time, a couple of months ago, when she had offered to clean him up after his ignominious adventure in the mud and thornbushes.
“You don’t sound happy when you say that. Haven’t you had any good kisses lately?”
Eduor choked on an unhappy laugh. “As if . I haven’t had any kisses, good or bad, in a couple of years. Unless you count the exceptionally wet one little Amalie planted on my cheek a few weeks ago, but then she’s only three and I’m quite sure that doesn’t count.”
Stretching for her cup, she picked it up and drained it dry, then smiled at him. A teasing, feminine smile. Undoubtedly some of it came from the date wine, but enough of her own warmth infused it that it enthralled him. “Maybe you just need a beautiful young woman to kiss. An adult young woman, I mean.”
It took him a few moments to register what she was saying. At least, until her next words scattered his wits.
“Do you think I’m pretty enough to kiss?” Chanson asked him.
Eduor shook his head, but in agreement, not denial. “Definitely. Young, and pretty, and beautiful. But a kiss ...”
She pouted. Eduor stared, fascinated by the slight pucker of her lower lip. Normally, Chanson was brisk, efficient, and sassy. Much more lively and opinionated than any Mandarite woman dared to be, and far more warm and welcoming than any Natallian woman he’d seen. But a pouting Chanson was undeniably charming.
“It’s the wine, isn’t it?” She sighed, toying with her empty cup. “I’ll admit it’s given me the courage to speak, but it’s been on my mind all the same. I like you. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, of course.”
It was Eduor’s turn to glance furtively around. No one was looking their way, tucked into the back of the courtyard as they were, by one of the cisterns not yet tapped for use. Assured they weren’t drawing undue attention, he leaned close, cupped her cheek, and kissed her. Dry lips to dry lips, and no hint of his tongue, but a kiss all the same.
She was warm, she was soft, and she was feminine. She also sighed again, leaning into his kiss with an encouraging little nibble. Eduor enjoyed his first real kiss in years ... until the ugly thought popped into his head that his last “real kiss” had been with a concubine slave. By the coldest definition, not a free, willing woman. The wine may loosen her inhibitions, but it also loosens her good sense . . . and I like her far too much to let her regret any of this in the morning. Other than the hangover; that’s unavoidable .
Pulling back with a sigh of his own, Eduor looked down at the table. In the glow of the lights strung across the courtyard, candles sheltered from the night breezes in carefully crafted paper globes, his now deeply tanned hands didn’t look that much paler than hers. Parts of him were still quite pale, particularly from waist to knees, but months of laboring in the fields as a farmer had bronzed his skin as dark as it could go. He was happy to be a farmer, too. Happy to be here in the modest little village of Oba’s Well, somewhat off the main caravan routes and thus quiet and peaceful.
He didn’t want to ruin the life he was building by doing or saying the wrong thing. Still, he knew he had to say something.
“I like you, Chanson. A lot. More and more as the days go by. But, more than that ... I respect you.” He glanced up at her, wanting to gauge her reaction, to see if she knew just how important those three little words were. She looked a little surprised, yes, but also touched. Something inside him relaxed. She does understand ... Nodding, he shrugged. “That’s why I don’t think we should do this. Um, not under the influence of date wine. But later, when we’re both sober ... I’d like to try again.”
The smile that blossomed on her beautiful dark face made a small corner of his mind regret the decision to wait. The rest of him felt relief, knowing that it was the right choice.
“You,” Chanson murmured,
“You don’t sound happy when you say that. Haven’t you had any good kisses lately?”
Eduor choked on an unhappy laugh. “As if . I haven’t had any kisses, good or bad, in a couple of years. Unless you count the exceptionally wet one little Amalie planted on my cheek a few weeks ago, but then she’s only three and I’m quite sure that doesn’t count.”
Stretching for her cup, she picked it up and drained it dry, then smiled at him. A teasing, feminine smile. Undoubtedly some of it came from the date wine, but enough of her own warmth infused it that it enthralled him. “Maybe you just need a beautiful young woman to kiss. An adult young woman, I mean.”
It took him a few moments to register what she was saying. At least, until her next words scattered his wits.
“Do you think I’m pretty enough to kiss?” Chanson asked him.
Eduor shook his head, but in agreement, not denial. “Definitely. Young, and pretty, and beautiful. But a kiss ...”
She pouted. Eduor stared, fascinated by the slight pucker of her lower lip. Normally, Chanson was brisk, efficient, and sassy. Much more lively and opinionated than any Mandarite woman dared to be, and far more warm and welcoming than any Natallian woman he’d seen. But a pouting Chanson was undeniably charming.
“It’s the wine, isn’t it?” She sighed, toying with her empty cup. “I’ll admit it’s given me the courage to speak, but it’s been on my mind all the same. I like you. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, of course.”
It was Eduor’s turn to glance furtively around. No one was looking their way, tucked into the back of the courtyard as they were, by one of the cisterns not yet tapped for use. Assured they weren’t drawing undue attention, he leaned close, cupped her cheek, and kissed her. Dry lips to dry lips, and no hint of his tongue, but a kiss all the same.
She was warm, she was soft, and she was feminine. She also sighed again, leaning into his kiss with an encouraging little nibble. Eduor enjoyed his first real kiss in years ... until the ugly thought popped into his head that his last “real kiss” had been with a concubine slave. By the coldest definition, not a free, willing woman. The wine may loosen her inhibitions, but it also loosens her good sense . . . and I like her far too much to let her regret any of this in the morning. Other than the hangover; that’s unavoidable .
Pulling back with a sigh of his own, Eduor looked down at the table. In the glow of the lights strung across the courtyard, candles sheltered from the night breezes in carefully crafted paper globes, his now deeply tanned hands didn’t look that much paler than hers. Parts of him were still quite pale, particularly from waist to knees, but months of laboring in the fields as a farmer had bronzed his skin as dark as it could go. He was happy to be a farmer, too. Happy to be here in the modest little village of Oba’s Well, somewhat off the main caravan routes and thus quiet and peaceful.
He didn’t want to ruin the life he was building by doing or saying the wrong thing. Still, he knew he had to say something.
“I like you, Chanson. A lot. More and more as the days go by. But, more than that ... I respect you.” He glanced up at her, wanting to gauge her reaction, to see if she knew just how important those three little words were. She looked a little surprised, yes, but also touched. Something inside him relaxed. She does understand ... Nodding, he shrugged. “That’s why I don’t think we should do this. Um, not under the influence of date wine. But later, when we’re both sober ... I’d like to try again.”
The smile that blossomed on her beautiful dark face made a small corner of his mind regret the decision to wait. The rest of him felt relief, knowing that it was the right choice.
“You,” Chanson murmured,
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