Seeing him tire, she motioned for a fruit drink to be served, and he swallowed greedily. When he sighed, indicating his satisfaction, she changed the subject to board games and, against her usual wont, listened without making observations of her own.
‘Have you ever seen a horse?’ the slave asked unexpectedly in the pause as servants stepped in to brighten the lamps. ‘Of all things from home, horses are among those I miss most.’
Beyond the screen, full darkness had fallen, and the copper-gold face of Kelewan’s moon rose over the needra meadows. Kevin drew a deep breath. His fingers twisted in the cushion fringes, and a wistful gleam touched his eyes. ‘Ah, Lady, I had a mare that I raised from a filly. Her coat was the colour of fire, and her mane as black as your own.’ Caught up in reminiscence, the barbarian sat forward. ‘She was fleet, both in the sprint and the long ride, fine-spirited, and a perfect witch on the field. She had a kick that could fell an armed warrior. She stopped swords at my back more times than a brother.’ He glanced up suddenly and ceased speaking.
Where before Mara had listened with relaxed interest, she now sat stiffly on her cushions. To Tsurani warriors, horses were not animals of admiration and beauty but creatures that inspired terror. Under the alien sun this slave knew as his own, Mara’s father and brother had died, their life’s blood soaked into foreign soil, trampled under horses ridden by Kevin’s countrymen. Perhaps this same Kevin of Zun had been the warrior who wielded the spear that struck her loved ones down. From some deep place, unguarded because of the day’s fatigue, Mara felt a grief she hadn’t experienced for years. And with that painful memory came old fears.
‘You will speak no more of horses,’ she said in such a changed tone that the maid ceased her ministrations a moment, then cautiously resumed combing the long, lustrous hair.
Kevin stopped picking at the fringes, expecting to see some sign of distress, but the Lady showed no emotion. Her face remained blank in the lamplight, her eyes cold and dark.
He almost dismissed his impression as fancy. But an intuition prompted him to study her closely. With a look that was not the least mocking, he said, ‘Something I said frightened you.’
Again Mara stiffened. Her eyes flashed. The Acoma fear nothing, she thought, and almost said so. Honour need not be defended before a slave! Shamed that she had nearly forgotten herself, she jerked her head in dismissal to the maid.
To Tsurani eyes, the gesture offered warning like a shout. The servant knelt and touched her face to the floor, then left the room with close to indecorous haste. The barbarian remained oblivious. He repeated his question, softly, as though she were a child who had not understood.
Alone in the lamplight, and arrogant in her annoyance, the Lady’s dark eyes bored into Kevin with a fury that sought to sear him.
He misread her temper for contempt. His own raw-nerved anger kindled in response and he surged to his feet. ‘Lady, I have enjoyed our chat. It has allowed me to practise your language and spared me hard labour under a brutal sun. But from the moment I came into your presence yesterday, you seem to have forgotten that our two nations are at war. I might have been taken captive, but I am still your enemy. I will speak no more of my world, lest I unwittingly lend you advantage. May I have your permission to withdraw?’
Although the barbarian towered over her, Mara showed no change in composure. ‘You may not go.’ How dare he act as a guest and request his hostess’s leave. Checking her anger, she spoke in measured tones. ‘You are not a “captive”. You are my property.’
Kevin studied Mara’s face. ‘No.’ A grin lit his features, rendered wicked and humourless by the anger that lay behind. ‘Your captive. Nothing more. Never anything more.’
‘Sit down!’ Mara commanded.
‘What if I don’t? What if I do this instead?’ He moved with battle-honed speed. Mara saw him come at her like a blur in the lamplight. She might have shouted for warriors to defend her, but astonishment that a slave might raise his hand to her made her hesitate. The chance was lost. Hands hard with sword callus closed over her neck, crushing jade ornaments into delicate skin. Kevin’s palms were broad, and icy cold with sweat. Too late Mara recognized that his banter had been a fagade to cover desperation.