“Your hair is very long and beautiful,” said Tarla with her usual shyness, her previous distress seemingly overcome. “I shall comb it for you so that you may feel more presentable at the appearance of the elders.”
She rose from her place and went toward a small, round platform beside the wall to the right of the fireplace, and drew therefrom a thick comb of wood. The small, round platform had not been there when I had first been brought to the dwelling, and then did I see that much of the dirt of disuse had been removed from the room as well. The wooden floors were now without rubble and dust, the fireplace had been cleared before a new fire had been laid, and some layers of grease and dirt had been removed from the windows. Still was the room quite bare, with only the round platform and my furs, a few large metal hooks on the walls, yet had it been cleaned. Undoubtedly Tarla had been set to the doing, and without protest must she have obeyed.
I made no refusal as Tarla set the comb to my hair, for I still had not the strength to move my arms so. Instead, I attempted to question the girl upon the matter of the forthcoming visit to those who had been called elders, yet naught did she know of their purpose, save that they would attempt to dispute the claims of Ceralt. Much interest had I in such news, for were it possible to deny Ceralt’s assertions, then might I be released to go my own way. Naught would be lost in such an attempt and much might be gained, therefore did I resolve to do what I might to see it so.
Tarla was nearly done with her combing when Ceralt and Lialt returned. I sat with my hair spread out about my arms and thighs as the door opened, and looked up to see the entrance of the males. Lialt frowned in usual disapproval over some matter, yet Ceralt halted a pace or two from the door, an odd, indescribable look within the deep, light pools of his eyes. With longing did those eyes hold to me, a longing well mixed with hot desire, and sharply did I recall the manner in which his heat used me, ever with strength, never to be denied. My fingers found the ends of my hair and grasped them nervously, for surely he meant to take me then to quench his heat. I, too, felt the stirrings of desire, yet would his use of me be most painful with the presence of my wounds, more painful even than the use of Nolthis had been. Quickly I lowered my gaze so that my eyes might not betray and shame me, and nearly did I miss the voice of Lialt.
“Again she disobeys!” snapped Lialt, his annoyance clear even through my upset. “Have I not told her, again and again, that she is forbidden to sit so? Now would I see her punished, Ceralt, as you have promised!”
No immediate answer was made by Ceralt, yet the sound of his step upon the wooden floor caused me to twist more vigorously at the ends of my hair where it lay upon the lenga pelt which covered me. Sooner would I have had his punishment than his caress, for his caress was true pain, yet his hand came to smooth my hair, and then the backs of his fingers touched my cheek.
“Is a wench to be disallowed the combing of her hair, brother?” Ceralt asked most softly as he stood beside me. His hand went to a strand of my hair, and he drew it gently through his fingers as he crouched beside me. My cheek burned where he had touched it, and surely did I wish for the strength to draw away from him. “See how lovely she looks, Lialt. Her health and beauty return through your efforts—and those of Tarla. Never have I punished a wench for seeing to her appearance, yet should you ask it—”
“Enough, brother!” laughed Lialt, no longer with anger in his voice. “Willingly do I grant the girl time for her beautifying, if only for your sake, yet does she now seem weary. I would see her rest a time, and then may the ministrations continue.”
“As you say, brother,” Ceralt agreed, also with laughter. His hands took me by the arms and pressed me back toward the pelt beneath me, and surely did I think the thudding of my heart would be heard by all in the dwelling. Now would he use me, causing me to voice my pain, giving me shame before the others in my weakness. My eyes sought his, seeking a sign of when the thing would begin, and the laughter left his broad, dark face.
“Lialt, see how pale she has become.” Ceralt frowned, his eyes concerned. “And feel how she trembles beneath my hands. What ails her?”
Lialt, too, came to crouch beside me, his hand upon my brow, yet was I unable to take my eyes from Ceralt. A silent moment of consideration did Lialt pass, and then he spoke.
“I know not the why of it, brother,” said Lialt somewhat in puzzlement, “yet does it seem that the wench fears you.”
“Fears me!” echoed Ceralt, shock and disbelief in his light eyes. “For what reason would she fear me?”
The words of Lialt touched me with shock as well, and then indignation came, more strongly than the earlier apprehension. “Jalav fears no male!” said I with heat, attempting to twist from the hands of Ceralt. “Use me as you will, give me pain as you will, yet shall I look upon you with hate rather than fear! Do your worst; I do not fear you!”
“Of what does she speak, Ceralt?” asked Lialt in confusion, his eyes turning toward his brother. “She is not yet strong enough to be drawn from the circle and used. For what reason would she believe you meant to use her?”
Ceralt took a breath unto himself, and then he shook his head with a good deal of annoyance. “The wench knows me well, Lialt,” said the male whose hands yet held my arms, whose eyes yet held mine. “I do indeed feel great desire for her this moment, yet does she know me less well than she believes. Despite the urgings of my desire, I shall not bed her till she is able to reply with the small amount of expertise I have thus far been able to teach her. Use of her now would be less than adequate, and I have not the patience for it.”
“Less than adequate!” I sputtered, full outrage upon me.
“Small amount of—that you—!” Words failed me then, so great was my indignation, and the laughter of the males did naught to cool my outrage. Furiously, I struggled against the strong hands which held me, for many males had felt themselves honored to be allowed the sharing of my sleeping leather long before the appearance of this prancing he-wrettan, Ceralt! And now does he calmly announce—!
“Gently, Jalav, gently,” laughed Ceralt, greatly amused as he held to me. His light eyes danced with laughter, and Lialt crouched, forearms upon thighs, also widely agrin. Truly drained was I from the struggle, yet never would I allow males to laugh at me so. My hair twisted and caught beneath me, Tarla’s combing totally undone, yet the males’ amusement knew no end.
Then came another, unexpected voice, the voice of Tarla, yet was this a Tarla I had not earlier seen. With great anger, she grasped an arm of Ceralt in her two small hands and attempted to loosen his grip upon me.
“For shame, High Rider!” she cried, drawing the eyes of the males and their surprise as well. “Never had I thought to see one such as you torment a helpless woman! Is not the pain of her wounds enough? Must you add to it? Can you not see what your amusement has cost her?”
“Truly am I now able to see that which is so clear to you, Tarla,” said Ceralt, his voice as soft as the look in his eye as he gazed upon me. “I am pleased that the well-being of my wench is so firmly seen to by you, for she has great need of wise protection. Her protection must be yours till I am able to claim her. ”
“I shall protect her,” asserted Tarla, pink-cheeked with fluster over that which she had done, yet attempting to maintain a great dignity. She knelt beside Ceralt, her hands now returned to her lap, her head held high, true dedication in her large, dark eyes and upon her youthful face. Still feeling anger, I turned from them, for they continued to make sport of me. How was a child such as Tarla to be the protector of a war leader of the Midanna? In no way might this be done, save through the shaming of such a war leader. Some small dizziness attempted to claim me as I lay with my cheek to the fur, yet this I would not allow. The wounds inflicted by the Silla had done me considerable harm, yet would I overcome these wounds and all that my enemies might do to me. I, a Hosta warrior, would not be kept forever from earned vengeance and the freedom of the forests!