by Dara Joy
"I rather like the sound of that, Anya."
"So do I, daughter, so do I." Anya patted her hand as they reached the cleared circle where Jorlan awaited them. When she released her hand she backed out of the small space.
The Septibunal members came forward and formed a circle around the two of them. Green ignored Claudine, who was trying her best to catch Jorlan's attention.
Duchene Hawke nodded at Jorlan, indicating he should go on his knees in front of Green. When a full minute had gone by and Jorlan still did not kneel, several guests began buzzing.
Green nodded to his two attendants, who not so gently placed their hands on his shoulders and forced him down. He was strong enough to stop them, of course. Instead he made just enough of a display to show rebellion.
He stared mutinously at her.
Green sucked in her breath. With his pale aqua eyes, black hair and outfit, his sheer determined defiance, she had never seen him more beautiful. She knew she would never forget the way he looked at that moment.
Slowly, Green leaned forward to remove the familial sash of Reynard from his waist. Her fingers were remarkably steady, considering. She could feel the heat of his skin beneath the cool satiny texture of the Ramagi fabric. Accidentally, she brushed the hard muscle on the plane of his stomach as her fingers grazed the knot. The slight intake of breath told her that he was not immune to her touch. A good sign.
Avatar came through the circle, bearing the Tamryn sash on a pillow. Green switched sashes, taking the Tamryn one in her hand. She held it aloft and, with her voice clear, spoke directly to Jorlan and not the Septibunal as was custom. "With this sash, Jorlan Reynard, I give to you my name, the protection of my house, and my honor. I will accept in return your seed to bear my children, whom I will entrust to you—the most precious of my life—into your care." With that, she deftly tied the Tamryn sash around his trim waist. Now it was Jorlan's turn to respond. Except the new name-bearer remained silent. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he watched his Lordene. The guests would later attest that the force of his displeasure was palpable.
Despite everything, Jorlan must accept the vow for the fastening to be legal. Green met his challenging look with her own strength of will. Suddenly, surprising everyone, and in a highly unorthodox manner, she seized Jorlan by the chin and fastened her lips to his in a brand. "Do not shame your grandmother," she hissed into his mouth.
Jorlan started, stunned by her bold action. When she released him, she waited for what he knew he must do.
"I will bear your name," he bit out angrily. Green arched an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of the acceptance. "And... ?"
He gritted his teeth. "And I will... obey you in all things."
Green nodded slightly to him in acknowledgment, then held the Reynard sash high in the air. "Arise, Jorlan Tamryn from the House of Tamryn."
In a doubly symbolic gesture so beloved by the women, she rent the Reynard sash cleanly in two. Originally the action symbolized that the male's ties to his old house were torn asunder. Over time, the meaning had become blurred with the rending of the veil.
A great cheer filled the room as the damselles celebrated the symbolic rupture. "My servants have prepared a repast for you in the dining hall; please avail yourselves." Green went to take Jorlan's arm so that they might lead the way.
He yanked it away from her. "You have what you want from me in name only, Marquelle Tamryn. I suggest you be satisfied with that."
Green gave him a look that questioned his sanity. "I hardly think so, Marqueller Tamryn. I suggest to you that you eat a hearty meal—for you will surely need it."
His cheeks flushed bronze both from anger and... something else.
With that, she all but dragged him into the dining hall.
Chapter Seven
Jorlan was conspicuously silent during the ceremonial feast.
He sat next to her, glowering down into his plate of roasted tasteslikerooster with an expression that Green was surprised did not sear the cooked creature to cinders. Tasteslikerooster had been a favorite on Forus since the time of the NEOFEM, and was the first indigenous bioform the settlers had encountered. Since it had no intelligence to speak of and they were in need of an additional protein source, tasteslikerooster was the difference in that first year between struggling to survive and full stomachs.
Since that time, schools of them were raised specifically for consumption. It had a marvelous taste that lent itself to literally thousands of recipes. No one could recall why the Origin crew had given it such an odd name. Some of their researchers believed that "rooster" was a slang term among the crew for a particularly sensual male.
In any event, Jorlan's attitude was starting to cause comments.
Green leaned toward him, brushing her lips across his cheek. At least it looked that way to their guests. In actuality she was speaking to him in a low voice. "Are you going to sulk all evening, my wilding?" she whispered in his ear, giving the fold a little lick.
He Started at the delicate touch. Giving her an angry glare, he remained stubbornly silent.
"I see. Perhaps you would rather go upstairs and prepare yourself for tonight then?" Her mouth brushed| lightly at the soft skin under his lobe. He swallowed twitching slightly from desire. Pointedly, he looked away from her down the length of the long feastin table.
Green raised her eyebrow at his blunt action. "Very well; I shall signal for the waiting-servants now." She lifted her hand to snap her fingers.
Without looking at her, Jorlan's hand came over her capturing it in his grip. He placed both their hands c the tabletop, firmly holding hers down.,
Green gasped. He had her neatly pinned. What was he doing? Name-bearers never disobeyed!
The guests were watching them very closely. If she tried to extricate herself they were sure to notice his behavior and she would be forced into doing something she did not want to do. Especially on their fastening night.
Name-givers had the right to discipline their name-bearers if they so desired. Although the practice was not generally applauded by the Slice, it was deemed a woman's sole right to decide what was proper for her name-bearer and her household. When a man fastened, whatever property he had, all of his belongings, and his entire future welfare belonged to his name-giver. Even the sons of aristocratic women did not have any say in the direction of their lives or their land.
It was a woman's world, after all.
Nevertheless, Green was not about to start their life together by having him disciplined. She wanted him to come to her willingly. She knew that wouldn't happen initially, but it was a span she was willing to endure. The end result would be worth it.
Her viewpoints were not going to stop her from taking a stand, though.
"Are you going to release my hand or do I—"
"What? Have me beaten?" He turned to her, aqua slits of challenge burning into her.
"I like your passion, Jorlan; it will be all the more enticing for me to turn it to a different direction later."
His mouth firmed. "If you think that to happen, than you had better think again."
Green met his look head on. "Do you really think I will allow this fastening to go unrent? Perhaps there is a psillacyb in the hameeri liquor you've been drinking?"
He glanced at his goblet, his complexion paling.
Green rolled her eyes. "Do not be foolish! I have no need to mesmerize you to my bed; you will be there willingly, soon enough. What's more—if past experience is a teacher—you will enjoy it."
"No."
Green shrugged. "Then that will be your choice, but somehow"—she ran her fingers along his rock-hard thigh, feeling the muscles instantly bunch—"I doubt it."
He exhaled noisily, refusing to respond.
"Are you going to release my hand?" Green's tone was clipped and direct. Discipline was out of the question, but displeasure was not. Jorlan needed to realize that she was firmly in control of her house. "I will not ask you again."
He watched t
he musicians. "Ava—" Green began to call out an order.
"If I release you," Jorlan interrupted, "will you agree not to summon the waiting-servants?" The waiting-servants were to escort him up to her chambers and prepare him for her.
"I do not bargain in my own house. You have two choices, Jorlan. You can either release my hand and see what I will do or you can remain as you are and you will surely see the consequences... and so will your grandmother."
Jorlan's nostrils flared. He released her hand. Green stared him in the eye. He was testing her. Inwardly, she sighed; but she had known it was going to be like this with him. Difficult. If she had wanted a demure name-bearer, she would have bid on any number of young men. She wanted Jorlan. Spirited blaze-dragon behavior included.
He watched to see whether she would stand down what he considered an agreement between them, since he had released his hold.
Without breaking eye contact with him, she lifted her hand and snapped her fingers three times, summoning the waiting-servants.
Instantly, the rowdy crowd went silent.
"Bring him to my chambers," she announced concisely.
Jorlan flinched as if he had been struck. Then a look came into his eyes...
And Green, experienced in the ways of the world and people, recognized that look.
The guests banged their goblets on the table, applauding the directive in the bawdy good-natured cheer that always accompanies such suggestive statements.
After all, the guests knew what the command signified and the event that was sure to follow. Bedding was, for some reason, always an eagerly thought-of event. It didn't matter who was doing it, who was thinking of doing it, or who had done it. The subject was endless mack-mock for the Select Quarter.
The waiting-servants, three of them, came forward to escort the name-bearer to his new bed.
Jorlan stood abruptly, almost knocking over his chair. Without giving her another look, he stormed off with them.
Green watched him knowingly. She signaled Mathers over to her.
The elderly servant immediately bustled over. "Yes, Lordene?"
"Assign extra guards over him. Have them stand sentinel outside the room and outside the windows and balcony as well." She spoke in aside. "He has the look of a Klee just before it bolts."
Mathers chuckled. "That he does. I'll get right on it!"
Green nodded. Lifting Jorlan's goblet to her lips, she drank deeply of his hameeri liquor.
He was going to give her a difficult night, but, by morning's light, the veil would be calling her name in ecstasy.
Upstairs, tied spread-eagle to her bed, Jorlan was calling her every name he could think of—and none of the terms he used was even close to ecstatic in nature. Somehow, the waiting-servants had overpowered him. He was angry, although to be fair to himself, there were a lot of them.
Initially, he had tried a quick escape over the balcony. He soon discovered that that route was heavily guarded. They had caught him forthwith.
But not before he had taken down five of them.
Then he had tried a secondary door, which led from the bathing chamber. Again, he had been forestalled.
Green.
Somehow she had intuited what he was about to do. The woman was uncanny! Still, he had caused quite a bit of damage before he went down. Especially to one, a wiry orange-haired snip-butt, who kept taking any chance he could to get a kick in.
Jorlan almost smiled at the snip-butt's dazed expression when he had expertly flipped him directly onto his tailbone. The dazed expression was followed by a howl of pain. Men generally did not know the secret forms of Gle Kiang-ten.
Unfortunately, they had been able to throw a sheet over him, drag him up onto the bed, and bind him before he could get free. The bed straps were amazingly strong.
They would have to be.
His nostrils flared again as he realized he was caught well and good.
Marquelle Tamryn could do whatever she wanted with him and there was naught he could do.
After they had him bound, the snip-butt had told everyone to leave. That's when he had taken his revenge. He had sneered down at Jorlan and struck him hard once in the face.
Defenseless, Jorlan could only tense for the punch he knew was coming. The force of it rocked his head back but he did not let out a sound.
"Good. Keep silent," the orange-haired servant jeered. Then he paused, seeming to think over what he had done to the Marquelle's new name-bearer. "It's simply a payback for what you did to me."
Jorlan stayed silent, staring at him with loathing.
"If you say anything, I'll deny it—remember that. Opper's been in this household a long time; she'll believe Opper before she does you."
"Who's Opper?"
The servant sniggered gutturally as if Jorlan had uttered the greatest witticism. "Who's Opper? I'm Opper, you dim-nit!" He got off the bed and retrieved a large, sharp-looking blade and began shining it suggestively on his pant leg.
Jorlan watched him carefully, wondering what he was going to do with it. The possibilities didn't bear thinking about.
Opper approached, leaning over Jorlan threateningly. "I could cut up your perfect face with this, you know. She wouldn't want you so much then, would she?"
Probably not. Jorlan was almost tempted to tell him to do it.
"However, that would be more difficult to explain away. I don't think I could talk my way out of that one."
A light of understanding came into Jorlan's pale eyes. He sucked in his breath. "You hate her."
The servant's eyes widened. He stepped back. "Guessed that, did you?"
"Why do you hate her so much?"
Opper blinked rapidly. "Why, the usual reason for the likes of someone of my station. She ruined me, she did! Took my veil! Made me pretty promises, then cast me aside."
He's lying. I wonder why? Jorlan's voice became deeper, softer. "Tell me more... "
"She promised me a fine house on the Rue de la Nuit, but did I get it? No! I'm stuck here waiting her table and taking roughhouse from you! It should be me lying there, bound up—not you!"
It seemed Opper had a fancy for his Lordene. The corners of Jorlan's lips curled. He couldn't help it. The irony was too much.
"Feel free to take my place," he quipped sarcastically. It would almost be worth hanging around to see the look on Green's face when she found this disheveled orange branch in her bed.
He had been joking, but the orange branch actually seemed to be thinking it over. Jorlan held his breath.
Suddenly the servant's eyes darkened as if he remembered something. "What do you think I am, a nod-bod? She'd be onto me right quick then, wouldn't she? And I'd be on the streets faster than you can say it."
Jorlan exhaled in annoyance.
The servant took the blade and sliced down his shirt, careful not to nick the golden-bronze skin. As he pulled the fabric away, he said matter-of-factly, "So you best keep your mouth shut about the tag and I'll keep my trapper closed about your little offer."
Jorlan did not even deign to respond.
The servant Opper tugged off his boots, none too gently. Taking the blade he began slicing Jorlan's pants.
"Most wouldn't care for a blade around these parts, would they?" He taunted Jorlan with the blade, bringing it right alongside his member. Jorlan did not even blink. He just watched him steadily.
Opper glanced down. "Well, look at that now, would you?"
Jorlan was puzzled. Look at what?
He glanced down at himself, then back up at Opper. The servant seemed giddy all of a sudden; he began humming a strange tune. That's when Jorlan began to worry. What is he doing?
Opper got up and retrieved the Tamryn sash, placing it horizontally across Jorlan's hips and groin. It was a normal thing to do on such an occasion, but nothing about this man's actions seemed normal.
Opper shook his finger at him. "You'll remember Opper now, won't you?"
With that he gave a strange little cackle and le
ft the chamber.
With dread, Jorlan awaited Green. His beautiful, sensual, oh-so-talented name-giver. The only woman he had ever wanted from the instant he had set eyes on her.
The woman he was forced to fasten.
He would never forgive her.
But could he resist her?
Green entered the chamber soon after Opper left.
At least she hadn't left him to wait too long. He didn't know whether to be relieved or not.
She ignored him at first.
Walking around the chamber, she lowered the flame-lights one by one to a softer glow. As she passed one of the urns that had been knocked over in the tussle earlier, she clicked her tongue, bending to right it.
All the while Jorlan watched her from under lowered lids. Finally, she approached the bed. Standing by his side, she stood there deliberately taking her fill of his near-naked form.
Covered only in her sash, he was quite a sight. Perfectly portioned muscular thighs and long legs. A lean waist. Beautifully formed chest and broad shoulders. Well-formed arms. And hands that were a woman's fantasy—strong, long-fingered, powerful. Flamelight danced a sheen on his golden-bronze skin and illuminated every highlight in his silken black hair.
His sensual features took her breath away with their intensity.
They were the kind of features you could never look away from; the expressions as subtle and ever-changing as a complex dream.
Jorlan Reynard—no, Jorlan Tamryn. What layers dwelled beneath the translucent aqua eyes that glittered so brightly between black lashes?
She wasn't sure.
But she was going to have a lifetime to find out.
"Do you like what you see, Marquelle?" he hissed, breaking their silence.
"Yes, I do."
Her immediate and forthright response confounded him briefly. Without hesitation, she untied her sash and dropped her robe. The white, sheer material pooled at her feet. Unable to stop himself, Jorlan allowed his burning gaze to travel the length of her nude form. She was beautiful, womanly full, and narrow in exactly the places he preferred. The sash that covered his hips shifted slightly but he refused to outwardly acknowledge his reaction.