HONOR BOUND

Chapter 5

Lord Thonarr leads us to a room that makes me blink. We may be several hundred miles from the borders of Revnash, yet the influences of that mighty country are not to be overlooked. I feel instantly at ease.

The Lord introduces us to his wife. She's a smallish but stately woman who looks too young to have a daughter in her early twenties; his second or third wife, then. She greets us graciously, and behind her hover two slim, blondish figures. My lips pull twitch into an answering smile.

"Inella, this is Knight Rogher-Gamyon," the Lord says, and no matter how much I'd want to go and greet my fellow minstrels, I must first pay due attention to her. So I turn to look, and nearly reel as my heart lurches down to my knees. In the corner of my eye I see Rogher swallow thickly as he greets her with a deep bow, and I know that our task has suddenly got a lot more difficult.

Not that I can really blame Rogher for that, for Lady Inella is a truly fine-looking young woman. Her deliciously rounded face is framed by strawberry-blonde hair peeking beneath the rim of her embroidered headdress, and her body curves in a such way that it cannot be all because of those clever things ladies use in their undergarments. Light brown eyes measure my friend without a hint of shyness, and that look is sure to take a man's breath away if he has any appreciation for a woman's charms. Rogher has, and he's speechless.

She looks at him up and down and that assessing little smile tells that she likes what she's seeing. This Lady is no demure flower, and I don't need to glance at Rogher a second time to know what he thinks of her.

I scramble for a good excuse to speak up before my friend the knight, just in case he's too tongue-tied for polite conversation, but he regains his composure enough to greet her with some pleasantries. This is my cue, to remove myself and join the other minstrels, so that's what I do. Now I just need to trust my warrior friend to manage himself in this genteel company without stumbling too badly.

Besides, it's always a great joy to meet others of my kin. Led by Fean Nameth, the resident minstrel, we all settle by a smaller table to one side of the room to dine.

"My Lord and Lady told me that they'd wish to save the music until later," he explains, "so let's enjoy this moment together!"

As we begin our meal, I glance at my compatriots. Fean is perhaps in his early fifties, and over the course of the dinner I hear that he's already lived here in Tmer Manor for some five years. The other visitor is younger, I'd put his age around twenty-five, and his dark brown eyes betray that a dash of Revnashi blood has gone into the mix at some point of his lineage. He has a ready smile and charming dimples, and gives his name as Daell Lyennam.

"Lyennam?" I repeat, awed by the name of the most famous minstrel to ever grace these lands with his talent.

He nods with a wink. "Yes, but please forget it. I don't like to disappoint, and yet a sparrow cannot help losing when people expect to hear another Nightingale."

Fean chuckles. "A sparrow? You are far too modest, my friend!"

Daell protests, but I have picked up the name 'Noragayll' in the gentlefolks' conversation and am drawn to trying to listen. The others soon notice that their chatter slips past my ears, and share an understanding nod.

"Our young lady is very curious about what is awaiting her," says Fean lowering his voice. "Both the place and especially its Lord."

"I cannot find fault with that." Daell looks amused. "After all, she's only going to get married to him."

We chuckle, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be bound to someone we've never even met, and probably all failing in the task. Fean glances towards the table and then at me.

"I know your friend the knight is obliged to praise him," he says, "but what's he really like, this Lord Jhorell?"

"I dare not say much," I hedge, "I first met him about a fortnight ago, and we began our journey here not that many days later."

"Oh, but surely you can tell us something?" Daell presses.

"Very handsome. About thirty years of age. Wealthy, but no doubt keen on having more because he likes to show off." I stop to think for a while. "I've seen many others much like him in my life, and probably so have you both. A proud man who's seen the world and has enough ambition to build himself a castle very much like the ones he's visited."

They nod and shrug, satisfied enough with my description.

"He sounds like a good match for the young Lady," Fean observes over his cup. "For her part, she's very eager to get going. She's getting bored here, especially more recently, now that the Lord hasn't dared to let her out of the Manor."

"Out?"

"She used to go riding a lot, but ever since the Lord rejected her former brother-in-law's proposal of marriage, she's been effectively confined in here. The Lord fears that someone might try to rob her."

"From what I've heard of Lord Berdar, he's right to fear it," Daell puts in. "All just hearsay, of course, but I think there must be at least a grain of truth to it. He's not a man I'd like to cross paths with."

I grimace at the thought, then push it aside for something more immediately interesting. "So the Lady is a good rider?"

Fean grins. "I can understand your concern," he says with a wink, "but yes, she's a brave and accomplished horsewoman. Foolhardy even, if we accept what her father says."

"I'll take foolhardy over fearful any day," I say with conviction, then we all look towards the table when a peal of laughter reaches our ears. Food and drink has loosened their tongues, Rogher is involved in a lively conversation at the handsomely bedecked table, and again I'm drawn to just watching them.

Not many moments later I'm biting my lip in consternation. Lady Inella is no silent doll, she wants to know more about her destination and the man awaiting there, but my skin crawls as I detect the barely concealed interest with which she's looking at Rogher. There's decorum enough, thank goodness: her father and stepmother are sitting by the same table so she cannot be as open about it as she'd probably like, but the interest is very definitely there. My mind is busy coming up with all the numerous ways in which things could go wrong along the way, and the list is rapidly getting much too long to my liking.

Rogher, though, is standing his ground admirably, I must give him that, and earns still more feathers to his cap from me when I hear him talking about Lord Jhorell. He doesn't spare praise, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. At least he's not planning to elope with her as soon as we're out of the gate! Unfortunately, the more he talks the more the lady seems to appreciate him, not only the man he's talking about, and I'm getting nervous. We need a distraction.

Luckily that isn't hard to come by, especially when altogether three minstrels are seated together. The others need no coaxing, and soon we are seated on low stools and quickly agree on what to start with. Two lutes together with my pipes make up a proper band, and our joint efforts soon lure the hosts and their guest into sitting back and enjoying the music. Even Lady Inella seems content to nibble on some sweetmeats and listen to us, which is a blessing indeed. At least she's not giving my handsome friend those lingering looks any more.

Before long the journey begins to take its toll on Rogher, but before his eyelids droop too badly, our host notices the situation and announces his intention to retire. The others follow suit, some more grateful than others, and after bidding good night to everybody I rise and follow him. It's a pity to leave my companions this early, but in all truth I'm tired as well. Besides, Rogher would hardly forgive me in a hurry if I stayed behind now. Tired as he is, he's still not tired enough to overlook such a slight.

Not a word is uttered as we find our way to our room and undress, sated and groggy from the dinner and fatigue, and I shiver as I crawl under the covers. Rogher needs a few moments longer to shed his clothes, but after that it only takes a blink before I'm pinned between his muscular body and the mattress. He's tense and hot, breathing heavily into the bend of my neck, and I grin at the darkness so broadly that my cheeks almost hurt when he grinds his sizeable hardness against me. Rogher my friend, I knew I could count on you.

"I have a feeling that this is going to be one hell of a journey," I tell him as he groans, tongue teasing my ear. "Just remember that we're taking her to Lord Jhorell. No bedding her anywhere along the way."

"I bloody well know that," Rogher growls. His teeth graze my skin when I somehow succeed in snaking a hand between us. "But she wants a man. Did you see the look in her eyes?"

"I did, but you don't need to think about it."

"She's been married, though," he pants. "Jhorell wouldn't know even if –"

"Don't even think about it!" I grab him hard enough to make him wince. "Did you hear me? Married or not, just forget it."

"She's had an old man," Rogher murmurs. Is he trying to persuade me, or himself, or is he just fantasizing? "Maybe he wasn't man enough to satisfy her?"

"Or maybe she's used to having a real stallion in her bed? Old in years doesn't always equal withered, you know!" I can rarely resist teasing him. "Whatever it is, bear in mind that even if she raised her skirts and sat on you, you're not to do anything! Doing it just once is enough to get a woman pregnant, you know it, you horndog, and -– are you even listening to me?"

Not me, he's listening to my tugging hand, but that's just as well, because neither of us is going to be content with anything less than a good, rough tumble anyway. Now we just need something to ease the passage; he's no little boy, my friend Rogher is, and what we need cannot be found in this bed.

"Rogher," I pant, try a second and third time, and finally bite his shoulder hard to catch his attention. "Let me get my satchel!"

Rogher groans in protest but nevertheless rolls off me. My hands shake as I fumble my way up and out of bed and to the trunk-bench where I remember leaving my stuff. Yes, there is my satchel and inside it the vial I've learned to keep always full and at hand. I barely get back to stand beside the bed before he grabs the thing from my hand and pushes me down once more, busy with the stopper.

"Oh, let me!" I try to snatch it but Rogher holds it out of my reach.

"Who's horndog, huh?" he growls, and right then the stopper comes off and a few drops of the oil land on my chest. I'm quick to swipe them on my fingers and take him in hand once more, enjoying the way his eyes cross at the touch. "Zyan..."

It's no use my wrestling him because I don乫t stand a chance, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't try. I enjoy it and besides, it just makes him hornier still.

"It's not me you want," I whisper into his ear. "You want Lady Inella, but you cannot have her and you know I'm not half bad either."

"Just shut up, Zyan!"

I laugh. He's not one for long preparations even at the best of times, certainly not now, but that's all right with me because of the many other things he is. For one thing, he's a good kisser who likes doing it, too, and not only because it's a good way to keep me silent. For another, he may be rough but he always makes sure I'm all right before really going for it, even now although his breath comes in shuddering gasps for sheer lust. Who am I to call anyone a horndog? When I'm just as bad myself, perhaps just a little better at keeping it to myself.

Right now there's no need to keep anything to myself, though. All I need to do is to keep the noise down as Rogher pushes harder, urgently, and I'd want to cry out for pleasure. Instead I grind my face into his shoulder, and when it all gets too much, I bite him. Thank the gods for making me so supple and for the frequent exercise that helps to keep me that way, because I much prefer his taste to a pillow.

Afterwards there needs to be some cleaning up, but Rogher is so exhausted and spent that he just rolls over and is fast asleep within moments. My arms are still trembling as I wipe off the worst mess and push the rag under the pillow before snuggling against his sweaty back. I must remember to remove that rag in the morning, so as to keep our nightly activities from becoming public.

My last thought before sleep gathers me has something to do with how good his hairy thigh feels under my palm, and how the hell I'm going to keep him from trouble during the days to come.