Daldrin first untied my sandals and tossed them away, then returned his attention to my leg under the gown. With a man in his condition of need I didn’t think it would take long proving I was right, but the servant-slave of the Chama didn’t do anything I expected him to. He acted as though he had all the time and patience in the world, trailing his fingers over my flesh in long caresses, closing his hand around my calf or ankle, running his palm all the way up my side and then down again with no attempt to touch my breast. I didn’t understand what he was doing, and that was probably what quickly began making me uncomfortable. I stirred in his arms and put my head back to frown up at him, and was greeted by his grin before his lips lowered to touch mine. His kiss was gentle and undemanding, as though he were merely continuing a faintly interesting investigation, and my confusion grew even greater.
Not long after that my torn gown was removed, but it didn’t seem very important. Despite the extreme satisfaction in his mind, I was so sure he wasn’t getting anywhere I even helped get the gown off. The pleasure in his mind grew vastly greater when he placed me flat on the carpet fur and began looking at me, and again I didn’t understand why I should be so uncomfortable. It was true he hadn’t yet removed his leather pants while I lay there naked, so possibly that had something to do with it. Then he stretched out beside me to take me in his arms and kiss me again, and I forgot all about what was being worn by whom.
I couldn’t say exactly when it was that I discovered I was gritting my teeth. Daldrin’s hands had been all over me for some time, when I suddenly discovered I couldn’t stand any more. I quickly decided we’d been experimenting long enough and opened my mouth to say so, but his lips interrupted the words with a kiss that had more heat in it than any of the others he had given me. I moved feebly against him, trying to protest, and then nearly choked on a moan when he touched me deeply and possessively, sending a scream of fire through my body. All at once it was as though I were being consumed alive, as though the screaming flames had been brought just to the surface and held there until Daldrin decided it was time to release them. Now they were free to ravage me—and so was the man. The thought of resisting didn’t even cross my mind; resistance was impossible with a man like that, and my body knew it even if my mind hadn’t. Daldrin laughed as he rid himself of clothing, and then I was his without question.
A very long time later I lay on my side on the carpet fur, staring at the blue and silver silk on the walls, trying to coax some strength back into my body. I felt totally exhausted, but the feeling wasn’t anywhere near as unpleasant as it should have been.
“Your silence does not seem to be filled with pleasure,” Daldrin observed from his place on the carpet-fur behind me. “Why are you disturbed?”
I moved my cheek slightly against the carpet fur, but didn’t answer him. All I’d managed to do with words that day was talk myself deeper into self-hatred.
“Ah, now do I recall our discussion before we merged,” he said, chuckling as he put a hand out to touch my hip. “The truth of my words has been proven beyond doubt, and you now feel the foolishness of your contention. Do not concern yourself with it, wenda. Such foolishness is best left behind you.”
He put his arms around me and gathered me to him, but his grin faded when he saw the tears in my eyes: Even with the tears I wasn’t really crying, and he seemed to know that. He stroked my hair gently until I lay my head on his chest, and then waited in silence for the words he knew would be coming.
“I feel so shamed I cannot bear it,” I whispered at last, putting my arms around his broad, powerful body to keep myself from trembling. “I must truly be a slave to respond so to every man who touches me. It is now no wonder that he gave me so often to others. He wished to show me how slave-like I am, and how unworthy of him I am. Should he ever look upon me again, I will die of the shame.”
“Ah, wenda; why must you give yourself such unnecessary pain?” he sighed, tightening his arms around me. “It is as I told you earlier: no woman will fail to respond to a man who has learned the ways of women. Why have you not mentioned the battles fought by your l’lenda with the men to whom you were given?”
“Battles?” I frowned, somehow distracted by the oddness of the question. “There were no battles fought. The men were his friends, his brothers, with deep feeling shared between them.”
“Then your beliefs concerning his attitudes cannot be true,” Daldrin said, pleased. “For one l’lenda to give a slave to another is deep insult, as l’lendaa consider the ownership of slaves to be beneath them: In another light, there is nothing more precious a man may share with his brother than the use of the woman of his heart, for what other thing may be as valuable? Should a man wish to show the love he holds for another man, it is most easily done by permitting him the use of one who will give him great pleasure. Had you been cold and unresponsive, he would not have allowed your use by others, for he would not have wished to be shamed. Do you see now how far from the mark your thoughts have been?”
“The concept is too far beyond me.” I struggled, shaking my head to try to stop the whirling of my thoughts. “Even were I able to accept your words, they would not explain the reason for his coldness and disgust when last I saw him.”
“There is no knowing his reason short of asking him,” Daldrin said, dismissing the importance of the question. “Perhaps it was the Hamarda and their practices which displeased him. When he comes for you, you will then be able to ask.”
“Ah, Daldrin, you know as well as I that he will riot come,” I sighed, somehow feeling better even though I was still miserable. “That he found me once is unbelievable enough; to follow a second time, across rock and sand, would not be possible. Even were his love truth rather than lie, it would not be possible.”
“Tell me,” Daldrin mused, toying idly with my hair. “Were you banded by your l’lenda?” At my surprised nod he asked, “How far?”
“I was two-banded,” I answered, wondering what he was getting at. “What has that to do with . . .”
“It has much to do with all you have said.” He laughed, pulling gently on my hair to make me look up at him. “It bas been your contention that the l’lenda who took you cares nothing for you, only for your power. It is now clear to me that you are as mistaken in this belief as you were in your others. How well did you obey your l’lenda? How pleased was he with you?”
“He—was not well pleased at all,” I admitted, then raised my chin defiantly. “My unhappiness was great, and I disobeyed him whenever I might.”
“And added insolence to disobedience as well, I warrant.” He grinned, tugging harder at my hair. “Had it been your power alone that he coveted, wenda, you would have worn five bands—and the welts of many beatings. Do you doubt that this l’lenda has the ability to exact perfect obedience from you?”
I stared silently at the amusement in his blue eyes for a moment, then shook my head.
“No,” I grudged with a good deal of idiotic embarrassment. “The ability is his without doubt.”
“Then you will admit that true feelings must surely have stayed his hand,” Daldrin pressed, triumph in his mind. “Your punishment lay in the shame of being allowed no more than two bands, that and what strappings he could not in all good conscience let by.”
“You overlook one point you are not aware of,” I said, puncturing his triumph somewhat by refusing to acknowledge it. “The l’lenda is well aware of the fact that I cannot be forced to use my power if he would rely on it. Too, great pain puts the power beyond my ability to control it. This, also, is part of his knowledge. How, then, am I to conclude that true feelings stayed his hand? Might it not have been awareness of the delicately balanced game he played?”