He dragged her down the path until they were out of the forest while she was helpless to stop him. No number of elbows in his guts or heels to his shins stopped him. Finally, Ōbhin pulled his hand away from her mouth.
“How dare you manhandle me like a sack of buckwheat!” she hissed as she whirled around to face him. “I need to march in there and get answers.”
“I think you have all the answers you need,” he said.
“What are you saying?” Anger boiled through her. “Did you see what they’re doing? What Pharon is forcing my Miguil to do?”
“Forcing?” Ōbhin asked, his voice calm. “He looked like an eager participant.”
Her stomach curdled. “They’re men! They shouldn’t be doing that. It’s a sin.”
Ōbhin shrugged. “It’s their business. They’re not a threat to anyone.”
“But they’re . . . and he’s . . . that’s my promised!” She pointed back at the clearing and stabbed repeatedly at the air. “He’s being made to do that. We have to help him.”
“I’m sorry, Avena, I am,” Ōbhin said. “Some men have different tastes. Prefer to live in log cabins, as we say in Qoth.”
She frowned at him.
“We live in houses made of stone, places of wives and family, but when men go to work in the mountains, they build temporary houses. Log cabins. Some men . . . don’t like to return.”
Her cheeks burned. “All you easterners are filthy. We have to help Miguil. I know him. He’s not a log cabin man! He’s a stone house man. With me.” He had to be. She felt tears building in her eyes. He was so handsome. He’d always complimented her and given her gifts. She was sure he loved her. “Please, Ōbhin.”
“Have you ever been intimate with him?”
She hissed, “That is a disgusting question to ask a woman.”
“I can see the answer in your expression,” he said. “Women shouldn’t have naked faces. You can witness everything.”
“And?”
“And you’ve never lain with him? Not like with Chames?”
Her ears warmed now. She’d forgotten that night she’d drunk too much. Secrets had poured out. “No. He’s a proper man. He’s fine with waiting.”
“That’s not suspicious?”
“Not every man is a dog who’ll chase any bone they see,” she muttered. “Miguil is a gentleman and . . .”
Ōbhin’s eyebrows arched.
Her stomach curdled. She’d heard rumors of men who liked men and snuck out behind their wives’ backs to indulge in pleasures declared sin by Elohm’s church. Men who married women to hide what they were. I’m his masquerade mask!
Embarrassment flooding through her, she broke away from Ōbhin and fled into the night, castigating herself. How had she not seen it? He never kissed her on the mouth. Never did more than hold her hand. Always the perfect gentleman. Even Chames had tried to sneak kisses when they were alone.
A collage of emotions filled her. Anger at being used, heartache at the betrayal, confusion at why Miguil would prefer Pharon over herself, embarrassment at Ōbhin witnessing it all. Each emotion was a different hue. A different color that formed a pattern of bewildering impulses in her.
She didn’t know if she should laugh at how stupid she was or cry bitter tears at Miguil toying with her affections.
She found herself doing both, tears pouring down her cheeks as she cackled, stumbling towards the house.
*
Ōbhin followed Avena back at a slow pace, giving the woman space. He knew the pain of betrayal too well. At least she won’t drive a dagger into Pharon’s heart.
He’d noticed Pharon’s orientation from the start. The butler had always shown interest in the Qothian. It wasn’t uncommon for the butler to find an excuse to watch the training. Miguil would, too. Ōbhin had always thought it was to keep an eye on Avena.
He was jealous of me all right, Ōbhin thought, his cheeks warm. He’d known one man in the palace guard back in Qoth who preferred log cabins, a good soldier who took his duty seriously. It never made much sense to Ōbhin. Women had a soft, sensual vulnerability about them. Seeing only their mysterious eyes through their masks and witnessing the curves of their bodies stirred that protective ache in him. They were the opposite of everything Ōbhin was. You fought beside a man to defend a woman.
Avena fought beside you, whispered through Ōbhin’s mind. To protect Dualayn and the injured.
Ōbhin shifted his shoulders.
He found the gate opened. He closed it behind him and heard a grunt from the left. Cerdyn appeared out of the darkness. His eyes flicked up and down then he said, “Evening.”
Ōbhin nodded. “Seen anything?”
“Just that girl rushing back to the house.” He gave an evil chuckle. “Didn’t like the size of your sword?”
Ōbhin shook his head. “Pharon and Miguil are out in the grove. You didn’t notice?”
“‘Course I did. They want to play house out in the woods, no Black staining my soul.” He spat. “Ain’t that girl promised to Miguil?”
Before Ōbhin could answer, the sound of singing drifted from the front gate. Then came the rattle of locked iron. Drunken singing increased. Ōbhin’s hand drifted down to his sword while Cerdyn stiffened.
“I expect it’s Smiles and the others,” Cerdyn said, his voice a soft rumble.
“Probably,” Ōbhin said and advanced across the lawn, the hulking Cerdyn at his side.
“So I whipped off her dress to see the rest,”
