Sharon Green - The Warrior Rearmed

“For the reason that he’s a fool,” I mumbled into my cushion, resisting the urge to stir in discomfort. “If he weren’t a fool, he’d never come near me or think about me again.”

I was sure he hadn’t heard my nearly private comments, but a surge of anger flared in his mind, and then the cushion was suddenly gone. I blinked back the brightness to see him crouched in front of me, forever broader and more well-muscled in reality than any memory made him. Standing straight he was more than a head taller and nearly twice as wide as I, his long, shaggy-blond hair so perfectly a part of him—and so perfectly misleading. With leather wrist-bands and sword belted at his waist and dark green haddin he was the picture of a backward, thoughtless barbarian; backward and barbarian he might be, thoughtless he certainly was not. The thoughts in that shaggy head were more intricate than even I knew, and I seemed to know more of his plans than anyone else on the planet—or in the Amalgamation.

“That something disturbs you is more than clear, wenda,” he said, reaching out a broad hand to smooth aside my sweat-dampened hair. “We will first speak of what disturbs you, and then we will speak of what occurred between you and Lenham. I do not care to see you so distraught.”

“Distraught is becoming a way of life,” I answered, wondering for the thousandth time why those light blue eyes of his affected me so strangely. The weight of their stare seemed to press me down to the size and ability of a helpless child, especially when he was angry. It was true that he was more dangerous than any being I had ever met, but there was more to it than that, considerably more.

“That is scarcely the response I sought,” he said, putting a little more stern into his tone and stare. “There has been enough of misunderstandings and unvoiced distress between us, hama. You will learn to speak freely to me, so that we may see to your unhappiness together. Now, tell me what disturbs you.”

“Wasting my breath repeating things disturbs me,” I said, hating myself for the faint tremor in my voice. “I don’t want to be banded, I don’t want to be held here against my will, I don’t want to be fought for, I don’t want to be used, and I don’t want to stay on this world. Now that you know what’s disturbing me, go ahead and fix it.”

“Wenda, what battles a man fights is for his consideration, not for the consideration of his wenda,” he said, the reproof in his voice milder than the annoyance in his mind. “That this Daldrin and I choose to face one another is of concern to no other save ourselves. The choice belongs to l’lendaa, and we are l’lendaa.”

“Of no concern to anyone else?” I screeched, sitting up amid the cushions to stare at him. “Have you two changed the reason for the fight and forgotten to let me know? The last I heard it was winner take all, with me as the all. Are you saying that I’m now free to decide on my own future, no matter who wins?”

“I have said nothing of the sort,” he returned, still somewhat patient but only just barely. “You are my woman and will remain such, no matter that your humor changes with each turn from darkness to daylight and back again. I now know your love for me is as deep and complete as mine for you, therefore will you remain beside me as long as life is left to me. And this Daldrin has not yet even drawn sword from scabbard; why do you insist upon seeing me as bested?”

I opened my mouth to answer him, closed it again, then blew out a breath of vexation. How do you answer a black and white question when any possible answer has to be gray’? The barbarian’s expression was calm and reasonable, nothing to jeopardize the calm and reasonable stance he’d taken; if not for the gleeful satisfaction in his mind, he might have had me cornered. Instead of letting myself be cornered, though, I decided to counterattack.

“What makes you think it’s you I’m worried about?” I asked, pleased at the immediate disappearance of his satisfaction and glee. “If not for Daldrin’s sense of honor and willingness to help, I would have had a lot more trouble here than I did have. You demanded what was yours by right and got chained up for your trouble. He kept quiet and got done what had to be done.”

A thick physical silence descended as those blue eyes stared at me, but the level of mental noise increased almost to ranting range. Outrage was the most prominent feature of the group, interlaced with anger and jealousy—and a good deal of confusion. I kept my eyes on his, pretending I didn’t know what he was feeling, hoping he would decide I really wasn’t worth fighting for after all. A decision like that would have made my efforts worthwhile, but I must have forgotten for the moment who I was dealing with. The level of frustrated annoyance in his mind rose higher for a minute, then his usual calm was forced through to cover everything else.

“You seek to make me believe your concern is for this Daldrin?” he asked, considering me in a way he hadn’t done earlier. “Perhaps, then, your feelings for him are stronger than any you possess for me. Perhaps it would be best if I were to unband you and sell you to him.”

“Sell me to him!” I blurted in outrage, knowing he was deliberately pushing me off-balance again but unable to stop my reaction. I tried to vocalize the outrage, found myself gibbering like an idiot, then lapsed into seething silence when I saw the barbarian grinning at me.

“You seem to dislike the possibility of being sold to another, wenda,” he said, reaching toward me again to touch my face and the side of my neck. “Should it truly be your desire to remain mine, you must continue to interest me. You have done little lately to command my interest.”

“I would love to tell you what to do with your interest!” I snapped, pushing at his hand as I moved away from the caress. “How dare you talk about selling me as if I were a—a—possession! I’m a Prime of the Centran Amalgamation, and happily not a native of this backward, barbarian world! I demand that you take me back to my people immediately!”

“Why do you insist upon giving yourself unnecessary pain, )lama?” he asked with a sigh, no longer grinning. “You are indeed my possession, mine to do with as I please no matter your origins. Should I choose to sell you to another, that choice, too, is mine. I, however, do not choose to sell you to another, therefore will there be battle between this Daldrin and me. You had best accustom yourself to these truths, wenda, else happiness will never find you.”

He continued to crouch in front of me, his eyes filled with compassion, his mind seriously concerned. He believed everything he said and really wanted me to accept it, but the situation was something I would never accept.

“I won’t be owned,” I grated, feeling my right fist clench against the cushion it leaned on. “I won’t be ordered around or sold or used. and I especially won’t be fought for. You can’t ignore the fact of what I’ve become, something beyond a woman you can control.”

“You now consider yourself something other than a wenda?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “Was this not what you originally wished to be considered, no more than an ordinary wenda? Was I not condemned for seeing you as more? First I am reviled for seeking the possession of a Prime, and now I am reviled for seeing no more than a woman? Do you attempt to try my patience to its limit, woman?”

His blue-eyed stare had hardened considerably, a perfect match to the greatly increased annoyance in his mind. I stirred against the cushions in faint discomfort, but refused to back down.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I answered wondering if I sounded as defensive as I was beginning to feel. “You know very well that I wanted to be seen as a woman rather than as a tool, something you still haven’t managed to accomplish. I did not want to be owned and ordered about and fought for as though I were a prize seetar! It’s a manner of treatment I won’t allow no matter how you try justifying it!”