Still, the voice emerged pleasantly tempered. ‘Lady Mara, I am pleased. Are you well?’
Mara swept him a bow, her jewels flashing in stray flecks of sunlight through the leaves. ‘Hokanu of the Shinzawai, I am well enough to know better. You are irked at my tardiness, and for that I plead no excuses.’ She stood upright, the top of her forehead barely level with his chin. To meet his dark eyes, she had to tilt her head up in a manner that, entirely without artifice, made her stunning. ‘What can the Acoma do but ask your forgiveness?’ Mara paused with a disarmingly sheepish smile. ‘Quite simply, I forgot what time it was.’
For a second, Hokanu looked outraged. Then, obviously at a loss before the Lady’s appeal, and taken by the fact she had not lied to him, his teeth flashed in a burst of honest laughter. ‘Mara, you confound me! Were you a warrior, I should be trading sword blows with you. As it is, I can only note that you owe me a debt. I’ll claim your company as my compensation.’
Mara stepped forward and allowed him a briefly formal embrace. ‘Maybe I should have met you at the door in the crumpled robe I wore to council,’ she suggested wickedly.
Hokanu continued to grip her hand in a manner Kevin interpreted as possessive. The young man’s ability to conceal his eagerness behind a facade of astonishing grace annoyed the Midkemian slave, although he could not have said why. When the nobleman responded to the Lady’s quip with another laugh, saying, ‘Do that next time,’ Kevin found himself scowling.
Normally Mara was quick-witted and assertive when dealing with her male staff and those few state visitors Kevin had observed during his tenure as her body servant. With Hokanu, her wit became less acerbic, and the spirit he had grudgingly come to admire became obscured by inexplicable diffidence. Mara seemed guarded against showing pleasure as she allowed the young warrior to settle her down on the cushions; plainly she found the young man’s company enjoyable. With submissive courtesy she called Kevin to serve food and drink. Hokanu accepted a dish of spirit-soaked fruits and a goblet of sa wine. His dark eyes flicked with interest over the Midkemian. Kevin momentarily felt inspected inside and out, like merchandise; then the nobleman turned teasingly to Mara.
‘I see that you have tamed this sarcat of a barbarian most admirably. He appears to have learned his place somewhat better than others of his kind.’
Mara hid amusement behind the rim of her chocha cup as she took a small swallow. ‘So it might seem,’ she said quietly. ‘Did you find the slaves your father required in the ngaggi swamps?’
Hokanu’s eyes flickered as he inclined his head. ‘The matter has been resolved satisfactorily.’ Then, as though aware that Mara had been as reticent with him as he with her concerning their mutual but unspoken interest in Midkemians, he returned the subject to Kevin’s physical attributes, as though the redheaded Midkemian were not present and listening.
‘He looks as strong as a needra bull and should do very well at clearing the land for your pastures.’
Ill accustomed to being discussed like an animal, Kevin opened his mouth and observed that he would rather take wagers over arm wrestling. Before he could be so bold as to challenge the elegant Shinzawai warrior to a match, Mara’s face paled. With dramatically fast timing, she forestalled his next line. ‘Slave! You are no longer needed here. Send Misa to attend us. Then go to the front courtyard and help Jican see to the needs of Hokanu’s caravan.’
Kevin’s lip curled daringly into a half-smile as he made his slave’s bow, still slightly less than custom dictated, to Mara’s everlasting irritation. Then, with a glance at Hokanu that came just shy of spiteful, he spun on his heel and departed. The only flaw in his performance was the fact that the short Tsurani robe looked ridiculous on him, a detail Hokanu did not overlook.
The comment half-heard as Kevin stepped through the screen into the corridor was close to indecent, considering the presence of the Lady. With a vicious twist of anger, Kevin wished he could pick a fight, then, with equally surprising candour, he realized he felt jealous. ‘Damn him, and damn her, too,’ he muttered to himself. To even think of an infatuation with Mara was sure invitation to get himself strung by the neck from the nearest ulo tree, probably head down over a slow fire. If he was to gain anything from this woman, it would not be through dalliance. Somehow, against all expectations and traditions, he would contrive a way to be free again.