by Jean Winter
Lyra swallowed hard. J'Kor let her go with a small bow. “Thank you for the dance, Lyra.”
Her knee bent in return, but she had a hard time meeting his eye.
“Oy! Lord J!” one of the band members hailed from the stage that was actually little more than a raised platform. It was the string bass player.
Lord J?
“Frett needs a break to go drain his pipe. You want to take over his strings fer a minute?”
Frett, slim and pale with long hair—the strands of which he allowed to fall into his face—held his six-string out in a tantalizing manner.
“Oh, as tempting as that sounds, Gell,” J'Kor shook his head, smiling, “I think we were about to head home. It has been a long day.”
Lyra looked at him. “You play?” Not only was she sincerely curious, but the thought of procrastinating her inevitable physical violation—just a little longer—could not be passed up.
Gell grinned, showing tall, crowded teeth. “Come on, friend. Just one riff. Do no' miss the chance to impress yer new lady, here.”
“You go play,” Lyra ordered. “I'll listen, and make sure our mutual acquaintance over there doesn't pass out on the floor.” She nodded toward Mejhisk who, looking rather rosy cheeked and slap happy, was conversationally addressing his third drink.
“All right,” J'Kor acquiesced. “Just one song, and then I am more than ready to take you home.” Cupping her face in his hands, he gave a warm kiss to her forehead.
The tingling heat from those lips lingered long after he turned to hop on the stage and Lyra hugged herself against a chill that swept through her as she went back to her seat. There, the table's knot-ridden surface stared up at her.
“Okay, girl,” her inner coach said, “remember that, at least, this man seems to be genuinely decent, if morally misguided, and essentially saved your life today. You are strong and resilient. God is in control. Be faithful enough to accept His will—even if that means sexual servitude for a time.” She sucked in a tremulous breath. “Father has a miracle for you. It's coming. You will be able to get back home. You will be protected.”
“My congratulations to you, lovely Lyra.” Mejhisk lifted his glass to her, beaming in satisfaction. “Somehow, in just a matter o' hours, you have accomplished a miracle.” He nodded ceremoniously and took another drink.
Had she missed something? “What miracle?”
“Well, I have no' seen Kade smile this much in a day in years.” He thought a second and seemed to decide his statement was absolutely correct. “Aye. Several years.”
“You mean, since his wife died?” Lyra felt a pang of pity for him. She understood.
“No. Even longer than that.”
Perplexed, Lyra turned to the musical combo putting out a fancifully moody piece of work. The beat slow and gritty, J'Kor held his own quite well as he sat in a rickety stage chair acting as supporting backup to the lead melody. He tapped his foot to the rhythm, immersed in the spirit of the music with the others.
“It is even more astounding to see him this way tonight,” Mejhisk added blearily, raising a finger in scholarly lecture, “considerin' he just blew his life savings on you.”
Lyra's innards lurched. She whirled to face Mejhisk—who suddenly seemed fascinated with the slowly swirling froth of his amber colored refreshment. “My lord, please tell me that was just another joke,” she said with deadly gravity. As if she didn't already have enough on her shoulders. Now, guilt had just been added to the pile!
Mejhisk frowned dimly at his mug. “I prob'ly should no' have told you that. Kade would kill me if he knew.” With a roll of his eyes, his head tilted back to down the rest.
From the stage, J'Kor threw her a friendly wink and Lyra gave a little encouraging wave before going back to her desperate scrutiny of the table top. She wanted to bang her head on it.
No … no … no!
The ensemble finished with appreciative claps and calls from the bar's few other occupants, and Lyra joined in with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. J'Kor chatted amicably with the band members for a bit before shoulders were patted in farewell and he returned the instrument to its owner.
“Anytime J Lo',” she heard Frett tell him. “You have a safe trip home now.”
By the time J'Kor made it back to their table, Lyra was composed and was ready to greet him with, “J Lo'?”
“Aye,” he confessed sheepishly with a shake of his head. “They like to use nicknames. Sal and I have messed around with them a time or two.”
“Well, that was really good,” Lyra told him. She meant it.
Mejhisk piped up proudly, “They call me MJ when I get behind that drum set … and I can hold two sticks steadily.” He held up three fingers.
J'Kor laid some notes on the table for Burhnee and Lyra got up to go find her shoes, but she was suddenly swept off her feet—literally, cradled in J'Kor's arms. He was grinning.
“Uh, uh. I banned them from touching you again, remember?”
Lyra laughed nervously, “I can walk barefoot then.”
“No' tonight.”
With hesitation, Lyra wrapped her arms about his neck to help support her weight and Burhnee waved them all off appreciatively, making mention that they bring Lyra with them again. Lyra thanked him generously for the wonderful meal and his chronically red cheeks seemed to turn a shade deeper as he bashfully brushed off the compliment.
At the carriage, J'Kor lifted her in then climbed in beside her. Mejhisk followed with their jackets and Lyra's things, and the taxi began to roll away.
Lyra looked out the window. “How long of a drive will this be?” She wanted to keep her bearings, if possible, of time and direction from the capital city.
“Sal and I live only a matter o' miles from each other, but our homes are rather remotely placed from the city, closer to the coast,” J'Kor told her with some apology. “It will take a couple hours.”
Lyra was grateful for the darkness of the coach's interior; he wouldn't be able to read her frustration. She was pulling even farther from home and everything she held dear.
“Ah, a fine day we just had, eh, brother?” Mejhisk crooned, his head resting heavily on the back of his seat. “And to think, we almost did no' even make it into town!”
Lyra's eyes flashed up. “You didn't?”
“We had a breakdown on the road,” J'Kor explained, leisurely undoing another button of his dress shirt. “There was no way to repair the axle on our own. We thought our day was finished before it even began.”
“So what happened?”
He chuckled, “A miracle, I guess,” and Lyra's heart leaped at the word. “We were only sitting stranded for about twenty minutes before this crazy, drunk mechanic came along with his barge full o' spare parts. He told us he usually did no' travel that way. It was … the oddest coincidence.” J'Kor shook his head in wonder.
“If ever there was a time temptin' me to believe in some kind o' greater power out there, mate, today was it,” Mejhisk managed through sluggish lips to which J'Kor snorted in response.
“I would drink to that, brother.”
It was a few seconds before Lyra could bring herself to venture one more query. “… About what time did this happen?”
“Oh, about one o', I think. Two hours before the auction. Why?”
Lyra's body froze next to her Caldreen'n slave owner. “Just wondering,” she said softly. Internally, the words were different.
HEAVENLY FATHER! You inspired a drunk to make sure this man got to the auction today? How twisted—! This J'Kor is my “MIRACLE”?
She couldn't believe it! She wouldn't believe it. It just had to be a coincidence. True, she would rather be going with him than that Malig'ahnt monster, but her miracle …
It was supposed to be something of heavenly intervention, something of light and purity that helped her get far, far away from here, not the very thing that was leading her to a strange bedroom and groping fingers. Oh God! You must have something else for
me! You must!
Leaning heavily into the corner of the coach wall, Lyra quietly curled her legs up underneath her. She was so tired.
# # #
Upon leaving the shelter of the city infrastructure, the taxi was met with a stiff breeze and Kade and Sal each took a window to shut. Then they lit a small, cell-powered lantern and hung it on a hook. The soft light danced with the shadows as the lantern swayed gently to the taxi's motion over miles of dirt road. Kade let his new khar fall asleep in the corner to the sound of Sal and him deliberating over which disc team was destined to take the national championship this year. She seemed exhausted. He couldn't blame her. From the sound of it, she'd had an unexpectedly eventful day.
Sal's usual opinionated spirit soon began to wane as the effects of the night's unrestrained indulgence took its toll, and he drifted off, too. This suited Kade just fine. It had been difficult to pay attention to his friend. He was terribly distracted by the sight of her—his Lyra—curled up just inches away, practically glowing in the soft light of the lantern as she slumbered. Now he could settle himself comfortably against the seat, let his fingers trail along her gown's hem near her foot, and watch her to his heart's content.
She was beautiful. She was unusual. She was hiding something.
Kade was surprised when he began to nod off as well. Oh well. The day had been more than he'd bargained for, too, and he should probably rest so he could be alert when they got home. Late as it would be, he certainly wasn't planning on going right to sleep. He wanted to take his time—get to know every inch of her. Every curve. He wanted to relish in the warm silkiness of her skin, the play of his fingers searching out her pleasure, and feeling with her each rush of pulse, every breath and gasp.
A change in the threshers' gait woke him some time later. They were slowing. Kade rubbed the side of his face and peeked out the window. They were nearing the Mejhisk estate.
In the moonlight he could make out his watch's face. Nearing twenty-one o'. Only an hour to midnight. Kade nudged Sal with his foot. “Wake up, sunshine.”
“No' now, Maryn,” Sal mumbled in his sleep. “I have to help Mother get her new cat soap dish notarized.” His head rolled off the seat back, taking his upper body with it to drop face first onto the seat bench.
Kade chuckled and kicked him again in the shin, harder this time. “Sallee,” he said, using the pet name Sal's mother had always used. “Your lawyer says the cat is refusing to cooperate. It is making a motion to reschedule for next week.”
Lips pressed against the seat, Sal mumbled, “Well, in that case, my little water nymph … daddy is ready and waiting.” He struggled to sit up and peer around. “Where are my ear muffs?”
Kade grinned. “Wake up. You are home.”
Blinking, Sal finally seemed to come to and he looked Kade over. “Kade, I sure hope that is you, 'cause I do no' want to have to tell Maryn that she needs to start shaving her face.”
“Can you make it to your door by yourself?”
“Aye, aye.” Sal shooed him off like an annoying fly and got his legs under him. He picked up his jacket and cane and managed the step without Sullee's offered arm. Then he straightened himself to something more presentable. “Thank you, brother … for a most ess-ceptional adventure today. I trust you can take the lovely, new Mistress J'Kor—(burp)—from here on your own?”
Lyra was stirring when Kade glanced back. “Most certainly, brother. Thank you for coming with me.”
“I expect a full and glowing report from you … next week, you know,” said Sal, donning his swash tunic in the night chill.
Yeah, not going to happen. “Good moonrise, Sal. Tell Maryn I said hello and have her plan to make more pasties next week. I want her to meet Lyra.”
Sal was already heading up his veranda steps. His arm waved in response. “Sure thing!”
A light turned on and Sal's front door opened. Young 'Na Maryn stepped barefoot onto the threshold to welcome her lord back home. The buxom, auburn-haired beauty was dressed in a long, silky nightgown and when Sal saw her, his arms rose in greeting.
“Maryn, my perfectly pulchritudinous pet!” he crooned with renewed energy. “How I have missed your curves pressed against me today!” Sal took her and whirled her around once while Maryn squealed with delight.
“Sallee-kins! I thought you would never get home!”
He uttered an obnoxiously primitive grunt that made his khar giggle and Sal threw Kade a meaningful wink before taking a kiss for himself. As the carriage began to move off, Kade watched his best friend pick his khar up in his arms—a little unsteadily—to take her inside. He hoped Sal didn't stumble before making it to his bedroom.
“Good moonrise, my lord J'Kor!” Maryn called in her light, high soprano.
Ahhh! Alone at last! Turning, Kade was pleased to see Lyra awake.
“Er, did you have a nice nap?” He couldn't think of anything else to say.
“I guess. Thank you.” She hugged her arms tightly to her body and curled her legs closer. He saw her shiver.
“You are cold.” Kade grabbed his swash tunic and held it out to her. She seemed to deliberate a moment about whether or not to accept it, but finally relented.
“Yes, my lord. I'm afraid that insulation is not one of this gown's selling points. Thank you.” She spread it over herself like a blanket, tucking the top snugly under her chin.
“I am sure you are right.” He smiled, touching a portion of the gown's nearly weightless hem sticking out a little beyond his jacket's length. It shimmered softly. His fingers brushed over her one exposed foot and Kade found it to be ice cold. “Oh, this just will no' do.”
Repositioning himself, Kade pulled her foot out from under his jacket and began to massage it with his much warmer hands. There was a moment of resistance to his touch—a defensive reflex, probably. It was not to be unexpected. It seems she had been conditioned to expect brutality what with her history. Slowly, however, she gave in.
“You are very kind, my lord, but really, this is not necessary. I will warm up soon.” She sounded nervous.
“I insist.” Start small. Tread lightly.
He sensed her begin to relax as he worked at restoring circulation to her calves and delicately arched feet—only, “work” was hardly the right word. A pleasurable smolder in the pit of his stomach had begun to flare, growing with every knead of her leg's smooth, supple skin. What age had the emcee given? Twenty-eight? That was twelve years. He had never had a woman so much his junior before.
Just remember, old man, how—
The taxi suddenly slowed and came to a stop.
Kade looked out the window. They were still a couple miles from home on a bare stretch of road with nothing but fields on one side and forest on the other.
“Fallen tree in the road, my lord!” Sullee called from his seat.
Fallen tree? Great.
With a great sigh, Kade let Lyra's calf go and opened the door to let himself out.
He froze on the step.
# # #
“You will be exiting the coach slowly and wheres we can be seein' yer hands, me lord,” a gruff voice ordered in its roughened regional dialect.
A great chill ran through Lyra. Whatever motivation necessitated an order like that could not be good.
For the last few minutes she had actually been making some headway in coaching herself into relaxation under Lord J'Kor's hand. It seemed God was indeed going to ask everything of her in fulfilling her stewardship before He saw fit to send some means of escape, and she had been making herself ready for the impending inevitable. It would hurt less if she wasn't so tense.
Raising his hands, J'Kor stepped slowly to the ground as ordered. It was after he shifted to the side that Lyra saw the gun. Good God in Heaven, was this a hijack?
Three coarsely dressed men stood together on the side of the road, one pointing a pistol at J'Kor. Lyra cringed into her seat corner. Maybe they hadn't seen her.
Sullee hopped down from his driver
's seat with a fourth accomplice coming down after him, his knife waving the driver over to stand beside J'Kor.
“Look,” J'Kor said, soft and placating, “if you want my money, all I have on me is right here in my wallet.” He nodded toward his waistcoat pocket. “Please take it. I do no' want any trouble.”
The largest of the four hijackers strode forward and roughly extracted the wallet. “This will be a good start,” he growled. He tossed the wallet behind him to his companions then suddenly landed a surly punch into J'Kor's gut. Grunting, J'Kor doubled over in pain. Lyra clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp.
The thickly shouldered ruffian watched him, his lip curling into a gloating sneer. “But we has heard you has a thirty thousand note khar on board. You will be handing her over now.”
What? They were actually here for HER?
But what Lyra heard next made her head spin.
A wheezing chuckle shook J'Kor's bent body. “Well, if that was all you wanted, why did you no' just say so from the beginning?” Slowly he straightened, reaching for the door. “Come on out, Lyra, and introduce yourself …” he paused for a labored breath, “… to the curious gentlemen.”
“My lord?” Lyra squeaked in horror.
J'Kor held out a beckoning hand. What was this? He had given her the impression that he cared more, that he was honorable. She hesitated, eyes wide and frightened.
“Come along, Lyra.” Then J'Kor spoke back to the men, “She comes off as shy at first, but she really is quite something.”
Trembling from head to toe, Lyra loosened her death grip on the seat back and made herself reach for the door frame. She had no other alternative. Trying to run and hide was not an option and she knew she couldn't fight off that many men—not to mention she wasn't bulletproof.
Stepping to the cold ground in her bare feet, J'Kor's body language only expressed simple compliance, but the thieves … they stood nearly agape at how easy he was making this for them.
He had her face the men so he could stand behind her and tip up her chin for better presentation. Each one: the large, thick shouldered one; the shortest and stockiest one with the gun; the youngest, who seemed to be trying to grow some scruff on his chin; and the knife wielder whose long wild hair and blistering odor bespoke infrequent attention to hygiene, all raked her over with hungry expressions. Lyra's heart was hurtling itself against her chest.