He had hurt her as he had told her he would; he had made her feel used, without dignity or pride, a mindless object of lust and pleasure.
No, she had not been without dignity even at the end. She had just kept her word and given whatever he asked of her. He hadn't expected anything else. She had never broken faith since the day he had met her.
Except when she had built the bridge over Lanpur Gorge. She had traded in iron instead of steel and Ian had been the one to suffer for it. If she had to falter, why the hell couldn't it have been at some other time, some other place. He could have forgiven anything but what had happened to—
Forgiven? It was too late for forgiveness between them. He had taken his revenge and would take it again until it was time for her to leave. What he had done was just. It was not right for Ian to suffer and no one else.
I know myself now, she had said.
But did he know himself? Did he know how much of what had happened tonight was revenge and how much the fever of lust? The more he had of her, the more starved he became.
Starved and enchained. At times he had felt more enslaved than Jane during these past hours.
He would get over it. The first wild burst of passion was always the strongest. By the time she left the summerhouse, he would surely slake himself of both lust and revenge.
I don't love you anymore.
I'm free of you.
He pulled her closer with a movement unconsciously possessive. She murmured something inaudible into his shoulder and was asleep again.
He did not sleep for another two hours. He was too filled with anger and frustration and— It was not pity. You didn 't do it right. . . .
Li Sung frowned. "None of your guards sighted the elephant anywhere?"
Dilam shook her head. "A peaceful night."
"You're sure?"
"You appear disappointed."
"Foolishness," Li Sung said curtly. "After his rampage I merely thought it odd he had left us in peace for two nights in a row. Why would I want the elephant to come and destroy what we have built?"
"Why indeed?"
He knew what Dilam was thinking. Makhol. More foolishness. "There's work to do." Li Sung turned away with a jerky movement and walked toward the track, carefully keeping his gaze from wandering toward the west. Dilam was wrong. It was not some mystical bond that was attracting him to the elephant. It was anger . . . and fear.
Margaret threw open the door of the studio and announced belligerently, "I have no intention of continuing to come here. I'm here today only because I couldn't think of a way to—"
"Keep me from getting what I want," Kartauk finished impatiently. "I know, I know. Now, come over and put on your apron. We have work to do."
She felt a surge of relief as she realized there was no hint of intimacy in his tone. So much for the worrying and soul-searching she had undergone all night. He had closed the door and it was as if yesterday had never happened. She moved across the studio toward the worktable. "And I shall not pose for you."
"Not now," he said absently as he measured moist sand into a small box. "I have to cast Ruel's seal. I'll think about the statue another day."
"It will do you no good to ponder the matter. I will not pose." She reached under the table for her apron and put it on, her gaze upon the mold they had started two days ago. "What do we do first?"
"We powder the plaster model with fine charcoal dust." He did so and then pressed the model into one of the two caster boxes on the worktable before him. Wonderful hands; skilled, graceful, sure. Yet they had not been this sure when he had touched her yesterday, but trembling with need. "Then we dry the portion of the model where the figures come. Are you listening?"
"Of course." She guiltily looked away from his hands. "What next?"
"Pasta di pane crudo."
"What?"
"Dough." He scooped up doughy paste from one of his bowls, shaped it like a cake the same size and thickness the seal was to be, and carefully placed it over the design formed by the plaster. "The dough is to make the shape of the body of the seal. Take the other caster sand box and fill it full of sand."
She scooped the moist sand into the box. "And then?"
"We let that sand dry and then set that box over the first box. Two halves of a whole."
That's what he had said about what they could have together. Two halves of a whole.
"Pack the moist sand very tightly. You've spilled some. . . ."
It was no wonder. Her hands were trembling as much as his had been the day before. He had closed the door. Why couldn't she do the same?
"After a time we'll separate the boxes, take out the dough cake, and cut a mouth and two vent holes in the mold. When both are dry, we'll smoke the mold over with a little candle smoke and let it cool. It's always best to pour hot gold into cold interstices."
"Is that all I'm supposed to remember?"
His thick brows lifted. "Is that not enough? Should I have given you a greater challenge, apprentice?"
"This is quite enough."
"I hope you paid careful attention. You'll do Ian's seal by yourself."
Her eyes widened. "What? The entire seal?"
"I'll prepare the materials, you'll do the work."
"But I'm not ready to do something like this. What if I make a mistake?"
He smiled. "Hope that you do. You learn most from your mistakes."
She grimaced. "And you would stand by and let me waste hours of work on nothing?"
"I told you to listen. If you ruin your seal, I will explain once more and only once before you do it again."
She tried frantically to remember the order of the steps he had taken in the process. "What comes next?"
"We melt the gold, but I think you have enough to remember. We won't go into that now."
"Thank you," she said sarcastically. "I suppose I'm required to memorize that process as well. Have you no other words of wisdom to impart?"
He did not look at her as he stood up and took off his leather apron. "Yes, concentrate only on the work at hand."
"I could scarcely do anything else."
"And remember to keep the flame turned low."
"I thought we were not going to go into melting the—"
I kept the flame turned low for three long years.
Kartauk had been aware of what she had been feeling but had ignored it, putting her at ease, giving her something to cling to in this unknown sea of emotions. She experienced a glowing warmth deep within her that had an element of despair. How could she guard against him when he showed such kindness and empathy?
"I understand," she said in a low voice.
"Of course you do. You're a very intelligent woman, apprentice." He moved toward the veranda door. "Tidy up this mess while I go to the furnace room and select a sheet of gold for the melting."