Khari'na Made (Muse Book 1)

by Jean Winter

He gave a little chuckle. “Most days it seems, rather, to own me, but I took over the responsibility for its management some years ago and, aye, it is essentially mine to use as I please.”

  “So, you are an honest to goodness rancher, then?” she said, surprised.

  He laughed at the quaint way she phrased it. But now came the hard part.

  Might as well tell her now.

  “When I was eleven, Father began to make more money in other investments unrelated to farming and we moved into the city. This place quickly became a neglected hobby. When he died, my mother wanted to sell it. We argued over it for months. She and I had been having different ideas, anyway, about what profession I should choose and it came to a head when I decided that I would rather move back here and reestablish the breeding strain than do anything else.” He rubbed ruefully at his beard. “Mother was bent on having her only son become a lawyer, you see.”

  At this, Lyra grinned. A silent laugh. Ah, another genuine smile. Good.

  Kade continued, “She did allow the move, but thought she would shake me up a bit by cutting me off from everything else. It was her belief that I would only last a few months before crawling back home repentant and wiser.”

  “But you didn't,” she guessed.

  Kade laughed. “It was a very rough first few years, I assure you. I think I only survived at first out o' spite. There was no money for investment in any o' the hundreds o' fix-up jobs that needed doing and I was a one-man show.” The carriage slowed to a stop in front of his house and he heard Ahskr barking his warning from the front porch, trying to sound ferocious in all his thirty-eight pounds of athletic, furry, canine might. Kade hurried along to finish up. “Eventually, I started to turn things around and grew to appreciate the independence one acquires from making his own money. By the time Mother decided she could forgive me, I was content to be a self-made man and I have no' dipped into any o' the collective family fortune since.”

  Distracted by the dog, Lyra had returned to peering out the window, but he nudged her chin to turn her face back to his.

  “Lyra, I am telling you this so you will understand my … unusual circumstances.” He paused for a breath. “I make good money now, but I work hard every day. I do without servants and work hands for most o' the year to be more frugal. I am no' what you would call normal.”

  He didn't mean to sound like he was asking for approval. Those beautiful eyes of hers gazed oddly into his, and Kade was disturbed to find her expression unreadable. Then she went back to gazing out the window, studying his home. “My lord, nothing you have told me frightens or disappoints me in the least, if that is your concern. I only have respect, in fact, for the decisions you have made. Don't worry about me.” She flashed a quick, shy smile.

  Kade exulted inwardly, relieved. “Then, welcome home, my Lyra.”

  At Sullee's opening of the door, Kade hopped out and turned in readiness to assist his woman down. He still intended to honor his earlier mandate about the shoes, of course, and before she could even shift her full weight onto the step plate, he had scooped her up in his arms. Ahskr, finally recognizing his master, leaped off the porch to greet Kade, all happy whining and vigorous whipping of his long tail back and forth.

  “How you doin', boy?” Kade said fondly to his six-year-old, prized, Spurt'la shepherd he'd raised from a pup. He continued onto his plank porch that creaked with age. “Just bring everything here to the door, Sullee!—Ahskr, settle down.” The dog had begun to jump a little for some investigative sniffing of the strange person Kade held close. “Aye, I brought you a new mistress, but you have to lay off or she will no' like you.” He carefully let Lyra down at his front door, the weathered wood peeking through a cracked red patina, and a large dent near the bottom made by the sharp hoof of a pregnant ewe he'd once tried to sneak into the house for birthing one stormy night when he was six. It hadn't worked.

  Ahskr grew more quiet now that the human female was within a wet nose's reach. He began an intense analysis of her feet and lower legs, his long tail making little cracking sounds whenever the specialized nub at the end surpassed the speed of sound. Opening the door, Kade started to apologize for his dog, but then he saw Lyra crouched down, speaking amicably to the animal and scratching him behind his floppy ears. She got Ahskr's back leg thumping with pleasure.

  Kade grinned wide. She kept getting better and better.

  Showing her in, he tried not to feel too self-conscious of his modest, century old, single story home. The original one room cabin had been added onto through the years to include a couple more bedrooms, a full lavatory, and an office. The back wall was knocked out thirty-five years ago and moved back several feet for more kitchen space. The indoor plumbing, he'd installed himself in his early “spite” years.

  It was a motley medley of design and building material inadvertently showcasing society's progress of the last one hundred years and retrofit over time to handle the upgrades and expansions of the J'Kor family. It was eclectic. Sections were musty and antiquated. It was home.

  He paid Sullee (fortunately, his wallet had been dropped on the ground and discovered while moving the tree) and brought their few things inside. Kade kept an eye on Lyra. She had begun an exploratory walk through his great room that had once been the entirety of the house. He watched her wander past his favorite, old armchair by the fireplace and pause at one of his stuffed bookshelves to scan some of the titles. Her toes bumped into an open crate sitting on the floor.

  Kade placed Lyra's backpack and tote on a dining chair and smiled to himself as she bent to pull out volume R of the The University of the Republic's Comprehensive Encyclopedia Volumes, 3rd Edition he had purchased two days ago.

  “I was no' stalking you,” he reminded with a grin.

  She was suppressing a smile as she put it back before continuing her silent survey of his home.

  He did hold a certain fondness for his comfortable, unique abode, but as he watched the woman's elegant figure move through his open kitchen and dining space, every little fault suddenly seemed glaringly conspicuous and he was reminded why he had been saving so long to build a new one. She approached his counters and he lamented over not having enough drawer space. She curiously peered inside his aluminum lined, electric refrigerator, one of the newest additions to his home, purchased only last year when the new technology became mainstream, and he felt its compact size woefully inadequate. She ran her fingers over his long dining table and he knew she was feeling how heavily scratched it was. Even the vase on top with the colorful wildflowers he had picked that morning seemed rather dowdy now.

  Kade ran his fingers through his hair. “I know it is no' much and everything keeps trying to fall apart, but—”

  “It's perfect, my lord,” she said quietly from the table's opposite end. Her first spoken words in his home. “There's no need to apologize.”

  Thank the Mother Henna, I knew she was the right khar for me!

  It was time to move things along—carefully. He began to drift toward her.

  “There is a lavatory down that hall on the right. You can wash up in there. Please help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen, if you are hungry. Just give me a few minutes to … do a few things.” She looked so deliciously vulnerable standing barefoot on his floor before him, a little flushed, hair slightly tousled. He took her small hand and brought it to his lips. “I will be right back.”

  Kade tore himself away quickly. If he let himself linger too long, he was afraid he might not stop at her hand. Then his plan—his beautiful plan for the perfect first night at home—would be wasted. So, he ducked into the master bedroom off the back of his great room and looked around.

  He had expanded it just after he and Ahna became engaged and she moved in with him. No expense was spared for his sophisticated fiancé. Part of it had been partitioned off into a walk-in closet and private vanity space just for Ahna and all her personal things. The rest of the room was filled with his large bed, a tall dresser, a wardrobe, an
d two compact breakfast chairs on either side of a small, round table. This little seating area was positioned strategically in the corner in front of a big window that framed a perfect view of his fishing pond across the way. In the mornings he could watch the sun rise, seemingly from the misty water itself, from here. This was his favorite room.

  He strode to his dresser and struck a match. This morning he had placed dozens of candles all around in small groupings on every surface, and now each one needed to be lit. After several minutes however, Kade was swearing softly, his good mood diminished. He hadn't done anything like this in a long, long time and, apparently, he had underestimated how long it would take to light everything. And he kept burning his fingers!

  He hoped to the mystic gods that she wasn't falling asleep waiting for him out there.

  The last candle was finally lit and Kade quickly went to his breakfast table to adjust the wine glasses and bottle. Wait a minute. He stared at the twenty-year-old, sealed bottle of whollberry wine, remembering her words in the restaurant. Blast! She will no' want to drink this! Flustered, Kade tossed the glasses and bottle into a sock drawer and strode to his music player on the dresser, instead. This he knew she would like. He quickly found the right spot on the thin, gray, alloy scroll and slid it into place under the needles.

  Music began to play … but it wasn't coming from his aluminum foil machine.

  Kade lifted his head. It seemed Lyra had found his old six-string, and she was strumming it gently.

  It had been some weeks since he had picked it up and a couple strings were out of tune. Sure enough, the playing stopped and he heard her pick at the discordant ones, making adjustments. When the chord strumming began again, everything was in perfect harmony. Kade grinned to himself. Right.

  A peek out the door revealed Lyra perched on the arm of his favorite chair, her back to him. Her slim fingers found the appropriate places along the frets with just a little effort. It wasn't second nature, but she knew what she was doing.

  She must have discovered the toiletry things he had left for her in the lavatory because her long, lustrous hair was taken down and brushed out, and when Lyra turned her face to watch her fingers, Kade saw that her makeup was washed off, too. If anything, he thought her more beautiful this way.

  The slow, random chords gained some organization and to Kade's surprise, she began humming a tune with it—a simple, innocent melody. Her eyes closed and she seemed to get swept away to another place as she sang.

  I have a family who cares for me here.

  Parents and friends and loved ones so dear.

  But I have a secret, a message to tell.

  There is another that loves me as well.

  Prickles inched up Kade's spine as he listened to the intense warmth of her voice. He was mesmerized by the singularly sparkling quality of her tone. She said she loved to sing, but … wow.

  I am God's child sent from above.

  Born to prove faithfulness, wisdom, and love.

  Help me to follow Thy path and to pray.

  Help me return to Thee, Father, some day.

  The skin at Kade's back was positively tingling by the time Lyra finished at a near whisper. He had hardly noticed the odd, childlike lyrics. It was her resonant sound that made the most distinct impression upon him. It triggered the sensors in his brain to buzz most pleasantly.

  Lyra's hand came to rest on the strings, stopping the last chord's reverb, and she seemed content to let the silence in the room linger for a while.

  “That was beautiful.”

  Startled eyes flew to his and Kade felt like he had just disturbed something intimate. Or sacred.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said, recovering. “I hope you don't mind me trying out your instrument.” Lyra stood and returned it to its stand in the corner. “It has a fine sound. Although, you play it much better.”

  “You play just fine,” he told her.

  With a quick step back into his bedroom, Kade flipped the switch on his music player, initiating the final touch of his preparations. Now, do no' look too eager.

  He strolled casually back into his great room and over to his waiting mistress, but the warmth and yearning in his chest flared hotter as he raised an arm to gently stroke some hair behind her ear.

  Next step …

  # # #

  Lyra held perfectly still at his touch. She knew not to get her hopes up that he—miracle and protector of bodily harm he may be—would just leave her alone. He was still a man. He was her “owner.” And much as she hated to admit it, she was khari'na—as far as he should know.

  Singing a bit of the old song from her youth had helped calm her, though.

  She had resisted at first. Singing had lost its usual appeal and magic for her in the last couple weeks (go figure), but the urge was so strong this time, so compelling, it was almost as if something else were directing her to pick up that instrument and sing that song. She felt a little drained again. However, she also felt lightened, like strumming those chords had swept some of the heaviness off her. It was good. It must have been the song's message. The reminder of who she was, why she was here, and where she was going always helped buoy her spirit—keep things in perspective.

  Trust. You are being watched over. Keep the Tohmu'vah safe. Somehow, you'll be okay.

  “Would you honor me with another dance?”

  Soft music played from the room where he had just emerged, and with a small nod, Lyra murmured, “Of course, my lord.”

  Slowly, methodically, he brought her to formal dance position: right hands on the other's corresponding shoulder, his other hand at her waist. His moves were careful and deliberate as they drifted in small circles through his great room. J'Kor occasionally directed her out in a slow, playful spin or lowered her for a relaxed dip at appropriate places in the music. An easy, friendly grin played steadily on his face and, after a few minutes, Lyra found herself able to smile back. He was trying to help her feel comfortable, not feel threatened.

  She ended up giggling when another spin didn't go so well and their fingers accidentally slipped off each other. She almost lost her balance, but J'Kor was there, firm hands at her waist, those winning crinkles showing in the corners of his eyes. He laughed. “Come with me. The music is better in the other room.”

  By the hand, she was shown into his luxuriously large bedroom and a stunning view of an idyllic pond and rolling pasture out one window. Tonight, all was bathed in the bright moonlight of the Mother and Minhdow, but Lyra's smile left as she took in the romantic setting he had obviously taken great pains to create. There must have been at least a hundred lavender and black candles placed everywhere in strategic groupings. The commodious bed was set with plush blankets and pillows. A nightstand held a vase, charmingly overflowing with more fragrant wildflowers, and a stab of guilt twisted at her insides. He was trying so hard.

  He took her into dance position again, but not in the same way as before. Now it was noticeably more intimate. His large hands slid their way down to the small of her back. Sickening flutters began.

  “Um, my lord—”

  “Lyra,” he murmured, “do you still trust me?”

  Lyra swallowed. “… Yes.” Yes, she trusted him to save her from physical harm, but this ….

  Slowly, he danced her near the dresser and then stopped to reach for something next to the music player. It was a candle. An unlit one. And the only red one in the room.

  A passion candle.

  Oh no.

  In silence J'Kor presented it to her and Lyra's mouth went dry as she reluctantly took it. She thought that this symbolic rite of a couple's first time had gone out of style a long time ago. It was certainly considered old-fashioned among the new brides of her people, though Lyra had always thought it charming.

  You can do this. You have to do this.

  Terrified but determined, she began the motions of the age-old lovemaking ritual by lighting the candle on another. She couldn't help but remember the first and
only other time she had done this. Oh, Jon.

  The warmth from the small flame nuzzled the underside of her chin as Lyra held the candle, gazing up at the strange man before her.

  “Receive me, my lord,” she whispered. She offered it back to him and remembered the rest of the words she had murmured to her new husband on her wedding night. “For tonight I am yours.”

  J'Kor undid the remaining buttons of his dress shirt to reveal a light scattering of hair across a toned chest and, smiling gently down at her, he ritually passed a hand over the rising heat. Then he took the candle from her and breathed in some of its warmth. It was symbolic of shouldering the responsibility for his lover's needs. Traditionally, the receiver would blow out the candle in the morning—after he had properly performed his duties. The whole thing was meant to be a thoughtful gesture of caring. Special.

  The candle was returned to the dresser. “Do no' be afraid, Lyra,” he whispered.

  Slowly, the silky folds of fabric were coaxed off her shoulders and Lyra's pulse accelerated; the air felt sucked from her lungs. He moved closer, fingers passing across her back to the column of small, round buttons at the waist lining the lower half of her spine. The top one went loose. Then the next. And the next.

  Her bodice fell completely away and the pounding of Lyra's blood through her veins surged from a swift allegro to an out of control presto. She became paralyzed with fear.

  Wait. Wait! I take it back. I can't do this!

  Oh God in Heaven! He could not appreciate how difficult this was for her. Sure, she found him attractive with dreamy eyes to die for, but she didn't love him. Not in the least. They'd only just really met today, for all the saints' sake! He was a Stranger. A dangerous, enemy Stranger. Buying his pleasure. Actually assuming that she had volunteered for this—this lust-making.

  They were not married.

  This was forced prostitution.

  This was wrong! All wrong!

  “M-my lord—” she started again, her quaking hands itching to clutch at the gown that with just a little more assistance from J'Kor, slipped the rest of the way down to land lightly around her feet. Lyra was left in nothing but the strappy, black lingerie Mar'go had made her put on.