“How is the one they call ‘Dorin’ doing,” asked Korin.
“Did Letta tell you about that?” Delinda asked, laughing. The man’s real name was Harl, but when Duwall had learned of the outrageous number of dorins that had been paid as the result of Bloduewedd’s attempt to purchase him, he had promptly dubbed him with the nickname. No one seemed to remember the name Harl now. “Look for yourself,” said Delinda, pointing to a distant field.
Dorin stood, gesturing to two young women who, even from a distance, could be seen from their posture to be listening attentively and nodding with great earnestness. These two sisters, twins whose mother had died before passing the rahnta, had approached Delinda at the last auction and asked for work. Delinda had hired them on the spot, and Dorin was showing them the proper way to plant some seed or another. It had been difficult to persuade him the girls would be willing to accept instruction from a male, but they had assured him they would not be uncomfortable in the least with this arrangement. From the way they had gazed at Dorin yesterday morning, Delinda had little doubt they would be very good students indeed.
“You have not seen the best yet,” said Delinda mysteriously, and led Korin back down the stairs to the library, where the door was closed. Indicating they must be quiet, Delinda eased the door open a crack and invited Korin to look in. Three men, Duwall among them, were seated at a table. All were frowning and concentrating on something before them. Korin listened as Jeryl patiently explained a simple mathematical problem. While Korin watched, Duwall’s brow cleared and he voiced an answer. Jeryl clapped him on the back and congratulated him. Korin shut the door silently, and she and Delinda tiptoed to the kitchen.
“He is helping you to teach them, then, as you had hoped,” said Korin, stopping to pat Letta on the arm affectionately. “How many of the men are learning?”
“All of them,” said Delinda. “Except for Ferth, who says he is too old. Since everyone is so busy with their other tasks, he teaches them two or three at a time, on a rotating schedule. They are working on reading as well,” she added, “although I think Duwall picked up a bit of reading somewhere before he came here.”
Letta served tea and sat down to join them for a moment. She now had two men helping her in the kitchen, and though she still planned the menus and supervised every dish, she did not seem quite so harried. She had put on weight, Delinda noticed, which was surprising considering the amount of time she spent going up and down the stairs to supervise her many projects. While Letta and Korin gossiped, Delinda’s mind wandered back to the library and Jeryl.
With his endless rotation of students, she never saw him alone. The cozy sitting area they had set up in the great hall first grew and then split off into multiple groups, and she no longer found herself next to him at the end of the day. His students, having lived lives devoid of ideas, always called him away to another group where he was deluged with questions about life across the sea, where men were powerful and free. He never showed signs of impatience or refused to answer any question, and the other men regarded him with awe. It was exactly as she had envisioned when she first formulated the idea that an outlander would be extremely valuable to her plan.
So, why was it making her so cross?
She sighed, sipping tea and pushing away the plate of biscuits one of Letta’s assistants had brought to the table for inspection. Korin and Letta stopped their conversation and looked at her curiously. “Is there something bothering you, Delinda?” asked Letta. “Do not you like the biscuits?”
“They are delicious,” said Delinda, to the relief of the man who had baked them, who had frozen in terror at Letta’s question. “I’m just not feeling terribly well today.”
“You have been working too hard,” said Letta sympathetically. “You should take a nice bath and rest for a while.”
“You are the one who works too hard,” said Delinda. “But a bath sounds lovely. Maybe I will use the bathhouse now while everyone is busy and I can have it to myself.”
“The new one in the annex will be done this week,” said Letta. The term, “slave quarters”, had been forbidden by Delinda, and they had taken to referring to the enormous building by a new name. “And the mason says as soon as we get some stone delivered from the quarry, he will start on the third one you want in the other wing. We’ve all been bathing in shifts,” she said to Korin in explanation.
As Delinda went to her room to retrieve her robe, she passed Ostyn, who was carrying an enormous bundle of fresh flowers.
“Hello, Delinda,” he said, barely looking at her.
She smiled, thinking of the timid man she had purchased a mere six weeks earlier, afraid to address her as anything but Ra. It was hard to believe this was the same man, although he was now the subject of a different kind of slavery. It was clear that Letta owned him, body and soul. He no longer made pretense of living in the men’s wing, and his old room had been relinquished to a new arrival. When Letta, blushing, had informed Delinda that they preferred to share a room, Delinda had assented with alacrity.
As she had hoped, the bathhouse was deserted. She undressed and, with a sigh, sank into the hot water in the largest tub. She closed her eyes and willed her tense muscles to relax. Gradually, the hot water began to do its magic. She realized she was tired, so very tired. In the past week she had gone from not being able to sleep at all to wanting to sleep endlessly, feeling drowsy whenever she tried to sit down and go over her notes or ledgers.
As the tension left her body, she let her head fall back against the support and lazily remembered the last time she had shared this tub with Jeryl. She willed her eyes back open, but the warm water and her sudden overwhelming sleepiness pulled her seductively toward sleep. She began to drift—and to dream.
She and Jeryl were floating in water, not in a tub but in the open ocean under the moon. I never knew the ocean was so warm. She and Jeryl drifted easily. She was in his arms and her legs were wrapped around him, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her from below as they rose and fell on the current. Gradually he began to slip inside her, up and down in rhythm with the waves.
Suddenly a great wave lifted them and he was plunged deeply—too deeply—inside her. She felt a huge rush of the rahnta explode from her belly and shoot out in all directions—into him, into the water, into the air above him…
As Delinda screamed in her dream and rose out of the water on a wave of pure, white rahnta, she awoke to find herself on her feet and pushing herself out of the water in the tub. Power tingled around her in the air, and she realized at least part of the dream had been real. Somehow, without willing it, she had released a great burst of power. Neither her mother nor Korin had ever spoken of the power coming upon them unbidden, and she wondered if she had somehow called it in her sleep.
No longer drowsy, she finished her bathing and dressed.
* * * * *
Jeryl rode the horse down the now-familiar path along the river, back from the hidden cove where the Sheeling sat cradled in a framework of rough-hewn logs. This was the third time he had returned since that first night, and the repairs were progressing at an excruciatingly slow rate. Jeryl was fearful the process would take too long and someone would stumble upon his crew and have them all in the slave sheds before he knew it.
Yet even though he was worried his men would be found out and his escape thwarted, he had also felt a small sense of relief that it would still be several weeks before the Sheeling was ready to depart. Not that I’m not eager to go, he reasoned. He could not wait to be at sea again. It was just…
Just what? he asked himself crossly. That he was needed to teach the classes? Soon Duwall would be able to start teaching some of the newest students. That Delinda needs me to help with planning? She had planned for years without him.
He scowled at the thought of Delinda. He had almost fallen into the bath with her today, had she only known it. He had taken to bathing in the middle of the day, between his classes. As Delinda usually bathed
in the mornings, this was the best time to avoid her and have a little time to himself. Not expecting to find anyone, he had walked into the bathhouse and found her sitting in the exact same spot where she had been when she first started talking about back washing only weeks before.
She had been asleep, and smiling. She moved in her sleep, sending the water lapping around the edges of her breasts. He had wondered if they were even fuller than before or if it was some trick of the light and water. He had stood like a statue and stared at her, unable to take himself away as he knew he should. Not like a statue, he corrected. One part of his body had most assuredly not been still.
Then something had changed. There was a fierce tingling in the air, and he had recognized the feel of her rahnta as it surged through the room, moving as if it was seeking him. He had jumped back and slipped out the door. He heard a gasp and a splashing, and wondered if his sudden movement had awakened her, but she said nothing about it at dinner, not that they’d had the opportunity to speak privately.
As the horse turned onto the beach and started plodding toward home, he thought about how beautiful she had looked in sleep. Lately she always looked tired and a little worried, but her face had been relaxed and peaceful. And all that white skin! Even now he grew hard as he remembered. He shook his head.
“You cannot,” he reminded himself. “She is a lady and you cannot pretend you are not leaving. It would not be right.” His mind was made up, but his body was not in agreement. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle and wished the ride home was over.
* * * * *
Beteria shivered, although the night air was mild. She was in the woods behind the stable, and the conversation in which she was engaged had grown troublesome.
“What do ye mean, she’s teaching them?” Grenda growled.
“Delinda is not teaching them, Jeryl is,” repeated Beteria for the third time. “He’s teaching them to read and write and to do numbers.”
“What do they want to learn that for?” said Grenda. “’Twill not do them any good.”
Beteria knew Grenda could not read and write, although she could add money in her head faster than any scholar. “They started off doing it because Delinda asked them to and now they seem to like it.” She thought of Duwall helping a new man trace numbers in the dirt, and smiled.
“What are ye smiling about?” asked Grenda. Beteria stuttered for an answer, but Grenda was not really worried about the smile. “Are ye sure she isn’t teaching them to take up arms or to fight?”
“No, nothing like that,” said Beteria. “She gives little talks at night, that’s all.”
“Talks about what?” asked Grenda.
“Oh, not much really,” said Beteria. She did not know why she was reluctant to tell Grenda about Delinda’s lectures on dignity and equality—it was the reason she had come to the estate in the first place, she reminded herself. Grenda might not grasp the implications of encouraging men to have self-confidence and to work hand in hand with women instead of in subservient roles, but her mother would understand immediately. Grenda was, if nothing else, a reliable messenger.
“I told yer mother ye wouldn’t find out anything. She should have let me handle it,” sneered Grenda. “Ye’re probably lying about with one of those books of yers and not watching anything.”
“I certainly have no time to read with all the work I have taken on,” flared Beteria. “And I am sure Mother will be interested to know that five women besides Letta and myself now work there, and they are all breeding every night.” This was one piece of information she had definitely meant to keep to herself, but Grenda had always been able to make her say and do things she regretted later.
Grenda’s eyes narrowed at this news and her face took on a sly look, making it even uglier than usual. “And does that mean ye’re breedin’ as well?” she asked, her voice full of derision.
“N-no,” said Beteria. “I did not think Mother would want me to without her approval.” This was not her reason, but it seemed a safe answer.
“And ye would not have the nerve to do anything without askin’ yer mother, would ye?” She chuckled. “Well, ye better get back before they notice ye’re gone. Bloduewedd will be waiting to see me.”
“Wait!” said Beteria, as Grenda turned to go. “Tell Mother…tell her I miss her and I am doing my best for her.” Grenda snorted, and Beteria doubted the message would be delivered. In any case, she was not sure it was true. She turned and headed back through the wood toward the estate.
“Hello, Kitten,” said a soft voice. Beteria gasped as Duwall stepped out of the shadows to block her path.
“Duwall!” Beteria could not breathe. “What…how much did you hear?”
“Enough to know Grenda was not stopping by to deliver your mother’s best wishes,” said Duwall. He stopped, waiting.
Beteria sighed. “I told you my mother did not know where I was. That was a lie. My mother sent me here.”
“To spy on Delinda.”
“Yes.” Beteria felt tears well up in her eyes. “But now I wish…I wish…” She broke down and began to sob. Duwall put a hand on her shoulder but made no other move to comfort her. Gradually, she regained control of herself.
“Oh Duwall, I wish my story was true! I wish I had left my home and was never going back and I could stay here forever with Delinda and Letta and you.” She sobbed again, but continued. “Grenda comes every week and I try to leave out anything really important, but I have to tell her something so she will go away and leave me alone for another week. I did not mean to tell her about all the breeding, but she made me so mad.” To her relief, Duwall chuckled. This time, he did put his arm around her.
“Well, if you wanted to make her angry right back, talking about breeding is the right way to do it.” He grinned. “She has a lot of trouble with that. One look at that face will cause the hardest shaft to shrivel, no matter what herbs its owner may have drunk.”
Beteria was still crying, but smiled through her tears at his joke. Maybe, just maybe, he did not intend to turn her in. His next words, however, dashed her hopes.
“You will have to go to Delinda and tell her everything,” he said. “She will know what to do.”
“No!” cried Beteria, panicked. “She would make me leave, I know she would. She hates my mother, I can tell by the way she talks about her. Please do not tell her, Duwall, please!” She threw her arms around him and sobbed against his chest. Through hiccups, she continued. “I will not tell Grenda anything else, I promise. If I do not show up to meet her, there is nothing she can do about it. She cannot come looking for me without giving herself away.” She lifted her face to look at him. “Please do not make me leave you. When Mother made you go away, I thought I would die. Now that we are finally together again…”
Duwall looked down at her tearstained face and his heart lurched. He had loved her all his life, it seemed, and he had never been able to bear seeing her sad. Since she had come to live at the estate, she had changed. She no longer looked terrified all the time, and she smiled and laughed as she had not since she was a child. Although he could still see the little girl behind the face, she was very much a woman now, and his feelings for her had long been far from brotherly. Her eyes looked like wet violets and her lips trembled. Before he could think about what he was doing, he was kissing her.
Beteria had not known such joy could exist. All her life she had been afraid. She was the daughter of the most powerful woman in the sector, but had less freedom than even the slaves. Nothing she ever did pleased her mother, and the horrible women that surrounded Bloduewedd and were always competing for her favor had been happy to perpetuate that pattern. Duwall was the only one who had ever made her feel special and smart and, yes, pretty. Now he was making her feel better than she had ever felt.
She closed her eyes and gave herself over entirely to the kiss, feeling her body shiver with sensations she had only a vague notion about. When his hand reached down to stroke her breast, she gasped and h
is tongue slid between her parted teeth. He kissed her deeply, devouring her, then moved his mouth to her face and kissed away the tears that still lingered there. “Duwall,” she breathed. “Oh, my Duwall!”
Duwall lifted his head and looked at her, her eyes closed and her face glowing. Her lips, red and engorged from his kisses, were slightly parted. He realized she was almost limp in his arms, and that if he released her she would fall to the ground. The violet eyes opened.
“Please, do not stop,” she whispered, looking at him with such longing it took his breath.
“Do you understand what you are asking?” he asked softly. “For I have wanted you far too long, and if I go any further I may not be able to stop.”
“Then do not stop,” she said, and he lowered her to the soft ground.
* * * * *
“What kind of talks?” Bloduewedd asked Grenda sharply. Grenda shrugged.
“Beteria said they weren’t about nothing,” she said sullenly. When she had come back to find her Ra-drine still awake, she had smugly passed on the information Beteria had given her, confident Bloduewedd would be disappointed with the inconsequential news. To her surprise, the Rahntadrine had listened keenly and seemed greatly disturbed by what she heard.
“I wonder…” said Bloduewedd, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Teaching them to read and write, but not to fight.” She seemed to mull over this information. “Could she be doing it in secret, so Beteria does not know about it?”
“No, me Ra.” replied Grenda grudgingly. She would have liked to report that Beteria was likely to be unaware of any lessons in swordsmanship, but the consequences of telling Bloduewedd anything that she would later find out to be false were too severe to risk. “She says they all do everything together, slaves and women alike, and even take their meals together. There ain’t no time for anyone to sneak off alone and not be missed.”
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