Men In Chains

by Virginia Reede

  Bloduewedd nodded, still mulling over the new facts. “And how many women are on the estate now?”

  “Seven,” said Grenda. “Eight if ye count Delinda.”

  “And they are, according to my daughter, all breeding.” Bloduewedd scowled. “I suppose Delinda herself is using that man she paid the ridiculous sum of money for.” This particularly stung, as Bloduewedd had wanted to buy him for exactly that purpose. “Did you ask Beteria if she was breeding as well?”

  “She says no,” said Grenda. “She said she would not do it without yer permission.”

  Bloduewedd snorted. As a young woman she had never asked anyone for permission to do anything. Beteria’s constant questions and whining annoyed her. How could she have given birth to anyone so weak-minded? Still, it was just as well she not get herself pregnant without Bloduewedd choosing the sire for her own granddaughter.

  “It will not be easy to appease the Reliants,” she said, mostly to herself, “if two or three of Delinda’s women turn up pregnant at the same time.” The Reliants were constantly pestering her to help them use their power to make their slaves’ shafts hard so they could breed. She put them off, telling them she did not have the time, but the real reason was she was finding it more and more difficult to counteract the effects of the dark rahnta. She did not know if it was because it had become more powerful—which it had—or because the men had been under its influence for too long.

  She had the best luck with slaves recently imported from other sectors, but even they were getting difficult to arouse sufficiently to complete the act. She was not blind to the problem—fewer and fewer children could be seen on the village streets or in the slave quarters. If Delinda had found a way to make men potent, it did not bode well for Bloduewedd’s credibility.

  This line of thinking brought her up sharply. Did Delinda aspire to take her mother’s place as Rahntadrine? If so, some of what she was doing made a pathetic kind of sense. A few babies might start some grumbling among the Reliants, but no matter how much they wanted to have daughters of their own, none of them would give up the dark rahnta to get one. Once experienced, the rahnta was like a drug—one that made the user unable to live without it. It was Bloduewedd who gave them the rahnta, and it was she who could take it away from them. A baby—or a dozen babies—would not change that.

  Bloduewedd had used the Reliants’ fear of losing the rahnta once before, to depose Morenna. She had spread a rumor Morenna wanted to destroy the Eye. She had already made sure the “secret” of the boy-child that Morenna had plotted to keep became generally known. After that, it was easy to convince the Reliants that Morenna was distraught over the loss of her son and blamed the system of slavery for her pain.

  These women, who had lived all their lives in the shadow of those who had a power they could only dream about, were terrified they would have to give up their new-found rahnta, and the prestige and prosperity it was already starting to bring them. They were more than willing to get rid of Morenna and replace her with Bloduewedd in order to save the Eye and their own interests.

  Now there were many more Reliants, and the dark rahnta was many times stronger. Their fear of losing it could be capitalized on to an equally increased degree. With the beginnings of a plan forming, Bloduewedd turned to Grenda.

  “Make sure everyone hears about the education of the slaves,” she said. “Spread it around at the inn and in the barracks. I do not know exactly why Delinda is doing it—yet—but it is something new, and most people are disturbed by anything they do not understand.” She paused, considering. “Do not mention the breeding. I do not want a bunch of frustrated women running out there and asking if they can borrow a slave for an hour or two.”

  She wondered if Grenda had the subtlety to handle the next item on her list. She decided she could be trusted to at least begin sowing the seeds of doubt, if clearly instructed. “There is one more thing I want you to make sure comes to the ears of the Reliants, but I want you to be careful about it.” Grenda nodded, listening earnestly. “I want you to hint, but not come right out and say,” Grenda nodded her understanding, “that Delinda may have reason to dislike anyone who uses the dark rahnta. And she could use her power to strengthen the Eye, but has refused to do so.” This last part was not strictly true—Bloduewedd had never asked Delinda—but she felt confident she could safely assume that, if asked, she would not have agreed.

  I should have taken care of this years ago, she thought to herself as she dismissed Grenda. Unaccustomed to self-doubt, Bloduewedd was in a sour mood as she contemplated her options. I was too softhearted with Morenna. I won’t make the same mistake again.

  Chapter Twelve

  “This is ridiculous!” Delinda resisted the urge to throw her quill across the room and put it down on the desk instead. Her eyes burned and her lower back ached.

  “Is something wrong?” Letta poked her head in the office door. “Is there something I can get you?”

  “No, Letta. I mean yes, something is wrong, and no, I don’t need anything right now.” She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. “It is just this place is growing so fast I am spending all my time drawing up lists, listening to suggestions and complaints, deciding on purchases and scheduling trips to town, and whatever else comes up in the course of the day. I never get to work on planning or strategy and I just want to sleep.”

  “I could help with some of it,” offered Letta, sitting in the chair opposite the big desk.

  “No, you already do too much,” said Delinda. “Without you keeping track of the business of feeding and clothing all these people, I would surely lose my mind.”

  “How about Jeryl?” asked Letta.

  “Jeryl?” echoed Delinda. He was the obvious choice, of course. He had leadership experience, wrote at least as well as she and was probably better at accounts. So why was she reluctant to ask him?

  “I would hate to take him away from his students,” she started, but Letta shook her head.

  “He is done with his classes before dinner,” she replied. “And he says Duwall is ready to start taking over the beginners’ classes.”

  “But in the evening he usually sits with the students and answers questions.”

  “And he would give it up in a second if you asked for his help,” replied Letta.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Delinda.

  “Delinda, you’re his employer,” said Letta. “If you need him to help you with running this place, then that’s what he should be doing.”

  This was so reasonable Delinda was surprised it had not occurred to her. The truth was, she owned the estate. She had every right to make decisions and give orders. Just because she did not consider Jeryl her slave did not mean she could not assign him work as needed.

  The problem was, not only did Jeryl not consider himself a slave, he did not even behave like an employee. More like a long-term houseguest who was willing to help out wherever he saw the need. He had volunteered to teach math and reading, and since this was one of her priorities, she had agreed.

  Now that she thought about it, she could not think of a single task she had assigned to Jeryl—he had been making his own decisions all along. As if he was her equal. Which, of course, he was.

  Delinda felt a twinge of annoyance at this thought. Since her student days, Delinda had always claimed to believe men should be treated as equals. She had thought she was being completely honest when she made this statement, but now she had to admit that while she was comfortable with the theory, the reality had created difficulties she had not imagined.

  She looked up and realized Letta was still waiting for an answer.

  “You’re right, of course. I’ll go out now and ask him.” Delinda realized what she had just said. She interrupted Letta, who had stood and started for the door. “On second thought, would you please go tell him I need to see him right away?”

  Letta raised her eyebrows, but nodded her assent.

  Do I really believe he is my equal? Delinda felt th
e dawning realization that her annoyance at his seeming indifference to their sexual liaison was at least partially because, on some level, she had felt entitled to breed with him. Was she not a woman of power? A landowner of impressive lineage? How dare he behave as if she were…what? Less than his equal? She remembered the list of names and titles he had recited in his introduction. He was probably accustomed to women who flattered and fawned over him.

  She picked up her quill and held her chin a little higher as she waited for the sound of footsteps at her door.

  * * * * *

  Jeryl had been surprised when Letta interrupted his discussion with some students with the news that Delinda “required” his presence in the library. There had been something on Letta’s face that hinted at amusement, but she had turned and joined another group before he could question her.

  As he entered the room, he found her unsmiling and seated at her desk. Puzzled, he smiled to see if she would respond in kind. She did not.

  “Letta said you wanted to see me.” He sprawled in the chair opposite the desk.

  “Yes.” Delinda’s voice was brisk but she did not appear to be angry. In fact, she looked tired but beautiful. “I have been thinking about how your talents can be best used, and I have decided you will need to cut back on your teaching and help elsewhere.”

  Jeryl frowned. On several recent occasions, Delinda had expressed delight in the work he was doing. The actual reading and figuring was inconsequential. The self-esteem the men gained by discovering they could learn was the real benefit.

  “I do not understand,” he said. “The classes are important for the men. I thought we agreed.”

  “We do. I am not suggesting you stop them entirely, just that you devote less time to them. Have Duwall start teaching some of them.”

  Jeryl watched Delinda’s imperious expression. What is going on here? He felt a mixture of confusion and amusement. Delinda was flexing her proverbial muscles—something she seldom felt the need to do. It was attractive, if unexpected.

  “I see. Tell me, Delinda, what do you believe would be a better use of my…talents?” Jeryl could not resist a teasing smile, although he usually avoided any reference to their lovemaking. A startled flash from her golden eyes told him the double entendre had not been missed. She paused in apparent confusion, then stood up and gestured to the piles of paper on her desk and worktable.

  “Here. With this. I am spending so much time on the day-to-day administration of the estate that I am losing sight of my real purpose for being here.” She sighed, and the imperious tone vanished as she sank back into her chair. “My plan is the important thing, and yet I am spending all my time reviewing livestock bills and approving construction plans. I had no idea that running the estate would be such an enormous job.”

  “Yes, that is why my father and brothers always employed managers,” said Jeryl. “So they could spend their time doing what they thought was important. Which was hunting, going to parties and pretending to be interested in local politics.” He shuddered at the memory. At least a revolution was not boring. “All right, Delinda, where do we start?”

  “Start?” she asked, seemingly surprised at his quick agreement.

  “Yes, start. Since I am equally able to help you with both the administration and the plan, it probably makes the best sense for us to work together on both. Like partners.”

  “Partners?” Delinda’s startled voice made Jeryl realize what he had just proposed.

  You cannot be proposing a partnership if you are going to leave as soon as the ship’s repairs are complete, said an all-too-familiar inner voice, but this time Jeryl ignored it. Any progress that they made before the ship sailed would be to Delinda’s benefit, he reasoned, and working with her to streamline the running of the estate and further her plan would be…what?

  “Yes, partners. It makes the best sense—I know about running farms and leading men, you own the place and have spent years working on your plan. It will be fun.”

  “Fun?”

  It seemed that Delinda’s powers of speech had deserted her, other than to repeat the last word of Jeryl’s sentences. Jeryl chuckled inwardly. Whatever she had in mind when she’d summoned him, he was fairly sure that a partnership was not her intent. Sensing his advantage, he stood and walked around the desk to stand next to her, facing the stacks of paperwork.

  “Shall we start now? Tell me about this.” He pointed to the first page and began to read over her shoulder.

  * * * * *

  “But we need more men if we are going to get the building done before it’s time to harvest,” argued Delinda. The late afternoon and evening work sessions with Jeryl had been going on for only a week. They had fallen into a comfortable pattern of concluding the daily business, then debating strategy related to the plan, and Delinda could not imagine how she had ever thought to do this alone.

  “Yes, more able bodies to help with construction would be welcome,” said Jeryl. “But we really need to start working on the ratio of women to men. The women we have are hopping from bed to bed like crickets.”

  “And why is that a problem?” asked Delinda, baiting him. She knew he still struggled with the idea that women could breed with whomever they liked, and she rather enjoyed making him uncomfortable. “Are you worried that without enough women to go around, the men are not getting enough practice?” She was gratified to see him redden.

  “No, no, not at all. It is just that if the numbers were more even, I think we would have more couples, like Letta and Ostyn.”

  “And Lora and Duwall.” Delinda thought about this. Would the formation of more couples benefit the plan? Or was Jeryl just prejudiced in favor of “marriage” as it was practiced in his homeland. “Explain to me why you think it would be better if we had more couples.” Delinda knew she was putting Jeryl on the spot, but she really wanted to know.

  “Well…I think that as long as the women have a lot of liaisons with different men, they can still think of them as less important than themselves. If they settle down with one man, that indicates they hold him in enough regard to begin thinking of him as an equal. The men become their partners rather than their playthings.”

  Like us. The thought came to Delinda unbidden. Only we are not a couple. Delinda wondered if Jeryl was as aware of the irony of scheming to draw men and women into intimate relationships while their own partnership remained a business arrangement.

  “I had not really thought about it that way,” she replied, almost managing to keep the tinge of wistfulness out of her tone. “I had only thought about giving the women a chance to get pregnant. It seems that children are only one of the benefits of forming relationships with the opposite sex.”

  To Delinda’s surprise, this statement seemed to startle Jeryl into silence. He looked at her in a way that he had not in many weeks.

  They were seated on the one sofa that Delinda had managed to keep in the library when all other large furniture had been moved to the great hall, which now served as a common room for the ever-expanding household. The low table in front of them was scattered with notes and drawings, and Jeryl had managed to talk Letta out of a bottle of brandy, which sat next to two nearly empty glasses.

  In the midsummer heat, the fireplace lay dark but wall sconces and lamps lit their work. Delinda watched Jeryl, who seemed to be lost in thought. In this light his sea-green eyes seemed darker and the candlelight glinted on his golden hair. She noticed where it curled behind his ear and felt a sudden, fierce urge to press her lips against the spot. Instead, she tentatively moved her hand from where it lay against the back of the sofa to lightly stroke the hair at the back of Jeryl’s neck.

  Jeryl looked up but did not start, and his gaze met Delinda’s. He reached for her hand and slowly brought it to his mouth, where he turned it over and kissed the pulse at her wrist. She suppressed a moan, surprised at the unexpected gesture and the arousal it caused. As he continued to kiss her wrist, her palm and her fingers, she brought her other han
d up to the place where his open shirt revealed his tanned chest. Softly, she caressed its hardness and felt a shudder run through Jeryl.

  He pulled her closer, lowering his lips to the skin just above the top of her breast. She pulled her hand away from his chest to loosen her own blouse, allowing more of her breasts to spill free as his lips moved lower to taste and tease the firm flesh. As his fingers brushed her nipples, she reached forward and touched the hard ridge of flesh pressing against his trousers. He moaned, and she squeezed him through the fabric as she felt a rush of warmth in her own groin. Suddenly the rahnta hovered near the surface, begging her to call it. She resisted, and began to pull at the laces that secured his trousers.

  One of Jeryl’s hands slid to the fastening of Delinda’s own trousers, and soon his fingers moved to find the point of flesh that quivered and ached for his touch. As he sought the center of her pleasure, his mouth closed on hers and she sucked greedily on his questing tongue. His fingers reached their goal just as she freed his member and held it fully in her grasp, and before she knew it was happening, the suppressed rahnta burst through her control and flashed outward like a wave. She would have screamed had his mouth not covered hers, and she felt the power burst into him from her lips and her fingers. An enormous, shuddering orgasm shook her to her core, taking her breath. Her eyes shot wide and she saw his do the same. He pulled back, but not until his seed exploded forth in a burst of warmth in her hand.

  They both sat back, panting and staring at one another wide-eyed. Jeryl was the first to recover his powers of speech. “I asked you,” he said without rancor, “not to use the rahnta on me.”

  Delinda shook her head. “I did not mean to. It just…the moment you touched me…there, it just flew out before I could stop it.” Her breath was still ragged and so, she noticed, was Jeryl’s.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall and they realized simultaneously that the door was, as usual, unlocked. They both sprang to their feet and turned away from the door, Jeryl refastening his trousers and Delinda sinking to her knees behind the sofa as if she had dropped something. A moment later, Ostyn stepped into the room.