“Come and sit beside me, hama, so that we may share our meal as always,” he said, patting the fur to his immediate right after shifting the bowl to his left hand. “And you may also, if you wish, speak of what you would have of me.”
I retrieved my bowl and sat down where he’d indicated, my right side to his right thigh, angled to face him, legs together and bent to the left. I was also very busy cursing him out, silently but nevertheless vitriolically. He had made me strip naked while he remained clothed, and that was the way I was supposed to ask for lessons in sword use? I was a woman, nothing but a lowly wenda, and he was going to make sure I understood that fact in every fiber of my being.
I had chosen spiced fish cubes and he a meat and cooked vegetables concoction, and there was silence while we fed ourselves and each other. When I put a fish cube in his mouth, he took it with the feeling of being given what was his anyway; when he fed me some of the meat and vegetables, he was sharing what was also his, what he generously gave to one who had none of her own. The emotions were a little blurry around the edges and too wide and full to be accidental or natural, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t really feeling them. Tammad was magnifying what he considered the truth, helping me out to make sure I didn’t miss it. He didn’t want me confused about who and what I was, where I stood and what was expected of me. I’d been spoiled up till then, allowed to believe as I liked, but now that was over.
We shared another two bowls of food, then two after that, and every once in a while Tammad gave me his goblet to drink from. The wine was soft and golden rather than hot and tawny like drishnak, suitable for a woman as the strong, spicy drishnak was not. By the end of the meal I was gritting my mental teeth, fighting to resist his deliberate propaganda, but I was finding it harder and harder going. I was a woman and I did belong to him, and standing up to him had always been so damned difficult. When I sipped from his goblet, taking wine with his permission, something inside me wanted to throw up its hands and walk away in defeat.
“Now that we have had our meal, we may spend a time speaking together,” he said, taking his goblet back after my last swallow, then stretching out among the cushions on his rightside. “Was there any matter you wished to discuss?”
The eyes watching me were open and innocent, the mind behind them comfortable and patient. He was more than aware of what I was feeling, and had no intentions of letting me regain my self-possession before pressing the point of sword lessons. I was female, and had to be taught how silly I was for wanting something that was strictly for men.
“Hamak, I would-have you teach me the use of a sword,” I got out with difficulty, looking down from his eyes, knowing why I was speaking Rimilian. I was a Rimilian woman asking something of a l’lenda, and that was the only language suitable. Both of my hands were on my bare right thigh, and the embarrassment was so severe it was painful.
“Hama, I would give you all that I might, yet am I far from convinced of the necessity for such a thing,” he answered, also in Rimilian, his deep voice grave with the weight of a decision that just might have to be no. “You must speak to me of the reasons you feel such a need, and also urge my belief. No wenda of our city has ever asked the same.”
The gentle reproof in his voice was making it worse for me, telling me I wasn’t being the best woman to him I could possibly be. I loved him so much I wanted to be the best woman possible for him, which meant he was pitting my own feelings against me. I was being made to feel that what I wanted was wrong, but the feeling wasn’t coming from him. I looked up hesitantly to find that he had turned to his back in the fur, a cushion under his head, his goblet put aside. He held his arms out to me, telling me to come closer, and I was so eager to obey that I nearly forgot our conversation. I put my hands on him as he drew me close to his chest, and then he simply waited. With his warm, hard flesh under my hands it took me a minute to remember what he was waiting for, and another minute after that to force myself not to say to hell with it and begin kissing him all over.
“Hamak, I must learn sword use for I feel that I must,” I said, haltingly, looking down into the eyes that looked up at me. “There is a—a feeling-that I have, that will not let me rest; it whispers to me constantly. You have my word that I will do my utmost to keep from shaming you.”
“I have no doubt of that, hama,” he said, using one hand to slowly stroke my hair. “And yet must I be sure that this-need-you feel would not interfere with what other duties I set you. Are you able to reassure me of this?”
Reassure him. He was holding me and stroking my hair and making sure I could feel the hum in his mind, and I was supposed to reassure him. I’d never heard it called that before, and also discovered that what it was called didn’t make much difference. He wanted to be coaxed and I was going to have to do it-without a single guarantee of success. I still had the choice of forgetting about it, but that was one choice I didn’t care to make.
“Surely you know, beloved, that I would never neglect you,” I murmured, leaning down to put my lips to his face, then gently work my way to his ear and neck. “Please, Tammad, I ask a very great deal, I know, yet are you one of the few strong enough to be asked such a thing. Other men would merely laugh and refuse, but you-you have the strength and understanding to do more than simply reject my need. You are a man among men, and may do as others cannot.”
The dialogue was making me queasy, as was the wheedling tone I was using, and kissing him that way was making me want him more. Aside from that, though, things weren’t going as badly as I’d thought they would. Tammad was a Rimilian l’lenda, and Rimilian warriors were used to letting themselves be coaxed into things by their women. I could feel his sudden realization that what I’d said was beginning to sway him, and decided to press my advantage as far as possible.
“Ah, hamak, my respect for you is boundless,” I purred, letting him feel how much I was enjoying running my hands over him. “To take on the burden of instructing one who is so helpless and weak! Truly is that an undertaking for a man with capabilities far beyond those of others. You are strong, and brave, and generous, and- Oh!”
I’d cried out involuntarily at the sudden, unexpected sensation, a sensation that was completely nonphysical in origin, no other thing than physical in application. Both of his hands were on my back, holding me to him, but just as I hadn’t used lips to give him his kiss, he hadn’t used a hand to touch me in his favorite place. He’d been looking for a way to distract me from saying what was obviously getting through to him, and it seemed as though he’d found it.
“Ah, you felt my caress, then?” he said with surprised satisfaction, really very pleased with himself. “My progress clearly continues and improves, just as you wished. Are you not pleased as well?”
“Indeed, hamak, I am greatly pleased,” I gasped out, finding it impossible not to try pulling away from him, finding the pulling away just as impossible. Slowly, clumsily, but very definitely, he was touching me, exactly the sort of touching he was trying for.
“It was not my intention to interrupt you, hama,” he said, his hands also moving slowly over my back, under my hair. “Please continue with the thought already begun.”
“The thought,” I echoed, trying to remember what I’d been saying, my hands already closed tight on his arms. Oh yes, swordwork, a sword that cut rather than only pierced, a sword worn to the side in a sheath rather than under a-“The feeling—the feeling will not let me rest, hamak,” I babbled, beginning to feel dizzy and even more aware of how naked I was. “It is for your sake that I seek such a thing, only for your sake. For your safety, for your touch, for your love- Ohhh!”
I lost it entirely, then, squirming up to bury my fists in his hair so that I might kiss him wildly and madly. He had apparently paid attention to what he was receiving at some time when he made love to me, and that’s just what I was feeling then, that he was prepared and beginning to make love to me. The sensation of the first touch of his flesh to mine was what I had, that and no more, and I knew I couldn’t live without more. I moaned and begged as I kissed him, dying for him, and he wasted no time giving me what I begged for.