“What you’re thinking isn’t true!” I said quickly feeling my heart starting to pound. “He didn’t give me to you because he can’t. I’m not his to give.”
“You know our language and our customs,” he observed, coming toward me. “Also you must know that a host does not give what belongs to another. Do you belong to another?”
“Women on this world are free to belong to themselves,” I said desperately, trying to edge away from him. “You can’t just...”
“Generous indeed is the host of my journey” He grinned, grabbing my ankle to pull me back. “No man of my world would be foolish enough to give a woman with green eyes as house-gift. I shall have to gift him well in return.”
His hand left my ankle as he lay down on the couch next to me and pulled me to him. I was close enough to see the tanned skin beneath the thick blond hair on his chest, close enough to smell the strange, musky odor of him. His hands were warm against my suddenly clammy skin, and I didn’t want to believe that this was really happening.
“Tammad, you must believe me,” I yelled, struggling against those impossible arms. “I don’t belong to Sandy Kemper!”
“That is quite true.” He nodded, slowly moving his hands over me. “You now belong to me. Remove these coverings.”
I swallowed hard looking at him, but swallowing didn’t alter the situation. He was exploring me with his hands as he pressed me up against the couch back, but my sleep suit, brief as it was, was interfering. Now he wanted it off and had said so.
“I don’t belong to you, either,” I announced as firmly as I could. “And my clothes will stay on!”
He smiled slightly and pulled twice, and my halter and mini bottom were gone so fast that the discs barely had time to release. I grabbed at the suit, trying to get it back, but he just tossed it to the floor behind him and went on with his exploration.
I’d be lying if I said I felt nothing from his touch, but I was much too nervous to really enjoy it. I was hardly inexperienced where men were concerned, but he was so damned big! And I didn’t have any choice, either. When I continued to struggle against his efforts, he pinned my wrists with one giant paw, then ignored me.
When it was all over, I lay curled up on the couch, trying not to groan. I’d been right in worrying about his size, and he was in no danger of being described as a “gentle lover.” I was sore all over, from his fingers and teeth as much as anything else, and I felt totally spent. The barbarian had left the couch when he was through with me, and his sense of satisfaction was almost tangible.
“You struggle well,” he grinned from the center of the room as he put his swim trunks back on. “It was long since I last had the use of a woman. I shall use you often.”
“Over my dead body” I got out, not trying to be funny. If he ever touched me again, it would probably kill me.
“You seem disturbed,” he mused, studying me with a curious expression. “Was the struggle not enjoyable to you as well?”
Talk about your barefaced gall! “How the hell could it be?” I snarled in outrage. “Do you think I enjoy being raped?”
“But you were not virgin,” he protested mildly, as if that were the only excuse he could accept as reasonable. “Is it not a woman’s purpose to be used by men?”
Talking to a barbarian like him was absolutely impossible and a total waste of time, but getting mad was even more useless. He was much too ignorant to understand even basic explanations, but I felt a need to say something.
“Some women have other purposes,” I told him, forcing myself to sit up in spite of the aches. “I am a Prime XenoMediator, the very best of the best. I was trained for years to function at the highest levels, not to be used beneath a hulking barbarian. Do you mind if I get my clothes back now?”
“Your coverings must be replaced,” he answered, watching me retrieve my sleep suit. “The others may arrive soon, and it is not fitting to show a man that which cannot be his. I shall not be so foolish as to gift you to another.”
I resisted the urge to close my eyes in frustration as I climbed into my things. “You’d better get it through your head that I don’t belong to you,” I said, after resetting the discs of my sleep suit. “Murdock will have enough to answer for without adding slavery to the list.”
“Murdock usually has all the answers he needs,” a voice rasped from the suddenly open door. I turned my head to see Murdock himself standing there, with Sandy hovering nervously behind him. Murdock got his twisted body moving again, dragged himself over to a chair and sat, leaning heavily on his cane.
“This time you’re going to be a few short,” I snapped, not waiting until he had himself settled. “Harboring a dangerous alien, kidnap, assault—oh, Jack will just love this!”
“Alas, my dear Terrillian, Jackson Randall did not love it,” Murdock commented, moving his eyes to me. “He’ll be joining us shortly, so you will see for yourself. Just now I’m more concerned with the vexations you’ve caused me. When are you ever going to learn to mind your own infernal business?”
“As a PXM it is my business.” I countered, putting my fists on my hips. “Do you think I’m aching to mediate a riot between all of Central and its own XenoDiplomacy Bureau? Considering the XD personnel involved, I’d find impartiality rather hard to come by.”
“I’ve often wondered about your impartiality,” he came back dryly leaning slowly back in the chair. “Nevertheless, this is a Diplomacy matter, and has nothing to do with Mediation. How in the name of problematical inquiry did you stumble on it to begin with?”
“With Sandy involved, it wasn’t very difficult.” I answered, glancing at my lovable neighbor where he perched nervously on the edge of the rembowood desk. “Only he would leave an illegal alien lying about while he was hand-destroying his quadriwagon—and then tell me his name was Fred O’Herlihy!”
Murdock glanced sadly at a totally defeated Sandy, then shook his head. “Sandros, Sandros, I despair of you,” he sighed. “How are you to make your way in the world of diplomacy when even the most childishly simple dissembling is beyond you? You and I will have to talk.”
Sandy just nodded miserably so I took the opportunity to ask, “What specific event are you waiting for, Murdock? Why can’t you complete your plans with your little friend now? And how long a wait are you going to be forced to endure?”
Burdock’s expression went totally blank, and I had to admire his ability in spite of his poisonous personality. His narrow, sunken face gave no information whatsoever, and his faded grey eyes were as innocent as his unaccented grey hair.
“You seem to have picked up rather more than Sandros believed, Terrillian,” he murmured, his attention squarely on me again. “Have you been plying Tammad with your all too obvious attributes? I warn you now that that is not the safest of endeavors.”
“How sweet of you to warn me, Murdock,” I answered with barely a quiver. “In turn let me inform you that active hostility does little to protect, either. When the hell are you going to learn how to teach your people about extraplanetary customs?”
The sharpness in my tone reached him immediately. “Why?” he asked. “What happened?”
“Sandy happened!” I snapped, running a hand through the tangle of my hair. “He very kindly gave me as a house-gift to his guest—who didn’t hesitate to make use of the gift.”
“What’s a house-gift?” Sandy asked faintly, his face paling again as he stood straight from the desk. “How could I have ....”
“Sandros,” Murdock interrupted quietly. “A house-gift on Rimilia is a gift given by a host to his guest, thanking him for the honor of his presence. It can be an article of clothing, of furniture, a decoration—or a woman. In any event, the gift, once given, is the property of the guest. Correct, Tammad?”