The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [219]
But there was more to her discomfiture. He had touched her. She could still feel his warm hand on her thigh. She knew exactly where it had reached and where it had missed, as though he had burned her with his gentle caress. Why had he touched her nipple? It tingled still. He had been full in his manhood, and she knew what that meant. How many times had she seen men give the signal to a woman when they wanted to relieve their needs. Broud had done it to her—she shuddered—she had hated seeing him hard in his manhood then.
She didn’t feel that way now. She’d even like it if Jondalar would give her the signal …
Don’t be ridiculous. He couldn’t, not with his leg. It was barely healed enough to put weight on.
But he had been hard in his manhood when she got back from swimming, and his eyes … She shivered thinking about his eyes. They are so blue, and so full of his need, and so …
She couldn’t express it to herself, but she stopped twining her hair, closed her eyes, and let herself feel his pull. He had touched her.
But then he stopped. She sat up straight. Had he given her a signal? Had he stopped because she had not acquiesced? A woman was always supposed to be available to a man in his need. Every woman of the Clan was taught that, from the first time her spirit battled and she bled. Just as she was taught the subtle gestures and postures that might encourage a man to want to satisfy his need with her. She had never understood why a woman would want to use them before. Now, she suddenly realized, she did.
She wanted this man to relieve his needs with her, but she didn’t know his signal! If I don’t know his signal, he won’t know my ways either. And if I refused him without knowing, he might never try again. But did he really want me? I’m so big and ugly.
Ayla finished tucking her last braid under itself, then went to stir up the fire to make some pain medicine for Jondalar. When she brought it to him, he was on his side resting. In bringing him something for pain so he could rest, she did not want to disturb him if he had already found some comfort. She sat down with crossed legs beside his sleeping place and waited for him to open his eyes. He didn’t move, but she knew he was not sleeping. His breathing lacked the regularity, and his forehead showed discomfort he would not have if he was deep in sleep.
Jondalar had heard her coming and shut his eyes to feign sleep. He waited, muscles tensed, fighting an urge to open his eyes to see if she was there. Why was she so quiet? Why didn’t she leave? The arm he was lying on started to tingle from lack of circulation. If he didn’t move it soon, it would go numb. His leg throbbed. He wanted to shift it to ease the strain of holding it in one position so long. His face itched with the stubble of new beard; his back burned. Maybe she wasn’t even there. Maybe she had gone and he just hadn’t heard her move. Was she just sitting there staring at him?
She had been watching him intently. She had looked directly at this man more than she had ever looked at any man. It wasn’t proper for women of the Clan to look at men, but she had indulged in many improprieties. Had she forgotten all the manners Iza had taught her, as well as proper care of a patient? She stared down at her hands holding the cup of datura in her lap. That was the correct way for a woman to approach a man, sitting on the ground with head bowed, waiting for him to acknowledge her with a tap on the shoulder. Perhaps it was time to remember her training, she thought.
Jondalar opened his eyes a crack, trying to see if she was there without letting her know he was awake. He saw a foot and quickly closed his eyes again. She was there. Why was she sitting there? What could she