With the swift decisiveness she was known for in the House of She-Lords, she instantly changed her mind and decided she would make an offer for him.
In time.
He would be the one she fastened.
After all of these years of being a woman-about-town, she would finally take a name-bearer. The Slice would be gleefully shocked with the delicious bus-bit. The kloobroth would spread quickly.
Who would have thought that, with all of the young men vying for her attention and the myriad of invitations from fathers beseeching her to call, she would choose a most reluctant veil, who in all probability was going to object vehemently to the idea?
It was not going to be an easy task.
Still, Jorlan could not hide his reaction to her. The man wanted her. She would begin by slowly encouraging him without him even realizing it. The veil was keen to experiment—she would give him what he wanted. Just not in the way he expected.
In time, he would eventually come to her on his own. His passion was the key.
In surrendering to it, he would surrender to himself. She hoped.
Chapter Three
The Reynard estate was vast.
It bespoke of countless generations of Duchenes, rich in heritage and wealth. Jorlan's ancestresses went back to an Origin officer, of course.
And not just any officer.
Captain Cybella Reynard was considered to have been the Founder of their civilization. How ironic that her progenitor son eschewed the very foundation she had set in motion.
Although most of the prehistory of Originpoint was lost, or kept sealed in dusty vid-tomes, it was known that no living males had accompanied the all-female crew on the NEOFEM's maiden (and only) voyage across the dark reaches of space so long ago.
The innate aggressiveness of the male and his tendency to revert to basic action was not deemed conducive to a long, dangerous trip across space.
Presumably, the female crew had not taken name-bearers, for no name-bearers were allowed on board. Green had often wondered about that condition, thinking it odd—but as it was over a millennium ago, who could say what had really occurred? Perhaps they reasoned that the journey would be less disruptive to the women aboard without males being present.
In all likelihood, the robust female crew might very well have been distracted by them. Who knows how many fights would have broken out over bidding rights?
What was known was that soon after Landing Day—when a secured encampment had been set up and the settlers realized just how welcoming Forus was going to be—they were able to impregnate themselves with sample specimens they had brought with them. Some women were even surrogates for introducing entirely new genetic material into the society gene pool.
The one-sided way proved very successful.
Almost too successful.
Male children began to be culled for the seed they carried and only the best specimens had any real worth. The House of She-Lords had wisely stepped in to outlaw the barbaric practices, stating that they were returning to the methods of Originpoint. The self-impregnation technique had been meant for short-term use for transport of civilization, and not for long-term implementation.
Technical impregnations were outlawed completely and without debate in 318 AL by the Septibunal, who feared that the sole use of the technique would ultimately endanger their society.
So they reverted back to old way.
Since that time, over seven hundred Forus years ago, males were highly contested for, generally cosseted, and usually well taken care of by their name-givers. Some were even loved.
Green approved.
She had never liked hearing about the beginning years; it had always made her uncomfortable.
She also knew that the Septibunal had been very careful with the level of technology in their lives. And yet women benefited greatly from many advancements, the natal accelerator being foremost in her mind.
Maintaining the health of Forus, the moon that sustained them, was a first priority. Natural means were always chosen over manufactured ones. Transportation, for instance, was strictly governed.
The beautiful native Kloo, who were perfectly adapted for transport, were widely used.
The enigmatical animals seemed to form an immediate alliance with the humans, almost craving their proximity. No other specie on Forus except the Klee had formed a similar alliance. Oh, there were numerous other tamed beasts, but the Kloo loved womankind. Sometimes Kloos even sacrificed themselves to save a beloved owner, although they often tried to pretend like they did not care a whit about whatever one was doing. Only it was too easy to see through the lovable grumps. They were terminally nosy.
Green patted her own sweet mount, Kibbee, who prawked appreciatively at her gesture. The flesh vents between her collarbone and chest trilled. Kibbee's flesh vents bypassed the primary intake chambers of her nose and mouth, allowing oxygen to feed directly into her oversized lung sets. A secondary muscle group diverted the excess air to two chamber ducts under her ribs, which expanded at varying rates, depending on her activity. Another set of flesh vents between her hips and under her ribs acted as outtake. This natural adaptation allowed oxygen to pump at a very quick rate through her. Since the Kloo loved to roam the high plains where arc storms were sudden and severe, their survival often depended on their quickness. During a run, both the Kloo and their sister species, the Klee, displayed remarkable endurance and speed, respectively.
Kibbee had been purchased especially for her loving disposition.
While there were other Kloo that had greater endurance than Kibbee, Green knew that Kibbee would be a faithful mount and a sweet companion on her long trips to oversee the vast Tamryn holdings. Kibbee would never run off and abandon her to the elements, as some of the more high-tempered Klee were prone to do.
Besides, Green thought Kibbee was exceptionally pretty with her pastel-hued plumage that varied according to her mood.
Green rode up to the front portico of the estate and dismounted, handing Kibbee's reins to a door servant who had come out to greet her.
Another servant, Billings, the Duchene's majordoma, met her at the door. "Marquelle Tamryn, good to see you again!" The majordoma greeted her warmly. Green was well liked throughout the Slice.
"Billings." She nodded to the servant woman. "Is the Duchene receiving?"
"I'm sure she'll receive you, Marquelle; come into the morning room and I'll have some refreshment brought to you. The Duchene will be down shortly."
Green followed Billings into the brightly lit morning room. Several ponderous pieces of furniture of a style popular during the six hundreds graced the room. Green preferred a lighter decorating touch, even though she admired the lines and workmanship of the heavy antique pieces known as Arkeus Seize.
One of the drawbacks of being heir to a title was the furniture that came with the position.
Green smiled to herself as she recalled her own attics, bursting with the decor of past ancestors. Unlike other people, who simply divested themselves of unwanted bequests, the aristocracy were bound to keep the moldy things in the name of heritage. Case in point: Her great-great-grandmother had the most hideous sense of color combination, but deep in the recesses of her attic the evidence stayed, gathering dust for future generations of Tamryns to deal with. She was sure there were belongings hidden within the warren of passages that could be traced all the way back to her ancestress from the NEOFEM, who had been first officer and a close friend of Captain Cybella Reynard.
Future generations of Tamryns... The thought made Green smile.
It was the reason she was here today.
If all went as she hoped, that future generation would have already made an appearance by this time next year. She touched her flat stomach as a tingle went through her at the prospect.
"Marquelle Tamryn, this is a surprise." Jorlan's deep voice held genuine pleasure at finding her there. Apparently, he had decided that her last comment to him had been in jest.
F
oolish lad.
He entered the-morning room looking—if possible—even more handsome in the clear light of day. Dressed in black breeches and a loose black overtunic with black boots, he was the picture of indolent grace. There was the same smooth flow to his movements that she had noticed last evening.
His body language spoke of the deliberate, steady nature of one who had the patience to observe. It was the glittering aqua eyes that revealed the banked fire in him. "Yes, I decided to come visit you, Jorlan." His brow furrowed for a second as if he couldn't figure out why she would do such a thing. It occurred to Green that he truly had no idea how desirable he was in his own right. He probably thought his attitude was enough to discourage most.
His response confirmed her suspicion. "I don't understand... " He hesitated. "Although, it is nice to see you again."
"I would like to begin visiting you, Jorlan."
As soon as her meaning became clear, his face darkened. "I have told you, Marquelle, that I—"
She had anticipated his reaction and was prepared for it with a little strategy of her own. The corner of Green's mouth lifted in a secret smile. "Do not be foolish, Jorlan. Surely you do not think I have come to offer for you?"
He stopped and looked at her warily. "I don't understand."
"You did indicate that you wished to—how did we put it?—play with danger?" She arched her eyebrow.
He glanced down at the carpet, his black lashes stark against his cheeks. When he looked up, his eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "Are you saying what I think you are saying?"
She wasn't going to let him out of it that easy. "What is that, Jorlan?" She purposely gave him a confused look.
"That you will help me... explore areas that I have a curiosity of but do not wish to necessarily... delve into... " His cheekbones bronzed slightly. Charmingly.
She viewed him through half-lowered lids. "That is exactly what I am saying."
He chewed his lip as he thought it over. "You will not use this to coerce me in any way?"
She snorted. "Of course not. I am not the type of woman who would coerce a man in such a manner. I have no need to do such a thing."
She was referring to her pleasurer. Jorlan truly flushed now and looked away, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
She came up behind him, placing a hand on his arm. "It is my belief that should someone want me, they must come to me of their own accord."
He glanced down at her small hand on his arm, then slowly raised his sights to her. The expression in his eyes captured her. She fell into their depths. Like twin pools of the purest crystalline water, they opened in some way for her. The magnetic light called to her.
Her heart jumped.
The room spun, and the next thing she knew he was righting her with his arm on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Marquelle?"
"Yes." She rubbed her forehead as the last vestiges of the strange sensation faded. Had she been in the glare of Arkeus too long? The ride here had been particularly pleasant; she couldn't recall any discomfort.
"Perhaps a drink would help?" He gently led her to the settee and poured her a cool glass of fresh limo juice.
"Thank you." Gratefully, she took the glass. "Jorlan, did you feel anything str—"
"Marquelle! How delightful to see you!" Anya Reynard's cheery voice filled the room slightly ahead of her bustling frame. She speedily glided over to Green, her grav assists aiding the elderly woman's progress.
"Anya!" She kissed the older woman's cheeks, genuinely glad to see her. Anya Reynard was a kind woman. Some said too kind, as her wayward grandson constantly seemed to get the better of her. "When did you start using grav assists? The last time I saw you, you seemed to be getting along fine without them."
"It's this old injury—remember that time I fell off my Klee? I never seemed to heal right. The repairer thought it was time I stopped being so stubborn and started using the assists. Jorlan finally talked me into it and I must say I do feel a lot better, even though I hate the way they look. Not very fashionable, are they?" She gestured to the metal devices attached to her ankles. "Fashion dictates that it should never be anything less than... than what is fashionable!"
"They look fine. I'm glad he talked you into it, although it must have taken some doing, knowing how stubborn you can be about fashion, Anya."
The Duchene laughed. "What can I say? I must have passed the trait on." She looked pointedly at her grandson's casual day attire. That was another argument that had gone nowhere.
Jorlan grinned unabashedly at her, displaying a captivating dimple.
Green rolled her eyes at the two of them. "It's those mounts the Reynards have always insisted on. I don't understand how you all gallop about the countryside on those things. They seem terribly dangerous." The Reynards raised and bred Klee that were specifically selected for their speed. Klee were sleek, powerful, handsome creatures that were very unpredictable. While they were stealthy and moved with a fluid, sensual grace, many an inexperienced traveler had been left to the mercy of the elements when their "faster" Klee mounts had unexpectedly bolted during an arc storm.
"It is only a matter of knowing how to ride them hard, Marquelle—whenever they wish to be ridden... hard," Jorlan drawled.
Green raised her eyebrow at him, deciding to let that suggestive comment pass. Outrageous for a veil!
"The lad is right!" Anya rested back into the cushions of her favorite chair. "It takes a certain temperament to handle the beasts. I confess I've never quite mastered it as some of the other Reynards have. Now Jorlan here is brilliant with them. Scares me sometimes, the way he tears about the countryside on them." She opened her holofan with a snap and began to fan herself vigorously. Tiny botanicals danced about the spines in a virtual windstorm. "I realize I shouldn't encourage such wild behavior, but I can't bring myself to stop him. He enjoys himself so."
Green laughed. Then stopped abruptly as a certain dreaded voice filled the chamber.
"I shouldn't allow him such reckless pastimes, if it were up to me. Really, Duchene, you risk your most valuable commodity."
Claudine D'anbere strode into the room like a woman well used to giving orders and having them instantly obeyed. Anya's majordoma rushed in after her, apologizing profusely to the Duchene for not having time to announce the ill-mannered woman. Green grimaced in distaste. Of all people, she did not wish to see Claudine D'anbere!
A muscle ticked in Jorlan's jaw, but he did not respond to the She-Count's abrasive, insulting comment.
Anya waved Billings off with her holofan, frowning at the She-Count. She had never liked Claudine D'anbere. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, D'anbere?"
"I thought I would come and see how you and the fil-Duchene are faring." She gestured to a seat. "May I?"
The Duchene nodded curtly. Anya Reynard detested those who dispensed with formalities before liberties were granted. After all, her ancestress was the Captain.
It was terribly rude of Claudine to arrive unannounced! The nog-twist.
Green looked over at the woman who had made herself her enemy.
On the surface, Claudine D'anbere was a beautiful woman. Her black hair was worn in an uplifted fashion, in a style generally accepted by the Slice as stylish for day wear. By contrast, Green preferred to wear her waist-length hair loose and flowing; she had never subscribed to the almost slavish devotion the damselles of the Select Quarter had for following the Kloo Balcony set. By the admiring looks the come-outs cast at her, they seemed to approve of her choice.
Claudine D'anbere's eyes were light gray. On anyone else, the color combination would have been captivating, imbuing a sense of warmth.
Not on the She-Count.
Her pale eyes were as cold as the frozen ice slabs on the peaks of the Inez ranges. There was no warmth at all in the glinting stare. In fact. Green had often wondered if a touch of madness sparked in their depths.
Of a certain, there was something dark and cruel within her.
Somethin
g unforgiven.
Jorlan seemed to sense the same, for he took a seat on the far side of the room, close to Green. Claudine's hard eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments as she registered the silent rejection in his action.
"And how are you faring today, comely Jorlan?" Claudine sat back in her chair, letting her arm drape down over her crossed legs in a studied pose of fashionable nonchalance. Green thought the affectation utterly absurd.
"I am quite well, thank you, She-Count," he responded in a clipped tone that was barely civil.
Claudine ignored his scorn. "I saw you at the soiree the other evening, but you disappeared before I had a chance to come by and say hello."
Green watched the She-Count carefully, worried now for Jorlan. Had she seen them leave to go out to the gardens? He would not want Claudine as an enemy. If Claudine realized that Jorlan had been with her... !
But Claudine was focused strictly on Jorlan. It suddenly struck Green that Claudine had assumed Green's presence in the Reynard house was simply in visiting her friend, the Duchene.
Green almost laughed out loud. Claudine rarely made mistakes, especially when it came to Green. Due to Green's renowned penchant for remaining unfastened, Claudine did not even consider her as a rival for the man. It was an irony she welcomed.
She knew exactly how Claudine would react when she found out the truth. Enraged. But she could deal with Claudine. Soon Jorlaa would be willingly under her protection—if all went as she planned.
"I left the gathering early." Jorlan informed the She-Count.
Claudine raised a thin eyebrow. "Really. Were you ill?"
"No."
Jorlan's curt answers were nothing short of rude. The Duchene gave him a warning look out of the corner of her eye. As far as she was concerned, there was never an excuse for bad manners.
Claudine avidly watched Jorlan with the expression of a gluttonous jickne right before it dines. "I was rather surprised to see you at the soiree in the first place, Jorlan. We all know your dislike of such social events."