Clans of Luteri Ch. 04

Hey Everyone—So, as I've said, this story is plot-heavy, character-driven, and it's going to take time to work up to things. The chapter after this one heats up, as it were, and in the one after that one, things get naughtier all around.

I've left little clues, if you are beginning to guess what the supernatural element to the story might be. I'm curious if anyone will guess. I'll give a hint, if it interests anyone—Cats really don't like Kane.

Thanks to all of you who have left comments. This was the first novel in a series of Luterian world novels and I've sat on it for over a year now, going back and forth, wondering, not knowing if it was something readers on Lit would enjoy or not. I finally consulted an expert, and she said it was worth a try.

-Harp

*****

Chapter Four

Kane woke at dawn. Light was coming into the room. He looked. The Corsaire was asleep next to him, turned toward him, one hand under her cheek, the other limp in front of her. He got out of bed, dressing. She didn't stir. He looked at her again. She was awake, tension in her face that hadn't been there before. She just wasn't acknowledging him.

He went for a walk. The air was fresh, clean, low fog and pretty glens, damp. By the time he returned, Jaime was available for breakfast. It was stilted and tense, Jaime asking about the Corsaire, Kane giving him clipped answers.

He went back upstairs, opening the door without knocking. The Corsaire was dressed in the blue dress, sitting, looking out the window. He looked at the books.

"You are finished with these?"

"Yes, Lord Tavishi."

Her voice was polite, neutral. He picked them up. She didn't look at him, didn't ask to get more books. He would have refused anyway. He would need to buy her passage, need to get her some kind of warm cover. The months of delay until they returned to Luteri were now making him impatient.

For the next three days, the Corsaire didn't vary in her manner. She dressed in the morning, always the blue dress. He never knocked, but whenever he came in, which wasn't often, she was sitting by the window, staring out of it. He came to the bed after she was asleep, rose before she woke.

Once she wasn't in the room, but it was only because she was in the accommodations. She came back in and sat at the window. She took her meals there. She didn't look at him. She answered if he spoke to her, which was also not often.

Two more days passed. Then a full week. The next night, he went with Jaime to see a play in Ogden and Jaime had a dinner visit from a tiresome lord who stayed for drinks after.

In the second week, Kane went to Versace for four days for gifts he still wanted to get for his family. When he returned to Jaime's estate, Jaime said the Corsaire hadn't emerged and was taking her meals in her room.

A third week passed. Kane refused when Jaime invited him to Pietre to visit Jaime's sister again. The woman was sweet but her head was as empty as a hollowed gourd. If she'd ever had any native intelligence, Alveria had encouraged it out of her. Kane would never say so to Jaime, of course, who was devoted to her.

A week later, Kane got up and dressed at dawn and went for his walk, returning to have breakfast with Jaime. They talked in Jaime's study. Kane went and read in the library, a little bored, and then decided he would go riding. He went to the room to get his cloak.

The Corsaire was, as always, sitting at the table looking out of the window. She never looked at him, never spoke. He reached for the door, about to leave, but her hand caught his eye, resting on the table. Her wrist looked fragile. She was delicate, but she had never looked fragile before.

Kane came and stood, looking at her. She didn't look at him. He sat across from her, his eyes on her face. She was pale, dark circles under her eyes.

"What are you looking at out there," he said irritably.

"Nothing, Lord Tavishi," she said, her voice quiet, dull.

Anger flicked through him. Sulking. He came to stand over her. She didn't look up. Her passive manner suddenly made him angry. He reached down and grasped her arms at her shoulders, gripping her, raising her to her feet, turning her toward him. She stood when he did it.

"What game are you playing?" he demanded, his hands tightening.

"I am not playing at anything, Lord Tavishi."

He studied her face. She didn't look defiant. She wasn't cold to him. She looked tired, as if all the fire had been stolen from her. He remembered her face in the stables, comparing it to her face now, all the vibrant flush of life faded. He released her and she slowly sat, her hands rubbing her arms where he had gripped her. She turned her head, looking out of the window again.

"Get up," he said.

She rose to her feet, standing, her hands clasped in front of her. Waiting. He looked her over. The bones in her wrists stood out. Her jaw looked fragile, her shoulders. Her face was thinner, her eyes too large. Her color was poor. Was she not eating? She would not starve herself for spite. He opened the door.

"Go downstairs. We are having lunch with Lord Shetlan."

She passed through it. He followed her downstairs and into the dining room. Jaime looked up and then rose, staring at her. Jaime's gaze flickered to him, his face tightening. Blaming him because the Corsaire was having some sort of fit. A servant pulled a chair out for her and she sat. They joined her.

"How are you feeling, Emma?" Jaime asked her.

"I'm well, Lord Shetlan," she said. "Thank you."

"Are you enjoying the books?"

"Yes," she said.

"Did you finish them? Would you like to come to the library and choose others to read?"

"No, thank you, Lord Shetlan."

A servant came and placed food in front of them. Kane watched as she picked at her food, eating a little.

"You will finish everything on that plate, Corsaire," he ordered.

He watched as she did. She swallowed repeatedly, but she didn't stop until the plate was empty. The servant came and took it.

"The pups are getting older," Jaime said, his eyes searching her face. "They are larger and getting into everything."

The silence was awkward. She must have sensed it. She looked at him.

"I'm sure they are, Lord Shetlan."

She seemed to search for something else to say and then give up, going more pale, her face pinched. Kane got to his feet, dropping his napkin on the table. She rose immediately.

"Thank you for lunch, Lord Shetlan," she said.

"It was good to see you, Emma," Jaime said quietly.

She went straight for the stairs and up them, as if she couldn't wait to get back to that small room and her window she found so fascinating. But she didn't stop, going to the accommodations. When she came out she looked truly ill. Kane followed her into the room, beginning to worry. She sat at the table again. She looked out of the window. He went and stood over her.

"This will stop, do you hear?"

"Yes, Lord."

"You will eat everything given to you," he said.

She nodded.

"You will keep it down, do you understand?"

She looked at him doubtfully. He squatted in front of her chair.

"Are you trying to punish me by making yourself ill? Answer me fully this time."

"I swear that I am not, Lord Tavishi," she said, raising her hand and putting her hair behind her ear, her hand dropping limply on her lap as if his anger exhausted her. "I have tried to do what you say and to stay in this room and to be quiet. I am afraid of your anger, but nothing seems to—." She stopped, looking down, long dark lashes. "If you could tell me how to do this better. I don't want to be hurt anymore."

"I don't beat you," he said.

She nodded again. Her eyes were drawn back to the window, dark circles, her jaw looking more fragile than ever.

Kane stood, his anger leaving him, worry coming back and replacing it. He looked where she did, out the window, spring, at the landscape alive with color and light and sound. He turned his head and looked around at the dim room, the bed, the table, the wardrobe, his chest, the dresser. The silence of it.

He was stupid. Corsaire or not, she was still Luterian. Luterians needed to be outside, needed to move around. They despaired otherwise, sickened, couldn't sleep. He should have realized.

He went to the wardrobe and pulled out the riding habit Jaime had gotten her, untouched, throwing it on the bed, putting the boots next to it.

"Get dressed."

He wondered if she would argue with him about the clothing. She only wore the blue dress now. But she got up and walked to the bed. She didn't ask him not to look at her, gave him no sharp glances. She just turned her back to him, pulling the blue dress off, taking it up, standing in her undergarments.

Her shoulder blades were sharper. Kane stepped close behind her and she went still. How had he not noticed this? She had been so quiet. She looked down, her thick braid over her shoulder in front of her. He touched her shoulder, feeling how close the bone was under it, his fingertips moving lightly across her fragile back. Shai, she was soft.

His hand was large and brown on her pale skin. He ran it down the dip of her waist, leaning forward to scent her, unable to stop himself. He inhaled, starting at her ear, moving down to her throat. She shivered, a sharpening of that scent that was a torment to him, that filled this room, an assault every time he entered it. His jaw clenched, fighting for control. Corsaire, he told himself.

He drew back, dropping his hand. He needed to clear his head. He walked to the door, opening it.

"Get dressed and meet me downstairs," he said, closing it behind him.

She finally came out of the room in the riding habit, a deep green. His eyes swept over her as she moved down the stairs, her hand on the rail, gripping it. Pale, too thin, her eyes darker than ever. He went through the door, ushering her through, bringing her to the stables—not the lower stables but the main ones, where Shaol was quartered.

The stable master appeared, his face impassive. The man hated Kane and never referred to it.

"I will ride Shaol," Kane said as he always did, dismissing the man.

Only he touched Shaol, the Luterian stallion he had brought to Alveria with him on the ship, the surly animal enraged by the crossing and in a fine temper today, onyx black from the tip of his nose to his proud tail, prancing and tossing his head, a deep chest, easily a third larger than the largest horse here. His front hooves were ringed with iron for battle. None of the Alverians would go near him.

"And the young woman, lord?" the stable master said, eyeing the stallion like he'd attack at any moment.

He probably had. Shaol liked to bite. Kane had warned them when he'd arrived.

"How well do you ride?" Kane asked her.

"I was learning paces in the ring."

"On what kind of mount?"

"A pony," she answered, her dark eyes wide on the huge stallion.

He opened the stall, giving Shaol a smack on the shoulder so the animal moved back, the contrary giant pawing and nickering. Kane put the blanket on and saddled him, pulling the girth. He waited until the animal was distracted and then pulled it again, Shaol giving him a grunt and a reproving glance, his head snaking to the side, his mouth opening.

"Enough, Shaol," he growled, the beast withdrawing and tossing his head again.

He put on the bridle. Luterian horses didn't get a bit, rather a thin rope around the nose and forehead and jaw, with twin leads he held now, using them to hold the horse's head. He looked at the Corsaire, who was watching, solemn.

"Come here. He will want to meet you."

She stepped into the stall. The horse's nose immediately came forward wickedly, baring his teeth to bite. Yes, being in Alveria had made the horse even more likely to do this, their fear pleasing him and encouraging him and making Shaol irritable. Kane got ready to stop him but Shaol caught her scent, rearing back a little in surprise and then extended again, blowing.

His nose moved up the front of her body, his nostrils flaring at her belly, blowing a small breath, her breasts, her chin, and then to her hair. He blew out a hard breath onto her head, stirring her hair, approval.

A ghost of a smile crossed her face as she looked up at the horse, something moving in her eyes.

She backed away as Kane led the stallion out of the stall, various servants scattering. Shaol had not made any more friends here than Kane had. Kane bent down and laced his fingers.

"Get on."

He expected debate. She couldn't possibly control Shaol, she had to know that. But she didn't hesitate, stepping as he lifted her in one motion, settling into the saddle. She perched on top of the animal, looking tiny, her legs dangling on each side, finding her balance. She didn't seem to be afraid.

He grabbed the reins and put his foot in the stirrup and swung on behind her, Shaol already in motion before he found his seat, the wicked creature. She swayed to the side and caught herself as Kane left the reins slack in his hand, wrapped his arm around her waist tight and pulled her against him.

"Evisha nen, Shaol," he barked to the warhorse that danced sideways under them and he gave a sharp whistle, the command, feeling the animal's powerful muscles bunching.

He leaned forward, bringing her with him. Shaol exploded into motion, out of the stables, already straining for more speed under them as they thundered past a startled Jaime, just coming out the front door.

The Corsaire was snug in front of him, her roundness settled against his thighs. She was clutching the pommel as he guided the animal with his legs, the reins loose, keeping firm hold of her. Shaol took the command at the bottom of the drive, almost standing on his hind legs to turn sharply, always surprisingly nimble for such a large animal. She stayed with him, following Kane's own movements.

He headed the horse across the hills south, letting him have his head, Shaol's hooves pounding on the soft earth as the animal stretched into his fastest sprint. Kane couldn't let him go too far before he had to turn him around and head in another direction, these lands too small, making a square with three sides,

choosing the ground.

He ran the wickedness out of the horse until he was blowing and lathered, finally letting him slow to a loping canter that was the mark of Luterian horses. He found a grove of trees near the mansion and backed him off, slowing him, and more, a few jolts and the animal came to a rough standstill. Kane threw his leg over, twisting and pulling her off the horse in the same motion, dropping the reins. The warhorse stood, well trained.

Kane took her weight and then her boots touched the ground. She staggered a little and he held her steady.

She looked up at him. Her hair had come from the braid around her face, a deep flush in her cheeks, her dark eyes fierce and awake and full of life as she grinned up at him, her own hands gripping his arms at her waist. Corsaire fire, beautiful. The women of her clan were known for it. Kane had never thought he'd see it.

A deep surge of lust went through him. He wanted to have her right there in the open field at Shaol's feet. His hands tightened. There was absolutely nothing in her face that said she was afraid of him or hated him, nothing that said she'd stop him, that she wasn't willing to let him do just that.

His eyes shifted to her mouth. His blood was pounding, images of her body flickering in his mind, her scent, the pink swell between her legs, the soft and firm heat of her, her tits. He beat it back before he dishonored himself. It didn't matter if she was willing to kiss a Tavishi. She was Corsaire. His face tightened, becoming expressionless as he stepped away from her, dropping his hands.

Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, her smile failing and yes, there was the fear. Better that she fear him. The deep flush faded from her cheeks, her fire dying. He felt a deep pang to see it go, the timid Alverian woman back.

"Thank you," she said

He let her move around for a bit and then put her back on, grabbing Shaol's reins to walk him, cooling himself at the same time. When he thought he could, he mounted behind her, trying to ignore what her body felt like in front of him, trying to ignore her scent.

He stopped in front of the mansion, putting his hands at her waist and lifting her off the horse, her leg swinging over as she realized his intent. He held onto her arm as she slid down a long ways, her shoes touching the ground, and he released her. She turned without a backward glance and went inside. Kane turned Shaol. He would ride until he had control.

#

Emma's eyes flickered to the man sitting at the table, absorbed with the letter he was writing. She was combing her hair for bed. He had changed since he had taken her riding two weeks ago.

He had started by insisting she come downstairs for meals with Lord Shetlan, that she walk outside every day. Then he had allowed Lord Shetlan to take her to see the pups, who were so much bigger.

Lord Tavishi was still never friendly, but he bantered with her at times, and he had dropped the careless cruelty.

Lord Shetlan had asked the stable master to find a horse for her, a gentle mare, not too tall, and Lord Tavishi had allowed it. She was finally permitted to take the reins up herself and ride the horse down the drive and back, and then trot, and finally she had been able to run. When she had returned up the drive Lord Shetlan had declared she was fast becoming a rider and she hadn't been able to stop smiling.

Lord Tavishi had helped her to dismount, his hands at her waist, strong, dust on his boots, and his smell when he set her on her feet. He brought her to the library to get books. When Lord Shetlan requested it, he had even brought her into the room to play piano, disconcerting with them standing and watching her openly until she forgot them.

She glanced at him again.

"What, Corsaire," he growled, although he hadn't appeared to be looking at her.

"Shaol is a Luterian stallion?"

"Yes."

His tone said he didn't want to talk, but he always sounded that way when she bothered him. She rose, putting her comb away, taking off her dress and getting into bed. She leaned back against the headboard, pulling the covers up in front of her.

"I will be done in a moment," he said, gesturing at the lamp.

"Are they all so large?"

He looked up at her and smirked.

"To what are you referring?"

She stared.

"I am referring to Luterian horses, Lord Tavishi."

He shook his head, looking down again.

"They tend to be."

She opened her mouth to ask more questions.

"Go to sleep, Corsaire," he said.

#

Kane walked east at dawn, skirting the tree line, admiring the spring flowers, dew collecting on his boots, wetting his legs, the rain light. It was his favorite time of day, always as if the world were newly made. Shai was still sometimes hanging in the sky, her crescent waxing and waning, drawing the tide, her endless cycle. It was a pretty path. The Corsaire would enjoy it. He would maybe bring her here.

He slowed, staring into nothing. The Corsaire.

He could justify his actions over the last two weeks when he told himself she couldn't be allowed to sicken and die before he could deliver her to his father. But he knew that wasn't the whole reason he'd done it. And he shouldn't want to bring her on walks, shouldn't want to talk to her, craving her presence. He didn't do those things. He had been careful. But he wanted to.

The lust he understood. She was a beautiful woman, a Corsaire, desirable. He didn't act on that either.

His hatred of Corsaire had consumed him for years. Coming to Alveria had been his opportunity to get distance from it, to withdraw from the endless cycle of retribution that was the feud, so driven by his desperate need to find some way, any way, to hurt them. He had killed Bevin for what Corsaire had done to Helene, and Ruthe had killed Maele for Bevin, and that had been so painful Kane hadn't been sure he would recover from it. His own father had encouraged him to come here, seeing what it was doing to him.