean up and call it quits for this afternoon,” he replied evenly. “I want to be in decent shape in the morning so I don't look bedraggled.”
Myra laughed as they headed inside, a pretty sound that always made him start to laugh with her. “You?” she accused playfully. “I don't think you could look bedraggled ever.” She flicked the paper at him again and finished giving him the gist of the full message, knowing that while he could speak their language, for some reason he couldn't read it. “There is a breakfast scheduled with the garrison commander and his officers then a visit with the mayor. Once that's over, pretty much everybody will have seen you. We'll also have a four guard escort waiting for us, to let people know you're friendly.”
“Oh my,” he replied, nonplussed. “I hope the guards know that I'm friendly too.”
“Hey,” she complained mildly, her smile still big. “Getting you accepted with my people was no easy task, and I must admit, going better than expected.”
“I know darling,” he said, regaining some of his energy and good natured spirit. “How does it feel not to be shunned anymore?” He should have realized earlier why this was such a big deal for her.
She spun in sheer joy, her skirt flaring up around shapely legs. “Wonderful!” she admitted loudly. “I feel so alive now, Lord Za'Ryan, and it's all because of us being together and happy!”
Realizing he was still gritty from working but not giving a damn, he scooped Myra up into his arms and tilted her chin for a powerful kiss. She sighed with high satisfaction, always accepted his affection with a greedy need and had no problems returning it in full even when he was covered in sweat. At first he thought the constant urgency was the result of waiting so long, but now they had some time in each others arms, her physical needs actually seemed to increase rather than slow down. He loved that fact and couldn't complain one bit.
The next morning they took a bath together, the startling clear well water cool against their skin. If they hadn't spent almost half the night making love in each others arms, he knew they would be messing up the large steel tub that barely held them both. She washed him with a loving touch, the cloth over her hand got everywhere and slowed down over much of his muscle. She simply loved touching him and the feeling was so mutual.
When it was his turn to work on her, he roamed all around her front and back slowly, dipping the cloth every so often into the soapy tub and she almost purred from the attention. When he started working on her legs, going to one knee, he couldn't help himself. His lips glided over her flat belly, kissing every so often as he made sure both legs were clean. He looked up and found her luminous lavender eyes staring down at him, intent, expression passive yet bright. His voice found the words he was looking for, spoke to her in his best loving tone.
“I never dreamed of a woman so beautiful before,” he told her honestly. “I know in my gut, with instincts that haven't lied to me yet, that there are no women among my people who are as naturally sweet as you. I am beyond lucky, Lady Myra, to be honest.”
She sank down to her knees and came to eye level, then flung her arms around his thick wet neck. He loved her hugs, even more so when they were both nude. The smell of her wet hair was fragrant, she clung to him tightly with lips close to his ear. Instead of speaking, she rubbed her cheek against his, a move that melted his heart. After some long minutes went by, he started to wonder why she hadn't let him go to get on with the bath. Then he felt her shiver a moment, then a sniff.
“No no, don't let go,” she pleaded softly, voice slightly quivering as he went to pull back. Her arms got so tight around him that he couldn't have detached her without using brute strength. He couldn't see her face, so as one hand supported her, the other reached up and stroked her wet light blue hair that now reached the middle of her back. She sniffed again, then explained herself in a soft tone. “These are happy tears, don't worry. Very happy tears. Just hold me till they are done, please. It won't be long darling, I promise.”
He answered by kissing the side of her slender neck, then leaving his lips on the arch of her shoulder while he nodded. He could have stayed like that with her forever, understanding at last that she was highly affectionate. This was simply who she was and it couldn't have made him happier. She finally slid back gently and she dabbed her face with the wash cloth, her big smile wide and inviting. “We best finish our bath,” she said and he nodded, returning the smile. “Or we won't get to town until lunch time.” They both laughed at the same time.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon with a promise of warmth to come when they set out for Ocaza. He wore a dark green long sleeve shirt with a gold outline and matching pants. It was a button up and he left the two on top undone, which made a V neckline that they both agreed on as nice. She wore a matching dark green dress with the same outline, only her neckline was scooped in front and back, almost down off both shoulders. The skirt reached just past her knees. Her slippers matched his boots in that they were both dyed black with charcoal and starch, so it wouldn't rub off on their skin or clothes.
Hand in hand, they set out for Ocaza with a casual, easy walk.
Chapter Seven - More Culture Shock
Heads turned and sometimes a gasp could be heard. Ryan watched the people as closely as he regarded the buildings of the city. A combination of brick, wood and glass along with cobbled stone streets told him much about the locals. Just like Myra's house, every line ended with a delicate wisp and curl, all the colors light or bright and no black or dark browns what so ever. The darkest color was seen only in some clothing, and it was always a shade of green.
The four guards walked in formation before them, bright gold ribbons on their raised spear heads denoted the presence of somebody important. Somebody to regard with respect, and the effect was just what Vendegal had hoped. The garrison commander rode far to the rear and judged the overall reaction of the crowd from a higher than normal vantage point.
Myra had her chin up and a triumphant smile plastered on her lovely face, holding hands with her naturally intimidating husband. She could see instant envy in some of the wealthiest women down to the laundry ladies who worked for rich households. Take that, she thought to all of them, knowing how much they all snickered behind her back for years. I found somebody taller than me no matter what you thought! And he's handsome too!
They made a turn and headed for a large building that had wide open double doors. It was easy to see many tables inside and a lot of people being served food, and the sign with flowing meaningless script to Ryan's eyes must have been the name of the establishment.
The guards parted, two to a side and spun smartly on their heels and posted themselves to each side of the open doors. As they stepped up and into the building, all sounds of activity stopped. Heads turned and a short thin man in light red and blue fancy robes bustled forward, a smile on his elderly face. He had been one of the few prepared ahead of time for who was coming and what he would look like. He made the announcement loud enough so all could hear in the large dining area with an orator's professional twang. “Lord Za'Ryan of House Ven'Krue and his wife, Lady Myra of House Ven'Krue! Welcome to The Morning Dew!”
Many heads bowed in acknowledgment and the talking resumed, and the greeter told them in a more normal tone, “Please, this way. You're expected.” He led them to a side room packed with a dozen armed soldiers, sitting and drinking at their tables. Their helmets were dangling off the chair posts. Heads snapped up, pairs of yellow gold, some lavender but mostly dark eyes gave them a once over. There were three empty chairs at the head of the longest table and they were directed to the two places opposite of the head chair.
None of their plates had food on them, just a few bowls of nuts for casual munching before the main breakfast was served. As Ryan s
at himself down, he noticed several of them giving their appraisal of his size and strength. Two of the officers farther down the table frowned, but he figured it out as they slid a handful of silver coins to their mates. Obviously they had bet that his size had been exaggerated and found themselves on the losing end.
Myra was the only woman at the table and the soldiers next to her dipped their heads low in respect when she glanced their way. Her smile was still in place, excited to be included in the silent appraisals the men were making. She had to be one hell of a woman to tame a man that powerful, their expressions told her, and she soaked it up with high enjoyment.
One of the closer officers leaned forward and caught Ryan's eye, a fellow with dark blue hair that was tightly cropped just below his pointed ears. “I heard you broke a spear in two with your bare hands,” he said politely, his gravel like tenor the result of constantly shouting orders while on duty. “Is this fiction, Lord Za'Ryan?”
“It's not fiction,” he replied kindly, his deep baritone stopping all minor chatter up and down the long table. This was the first time they've heard a tone that low from a man's mouth. “I really didn't want to hurt anyone, and I thought it was better the spear broke rather than the fellow who tried in vain to stab me with it.”
The silence was so long, Ryan thought for a moment that he said something wrong, but then silver coins traded again among all the soldiers. More bets won and lost, all based on rumors they had heard. The winners raised their drinks to him with smiles, the losers nodded his way, smiled less enthusiastic but still wide on their lips.
The officer sitting next to Myra offered his hand for a friendly shake, and Ryan shook it as the thin fellow introduced himself. “I'm Officer Legardo of House Tan'Sheva. It's nice to know you have honor, good sir, and that is respected among us here.” All within earshot nodded eagerly.
Passion of the Different Page 6