Clans of Luteri Ch. 03

Hey, everyone. So this is the tone of the entire work. If you're on board with the story, it will take a couple chapters to get to more hanky-panky, to set the scene for proper hanky-panky, as it were, but then things roll along. I am submitting a new chapter the moment the previous one posts. -Harp

Clans of Luteri: Alveria

Chapter Three

Kane woke at dawn, just like he always did. The Corsaire was asleep. He turned his head, studying her. He got out of bed quietly and dressed, using the accommodations. The servants were used to his habits by now, and one appeared in not too much time when he loitered. He asked for two trays of food.

When they arrived, he brought them in, finding the Corsaire awake, watching him.

"Are you hungry?" he said.

She nodded. He set the trays down on the table and walked to the bed, uncovering just her feet and reaching for them, untying them, and then her hands. She rubbed at her wrists, one of them bruised, pulling the coverlet around her, glancing at the food, sitting up. She was gorgeous in the morning, her hair mussed, flushed cheeks and pale shoulders.

He went to a chair at the table, sitting, taking up his tray. He set it on his lap, extending his legs so his feet were resting on the bed and began to eat. She looked at the other tray again. Yes, she was hungry.

"What's your name?" he said casually in Luterian, chewing.

She stared at him. He smirked. Still playing that game.

"What's your name?" he said in Alverian.

"Emma," she answered.

"Try again if you want to eat."

"I don't have another name, Lord."

"Kane."

"I don't have another name, Lord Kane."

He barked a laugh. There was the defiance he had expected. Luterians addressed each other by first name and then clan if necessary. He finished his breakfast and she watched, dismayed, as he took the two trays, one empty, and set them outside the door on the side table put there for that purpose. He went and got one of his shirts, tossing it to her. She put it on quickly, buttoning it, standing to let it fall. It came to her knees.

He got up and took her by the arm, bringing her to the door and out of it, down the hall to the accommodations. He waited until she came out. She had washed her face, the kohl gone. He brought her back into the room, closing the door behind them and locking it. He went to the chair, turning it to face her. He sat. She was standing in front of him.

"Who are your parents?" he said in Alverian.

"I don't know, Lord," she answered.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen or twenty, Lord Kane."

"Which is it?"

"I don't know."

He gave another short bark of laughter. She was goading him.

"How do you not know that, Corsaire?" he said, playing along.

"I am an orphan, lord," she said, her chin lifting, her eyes flashing for a moment. "I don't know my parents. I was told I came there when I was six, but I don't know my real birthday. I was raised in Bonstram Home for Orphaned Children near Dunston. I don't know you, regardless of whether or not you believe you recognize me in some other way. You can try to 'get it out of me,' as you say, but I still don't have another name to give you."

Kane got to his feet slowly, his eyes narrowing. It wasn't possible. He approached her close, his eyes intent on her face.

"I am Kane of the Tavishi," he said in Luterian.

Nothing. No hate. She didn't react to his clan's name at all, not even recognition.

"I am Kane of the Tavishi," he said in Alverian.

Nothing again. He was frowning now. Looking down at her, his eyes shifted to her mouth. He knew one way to tell for sure if she was lying. Corsaire would kill him if they came to know about it, but he'd risk it. Corsaire could add it to the list of other reasons they wanted to kill him.

In a fast move, he grabbed the Corsaire's hair at the back of her head, extending her neck back, getting close. Her face was tilted up, her lips parted, fast and quick breaths. He bent, slowly bringing his lips to her mouth, kissing her gently, his hand still gripping her hair. Her lips were soft, her taste arousing. Since he had done it he might as well enjoy it, so he angled, deepening it, parting them, feeling a surge of lust. She didn't fight him. He pulled back, looking at her face.

Nothing. Surprise. Confusion, her eyes dilated, looking even more black, Corsaire eyes. But no outrage at being kissed by a Tavishi. It was the deepest insult for him to kiss her, none worse he could offer.

"Are you not Corsaire?" he demanded.

"I don't even know what that is, Lord," she returned, her voice strained.

Kane studied her, his hand still in her hair. Luterians didn't deny their bloodline.

"Corsaire are murdering cowards," he said. "Their warriors bed with sheep and have no honor."

Nothing. No reaction at all.

"What is your earliest memory?" he demanded, tightening his grip when she hesitated.

"A song. A woman singing a song," she answered quickly, wincing, looking away.

"The one you were singing in the meadow when we met?"

Her eyes went to his face.

"Yes."

"It's a Luterian cradle song. How do you know it?"

"I don't remember, Lord. I have always known it."

"What do you know about Luteri?"

"It is a land of barbarians across the seas in the mountains."

"How do you know that?"

"It was in my geography lessons, Lord."

Kane released her. She stepped back, her breathing uneven. He was staring at her. She didn't know who she was, not even what she was. She'd been here in Alveria as a child, in one of the Alverian homes for children with no parents. Because evidently people in Alveria could look at a starving child in the streets and fail to bring it into their home and feed it.

"You are Luterian, like me," he told her, still trying to take it in. "We will be going there in four months."

She looked at him doubtfully and he almost laughed, to be in a position of having to prove to a Corsaire she was Luterian.

"Trust me," he said, his tone mocking. "You are very much Luterian."

He opened his shirt, showing her the mark at the base of his throat. Her hand went to the same mark on hers.

"We call it Shai's Kiss," he said. "All Luterians have this mark in the same place."

She looked down at her own and then looked up.

"I thank you for offering to bring me to Luteri," she said carefully. "But I would rather stay here, Lord."

"I'm sure you would, Corsaire," he said back. "By the traditions of Luteri, you are now a prisoner of Tavishi clan. By the traditions of Alveria, you have been sold to me as a whore. You will travel with me to Luteri where you will be returned to Corsaire. One way or another."

There was a knock at the door. He opened it. The servant bowed.

"Excuse me, Lord Tavishi. Lord Shetlan requests your presence in the drawing room and has asked that your guest join him as well. He has said these might be useful."

The servant held out a pile of cloth, his face pinched with disapproval, not looking at the Corsaire. Kane took it, closing the door. Alverian undergarments, a simple village dress, pale blue. Black stiff shoes. Kane put them on the bed and stepped back, gesturing to her. She sidled past him and took up the clothing. She looked at him pointedly and he grinned, crossing his arms.

She sniffed and turned her back to him, pulling his shirt off over her head, taking up a little cotton undergarment. Sweetly rounded butt, her waist tiny. Curvy, bliche hips, as he'd already noticed but didn't mind noticing again. She put on the little shirt, which came to her waist. She took up the little short pants, bending to step into them, and he tilted his head, a flash of pink between her legs, a stab of lust in him. He'd been hard since he kissed her.

She took the dress, pulling it over her head, her back still to him. It had medium length sleeves and laced in the back. He met her hands, pulling the strings at her waist, securing it snugly and tying it.

"Thank you," she murmured.

She didn't look at him. She sat on the bed and took up the shoes. Far too big. She padded barefoot past him and found her slippers from last night, slipping them on, black velvet. She sat on the bed again and carefully ran her fingers through her hair, catching sometimes, then braided it simply. She looked around briefly, then left the end open where it immediately began to unravel. She stood, smoothing the dress, and looked at him.

She looked young and very beautiful. The bruise on her wrist was purple, another on her left cheek, several more on her throat where Lord Montrose had grabbed her.

Kane opened the door, indicating she should go through.

#

The Luterian lord opened the door and gestured for her to go through. Emma walked past him. He was a huge man, an overwhelming presence. In the room, he loomed over her, a constant threat.

She glanced down at his trousers as she passed, remembering the night before. That was what a man looked like under his clothing. He had been different and beautiful, his shoulders broad, big arms and hands. Not soft. Scars on his body. And between his legs. How did they walk around like that all the time?

Emma walked into the hall, waiting for him. He passed her. She followed him down the stairs and into a room where an Alverian lord was waiting, sitting at a table. He rose and came around it as they entered. He had red hair that was a little long, to his shoulders, an intelligent face, refined.

The Alverian lord's eyes widened when he saw her, a quick sweeping glance. He was well made but looked diminished next to the Luterian lord.

"I am Lord Jamie Shetlan. I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting a Corsaire," he said, and Emma heard the Luterian lord snort beside her.

"Because the black-eyed clan would have gutted even your shadow, Jaime," the Luterian said, sitting.

"Emma, Lord Shetlan," she said, introducing herself, curtsying. "Thank you for the clothing."

"Emma? That's not a Luterian name," Lord Shetlan said to Lord Tavishi.

"Evidently she doesn't know her real name," Lord Tavishi said, his tone implying Emma had somehow

been careless with it. "Nor did she know she is a Luterian, for that matter."

"Truly? That's incredible," Lord Shetlan said, fascinated, and then to her. "May I?

He approached and reached for her neck. Emma leaned back a little and then looked away. She stayed still as he uncovered the birthmark at the base of her neck, his fingers warm. He tilted her chin, looking at her throat, his eyes flickering to her wrist, and then back to her face. She avoided his eyes.

"She's been abused," Lord Shetlan said.

"Lord Montrose's estate is not a gentle place," Lord Tavishi returned. "They use their whores hard."

Lord Shetlan reacted. He looked embarrassed, stepping back from her, rubbing his hand on his leg briefly as if he was somehow dirtied by touching her. Emma felt her cheeks burning. Her hands began to shake. She turned to the Luterian lord, who was watching.

"May I go to the room, Lord Tavishi?" she requested, her voice wavering.

"No. Sit and eat."

She was sure Lord Shetlan would not want to sit at the same table with an orphan, a commoner. A whore, sold to Lord Tavishi. She swallowed.

"I'm not hungry," she lied, backing a step.

Lord Tavishi got to his feet and walked to loom over her.

"Sit down, Corsaire," he said, his voice soft and threatening.

Lord Shetlan indicated a seat. A servant came and pulled it out for her and Emma sat, putting her hands on her lap. Another servant came and poured tea, putting bread and fruit in front of her. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, too nervous before the party, that horrible dress Katrine had made her wear. She couldn't make herself look at them.

"Is there something else you would prefer, Emma?" Lord Shetlan asked her. "I could have the cook prepare anything you'd like."

"No thank you, Lord Shetlan," she said, taking up her fork.

Her hands were still shaking. She knew they saw it. The way Lord Shetlan had looked at her. She speared a piece of melon, putting it in her mouth, chewing. She swallowed. She put the fork down, putting her hands on her lap. She felt her eyes filling, couldn't stop it. She was breathing too fast. She looked up. Both the men were staring at her. She felt them spill over and pushed her chair back and stood.

"I'm so sorry, Lord Shetlan, I—," she began.

She flinched as Lord Tavishi got to his feet and she bolted, running for the stairs straight up and to the room, closing the door behind her, getting on the bed with her back to the headboard, making herself small, anxious to be running in the house. She was crying, her heart pounding. Whore, whore, whore, with every beat, whore.

#

"That is your dangerous Corsaire?" Jaime said when the upper door had closed, the Corsaire disappearing through it.

Kane sat again, sighing.

"I can take her to an inn for the rest of my stay if she offends you so much," Kane said.

Jaime looked at him incredulously.

"You are the one who called her a whore, Kane."

"She is a whore. Or she was. You looked at her as if she disgusts you."

"I didn't know that I did so," Jaime said, stung. "I am just not in the habit of having breakfast with prostitutes."

"So you made clear to her," Kane retorted. "A prostitute gets paid, Jaime. I know Alverians have contempt for them, but Luterians do not and the Corsaire is not a prostitute. She was made a whore by your neighbor against her will. It's not anything she chose."

Jaime looked pained, glancing at the stairs again.

"You're right, of course," he said, blowing out his breath. "I didn't mean to shame her. She's very young, very beautiful. Your comment caught me off guard."

Kane shrugged.

"Corsaire women are known for their beauty. She came cheaply enough."

"You bought her?"

"Of course. What else?"

"I guess I thought—," Jaime began and then stopped.

Kane laughed.

"That I would walk in and announce she was a prisoner of Tavishi clan and Lord Montrose would turn her over to me?"

"I didn't think," Jaime retorted. "Does she know that you have actually purchased her?"

"Of course.'

Jaime eyed him.

"You didn't—."

Kane gave a short laugh, incredulous.

"She is Corsaire. No, I did not bed her. What part of 'she is my ancestral enemy' is unclear to you, Jaime? Even if she weren't, I sincerely doubt she'd invite me to her bed."

"Whose bed?"

"The bed," Kane said, gesturing like it was obvious. "Where we sleep. In the room."

Jaime blinked at him a few times.

"But she hasn't done anything," Jaime said. "She doesn't even know about the feud. How can she be your enemy?"

Kane shook his head, the answer, once again, completely obvious.

"She's a Corsaire."

"I will never understand Luterian blood feud. Did you discover anything else about her?"

"She claims to be an orphan. She says she was raised in some kind of home. She is between nineteen and twenty years old. She was given to Lord Montrose."

"What do you mean given to him?"

"Something about a board."

"Orphanages are often overseen by a board of directors," Jaime said. "If that is how Lord Montrose is acquiring young women, it is possible we could go to the authorities."

"Lord Montrose said last night that he has paid the authorities not to investigate."

Jaime sighed, nodding.

"It's entirely possible. Did she say where this home is?"

"Bonstram Home for Orphaned Children in Dunston."

Jaime made a face.

"Dunston. Awful place. It is a few days' travel from here by carriage."

Jaime leaned and pulled a rope and a servant arrived shortly.

"Have breakfast sent up to Lord Tavishi's room."

"Yes, Lord Shetlan," the servant replied.

Kane intercepted the servant at the bottom of the stairs. He took the tray and went up, opening the door without knocking. He looked for her. The Corsaire was sitting on the bed. He set the tray down with a clatter of china. She'd been crying.

"Food," he said.

She came and sat in the chair. She didn't look at him. He sat on the bed and watched her eat.

"How long were you with Lord Montrose?"

"Eight weeks?" she said when she had swallowed, unsure.

"You will need things to travel. The crossing to Luteri is a long one."

He watched until she was finished and then picked up the tray when she was done and put it outside the door on the table there.

"I don't have any money, Lord Tavishi," she said when he returned.

"I will arrange it," he said absently, thinking about the details of getting her there.

"Maybe my relatives would repay the money you have given to Lord Montrose to purchase me," she said.

He stared at her blankly and then burst out laughing.

"It's entirely possible, Corsaire."

Yes, Corsaire clan would pay. They would pay much, much more than that. What he had bought her for would be a pittance in comparison. He looked at her. She raised her hand and put her hair behind her ear. If his father didn't just decide to have her executed in the courtyard instead.

She looked down at her hands again. He felt a stab of doubt. She didn't understand, she really didn't. He squashed it. He had already done this. Taking her prisoner was best for his clan, the honorable thing. His father would make the decision and Kane would live with it.

Besides, she was Corsaire, making him furious just to look at her. His eyes narrowed at her, his nostrils flaring. He didn't have to be careful of her feelings. He got up restlessly and went to the other window, looking out.

"Then maybe I could earn money toward my freedom, Lord Tavishi, by working," she said.

He didn't look at her.

"I think you would have to spend a great deal of time on your back to earn five thousand hecs," he said.

"Five thousand hecs?" she said faintly.

He suddenly realized she wouldn't know.

"I'm not going to use you, if that's what worries you."

He looked at her. She was staring at him.

"Use me for what?"

He turned toward her impatiently.

"It is a little late to play the maid, Corsaire."

She frowned at him and then shook her head.

"Why don't you call me by my name?" she said.

He took two strides and caught her hair behind her head again, scaring her, tilting her head back, leaning down close to her.

"Because it is not your name," he said. "Because I do not care if you don't know that. Because you are Corsaire and you are my enemy and that is all that matters to me."

He glared into her dark Corsaire eyes. He waited for her to look at him.

"Then let me be clear and put it in a way an Alverian would understand, Corsaire. I won't fuck you, but if you run, if you try to escape me, I will hunt you if it takes me a hundred years, and when I find you, I will beat you to blood as is my right," he promised her coldly, putting the fear into her, making sure she believed it.

He released her and went to the door and through it, closing it behind himself.

#

Lord Tavishi didn't return all that day, to her relief. Emma sat in the room. Hours passed. There was nothing to do. At midday there was a soft knock on the door. She rose. She had thought it had been locked. She opened it to find a tray with lunch on the side table there. She brought it in and left it on the table to sneak down the hall and use the accommodations. She had to, badly.

When she came back, she closed the door and sat and ate slowly, but when she put the tray back outside and went back into the room she found herself still with nothing to do.

Evening came. A tray. She ate and replaced it on the small table outside the door. She snuck out to the accommodations again. She returned and looked around. She couldn't rifle though his things for a shirt, but she couldn't sleep in the dress, it was her only one. She finally stripped to her undergarments, getting in the bed and pulling the covers over herself, lying there, tense. It became late, and there was no movement or sound from downstairs. She finally fell asleep.