Thin Branch led her into a long hallway and stopped at the first door, calling, “War Chief. I bring your slave as requested.” Then he held the hanging aside.
From some unknown well, she spurred her muscles and managed to walk into the room. It was large, filled with pots, ornately carved boxes, and the trappings of an influential and highborn man. A crackling fire burned in the clay hearth in the center, bowls of food arranged beside it. Smoke Shield stood beside the bed built into the north wall. The white apron he wore was stainless; his hair, freshly washed, hung loose about his head. His face was unpainted, the tattoos around his eyes and the black bar across his cheeks denoting his status. Firelight cast a black shadow over the scar on the side of his face. He stepped over and seated himself cross-legged on folded deer hides near the fire. Two drinking gourds sat to either side of the bowls of food.
“Leave us,” Smoke Shield ordered. The door hanging dropped as the slave left.
For a long moment, Morning Dew waited, arms straight at her sides, her stomach tied like a terrible knot. She had locked her knees to keep from trembling, every muscle in her body tight.
“You are even more beautiful than I remember,” he said, getting slowly to his feet. He walked around her like a Trader inspecting a prize copper plate. She couldn’t stop herself from flinching as he fingered her hair.
“Relax,” he told her. “We have all the time in the world.”
Her hard swallow was audible.
“Do not be afraid.”
She made herself nod.
When he stepped around in front of her, a gleaming curiosity lay behind his eyes. She could see the anticipation, the excitement he could barely control.
A voice in her head said, This is a very dangerous man.
“Do—do you want me before or after you eat?”
He laughed. “Oh, I’ve waited long enough for this night. I think we can eat first.” He gestured. “Please, be seated.”
She sat too quickly, hurrying so her legs didn’t buckle. He laughed again, fully aware of her fear. He seemed to savor every moment as though feeding on her distress as surely as he would on the food before him.
She bowed her head, eyes on the floor.
“Hard, isn’t it?” he asked. “One moment you’re the great Screaming Falcon’s wife, matron of the White Arrow. The next you’re here. Slave to the man you wouldn’t even deign to look at, what? Six moons ago?”
“Things change,” she said simply.
“Oh, indeed they do.”
She closed her eyes, and her lungs felt starved. Unbidden, the memory of the slave women kneeling before her in White Arrow Town filled her souls. What had she sworn that day? That she would never become someone like that? She ground her teeth and made herself look up. “What do you want with me?”
He was toying with a deerbone stiletto, rolling it between his fingers. “That’s a good question. But it seems to me that I already have everything of yours. Your husband, your brother, your holy man. And,” he added, “you.”
She nodded, stilling the panic that ran like terrified mice through her bones. “Very well, what would you like me to do?”
Again he laughed. “You could tremble, or maybe scream. That would be entertaining.” He paused, and seemed to be thinking hard. “No, how about this: I want you to fall madly in love with me. I want you to worship me. Yes, that’s it. I want you to look at me with eyes that tell me I’m the only man in the world for you.”
She managed a shrug. “I’ll try to the best of my ability to do as you wish.”
Smoke Shield gave her a sidelong glance. “I’d expect more from a conquered matron. Seems to me you should be plotting revenge.” He lifted the stiletto. “Perhaps, in the throes of my passion, you could slide this between my ribs?”
She gave him a slight smile. “No, I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be prudent. Your people would burn me to death in retaliation.”
“So … what then?”
“I shall try and fulfill your wishes. That’s all. I will do whatever you tell me to.”
A cunning smile bent his lips. “When I lay with a woman, I want her to scream. I want to hear her moaning with passion.”
“Then I shall scream and moan.” But not in passion for you, beast.
He dimpled his thumb with the stiletto tip. “I remember one time, I wanted a woman …” Moving like a panther, he slipped next to her. She tensed, feeling the point of the stiletto pressed at the angle of her jaw. “I had to keep a knife tip at her throat the entire time.”
She took a deep breath, flutters of fear at the pit of her stomach. “I am yours to take however you wish.”