“It cannot be the same!” Cimilan insisted, greatly disturbed. “The blood which came from her was unbelievable—though she did begin to accept my touch in silence.”
“Aha!” pounced Ceralt, a gleam in his eye as he leaned forward toward Cimilan. “She fully intended to snare you, and had not counted upon your drinking from the second skin. Cimilan my friend, Lialt will tell you that there are some few wenches who produce rivers of blood when first broached—no matter how they are broached nor by whom. I feel certain that Famira herself felt frightened at its presence, not to speak of the pain she was given, yet she undoubtedly meant to entrap you as she has so obviously done. It has ever been her plan to rule a rider, and now her plans have come to be.”
Cimilan, though struck by Ceralt’s words, nevertheless leaned down upon an elbow, to consider them. He took the skin Ceralt passed to him and drank from it distractedly, then raised his eyes to meet the gaze of Ceralt.
“The matter still cannot be as you describe it,” said he, shaking his head. “If it were true that all which transpired was by Famira’s devising, then she would be pleased with her lot in life. She would undoubtedly pretend great fear of me to feed my guilt, not show how deeply she despises me. You saw her. You heard.”
“Indeed,” nodded Ceralt, “yet perhaps we each saw and heard a separate thing. You saw and heard the woman you love through layers of guilt and self-condemnation. I saw the woman who is my cousin, she with whom I grew from childhood, she who has apparently found great disappointment in the man who chose her. Consider my cousin, Cimilan, and understand that she will never feel respect for a man who is in her control. It is said, and truly, that a strong woman requires a stronger man. She expected—and perhaps hoped—to find that she would no longer be allowed her manipulations, and then you fell to them at once, allowing her to rule you. Can you imagine her disappointment, when she no longer bothers to hide her disgust? Is she to remain without a rider forever?”
“No,” growled Cimilan, a hardness appearing in the dark of his eyes. “No!” he shouted then, striking the palm of his hand with a fist the size of Ceralt’s. “So she planned to ensnare me, did she? She is pleased to practice her wiles, then feels herself unjustly treated when a man falls prey to them?” He rose to his feet and stood wrapped in rage, one square fist clenched before him, his dark eyes focused upon that which was not to be seen by others. “I must teach her that men are not to be manipulated,” he muttered, then lowered his gaze to Ceralt. “My woman and I shall return here shortly. Though you be male kin to her, I feel you will not interfere with what is to be done to her.”
He then turned and strode from the tent, failing even to pause to replace his body furs. Ceralt reclined in the fur with a soft laugh, stretching his large, hard body out in lack of concern. I gazed upon him briefly in silence, then sat myself straighter in the furs.
“The male has named you kin to her called Famira,” I said, bringing his eyes to me. “Are you not bound to stand in defense of kin, as are the Midanna?”
“Indeed,” nodded Ceralt, still amused. “Yet first one must consider the true meaning of defense. Should I keep Cimilan from punishing Famira as he intends, my cousin may never know the happiness which is the right of every woman. Famira desires strength in a man, the sort of strength which will force her to bow to his desires. She believes she desires pliability, yet this is not so. Patently, if it were true that she wished to rule a rider, she would now be pleased rather than miserable as she is. To defend my cousin, then, requires that I refuse to aid her against the man to whom she belongs.”
“This is not clear.” I frowned, regarding his strange composure with less than amusement. “Should the kin of a Midanna warrior stand in jeopardy from others, that warrior will stand beside her kin, even though she may share her fate. Apparently the matter is seen differently when one’s kin is male.”
Ceralt must surely have seen the disapproval I felt, however his anger appeared only briefly, before fading to naught. He regarded me as I had regarded him, in silence, then his hand rose from the lanthay fur to gesture to me.
“Come sit here beside me, satya,” he said, his voice soft with patience. “That I am male and Famira female has no bearing upon my behavior. I would have you understand this.”
I had little desire to sit beside Ceralt—and yet my body rose quickly from the fur to close the gap between us. He had used me no more than a short while earlier and then had dismissed me from his thoughts, yet I sank to the fur before him feeling naught of my earlier anger. I, in no more than a breech, sat before the male who had captured me, feeling his eyes touch me with pleasure feeling much of the pleasure myself, knowing that I pleased him. His hand reached out to touch my right calf, and the warmth of his fingers spread to encompass my entire body. I sat as though I were going to recline to the left, my legs bent before me to the right, my left hand flat upon the lanthay fur, and I clasped my thighs tightly together so that I might not shame myself before him.
“Among my people,” said Ceralt with a smile, “a man is required to defend his kinswomen before all others save his own woman. This is a matter of honor for men, and gladly do we discharge the obligation. Here, however, it is my belief that Famira will be better served if my aid is withheld from her. We shall see the thing through, and the results will prove me correct or in error. ”
He paused to stroke his hand upward to my thigh, round my knee and just above it, and my left hand closed to hold the lanthay fur in a grip which nearly tore it loose. I thought perhaps he toyed with me, yet his eyes were thoughtfully upon my face.
“Tell me,” he said. “For what reason was my cousin Famira within this tent? Had she come to bedevil you with ridicule?”
“In truth, I know not,” I murmured, attempting a softer voice in the hope that its unevenness would not be noticed. “She professed to have come asking after my intentions of revenge for her treatment of me, yet I feel that loneliness brought her. She is not well liked among the others.”
“I have long been aware of that,” he sighed, removing his hand from my leg to hang the forearm upon his knee. “She feels the difference between herself and the others, and as she stands apart from them in her own mind, so do they treat her in reality. The others are women of men, held, cherished, and made to be obedient. Famira is not.”
Ceralt’s mind left the tent to wander alone, enabling me to release my grip upon the lanthay fur. Once I had thought upon holding Ceralt in my tent among the Hosta, yet I no longer considered the matter feasible. The lanthay fur against my left leg reminded me of his presence; the sight of his broad, hard body reminded me of his presence; the scent of his leathers reminded me of his presence. How was a war leader to lead her clan when all things about her brought thoughts of naught save a male? I longed to reach my hand out to touch him, to be taken in his arms and held against him, yet I kept my hand back and did not stir. Ceralt wished a village female, one who would see to his belongings, one who would not be so bold as to show her desire for him. Jalav was not such a one, and Ceralt was not hers.