Christ! This stuff’ll take paint off a wall. Probably a home brew of some kind.
After his throat recovered or perhaps was anesthetized, he rather enjoyed the glow and the mellow feeling. He also saw through a door into another room, where glimpses of cloth hanging off a table, wicker baskets, and a cot suggested the spare room where he would spend the night.
Dinner was a typical Caedellium repast of roast beef, turnips, whole-grain heavy bread, and a yellow-tinged sweet wine whose origin he couldn’t identify. Conversation was scintillating—prospects for this year’s crops, expectations on the fertilizer tests, the weather, how nasty were the Narthani, and a gossip about Abersford society. Yozef learned that Linton had inherited the farm from her parents, was married for two years before her husband died in accident, had had one child stillborn, and had a sister living nearby.
For his part, Yozef recited his rote summary of his own family and the mystery of arriving on Caedellium. As far as he knew, he held up his end of the conversation, although between the alcohol and views of cleavage he wasn’t sure. The meal and wine finished, the conversation lagging, he sat back and pushed his chair away from the table.
“Thank you, Sen Linton. I enjoyed the meal and your company. If your other bedroom is ready, I’m tired from the trip and our work and will retire for the evening.”
“Ser Kolsko, the extra bedroom is used as my sewing room and is so crowded with my work I’m afraid it might not be comfortable for you.” She rose from her chair, stepped out of her slippers, and slipped the top of her dress from her shoulders. Her breasts sagged from their fullness, the nipples pointing outward and erect. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in my room.” She turned and walked toward the rear of the house.
Yozef’s eyes fixed on her breasts swinging when she turned and then the view of her hips swaying as she walked away barefoot. He stood frozen. While the moment wasn’t a total surprise, neither was it anticipated. Filtin had clued him in that unmarried Caedellium adults were free within cultural restrictions in matters of sex, but this was more upfront than he expected. If he followed her, did this mean a commitment? Was he really interested in her this way?
The questions were ignored by his feet and his groin. She lay naked on a bed. Flickering candles gave a warm, subdued glow to the room, and his pants tightened at the contrast of light and shadows across her skin. The parts of his brain still functioning noted the sturdy, definitely feminine body, the armpit hair, the thatch covering her mons, and her breasts settling downward as she supported herself on her left elbow and held out the other arm.
The only sound, if he had noticed, was both of their heavy breathing. His clothing cascaded around his feet, his erection pointing skyward. As he moved to the bed, she rolled back and spread and raised her knees. There was no foreplay. He mounted her, and she grasped him with her legs. There was an immediate rhythm to his thrusts and her hips. When he came quickly, she kept her clasp of him for several minutes. It was an urgent coupling, not lovemaking. They didn’t speak. When he lay next to her, he could hear the slowing of their breathing, the sounds of the house, and the occasional animal sound from outside.
Now what do I do? Say something? Go to sleep? Thank her for the quick roll and retire back to the supposedly crowded guest room?
The answer came half an hour later when she explored his groin. Though her hands were rough, other parts of her were soft. This time, it took longer. His basic urge slaked, Yozef held himself back until she came with a series of gasping cries and a four-limbed attempt to compress his torso. The aftermath of this second round came quickly. When he was released and rolled off her, she grunted, he thought in satisfaction, turned on her side, and was asleep within moments. He reciprocated.
The next morning, he awoke to an empty bed and the day’s light just coming in the bedroom window. He lay wondering, again, about his next move. No answer appearing to him, he rose, dressed, and went to the kitchen from which emanated bakery aromas. Linton held an iron pan full of biscuits above the wood stove, holding the handle with a heavy cloth. She saw him . . . and smiled.
“Sit down, Ser Kolsko. A day’s work is waiting for me and travel for you.”
He took a seat at the sturdy table, on which sat a jar of butter, plates, knives, and a bowl of pilla fruit, tangerines, and apples.
He wondered where the tangerines came from, Shouldn’t they be ripening at a different time of year? And why tangerines here, but not oranges?
Linton plopped the plate of hot biscuits onto the table, along with two large mugs of kava, and his overnight tryst partner sat opposite him and dug in. He followed suit in short order.
“Are you sure you need to return to Abersford today, Ser Kolsko, or might you stay another day and night so we can plan more . . . fertilizer tests?”
“I think . . . Bronwyn . . . that after last night we can use our first names.”
“Thank you . . . Yozef. I didn’t want to appear too forward.”
Christ! Too forward! After last night? If that wasn’t being forward, I’m in dire danger if she ever does.
“I think my shops and workers can get along without me for another day,” he assured her.
His curiosity about what he’d be doing this additional day was answered as soon as they finished the biscuits and most of the fruit. This was a work day, and for Bronwyn that meant work. They spent time on more planning of the test plots, and, together with one of her workmen, they laid out the final plots with stakes. By noon, everything was ready for the fertilizer. He continued taking copious notes and diagrams and impressed on her the absolute requirement to follow every step of the planting, the fertilizer regime, and the records for all plots, if the results were to be valid. She listened carefully and didn’t comment on his redundant entreaties, but he ended confident she would adhere to the instructions.
They ate a lunch of dry sausage, cheese, and bread, a standard Caedellium midday meal, with the other workers. The rest of the day Yozef learned more than he needed to know about repairing barn stalls, plowing, and catching, killing, and plucking a goose. She didn’t direct him to do these tasks; it was what she was doing, and he followed along, helping as he could. This was a working farm without a husband. He suspected it flourished both because of the good location and soil, and because of her work habits. It was near dusk when the workday ended, and they returned to the house. Yozef’s back ached, and he had several new blisters. He was in better shape than ever in his life, but this day he’d used different muscles and in different motions than usual, and they let him know their disapproval. He wouldn’t have minded eating and going straight to sleep, though he rightly suspected Bronwyn had other plans.
Once gutted and plucked, the goose had been put in a version of a deep-pit, brick-lined roaster set-up near the house. When Bronwyn had done this, he had no idea, because the woman from the night before hadn’t appeared this day.
The grease-laden bird was delicious, and the two of them finished it, along with a fresh loaf of bread, a bowl of dark olives, and another flagon of the sweetish wine. The post-meal proceedings followed, similar to the previous night, with the difference that they engaged in only one round before sleep, compensated for when they both awoke the next morning.
Morning meal was her version of the Caedellium porridge—this one a combination of wheat and something like amaranth, laced with nut bits and what looked and tasted like raisins.