by Jean Winter
“And especially when you blush.”
Don't look at him. Don't give him the pleasure.
After an eternity, the front door finally opened. “I think tonight is going to be really fun. Do you no' agree?” Click. He was gone.
Lyra blew out long and slow, waiting for her blood to stop boiling. What was going on with him? What was going on with her? She felt so out of control—so doubtful. It was unnerving.
The rest of the morning went by quickly. Her ensemble for working outside earned a, “Nice pants!” from Jos'lie who enthusiastically assisted Lyra in the raking and planting for a time until she became distracted with unearthing the many worms tunneling their way to the sun-warmed surface. Lyra's ensemble, however, earned a somewhat horrified gasp from Breht when he and J'Kor approached a few hours later.
“Father, is she wearing my leggings?”
“Why, aye, son, she is indeed.”
Approving eyes swept over Lyra's figure and Lyra did her best to boldly take his blatant gaze. He was trying to make her blush again. It wasn't going to work this time.
… Well, it mostly wasn't going to work this time.
J'Kor grinned. “'Na Lyra, please start on midmeal now. Breht and I will be along shortly.”
Back in the house with Jos'lie, Lyra got to hear about children from her school. Unfortunately, Jos'lie's innocent elaboration on some of her interactions with them was disheartening.
“Bekyah said Deslitte likes worms in lunch box, but she was no' happy when I did. She scream … loud. I put hands over my ears—like this!” She modeled her reaction for Lyra. “And Infred told me, go in th' boy bathroom and count boys. She say it was fun, but she did no' play wi' me. Mama Lyra, it no' very fun. I tell Infred it no' fun and she say it be fun if I played right. I went to swing and play bird-in-the-sky all by myself!”
Lyra told Jos'lie how proud she was of her for choosing to do good things and that sometimes it was better to play by yourself if your 'friends' weren't being nice. What else was there to do? Jos'lie clearly had no concept of manipulation. Certainly J'Kor must know things like this were going on, but Lyra supposed it would be extraordinarily expensive to have someone shadow her twenty-two hours a day. She could feel his anxiety for Jos'lie. Oh, how this angel needed love and acceptance!
Of course, what Jos'lie really needed was a full-time private tutor and mentor at home. Someone with the patience and heart to love her as she was—
Oh my goodness, was J'Kor planning for her to be that person? Lyra suddenly felt dizzy. The thought of taking on such a responsibility was not what terrified her. The problem was, Lyra had no intention of being here long-term. How badly would it hurt Jos'lie if such plans were put into action before Lyra could escape? She wasn't naive enough not to notice how easily she could—she already was—fitting into this home.
No. Of course she would do it. She had to get back home. The hollow ache of longing would keep chewing at her until she was reunited with her children.
By the time the men came in, Lyra was composed again and calmly took the seat J'Kor offered at the table. They discussed leaving early for Sal's so Lyra would have time to alter an appropriate party dress. J'Kor said he would help her find something before he and Breht went back to work. Meanwhile, Jos'lie jabbered on and on about getting all dressed up and begged Lyra to make her hair “bee-oot-ful” for Uncle Sal's party. Lyra vowed to do a great job for her. Small events like this were probably about as exciting as things ever got socially for this eleven-year-old.
J'Kor had been perfectly polite since returning to the house, taking care not to create any more waves, but their consultation together in the vanity closet over possible dresses turned discordant when Lyra started getting an eye-full of his proposed gown choices. Along with the elegance came a good measure of immodesty. The neckline plunged too low or the skirt was very short. Even if those things passed her inspection, then the bodice had no sleeves or the fabric was transparent. Lyra eyed them with reluctance.
“My lord, is it absolutely necessary that I wear something that shows so much skin?”
He looked surprised. “What is wrong with showing some skin, especially when you know that yours is particularly attractive?”
Lyra shrugged noncombatively. “I just don't like the idea of making myself up to be an object of lust.”
“But that is what you are, Lyra.” He laughed. “You are khari'na. At least, you are supposed to be.”
“I know.” She had to endure the easy jab. “But please, my lord. All night I will feel terribly exposed in one of those.”
“You wore that one just fine,” he said, pointing at her special gown from the auction hanging placidly amid the others. “It bared your shoulders and framed the curve o' your … breast, there … and the skirt practically slits all the way up to your ….” He suddenly seemed a bit embarrassed to be speaking so blatantly of her body.
“That was because I had to. I didn't have a choice.” Lyra remembered how frightening it had been, putting herself out there. It already felt like an eternity ago. “And I knew that I had to sell myself.”
“But as for tonight, are you no' still selling yourself—an idea o' yourself? You need to look the part just as well as act it.” J'Kor leaned toward her. “Khars are well aware o' their innate sensuality, and they are no' ashamed to express it.”
Lyra did not back down. “Well, what if I play the kind of khar that is confident enough in her womanhood she doesn't feel the need to prove it in graphic public display?”
His eyes narrowed and he took a step closer. “Well, what if you play the kind o' khar that appreciates her lord enough to please him?”
Wait. Were they still talking about khari'na in general? Lyra met his gaze steadily. “Well, what if I appreciate my partner enough to want to save my 'goods' for his eyes only?”
He seemed taken aback by the concept. Then J'Kor touched some fingers to her joining necklet and said softer, “Please consider, however, that for a man, there is a certain pleasure associated with showing off something that belongs to him exclusively.”
Lyra smiled. “But, if a man is really going for, say, jealousy, my lord, would it not behoove him to consider the teasing allure of leaving more to the imagination? Do you really want every other man there tonight to have me with their eyes?”
J'Kor frowned. Then with a sudden brusqueness he said, “Well, considering that is all I have been able to get for myself, I suppose you have a point. I would no' want them all on equal ground.”
“As per your generosity with me, my lord,” Lyra humbly reminded, “for which I am most grateful.”
The frown persisted and J'Kor turned back to the dresses. “Well, here you go. Is there anything here that satisfies your peculiar standard without having to resort to plopping on a dowdy shawl?”
A closer examination finally produced a long, silky sash. Lyra said, “I think I could get this to work for one of the gowns that don't have any sleeves to speak of.”
J'Kor eyed the sash doubtfully. “How about a deal?”
“Another deal?”
“Humor me.” J'Kor began another gown search. “You alter and stitch together whatever you want, but if I do no' like it, you wear … this.” Out came a short, blood red, skintight, little number that was sewn together with more fine lace than actual solid fabric.
He couldn't be serious! “All right, deal,” she agreed stubbornly. “Again.”
Now the workload had increased. Lyra finished cleaning up lunch, helped with the weekly laundry the children had brought home, and went outside one more time with Jos'lie to finish their planting. J'Kor wandered by to survey the day's efforts and seemed extremely satisfied with what he saw in the garden—and on his daughter's beaming countenance. During the congratulatory hug of Jos'lie on an “exceptional day's work,” he silently mouthed a “thank you” to Lyra in unabashed gratitude. Her returning nod was almost reverential.
He really was a good man.
Blast him
.
The “extra specially beautiful” preparations for Jos'lie began with a bath. Lyra could tell last night that she was not quite getting her hair washed well enough on her own at school and she took extra care to help the girl work the shampoo all the way in before rinsing. Then Lyra took her turn in the shower.
It was a grand time in front of the mirror working on Jos'lie's hair. Lyra didn't even have to worry about getting misty-eyed with memories. Jos'lie was too present and chatty to get distracted.
The atmosphere really turned festive, however, when the men returned and Lyra presented the “Lady Jos'lie” to her father, all dressed up with most of her hair up in braids and pins except for her exceptional white tress. That, Lyra curled to hang softly down the side of her face. J'Kor whistled in appreciation. Even Breht condescended to give his sister a playful kiss on the hand before stiffening once again into his usual shell. Jos'lie giggled and danced circles around the great room with her doll, pretending she was already at Uncle Sal's.
Lyra made to head to the vanity closet, but was covertly pulled to the side by J'Kor. He brushed some fingers through her long, damp hair. “You look beautiful, too, by the way.”
Her hair was stuck wetly to her head, her cheeks were flushed from hurrying to get Jos'lie ready, and she was back in an ill-fitting, plain work frock with an obvious hole in her stocking. Her response was a caustic snort.
“I mean it,” he said, nudging her chin up with a knuckle. His eyes wandered to the barely visible bruise on her cheek and without warning, he bent his head and pressed his lips to it briefly. “I am sorry for that.”
Lyra forced her eyes steady. “My lord, you already apologized.”
“But you never actually said you forgive me.”
“Of course I do.”
In reality, Lyra did not really know if that was true. In the academic sense, yes, she forgave him. It was her duty. Only the Holy Father had the right to condemn or punish according to His wisdom. But personally?
“You still have no' said it. Please, I really would like to hear it.”
His expression was a motley mixture of hesitation, demand, and longing. Darn! He really was beaten up about it, and that meant ….
“My lord, you are forgiven.” It sounded so silly to say it with such formality, but evidently he needed to hear it that way. And now she meant it.
“Thank you,” he said, grinning.
“My pleasure, my lord.” With a curtsy, Lyra maneuvered away, eager to snuff the warmth trying to build between them again.
“I hope that is true,” he said before she could close the door behind her.
In the closet, Lyra worked at pinning the sash in place on the chosen gown, hoping that Maryn's machine would work well for her. She did NOT want to lose this deal. She would have to fix her hair there, as well, because all she had time for now was getting everything together for transport.
When she emerged with loaded arms, Lyra was suddenly met with the sight of J'Kor in nothing but a towel across the way. Lord Almighty! Apparently he had just showered and come to dress. She strode speedily from the bedroom with her head ducked.
“No' a bad thing, Lyra,” she heard.
When all was ready to leave, Whinnee the churung was hitched to the farm's wagon and everyone piled in: J'Kor at the reigns, Lyra invited next to him, the kids relaxing on clean blankets in the back. J'Kor was wearing his good suit again and looking just a little too debonair for Lyra's comfort level. She kept her head down. Breht, likewise, had cleaned up quite well—except for the severely slicked hair and lack of restraint with the cologne. Apparently the boy was still rather inexperienced, but Lyra found it amusing that he was trying so hard for what would probably be a boring, grown-up party.
The drive was pleasant. A bit of a salty breeze blew inland from the distant ocean as J'Kor spoke of the scattered small homes and businesses they passed. He seemed to know everyone along the way, from the miller's large family with whom he sometimes traded veal for baked goods, to the crotchety, old hermit, Lord Stryth, who was rumored to have amassed a great fortune pirating in the eastern seas.
A grand arch of flowering vines marked the entrance to Mejhisk's property, bordered by long rows of stately, evergreen shrubs. Lyra had not been able to appreciate before the fortune of the Mejhisk family when she had been here last, mostly asleep in the darkness of the late hour. She stared in awe at the vast, verdant grounds and the impressive gardens whose meandering paths begged to be explored. His splendid country home looked even larger in the light of day.
The wagon stopped before steps leading up to a sweeping veranda where a servant stood ready to greet them. As J'Kor assisted Lyra down, he playfully placed an arm about her waist. “The show begins now, Mistress J'Kor,” he murmured. “Are you ready?”
Lyra was already prepared with her game face. “Are you? Kady-kins?”
He made a face. “That pet name is no' approved.”
“Well, how about Honeybuns?”
Now he laughed. “Uh, no.” J'Kor turned to retrieve her box of clothing and accessories from the back.
“Schmooky?”
“Definitely no. Some dignity, please?” He handed the box off to his son who was trying his best to ignore the awkwardness that was two “seasoned” adults flirting with each other. He, in turn, was ignored entirely.
“But those are my best ones! Besides,” very aware of the watchful servant, Lyra slipped her hand up and raked fingers through his sun warmed hair, “since when have pet names ever been about dignity?”
“Well, you got me there, Sugarpip.” And his eyes were smiling just as much as his lips now.
A small, soft arm reached between them, taking J'Kor by the chin to turn his head. “Papa, Papa, Papa! What 'bout me, Papa? What is … name for me?” said Jos'lie.
“Well, Princess, o' course!” he drolled as he helped her to the ground. “And occasionally, Stinker.”
“Papa, that no' nice.” She pouted in righteous indignation, but then suddenly reached up, tall on her tiptoes, and gave his nose a tweak. “Doink!” Jos'lie burst into giggles, so proud of the joke she had just played on her father.
With a playful pat to her backside, J'Kor set her on course toward the veranda and Lord Mejhisk who had just stepped outside to greet his first guests. “Unca Sal!” she screamed, breaking into a run and clutching her doll tightly to her chest. “I have new mama! I have new mama!”
When Lyra and J'Kor caught up, Mejhisk was happily conversing with both children. He looked quite dapper in the impossibly white silk suit with bright purple accents, though Lyra got the impression that he dressed similarly on a regular basis.
“Aye, o' course,” he was telling them indulgently. “Miss Jos', you know where she keeps it all and Master Breht, here is the key. Go have fun you two.”
“Thanks, Sal!”, “Thank you, Unca Sal! I love you!” they said, jogging off into the house.
“What was that about?” J'Kor inquired.
“Oh, the usual.” Mejhisk laughed in a carefree way. “Jos'lie wants to play with Maryn's scissors and needles and that was the key to the gun cabinet.”
“Sal,” J'Kor groaned, “it is a good thing you have never become a father. They would no' survive a week under your supervision, I swear!” He strode past his friend after his children. “Breht! Hold on a second! Jos', baby, wait until 'Na Maryn is ready to help you!”
A knowing grin appeared on Mejhisk's face. “It works every time,” he said, and brought Lyra's hand to his lips. “Lyra, lovely, how nice to see you again. Please tell me Kade is no' making you wear this horrid thing tonight or else I shall surely faint with horror.
“What did you mean by that, my lord?”
Taking her by the arm, he led her into his home. “I mean, this disgracefully drab contraption o' weaving and thread is—”
“No, my lord.” And Lyra couldn't help but laugh. “I was asking what you meant by, 'It works every time.'”
“Oh. Why, using his child
ren to distract him,” he said, looking very pleased with himself.
Lyra was shown into a huge, amazingly decorated gathering room where Mejhisk had her sit on a plush sofa. Lyra made sure to keep her hair close around her face. Thankfully, he chose to sit at her non-bruised side.
“Why do you wish to distract him?”
“So I can have a private moment with his ladies, o' course.” His eyes held a rakish glow as he reclined comfortably back and crossed a leg.
A uniformed servant approached, begging pardon for the interruption, but needing his lord's approval regarding certain of the table dressing choices. Mejhisk frowned at the interruption, but conceded to answer the man patiently. Out the wide open doors, Lyra spotted several more neatly dressed servants—a few maids and perhaps a cook—walk by as they busied themselves with their various jobs. Wow! What a life. The servant finally left.
“Now, Lyra darling, where were we?”
Lyra gave him a facetious scowl. “I was just about to tell you that you are far too conniving to be trusted. You really should not tease my sweet J'Kor that way. What a terrible friend you are.”
“On the contrary, my dear, I am a wonderful friend and Kade is lucky to have me watching out for him.”
“Who is lucky?” J'Kor said, entering the room to join them. Lyra's stomach did a little flip flop at his smile paired with his fit in that suit.
“Case in point,” Mejhisk whispered quickly with a wink to Lyra before turning to his best mate. “How are the children?”
J'Kor sat in a chair across from them, eyeing his friend. “They are each being duly attended by Maryn and Mr. Feshel. It seemed they were ready and waiting for them. Brother, what have you been doing—?”
“Oh, by the way, mate, have you received a wire from Mr. Hallyntohk yet?”
“What? That snobbish rancher from Q'wersit? Why would he be calling me?”
“Oh, I happened to run into him the other day and in due course o' our conversation convinced him it was in his best interest to invest in the best breeding stock available—by the best I mean yours, o' course. He is ready to pay top dollar.”