The jewels they had found in the loot-the answer to the expensive treatment which had saved his life.
Dumarest said, sincerely, "Thank you, Dephine."
"For what?"
"Doing what you could to save me. The doctor told me about the burns. Without those inoculations I wouldn't be alive now."
"No, Earl, you wouldn't."
"And so I thank you."
"You thank me," she said, dryly. "Is that all? A few words quickly spoken?" And then, as he made no comment, added, "If so it isn't enough. I want more, Earl. A lot more."
"There is little I can give," said Dumarest evenly. "But you have the jewels and can retain most of my share."
"It still isn't enough."
Simple greed? He doubted it, but had to be sure. "What then?"
Her answer was direct. "You, Earl. I want you."
Marriage? In the display they had been governed by passion, riding a tide of sensual pleasure, of desire, of lust. She had been wild in her abandon, surrendering all restraint, concerned only with their union and careless as to who might be watching. An abandon he had shared in an explosive release of primeval energy. There had been words in the glowing dimness, things whispered in the language of lovers. Terms of endearment, protestations of affection, promises which he had heard from other women and which he had learned to discount-when passion died such things were often forgotten. And, influenced by Krhan's genius, neither had been wholly normal.
"Earl?"
She expected an answer, but he delayed giving it, letting the silence grow as he studied the lines of her face. It was hard, cold, a tiny muscle twitching at the corner of her mouth. Her nails made little scratching sounds as they rasped over the rich fabric of her gown.
Not the face of a woman declaring her love to a potential mate. But if not marriage then what?
"You're cold," she said at last. "Had I said that to another man he would have leapt to the obvious and be talking of our future life together. Especially after what happened between us in the display. Yet you say nothing. Why, Earl? Am I so repulsive?"
"Say what you mean, Dephine."
"Cold and hard and direct." She looked down at her hands as if reluctant to meet his eyes. "You're an unusual man, Earl, but I knew that before we left Hoghan. And in the Varden you proved it again and again. The Varden- how can I ever forget it? Days spent with death all around, not knowing if I would contract the disease, not even knowing if Remille had sent the ship to plunge into a sun. Can you imagine it, Earl? Can you?"
The cold glare of light and a silence broken only by moans and screams of the sick and insane. Alone in a ship which had become a tomb, the air tainted with the stench of burning flesh, filled with the restless mutters of nightmare.
"It's over now," he said. "Over."
"Yes, Earl. A danger passed and a problem solved and for you that is the end of it. You will move on, visit other worlds, meet other women, but you don't carry, as I do, the curse of your heritage. I had thought myself rid of it, but in the Varden, and later when I felt the impact of Krhan's genius-Earl, it isn't easy to forget the past."
"Can you ever, Dephine?"
She caught the sombre note in his voice and with an impulsive gesture reached out a hand and touched the side of his face. A touch which turned into a caress as her fingers moved softly over his cheek, to rest on his lips, to lift and be pressed against her own. A kiss by proxy; a thing often done in taverns by harlots with eyes as hard as the metal which graced their nails. But this was no tavern but a bench set among scented bushes and the woman was regal in self-assured pride.
A pride which crumpled as, tremulously, she said, "Earl! I need you! Please don't make me beg!"
"Need me for what?"
"For your strength, your courage, your skill. Because you are a man in every sense of the word. Because I am afraid."
"Afraid?"
She said, dully, "I belong to an old and honored family. One so steeped in tradition that it has become a way of life. Can you understand that? To live by a code which must not be broken. Of pride which can admit of no weakness. Of reputation which must be maintained no matter what the cost. I was a rebel and when the chance came to escape I took it. Since then I have done many things." Light glittered as she lifted her hands and looked at her nails. "Things which could be regarded as having sullied the good name of my House."
"So?"
"I want to go back, Earl. I want to go home. Yet how can I be sure of a welcome? I could be challenged-there is nothing so cruel as outraged pride. So you see why I need you. I must have a champion. A man to stand at my side and to shield me with his strength. Just for a while, Earl, until I am accepted, then you can go your own way if you want."
She had tended him and saved his life-he couldn't refuse.
"Very well, Dephine," he said. "I'll take you home."
Chapter Nine
Home was Emijar, a small world lying at the edge of a dust cloud, the solitary planet of a dying sun. From his balcony Dumarest studied it, looking at the distant loom of hills, the rolling swell of terrain. From below came the sound of voices and, leaning over the parapet, he could see small and colorful figures busy driving horned beasts from pasture into stalls for milking. Boys at their labors as the girls would be hard at work spinning and weaving. The children of the Family learning the essential disciplines of husbandry.
With his elbows leaning on the carved and weathered stone Dumarest examined the exterior of the house. It was a big, rambling structure which had grown over the years, yet the new additions had blended with the old adding to instead of detracting from the original conception. The tower in which he stood reared towards the sky, walls enclosed small courtyards and the thick, outer walls were topped with crenelations. A house which was a combination of farm and fortress. A building which had stretched to embrace generations of residents as it had expanded to contain the accumulation of centuries.
A place of dust and cobwebs, invisible, intangible, but there just the same.
Dumarest straightened and turned and stepped back into the room he had been given. It was shaped like a wedge, the floor of polished wood, the ceiling thick with massive beams, the walls softened by an arras of brightly decorated fabric. The bed was wide and covered with a quilt stuffed with feathers. A chest stood at its foot and a low table at its side held wine in a crystal decanter together with two goblets. The door was of solid wood, barred with metal straps and thick with the heads of nails.
A knock and it opened.
The man standing outside said, "My apologies if I have disturbed you. Am I permitted to enter?"
"Do so."
"You are most kind, Earl. I have neglected you, an unforgivable lapse, but I crave your indulgence. The excitement of Dephine's arrival-you understand?"
"I think so."
"To return after so many years!" The man made an expressive gesture. "An event which must be celebrated. Already word has been sent to all members of the Family. But I am remiss. You are comfortable? The room is to your liking? You have bathed?"
Dumarest nodded, studying his visitor. Hendaza de Monterale Keturah was Dephine's uncle, a man of late middle-age, his short, stocky body clothed in sombre fabrics, his tunic alone bright with the encrustation of colorful badges. Symbols of achievement and rank, Dumarest knew. As important to the man as the bolstered weapon he carried at his waist, the firearm no adult would ever be seen without.
Dumarest said, flatly, "How is Dephine? Has she been accepted?"
"By me, certainly, but I have traveled in my youth and know that tolerance is a part of civilized living. Others are less generous, but they will be won over given time and, if the worst should happen, well, she has her champion."