Nacoya returned a regretful shake of her head. ‘Ah, daughter, do not worry for Misa. She likes men.’
Mara nodded and started to return to her suitor. But Nacoya touched her wrist, the chime of tiny bells muffled in her wrinkled palm. ‘Lady, be cautious. Your house guards will see to your safety, but you play a dangerous game. You must judge carefully how far to push Bruli. He may become too impassioned to stop, and having Pape kill him for attempted rape would do the Acoma great harm at this point.’
Mara considered her meagre experience with men and chose prudence. ‘Send the runner ten minutes after we enter.’
‘Go now.’ Nacoya released her mistress with a pat of her hand. The old nurse smiled in the shadow. Thank the gods she had not needed to lie; Misa was Mara’s prettiest maid, and her appetite for handsome men was a subject of shameless gossip among the servants. She would play her part with unfeigned joy.
Attendants emptied the last pitchers of cool water into the tub, bowed, and retired, closing the screen. Mara released Bruli’s hand. The bells on her wrists tinkled sweetly as, with dance-like movements, she unfastened her sash and allowed her robe to slide off her shoulders. Beaded ornaments concealed the scar of her wound, and the silk sighed over her ivory skin, slipping past her waist and over the curve of her hips. As it drifted around her ankles to the floor, Mara lifted one bare foot, then the other, at last stepping free of the folds. She mounted the steps to the top of the wooden tub, remembering to hold her stomach flat and her chin up. At the corner of her vision she saw Bruli frantically shedding costly clothing; her game with the robe had brought the young man close to the point of losing decorum. When he tore off his loincloth, she witnessed the proof of her effect upon him. Mara refrained from laughing by only a signal act of will. How silly men could look when excited.
Bruli stretched. Confident that his body was worthy of admiration, he bounded to the tub, submerging his slender hips with a satisfied sound, as if he simply wished to soak. Mara knew better. Bruli had hoped for this moment, fretting with keenest anticipation for the better part of the week. He opened his arms, inviting Mara to join him. She smiled instead and took up a vial and a cake of scented soap. The priceless metal bells on her wrists chimed with her movements as she poured fragrant oils upon the surface of the water. Rainbows shimmered into being around Bruli’s athletic form. He closed his eyes in contentment, while the bells moved behind him and small hands began to soap his back.
‘You feel very nice,’ murmured Bruli.
Her hands melted away like ghosts. The bells sang a last shower of sound and fell silent, and the water rippled, gently. Bruli opened his eyes to find Mara in the tub before him, soaping her slender body with sensuous abandon. He licked his lips, unaware of the calculation in her pretty eyes. By the sloppy smile on his face, Mara guessed she was acting the part of the seductress convincingly.
The man’s breathing became nearly as heavy as Buntokapi’s. Unsurprised when Bruli seized another cake of soap and reached out to help, Mara twisted gracefully away and sank to her neck in the water. Suds and rainbows of oil veiled her form, and as Bruli stretched powerful hands towards her, the Lady forestalled him with a smile. ‘No, let me.’ Bath oils lapped the brim of the tub as she came to his side and playfully pushed his head under. The young man came up sputtering and laughing, and grabbed. But Mara had slid behind him. Tantalizingly, she began slowly to wash his hair. Bruli shivered with pleasure as he imagined the feel of her hands on other parts of his body. The hair washing worked downwards, became a gentle massage of his neck and back. Bruli pressed backwards, feeling the twin points of Mara’s breasts against his shoulders. He reached over his head for her, but her elusive hands slithered forwards, caressing his collarbones and chest. Aware of the quiver in his flesh, Mara hoped her runner would appear promptly. She was running out of ploys to dejay, and in an odd way she had not anticipated, her own loins had begun to tighten. The sensation frightened her, for Buntokapi’s attentions had never made her feel this way. The scented soap filled the air with blossom fragrance, and the light of afternoon through the coloured screens made the bathing room a soft, gentle place for lovers. But Mara knew that it could just as easily be a place for killing, with Pape waiting with his hand on his sword, just out of sight behind the screen. This man was a vassal of the Minwanabi, an enemy, and she must not lose control.
Tentatively she rubbed her hand down Bruli’s stomach. He shivered and smiled at her, just as the screen swished back to admit the breathless form of her runner.