one indignity after another, however politely each had been offered; and to preserve what self-respect she could—and what courage—she had preferred not to think about them too closely. But that she wasn’t even to be allowed to bathe without a guard—that she should be expected to submit tamely to the ministrations of four men—
men
—like a—like a—Her imagination chose to fail her here, far from home, with the terror of the unknown, and of the captured, only barely kept at bay. She threw off the man’s polite fingers with as much violence as she could and said furiously: “No! Thank you, but
no
.” There are enough of them, for God’s sake, to stand me on my head if they want to force the issue, she thought. But I am
not
going to cooperate.
There was a ripple of golden silk at the sound of her voice, and a new shadow appeared in the lantern light. Corlath, who had been hovering just outside to see how his Outlander was going to behave, entered the tent. He spoke two or three words and the men left at once; each bowing, first to her and then to their king. A corner of Harry’s mind, which refused to be oppressed by the dreadfulness of the situation, noticed that the bows were of equal depth and duration; and the same mental corner had the impertinence to think this odd.
There was another little silence after the four men had left, only this time it was the king she was facing down. But she was too angry to care. If she said anything she would say too much, and she hadn’t quite forgotten that she was at the mercy of strangers, so she bit her tongue and glowered. Why was this all happening? The bit of her mind which had commented about the equality of bows presently observed that anger was preferable to fear, so the anger was encouraged to carry on.
Evidently Corlath had already had his bath; his black hair was wet, and even his sun-brown skin was a few shades lighter. He was wearing a long golden robe, stiff with elegant stitching, open at the front to show a loose cream-colored garment that fell almost to his sandaled feet. In her own country she would have been inclined to call it a nightshirt under an odd sort of dressing-gown—although nobody ever wore a scarlet cummerbund over one’s nightshirt—but it looked very formal here. She mustn’t forget to glower or she might feel awed. And then, inevitably, afraid. She recognized the quality of his silence when at last he spoke: the same feeling she had had when she first spoke to him, at the small campsite between the arms of a sand dune, that he chose and arranged his words very carefully.
“Do you not wish to bathe, then? It is a long ride we had.” He was thinking, So I have managed to offend her immediately. It is done differently where she comes from; she can’t know and must not be able to guess—but how could she guess?—that in the Hills it is only the men and women of the highest rank that may be waited on by household servants of both sexes. I feared—but for what good? We know nothing of each other’s customs, and my household men have only done as they ought: treated the king’s Outlander with the greatest honor.
Harry in her turn had unbent slightly at the “we.” It was friendlier than the accusatory “you” she’d been expecting. She hadn’t unbent so far, though, as to prevent herself from saying coldly, “I am accustomed to bathe alone.”
Ah. Yes. I don’t suppose I should mire myself with involved explanations at this point? She doesn’t look to be in the mood for them. He said, “These are men of my household. It was to do you … courtesy.”
She glanced away and felt her anger begin to ebb; and so she was unprepared when he took a sudden stride forward as she dropped her eyes. He grabbed her chin and forced it up, turning her face to the light and staring down at her as if amazed. Her abrupt reversion to existence as an object to be bundled about, turned this way and that at another’s will, made the anger
men
—like a—like a—Her imagination chose to fail her here, far from home, with the terror of the unknown, and of the captured, only barely kept at bay. She threw off the man’s polite fingers with as much violence as she could and said furiously: “No! Thank you, but
no
.” There are enough of them, for God’s sake, to stand me on my head if they want to force the issue, she thought. But I am
not
going to cooperate.
There was a ripple of golden silk at the sound of her voice, and a new shadow appeared in the lantern light. Corlath, who had been hovering just outside to see how his Outlander was going to behave, entered the tent. He spoke two or three words and the men left at once; each bowing, first to her and then to their king. A corner of Harry’s mind, which refused to be oppressed by the dreadfulness of the situation, noticed that the bows were of equal depth and duration; and the same mental corner had the impertinence to think this odd.
There was another little silence after the four men had left, only this time it was the king she was facing down. But she was too angry to care. If she said anything she would say too much, and she hadn’t quite forgotten that she was at the mercy of strangers, so she bit her tongue and glowered. Why was this all happening? The bit of her mind which had commented about the equality of bows presently observed that anger was preferable to fear, so the anger was encouraged to carry on.
Evidently Corlath had already had his bath; his black hair was wet, and even his sun-brown skin was a few shades lighter. He was wearing a long golden robe, stiff with elegant stitching, open at the front to show a loose cream-colored garment that fell almost to his sandaled feet. In her own country she would have been inclined to call it a nightshirt under an odd sort of dressing-gown—although nobody ever wore a scarlet cummerbund over one’s nightshirt—but it looked very formal here. She mustn’t forget to glower or she might feel awed. And then, inevitably, afraid. She recognized the quality of his silence when at last he spoke: the same feeling she had had when she first spoke to him, at the small campsite between the arms of a sand dune, that he chose and arranged his words very carefully.
“Do you not wish to bathe, then? It is a long ride we had.” He was thinking, So I have managed to offend her immediately. It is done differently where she comes from; she can’t know and must not be able to guess—but how could she guess?—that in the Hills it is only the men and women of the highest rank that may be waited on by household servants of both sexes. I feared—but for what good? We know nothing of each other’s customs, and my household men have only done as they ought: treated the king’s Outlander with the greatest honor.
Harry in her turn had unbent slightly at the “we.” It was friendlier than the accusatory “you” she’d been expecting. She hadn’t unbent so far, though, as to prevent herself from saying coldly, “I am accustomed to bathe alone.”
Ah. Yes. I don’t suppose I should mire myself with involved explanations at this point? She doesn’t look to be in the mood for them. He said, “These are men of my household. It was to do you … courtesy.”
She glanced away and felt her anger begin to ebb; and so she was unprepared when he took a sudden stride forward as she dropped her eyes. He grabbed her chin and forced it up, turning her face to the light and staring down at her as if amazed. Her abrupt reversion to existence as an object to be bundled about, turned this way and that at another’s will, made the anger
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