On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [10]
Enough of the mother. Time to think of the child. “Gather your things, girl, and let us be on our way.”
Unsteadily, Kevla got to her feet. Her face was drained of color and her eyes were enormous. Then, as Tahmu watched, it seemed to him that a mask suddenly covered her face, rendering it impassive.
She shrugged slightly. “I have nothing of my own,” she said simply. She was now composed, revealing none of the hurt she must be feeling. Such would have to be the shield of a Bai-sha, Tahmu reflected. He would say nothing more to Keishla. She had forfeited her right to kind words and gentle looks with her greed. But when she called his name as he was about to leave, he paused.
Kevla was already outside. “Wait for me by my horse,” he told her. She nodded and padded up to the patient beast.
Tahmu let the blanket fall and turned around. A hard word was on his lips, but it faded like a drop of water before the heat of the sun at the look on Keishla’s face.
Gone was the sly calculation. In its place was the expression of one who had lost everything. The coins lay where they had fallen, and tears coursed down her cheeks.
“We play parts, you know, for our customers,” she whispered. “That…that was my best performance yet.” She swallowed hard. “It will be easier on her, to think I wanted her gone. She loves me, Dragon knows why, and would not have gone with you, no matter how hard I would have beaten her or chided her…though she never needed a beating, not really…oh, Tahmu….”
All the love he thought quelled now rushed to flood Tahmu. Silent, shaking, he went to her, tangled strong fingers in her long, beaded hair, pulled her head back and kissed her. For an instant she was stiff in his arms, and then she yielded. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she opened the sweetness of her mouth to him. Her breasts crushed against his chest, and he could feel her heart racing as fast as his own. For a long, dizzying moment, he was not a khashim, but merely Tahmu, a youth hotly in love with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, who took his passion and returned it a thousandfold.
Reluctantly, he pulled away, ending the kiss. They were both breathing heavily, and trembling, and for the first time since he had arrived he saw the young woman he had loved in Keishla’s face and not the angry countenance of a bitter halaan.
He allowed himself one last caress, running his fingers over the sharp cheekbones and stubborn jaw, brushing them softly over her lips.
“You were ever my great love,” he whispered.
Tears stood in Keishla’s eyes. “And you mine, Tahmu. Will—will she know who she is?”
He shook his head. “No. The fewer who know such a secret, the better. You, Sahlik and I are the only ones.”
She nodded. “It is safer that way, for you and for her, too. At least, while she is little. Promise me…”
“Anything,” he answered, recklessly.
“When you judge the time to be right—when she is older—tell her who she is. Tell her she was conceived in love, the daughter of a khashim, not the fruit of a man who paid to lie with her mother. Tell her, her mother loved her enough to let her go, that it was never her fault when I grew angry and hit her. Will you do that for me?”
Emotion choked him and he could only nod. She smiled, slipped gently from his embrace and turned her back to him. It was harder than he had expected to step back and bring his attention to the present. Somehow he managed, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He pulled back the blanket, letting sun rush into the darkened tent. He glanced back one last time, marking the thick hair, the slim back and thighs, the bared feet, then turned and left.
Kevla stood beside the horse, reaching a cautious hand to pet its soft muzzle. The other hand wiped her face quickly. She did not want him to see her tears.
“Does he have a name?” she asked.
“Of course. His full name is Swift-Over-Sand, but I call him Swift.”
“Hello, Swift,” Kevla said softly. The horse blew against her fingers and she jerked them back, no doubt suddenly recalling Swift’s gold-tipped tusks,