Rital of Proof (16 page)

He watched the 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 left 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.

Green reached over and ran her fingertips lightly over the plane of his lower belly, directly above the edge of the sash. Every muscle in his body tensed, locking in preparation for the battle to come.

"This is not going to be a fight, Jorlan," she promised him.

"So you say."

She bent over and placed a soft kiss on the tender skin she had stroked. The sweet touch became a scalding caress. His breath hitched. The muscles in his belly drew up. A faint shimmer of sweat dotted his forehead.

Green smiled knowingly. "So I say."

"If you take me... to your house," the husky voice tried to forestall her, "you risk your name and the names of your children."

Green did not believe it for a heartbeat. "I'll make you a wager, Jorlan."

"Wager? What wager?" His raw tone was clipped.

"The moment I remove this sash the truth will be upon you. Our private Ritual of Proof. Am I to believe the tale you tell or what my intuition knows? Are you the man I think or not?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"Remaining uninformative as always, I see. I guess we shall just have to find out for ourselves."

Would his honor remain? Was he still intact? Or had he given in to his desires and shamed both their houses? Had he really cast aside the mores they lived by? No one would ever know but the two of them.

She removed the sash, tossing it over a nearby table. Slowly she glanced down at what she had bared. "Well. Well. Well." She looked up, meeting his eyes. He immediately looked away from her, staring at the far wall. Green thought there was a sheen of moisture in his eyes but she could not be sure in the low lighting.

A sudden compassion for him filled her. She knew this was hard for him. Sitting down on the bed next to him, she gently cupped his chin, turning him back to her. "Jorlan, you don't have to—
Who did this to you?"
Her finger traced the bruise on his cheekbone, the only mar on his arresting face. "I will have them removed from the house at once!"

"It is not important." Once again, his thick lashes shielded his emotions from her.

"It is important to me." Her gentle lips carefully swept the discolored area.

Jorlan closed his eyes. That touch always felt like magic to him!
Why?
"Green, do not... "

"Do not what?" Her lips moved over his beautiful face, feature by feature, adoring each sculptured line with tiny sips.

Jorlan's heart began a quick beat; his breath came noticeably faster. "No," he whispered.