walls until her knuckles bled. By the time she finished, she could smell dinner cooking. Metha met her at the door with a scraper. “Clean out the chicken coop. Bring in the eggs.”
With a sigh, she took the wooden scraper and left the room. The midday sun added heat to her back. She started to wish she’d let Narium sew her dress after all. When she had finished with the coop, there were more dishes to wash. No matter how fast she worked or how good a job she did, Metha always found something wrong. A scrap of food stuck to a plate cost Ilyenna supper.
It was dark by the time she finished lugging in the last plates. After she’d put them away, she trudged toward the women’s house. Footsteps echoed her own.
She turned to see Darrien coming toward her. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep them from shaking, from fear as much as from hunger. As always, he came too close. She squared herself, resisting the urge to lean away from him. His nose wrinkled in disapproval. “You stink like sweat and chicken dung.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I swore to give my sweat, and that’s what I’m doing.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t have to. Marry me, and you’ll not have to work one day of the five years. You can sleep in my rooms, eat at the clan-house table. I’ll give you fine clothes and . . .” His hand shot out, deftly unfastening her clan belt. Before Ilyenna could react, he held her identity in his hand. “You can have this back.”
Without her belt, her overdress gaped at the sides. She felt a cool breeze moving against her underdress. Her father had fashioned the leather from one of their sheep. Her mother had sewn in all the knots but the last. That one, the clan-mistress knot, Ilyenna had added days after her mother’s burial. She reached for it, but Darrien held her back. “You’ve no right to take that!”
He smiled in satisfaction. “You don’t have a clan anymore. You’ll endure what I want you to endure.” He stepped so close she could feel the heat from his body. “Unless you wish me to tell my father you killed his favorite son?”
Tears pricked her eyes. Of all the things Darrien had done to her, taking her clan belt cut closest to her heart. Reaching out again, she tried to snatch it back. The movement brought her closer to him.
He pulled her in, his lips inches from hers. “It’s a pretty good bargain, Ilyenna.”
She squirmed until she felt the skin on her back crack and sting. “What you want is a harlot.”
He released her and took a step back. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll come to me. Sooner or later, you’ll come. And when you do, I’ll make you beg.” He turned and started towards the clan house.
She watched him go. Was he right? Could he afflict her until she submitted?
She lifted her head higher. Shyle are stronger than stone, more supple than a sapling. No matter what any of them said, she was still a Shyle, and she wouldn’t forget her clan’s pride. Ilyenna felt eyes on her back and turned. A dark shadow peered at her from behind the trees—Rone. How much had he seen?
His smoldering eyes said he’d seen enough. “One of these days, I’m going to kill that son of a whore.”
Ilyenna rubbed her forehead. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Suddenly her emotions seemed too much to bear. Starting past him on her way to the women’s house, she lashed out, “Why? You’ve never cared about me. Why start now?”
His hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Don’t say that. When we were children, you were like a little sister to me.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tears burning her eyes, she turned, her gaze staring after Darrien. It wasn’t Rone’s fault. Not her being here, or Darrien, or her being marked, or the fact that Rone thought of her as a sister. She relaxed her fists.
His grip loosened. “The other women all came in a long time ago.” He handed
With a sigh, she took the wooden scraper and left the room. The midday sun added heat to her back. She started to wish she’d let Narium sew her dress after all. When she had finished with the coop, there were more dishes to wash. No matter how fast she worked or how good a job she did, Metha always found something wrong. A scrap of food stuck to a plate cost Ilyenna supper.
It was dark by the time she finished lugging in the last plates. After she’d put them away, she trudged toward the women’s house. Footsteps echoed her own.
She turned to see Darrien coming toward her. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep them from shaking, from fear as much as from hunger. As always, he came too close. She squared herself, resisting the urge to lean away from him. His nose wrinkled in disapproval. “You stink like sweat and chicken dung.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I swore to give my sweat, and that’s what I’m doing.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t have to. Marry me, and you’ll not have to work one day of the five years. You can sleep in my rooms, eat at the clan-house table. I’ll give you fine clothes and . . .” His hand shot out, deftly unfastening her clan belt. Before Ilyenna could react, he held her identity in his hand. “You can have this back.”
Without her belt, her overdress gaped at the sides. She felt a cool breeze moving against her underdress. Her father had fashioned the leather from one of their sheep. Her mother had sewn in all the knots but the last. That one, the clan-mistress knot, Ilyenna had added days after her mother’s burial. She reached for it, but Darrien held her back. “You’ve no right to take that!”
He smiled in satisfaction. “You don’t have a clan anymore. You’ll endure what I want you to endure.” He stepped so close she could feel the heat from his body. “Unless you wish me to tell my father you killed his favorite son?”
Tears pricked her eyes. Of all the things Darrien had done to her, taking her clan belt cut closest to her heart. Reaching out again, she tried to snatch it back. The movement brought her closer to him.
He pulled her in, his lips inches from hers. “It’s a pretty good bargain, Ilyenna.”
She squirmed until she felt the skin on her back crack and sting. “What you want is a harlot.”
He released her and took a step back. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll come to me. Sooner or later, you’ll come. And when you do, I’ll make you beg.” He turned and started towards the clan house.
She watched him go. Was he right? Could he afflict her until she submitted?
She lifted her head higher. Shyle are stronger than stone, more supple than a sapling. No matter what any of them said, she was still a Shyle, and she wouldn’t forget her clan’s pride. Ilyenna felt eyes on her back and turned. A dark shadow peered at her from behind the trees—Rone. How much had he seen?
His smoldering eyes said he’d seen enough. “One of these days, I’m going to kill that son of a whore.”
Ilyenna rubbed her forehead. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Suddenly her emotions seemed too much to bear. Starting past him on her way to the women’s house, she lashed out, “Why? You’ve never cared about me. Why start now?”
His hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Don’t say that. When we were children, you were like a little sister to me.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tears burning her eyes, she turned, her gaze staring after Darrien. It wasn’t Rone’s fault. Not her being here, or Darrien, or her being marked, or the fact that Rone thought of her as a sister. She relaxed her fists.
His grip loosened. “The other women all came in a long time ago.” He handed
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