|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Fri Jun 25, 2010 12:40 pm
[1] page 2 navigation
[2] meeting bhakti [RP]
[3] the conversation [RP]
[4] the invitation [RP]
[5] the egg [SRP]
[6] imisus [RP]
[7] the prince and the page [PRP]
[8] the dinner party [RP]
[9] aegis [PRP]
[10] the things that change [SRP]
[11] the renewing of alliances [MRP]
[12] solidifying nature [PRP]
[13] with me [RP]
[14] intimacy [RP]
[15] hayat [SRP]
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 25, 2010 2:12 pm
[2] meeting bhakti
The girl was outside, Al had been told. As if they were below her. He'd learned to show no signs of his thoughts, however, simply nodding with a slightly pleased air. It would not do for anyone to see his nerves. Giving the mirror a long, hard look, he examined Yizhaq.
He was looking exceptionally handsome today, he noted, pushing long fingers through the front of his chocolate-brown hair. It was short and neat, complimenting a hard jaw, and arched brows. Pale, greenish eyes and a few freckles lent youth to his otherwise stern countenance and the young man quickly adjusted the high collar of his white suit, before following that with a short tug of the sleeves.
A small, elegantly wrapped gift [white and gold] was removed from inside of his jacket as he exited the room, stepping out into the sun of the garden. He was at her family's home, visiting for a quick lunch before their marriage.
Ah, marriage. He now had a fiance, and they must at least keep up the appearance of a flirtation before they were locked together for the remainder of their mortal life.
"Bhakti, yes? You are quite lovely in the sun." A white smile from that wide, full mouth and Yizhaq placed the gift on the table, reaching for her hand to kiss in greeting.
Excitement. It was a word which Bhakti was fervently pondering. It was only a single word and until today Bhakti had not realized she had read it with such dead eyes. It was hard, now, harder than it ever had been, and Bhakti thought harder than it ever would be, to stay still. To keep herself quiet, content, sweet, with perfect posture. The garden had never seemed less beautiful, but it had never held more promise. The one word that she had not previously understood now shuddered down her veins as an emotion. It made her bite her lip even when she did not realize it, and it made the arrangement of her dress never look in the right place.
The table before her was already adorned. Bhakti had left it alone, although her eyes were constantly scanning the contents, as if expecting her husband to quiz her on where everything was placed. A deep breath was taken in as she cast a nervous glance momentarily unconcealed towards the house and the entrance to the garden.
The moment passed, but with it came a new one. No, she'd been wrong moments before. This was excitement. Pushing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, Bhakti straightened herself, calmed her demeanor and easily slipped into the mental attitude that she required. Her eyes watched him, but they did not linger too long.
Although her mind swirled with a thousand thoughts and her heart rose in her chest, her body acted as though she had done this every day of her life. It was with an fluid ease that she turned a cheek to the kiss to her hand, eyes strained back to watch his lips touch her skin. A smile was crafted, just for him as she let her hand linger in his touch.
"You must be my fiance, to be so charming." It was so easy to make it sound slightly shy, as though she wasn't ready for the formality or his presence. And what a presence it was. He was well-kept in the way she had seen few men be, his stature refined, and his attitude obviously rehearsed. She decided right then that she liked him. Loved him? Oh, it was possible. She knew she would grow to. How could she not?
"Please, sit. I hope everything is to your liking? I can send for someone to fetch anything you require." Her heart said: please, ask for something so I can give it to you.
"I must be," he agreed with a warm, low laugh, joining her at the table. He took a moment to look her over, careful to be polite with his stare, rather than indiscreet. She was beautiful, and so far, quite enchanting. The right mix of forward and coy, she was well spoken and mannered. If she was as smart as he had heard whispered, he would consider her perfect. He ignored the thump of his heart, which reminded him that this excitement he felt could not be real, to consider her question.
It would be thoughtless to deny her the privilege of acting as an almost-wife, in this small capacity. He had come prepared to be not-quite satisfied, so that she could be the one to please him.
"I should like a paper and pen, yes, thank you." A raising of the eyebrows as he took in the lovely table, pleasure clear in his features. "What have you chosen for our tea today, fiance?" It was encouragement to speak, to pour him a cup.
There was no hesitation once his request was placed. No questions asked, not even the hint of display of shock in her eyes - and it was there - as she subtly brought her servant to her side with the motions of her hands. "A paper and pen for the young gentleman. Bring more than he requires, if you would, in case he decides that more are needed." It was not whispered quietly, but stated aloud so that he could hear. She felt no need for starting curiosity early. He could have everything he saw on the surface, and with luck, if he would allow her, she would give him more than that.
The items arranged for, Bhakti returned her attention once more to the most important factor of her day. The word fiance caused the slightest of honest and full smiles to play at the corners of her lips. It did not take long for her fingers to wind themselves around the handle of the kettle in as delicate and smooth a motion as she could manage.
"A rooibos. Red, and imported. It has just a tinge of sweetness to it. I hope you'll find it to your liking." It was spoken as she poured the contents into his cup. One hand on the side of the kettle to support it, Bhakti was able to go slowly, her eyes watching his hands more than she would have been willing to admit.
The formalities covered, the tea was placed once again back in the same location it had started and Bhakti rested one of her hands close to her own cup, resisting the urge to let her fingers run around its rim. "I take it you've had a safe trip? And the locals, have they given you proper respect?" If those who were less fortunate than she had ruined this for her, Bhakti would have been more than displeased. She had heard it before, marriages cast aside for the most ridiculous of reasons. Never the less, she hoped he did not go on too long. She ached for something more than small talk, for him to go on with his own life. The things he did, what had made his family so rich, his pastimes. Everything but the weather and the trip and how lovely people found him to be.
The paper and pen he had requested arrived in a timely fashion to her wishes. Curiosity perked, Bhakti swallowed, directing her attention momentarily to her tea.
"The journey was long, but overdue. I confess I make it often. I currently reside at my full estate in Shyregoad, but I until only a few years prior I lived at a home here, in Imisus, which is where I conduct a large amount of business."
Those hands that she had watched so carefully appeared at home with a pen in them, one moving to his tea cup and the other beginning long strokes and quick movements across the paper. He paused, to take a slow swallow, and smiled at her. "Wonderful. You have excellent taste."
He seemed quite willing to share with her, at ease with the servants close by, as if they were alone. He had many of his own, after all. In fact, the paper quickly became a drawing, a skilled rendering of his lands in Shyregoad. Part map and part landscape, it took shape beneath his pen as he spoke. Many years had been spent drawing such for his father, and it was comfortable for him.
"And what of you? How do you spend your days?"
There was that word again. Excitement. He made journeys often. The adventurous side of her was attracted to this notion. Surely it would mean she would travel too. While she would grow to hate it when it happened, for now it became an imagined perfection. Travel. Places. Stories. Events other than here. It was not only a husband that she had yearned for, but change.
And when he complimented her taste, she could almost feel the slight hint of flirtation he put along with it. Bhakti knew things were going well, and it made her ever the more determined to have it stay this way.No comment was given it return, other than a simple thank you for courtesy, but her tongue had a thousand compliments to give him as well. Later, she would look back and understand how flustered she was inside her own head. The clarity of her thinking was scarred, and her only savior was her well-practiced motions. Later, she would sit in her bedroom and miss his presence, the way his hands has so easily rendered such detail on paper. She would believe she had learned a form of art that was not writing, and she would feel naive for having not been a better fiance at the time.
"Simply," she answered him quite quickly. The way her mouth broke broadly showed it was her own version of a flirtatious tease. "I aid my brothers, when I can and if they are home. Otherwise, I spend it it caring for my sister and my mother. On rare occasions, I may read." A lie. Small, but necessary. If he knew she spent hours in the gardens, reading, thinking, exploring the corners of her own mind, well, he would have one less reason to desire to marry her.
"And on my days off," she added as she prepared another smile for him. "I pick out good tea."
"You read?" It might have shocked her, how pleasantly surprised he seemed, but it was clear that this was a delight to him. Yizhaq was quickly drafting the note he would leave the Steward, to finalize a bride price and to set the date for as early as possible. So far, no girl had met the level of education he desired in a partner.
"My mother read to us every night before her death. My sister was quite hungry for language, a trait my mother must have passed on to both of her children." A smile that was only a little sad, as if his mother must have passed long ago.
"It is good to know I can trust you to choose things at my estate, it has been sorely lacking in the presence of a good woman." Yizhaq held back a private smile at the thought, and instead leaned close to push the drawing across the table.
"Here is a, quite rudimentary, idea of my estate, where I should like to take you." It was widespread, really, a fortress among the mountains and the trees. "I spend most of my time there, now, though I do travel frequently to the Mages' Fellowship and to my business home here, all of which it would delight me to show you."
"I do," she answered quietly and with a strong voice in the face of his obvious joy at the news. It struck her as a bit strange, but it was in that strangeness that she knew she had met her match. Here before her was a man who was adept, handsome, and willing (and wanting) to accept her for the very basis of her only assumed flaw as a woman. It a small spit of bravery she gave him a piece more, "And can also write if the mood requires it."
It was a statement that found itself absent in the light of Yizhaq's other plans. As he moved the paper across the table, she kept her eyes on him. It showed that she was listening, even though he had lost her at 'choosing things around the estate'. Bhakti already knew she had a good eye and good taste. She would not humble herself in that matter. Taking care of the estate's visual side would be nothing short of the ease with which a knife cut through butter.
For the first time that day, however, she took in an unwelcome and unplanned breath when she realized he had ventured so closely into her space. Save for her brothers and those men they brought home to survey her, Bhakti had never had a man so near. What was more, he was almost hers, or rather she is, and it was not wrong to have started to think about having his arms wrapped around her waist. To spend days close to someone else. Even the idea of him touching her face left her feeling a bit inappropriate and perhaps he could sense that innocence. In that, too, she made a good wife.
Glancing down at his penmanship was more than welcome. "It is beautiful even on paper." There was no lie here and no enhancement. Her words, for the first time that day were spoken exactly as they had formed in her mind and the difference would be obvious. It lasted just a fleeting moment as Bhakti moved onto the next issue.
"I will consider it an honor to see." A brief delay was given before she slipped into her next role. By placing a hand over her mouth and dropping her eyes again, she pretended to have forgotten. "Ah, I've been rude. Would you like me to show you around?"
"I hope to put you in that mood often, then." A grin, so close to her, and he let his gaze drop but briefly to her mouth, a hint of color touching his face as he leaned back, finishing his tea.
He was pleased with her response to him, the quick breath and downward glance of her gaze. Her tone change, in a strange way that he found appealing, but he put it aside in favor of her invitation. "Yes, I would--" A pause as his brow furrowed, a hand touching his face in displeasure. "I'm sorry, dear, but I must decline. I have a meeting shortly that I cannot reschedule, though you have been so pleasant that I wish it weren't so."
He stood, fingers touching the box on the table, it was small, yes, but mostly in depth as it was wide rather than tall. Inside, a blue, well-cut dress. Her size, of course. "This is for you."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 25, 2010 2:14 pm
[3] the conversation
Bhakti had her whole life planned out from day to day. It was as simple as the mere stroke of pen upon paper. But, when the pages of this chapter had begun their writ, the lines had smeared and sprawled, growing thin and bland before eventually falling completely off the paper.
Trust was something that Bhakti was required to give to her husband. It was, in her mind, the first gift she gave. It did not stop her from believing the Head Stewards words at least in part. It had placed that most evil of emotions in her mind: the shadow of a doubt.
It was bothersome to her that she was now taking time to get into something nice. Not of astounding quality, but it was not an informal garment to be warn at ease. A rich, dark green - a color she normally avoided - the cloth used to tie it in place a richer hue.
When she made her way down the hall, it was with confidence and pride, and when she finally knocked her knuckles on the door, she waited long enough for a rejection. When none came, she very carefully made her way inside. She kept her eyes low until she had positioned herself before his desk, her brows uncharacteristically furrowed as she let her eyes wander. And the lie took its shape and as she watched, the forms of masculinity that had seemed to obvious before lost their harshness and show the delicate nature befit to a woman. She didn't love him, no, that made this easier. But, she had, until now respected him - and even the pronoun felt a bit abused now. What did you call someone who was no more than a living lie?
But, still, trained, she waited for him to speak first. Most of her hoped that he would laugh, call her foolish, send her out. It would be easier if she did not know them, if she could assume they were trying to mess with her mind. It was unfortunate, to have been around people long enough, and observed long enough, that she found herself believing even the most outrageous of stories when they were true.
Al felt at home in very few places, out on the lands, where she was nothing but herself, at the mages hall where no one cared for anything but their work, and here, in her study, surrounded by those that protected and loved her. Those that she protected and supported with the force of her name and wealth. Her study was her sanctum and she spent much time in it, reading the research of her father and plotting the future of her estate. In the study Al and Yizhaq became one.
It only took one knock for her furrowed brow, an expression of her feminine curiosity, to smooth. To take on the hard jaw and practiced authoritative air of Yizhaq.
The knock was already one he recognize, that of his wife. To Al, it was nothing to become Yizhaq, just another part of herself. Like changing a shirt, it was only on the outside that she appeared different.
"Come." Looking up through his brow at the young woman that stopped before him, Yizhaq allowed himself a moment to take her in, appreciate her beauty and careful adherance to tradition. She had proven herself, so far, to be a good wife. Another wise choice.
A slight smile warmed pale eyes and Yizhaq paused in his reading, granting Bhakti his attention by shutting his text and leaning back into his chair.
"You are lovely, wife," A greeting as well as a compliment. "You have my ear."
As well as she stood and adhered to tradition, Bhakti was itching to prove him wrong. It was impossible to be a good wife when you had no more than a wife herself.
A deep breath was taken as she continued to watch him. The edges of her brows closed the distance between them and then she relaxed, gaining control of her emotions again. As she spoke, however, the strains of tension were more than evident to his no doubt practiced ear. It was hard to look at him and not think about all the things she had done under a false pretense. The things, that in seconds, had been ripped away from her clenched fingers. It was easy to let the anger to flood in. So easy to hate him. Whoever he was.
"Wife?" It was too brash. Even too another woman, Bhakti knew she should not. It was hard to stop herself with the familiarity of the room. "Am I still allowed under that name? What is going on here, Yizhaq? The Steward's explanation was poor at best. I wish for another one." By the end, rationality had begun to form again. With yet another intake of breath, she found herself with a relaxed appearanced.
Yizhaq's tone was carefully neutral, despite the hint of warning laced therein, and he reached across his desk to select a pen, with long, slim fingers.
"You are allowed that which any married woman is, and more." It was true, that Bhakti would be, and had already been, very lucky in this marriage, if not for what Yizhaq hoped would become but minor complications.
His stare, before dipping said pen in ink, was more than enough commentary on her harsh use of his given name, her inappropriate tone.
"You would do well to remember, lest you abandon all reason, the parameters of our relationship."Making notations on a map in his scrawling, beautiful script, Yizhaq's tone was cool, in control. "You are married to this estate, and to me."
It was Yizhaq that caused her to quiet, her tongue pressed tight against the roof of her mouth. Her next movement was crossing her arms, adjusting the tensing in her muscles as his words pushed her firmly back where she 'belonged'.
But, no, he - she - had made the fatal mistake of bringing them to the same level, and once more, under her own social rules, Bhakti found herself to the permission to speak. Taking a step forwards, she put both her palms down on the table, determined to fight calm with calm, but urging him to cease. With a man, she could tolerate attention resting elsewhere than her, but she would not be cast aside when a man who was no more than a girl had robbed her of so much.
"And more? Do you expect me to feel relieved that you have given me space. Is that was this freedom was? Pity?" Her jaw clenched as her fingers curled and her eyes travelled hastily to the scratch of the pen. "This is not a marriage. This is trickery. Did you even think be--" She stopped herself there once again, raising to place a hand over her eyes and rest her fingers on her temples. She had thought she had gotten the anger out in her own time, but seeing him - it - there, calm, was more than she had thought it would be. (fin)
The scratch of the pen halted the moment Bhakti had crossed into Yizhaq--no, Al's space, the falconer's jaw tightening in silent response.
A soft, strange chuckle started briefly in Al's throat, before being stopped, smothered by Yizhaq, whose firm tone overtook what had been the start of soft, self-reflective irony.
"Pity? Come, now. I have not made it difficult for you to hate me, resent me, even plot against me, but do not be so naive to base your anger in such foolishness."
Pushing his chair back from the desk, Yizhaq stood, tall for a woman and average for a man. Pale eyes were lit with some sort of strong emotion as he spoke again, voice thick.
"If you would like to understand, be seated and open your ears, wife. I seek a partner, not a prisoner, though I am prepared to settle for the later, if you insist."
Bhakti was hardpressed to swallow the mouthful of bile she would liked to have spit at the woman's feet. Instead, she raised her chin and walked herself slowly - never taking her eyes off Yizhaq - until she had found herself a location to sit.
It was desperation that kept her routed to his words now. The respect had vanished the moment she'd found out this atrocity. The memory of a kiss now burned her tongue, the disgust curling her upper lip for just a moment before she looked away.
"Then speak, lest I make you settle for something." Had he, no, she, was the quick correction in her mind, settled? It would not be naive to think she was nothing more than an asset. Oh, but he was good, with all of those hefty compliments, at making her feel entitled. It had affected her, and she was no stranger to how it made her sit now, despite having every desire to lash out.
Here was the dilema. Al wanted to speak to Bhakti like an equal. The woman was, hopefully, as smart as Al had perceived, and if her own intuition was to be trusted, could eventually adapt. Yizhaq, though, he would dominate her if she would not accept his affections and have her as wife in name and function, if not spirit. There was, however, for both, no option of dissolving this marriage.
Where was the Steward when she needed him? Al almost smiled, the bitter taste on her tongue coming from Bhakti and the knowledge that her adviser was trying to make her find her own way.
When Yizhaq spoke again, it was in a somehow softer, more reflective tone. Those bright eyes sought the mountains of his lands, not Bhakti. He would find no understanding there.
"You are the perfect mate for me, and I have sought you for years. Do you understand this? You are accustomed to both hard work and luxury. Your mind is as sharp as your tongue, and you please my senses. Tradition, I knew, would bind you to me, as I am bound to my duty. I do this for my family, not for myself, and that motivation, at least, you will always understand."
A pause, and that smooth voice faltered for only a moment before becoming harder, more like that which he had used earlier.
"You will perform your duties. This you already know. I will perform mine. In this, we shall both find mutual benefit. I do not demand, or expect, anything beyond that."
It bothered her that the woman refused to look at her. Whether it was cowardice, or the desperate need to latch onto a male performance, Bhakti did not know. The grind of her teeth showed her discomfort.
"Spare me your mentions of pleasure," she muttered under her breath, partly hoping whatever the ambiguous beast was before her would not hear her. Her arms untwined and her hands gripped the chair with fists as she watched where her spouse's eyes travelled.
"It is your whole family, then, that is raving mad?" It was a quip that did not come out silenced. But, as the masculine side of the conversation continued, it was with silence that she accepted what he gave her. She would make it very clear to this individual that she could now call both husband and wife that she was not at all happy, but she would comply.
"What do we do, then?" Words now calm with this acceptance, she focused herself securely on him. "I can only act so well, Yizhaq. I cannot respect you. I don't know if I am able to do my duties for you. If you expect me to find the goodness in this propostorous creation of your family's honor, then understand that you have taken mine away from me overnight. And how do you expect to do your duties? A woman can never perform to the caliber of a man's work. Are you waiting for it to catch up to you? And you're taking me with you." The last was a stern, quiet revelation of a statement. One hand uncurled and her fingers began to drum busily at the wood near it.
"You will do what it takes, as will I. I know the price, in a way that you will never fathom, and..." A furrow of the brows.
"I need not explain myself to you." Yizhaq's voice was hoarse, covering something deeper, more genuine, and he turned his back to Bhakti, one hand pressed firmly against the frame of one of the many large windows in the study.
"It is clear to me that you are determined to be your own greatest obstacle in this, wife. Leave me." The dismissal was sudden, a forceful reminder of the rules they must both abide by.
Al would not look as Bhakti left. Her back was rigid, proud. Strong and masculine, but she would begin to cry soon, and the Steward would leave her to meditate until the evening. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, behind her eyes.
She knew she was more than capable of fulfilling this role she had been assigned. She had been doing so well, since she was small.
Bhakti lingered, considering whether or not to disobey out of spite. Her own inner-nature forced her to rise, giving several last glances in Yizhaq's direction. It was necessary, for the changes to settle into her mind.
His ability to remain unaffected caused her own shoulders to drop momentarily. Curiosity mingled with malice and discontent. Bhakti was one to give credit where credit was due, and she would not have been able to hold herself so firmly.
She decided, later, it was for that reason alone that she left without a further word.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 25, 2010 2:59 pm
[4] the invitation
Yizhaq stared at himself in the mirror, expressionless as hazel-green eyes met themselves. Elegant, long fingers adjusted the high collar on his expensive, well cut shirt (a beautiful, handmade thing, mostly white with green accents), before moving up to brush over his hair. It had been freshly cut, two days prior, in preparation for his trip. It was more masculine than the slight curls that always began after it became more than a few inches in length. It now highlighted his already strong jaw, making the softness of his mouth less noticable.
Dark, arched brows knit together as he visually gave himself a once-over. A sigh and he turned away, knowing that there was nothing more to be done. Some would consider him very, very handsome, but it was not those some that he needed to speak with.
It was the most formidable opponent and potential ally he had met so far; his Wife.
He knew that she was spending her time in one of the many sunrooms of the estate, possibly reading. He had been pleased to learn she spent so much time with books, as did he. A steward could have been sent to her side, to give her an invitation that was her right, but he had come instead.
Hands clenched into fists, once, twice, and then loosened. Shoulders back, masculine confidence settled over him and Yizhaq stepped forward to knock, as a formality, providing only a brief chance to be turned away before entering the room.
He almost forgot, when they spent so much time apart, how beautiful she was. He stifled a sigh and instead watched her, body language neutral.
Had she known that the man in question was dressed so nicely, Bhakti would have made the effort to look good as well. Now, there seemed little reason to have to prepare herself in private. It felt good to wear something loose. She had found herself, today, draped over a chair in a less than ladylike fashion. She had not bothered to make sure her back was straight and she was boredly drawing the tips of her toes over the ground as she turned a page.
In line with the left foot of the chair, a bottle of ink stood. The pen was in her hand and a parchment rested on her knee already scrawled with a great deal of phrases she'd pecked from writ.
The sound of footsteps nearly caused her to scramble. It would be no good to be caught in such lazy attire, with such horrible posture, and had anyone else been in the room with her, they'd likely get more than their fair view of skin. The voice she recognized, however, kept her from moving too far. She swumg her legs from over the chair's armrest and righted herself long enough to fix the folds in her clothes.
"Come in." The words were habitual; she knew Yizhaq would and could go anywhere he wanted in the house. Everyone else was still under some delusion. But, for her, things were shifting. The few weeks had given her time to calm, and with it had come the strange freedom of release. She had, and would continue to enjoy testing the bounds between them. In public, Bhakti would strive to be nothing less than perfect, but here, in the room where she was married to another woman, she would never let Yizhaq rest without knowing her discontent and the solid fact that his authority had dropped to zero in her mind.
"You look prim, today," she said, loosely as she heard his sigh. Her eyes did not leave what she was reading after the initial glance. "Are you here because you need me for something? A formal business arrangement, perhaps?"
"Prim," He repeated, woodenly, choosing to allow the statement to fall to the wayside in favor of stepping further into the room. She looked as if she'd been disturbed in her relaxation, her clothing and posture telling him a story of her feeling of freedom. It caused something to tighten inside him, something relatively unfamiliar, and he glanced away from one of her bare calves, swallowing.
There was a part of her change in demeanor, how she had gone from obedient to challenging, that touched something inside himself. Perhaps it was a longing, an admiration. What if he had been old enough to show rebellion, rather than flexible and receptive to change? Would he be, instead, a wife rather than a husband? Could he still have controlled so much of his family's land? Would he be no more than a prize to some male?
Bhakti was not a prize to Yizhaq, though at this point, that was irrelevant. He had yet to figure the angry, intelligent woman out, and she him.
Still, she had asked a question, one that required a verbal response. His hungry eyes found hers and he spoke, voice low, but sure.
"In a way, yes."
Tearing his gaze away, he strode to a window, opening it to give himself something to do.
"I am going back to Imisus, on business." It was hard to ask her to join him, because that would give her an opening to deny him.
Bhakti did not bother with any motions to confirm that was indeed what she had said. Instead, she raised her head for a moment as the tap of leather reached her ears. She was keen on watching his feet as he moved. The way he walked always bothered her. Perhaps, because it was so much like a man, and she had been able to see nothing that was not feminine from Yizhaq since her revelation. In time, she assumed, it would grow to blend, the two extremes somehow becoming something that was neither.
Bhakti could not treat Yizhaq like another forever. He would likely snap, or something in her ownself would. It was all a game until she found her new level in the estate.
The 'in a way yes' seemed to catch her interest completely. A heavy intake of breath broke her own silence, and she lay the parchment aside to dry before turning her full attention towards the window that had been opened. One arm on the back of her chair, she busied herself with drawing the tips of her fingers over the patterns carved in the wood.
"I see." This automatically became important. Business was always important. "How long will you be going for?" Part of her wanted to leap on the opportunity. To get out of the house, to leave the same, familiar walls. It would give her something to do; it would be a challenge to act normal. To act like she was plased with their arrangement. And, she was, just not the Yizhaq portion of it. But, if she leapt, Bhakti felt she'd be taking the role he wanted. It was probably why he came, to get her to want to be in this position. But, she'd bide her time. She was not folding so easily.
"Two moons." Yizhaq spoke in words and terms that were comfortable to him, and sometimes they were not those most commonly used.
He seemed to grow slightly more comfortable, though still rigid, reserved as he had been since Bhakti's recovery, as he discussed the business portion of the trip.
He told her about the partners he was to meet with, the trade that would be confirmed and add to what was now Their Holdings, and then discussed where they would be staying. He enjoyed the way she showed interest in business, unlike many of the women his family had brought to him to be considered for marriage. It was too bad that she held herself back by her own gender ideals.
"It is a comfortable home. Much smaller than this, but with your own quarters and land to enjoy." It was, actually, where he had lived before his father's demise. It was where he had been, most freely, Al.
"You would be free to accept social invitations and spend your time as you wish." It was as close to formally asking her as he was likely to get.
In order to hide the slight blink of surprise that came with it, Bhakti turned her head to look at the door. She should not have been at all shocked over the length of the trip, but she was not yet used to being in this position. She had to force herself to admit that, without Yizhaq, she was still a woman married to a man. She had freedom because she could control him. The idea of being placed back to where she was did not appeal to her yet.
So, it was with ears that did not stray other places that she listened to what he had to say. It was interesting, in its own way, although it was none of her business. It made her feel uncomfortable not to hear it, but to want to hear it. It was clear in the way she constantly shifted her weight from one hip to the other as she sat and her fingers ceased their travelling.
"Would it help your businesss arrangement, if I were to come?" It was the simple solution. She was to let him believe she was doing this for their well-being and not for her own desires. "I will go with you, if that is the case. It will make you look better to have a dedicated wife." It was with great effort that she went back to what she was reading, but her eyes were not trained on the paper, rather glanced back to where Yizhaq was standing. She wanted to see his reaction, but wouldn't let it ruin her own act.
----TBC----
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 26, 2010 9:39 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 26, 2010 10:17 am
[6] imisus
Bhakti had been more than delighted with Imisus. The acreage was better for her mind than the neverending halls at the estate had. It made it easy to completly avoid Yizhaq. Despite the dread of them, even the business meetings they'd had so far had been a pleasant enough experience.
She was quiet now, still dressed in completely formal attire, but debating getting into something else. For now, it was more relaxing to watch the clouds drift overhead, the earth shifting between shadow and bright light. An urge to take pen to paper filled in her throat.
Bhakti would not write now, however. It was the first day Yizhaq had any free time, and Bhakti desired discussion. She would bring him in with casual conversation, make sure he had time to talk to her, and then drop the question. It must have been painful to realize that whatever heirs Yizhaq had would never be her own. Bhakti's selfishness did not stop when faced with causing someone else discomfort.
Ears listening for any sound of footsteps that would betray Yizhaq, Bhakti kept her gaze outside, hoping Yizhaq would not be able to refuse the bait of the open door and her standing there, seemingly bored. If not, she would have to go find him, and she hated having to do that.
It was strange, how Bhakti had become to know Al, rather than Yizhaq. Came to know that Al's curiosity would make her put aside her work to explore the unknown. Bhakti was an amazing unknown. They had explored, in a limited sense, one another during their business ventures, and had found their partnership good. Things had been going well.
The sight of Bhakti, now, from Al's private rooms facing the gardens, was too much to resist. She made a contrast, in such formal wear, out of doors, that Al found herself moving away from her father's map.
Perhaps she was content, but there was the possibility of a desire for company, one that Al wasn't willing to pass up.
Al stepped into the garden, stretching her lanky frame before allowing part of Yizhaq to put some rigidity in her naturally graceful step. She was clothed relatively informally, on her free day, one that she would spend at her old home. She had not stayed here since before her father's death.
"... Might I intrude upon you, wife?" She held, in one hand, a slim volume, which she extended toward Bhakti. A book of poetry, selected from the library of a business partner by her own hand as a gift to a dedicated wife.
Still insisting on calling her wife? Bhakti was pleased with her success. She couldn't have been waiting out here for too long and already she had what she wanted. Inside her mind, she corrected herself. She had part of what she wanted.
Letting her arms loose to her sides, Bhakti turned to examine Yizhaq. What she expected to see was not what she saw. Bhakti was used to the formality, the hardened, factual purpose with which Yizhaq talked to her. And, certainly, she did not expect to be getting presents, at least ones not handed formally.
The location of her eyes insantly shifted. Words coming out as no more than a breath, she gave her acceptance of Yizhaq's presence. "You might." For a moment longer, her gaze was warily placed on the offering before she reached her own hand out to take it.
"And what is this?" Eyes curious, she raised them to Yizhaq's level. It was rare, that she tried to look Yizhaq in the eye. Usually, she let him make the eye contact for her.
"Poetry," The calm, slightly warm manner in which she spoke let Bhakti know that she had noticed the older woman's fondness for such things. After perusing the material, Bhakti would find that it was very passionate. Almost racy, in very careful metaphor. Still, Al had come out to find out about Bhakti, not the other way around.
"You seem lost in thought. Is there something I can help you with?" There was nothing but a pleasant desire to be of service in her voice, which hovered between soft and rough, and she easily met the other woman's gaze.
She wasn't as guarded as she had been at the Estate, perhaps that was a bad thing, with what Bhakti had in mind.
As Bhakti brought the thin book back to her other hand, she turned it over to catch every view of it. The words she heard left her with slightly parted lips, and as if in disbelief, she opened the front cover for a brief moment. Though she did not read what was written, preferring instead to save it for later, in private, the format was more than obviously true to Yizhaq's word. It left Bhakti's brows pressed together, although not in particular distaste for the object in her possession.
It was not common for her reading habit to be encouraged, and less still common for anyone to flat out notice. They saw her reading, perhaps, but, this spoke of paying attention. It wasn't until Yizhaq spoke again that Bhakti realized she had been silent.
She glanced to her right, using the sight of the garden to help return to a composed, neutral position. "Thank you." It came out as though joy had bleed through to a desire to retain bitterness.
"Come, walk with me." Perhaps the request was said too plainly and without enough coldness, but Bhakti was debating how best to start. Her mind kept drifting back to the object her hand, wondering if Yizhaq did not hate her as much as she despised him. "I have been thinking," she began again, glancing over to see if she was being accompanied on her short trip through the garden. "But the problem is, Yizhaq, you cannot help me with it. And it's your problem as well as mine."
Startled by the thrill that ran through her at Bhakti's first, voluntarily, non-malicious invitation, Al hurried to surpress the feeling, instead nodding her agreement and walking just slightly behind the woman.
It had been nice, to surprise her, to see something real instead of guarded in response to her actions. Al found that she liked that more than she'd expected.
Their eyes met briefly as Bhakti looked to her and Al swallowed at her comments. She knew what it was, and it was a problem she had long since been dealing with. Should she just be blunt? Perhaps, in the face of how they were interacting at this time.
"You desire a child," it wasn't exactly a question, though her slightly raised brows expressed it as such. "It is only right that you should." It was, indeed, about that time. After the conclusion of this business venture, their families would hope for Bhakti's first pregnancy.
Al was not stupid, nor was her new wife.
All the words that were on her tongue, so carefully lined with broken glass, melted away with the words that she never expected out of Yizhaq's mouth.
The start of what sentences she had formed began as an, "I. . . " and finished, quite abruptly as a, simple, "Yes." It took little time for Bhakti to re-adapt to the new situation. Though she was perterbed she had lost her leverage, it was clear that she did not need it in this case. Yizhaq appeared to be hearing her out.
The ease at which the woman did so put Bhakti at a discomfort, but she would take it. "I should have known that you had already thought over the matter." And, who would not? It was on Bhakti's mind almost every day of the week. "You realize, then, that any potential solution we take could threaten our. . . contract." It was easier to say than marriage, and it was also phrased as a statement.
"I am listening, Yizhaq. There are many things I doubt your capabilities in, but, perhaps you are enough of a woman to understand this one. Tell me what you've come up with."
"I will not take away true motherhood from you." By that, she meant not only raising a child, but giving birth to one. The way she said it was resolute, as if it was not even an option. Bhakti would have more than enough taken away and added during the course of their life together.
"And so, I shall leave you with a choice." She looked away from Bhakti in that moment, as if the options presented pained her in some way, then glanced back. "There are those that can provide you with what I cannot. You would be able to have an heir of both our lines."
The steward was, after all, a member of her family, as most of her close servants were. They were just the b*****d children. But whom better to eventually take the reigns of the estate, considering Al was, in her own way, a bastardization of the line.
"If you choose, we can foster from those less fortunate, as well." Al sighed, pausing to touch the new leaves of a plant with her fingertips, privately relishing the feeling of new life it provided with her.
"I desire children to raise, Bhakti. This is something I will help you with, in any way that I can." Perhaps the first real time Al had used her given name.
Relief came settling in at Yizhaq's first words. For a moment, Bhakti's look was that of pity. To live, everyday, knowing that she had the capability, but was not allowed to have children would have crushed Bhakti's desires for life. Perhaps Yizhaq felt the same. As quickly as that thought had come, it was cast away. No, the person before her wanted nothing more than to be a man. The ability to carry a child was probably something Yizhaq despised. The knowledge of this ground against her own system of belief.
"Foster children, Yizhaq?" The idea was almost hilarious to her. To spend her time and energy on something that was neither of her family's blood, nor Yizhaq's seemed plainly ridiculous. They were born unfortunate, and Bhakti had little desire to make them more fortunate. "Let us concern ourselves with our own well-being before we lay daisies over the lives of others."
But the first, the first, she was more than willing to do. Part of her recoiled at the idea of breaking the rules of marriage, or bedding another man, but the other half, the one that saw Yizhaq as the fragile, incapable woman, made their bonding mean nothing. She would look forwards to the delights of a man in the same way that Yizhaq would dread it.
"I would like to meet him once, first. That is all I require." A moment's pause was given as she watched Yizhaq toy with the fresh greens. "You would have made a good wife. You worry too much for a man." She was more than insistent on that fact, more for her benefit than Yizhaq's comfort. Perhaps Yizhaq would have driven her husband mad; she certainly managed with Bhakti.
A slight sniff followed, and she drifted her way instead towards a location to sit. Whether Yizhaq chose to try and pry more out of her was his own foolish choice. Bhakti had finished with all the polite things she had to say. The issue had been cleared: Yizhaq returned from being an ally to a person for which she had nothing but feelings of distaste. They did work well together, as partners, it seemed. Married? The idea was laughable. As long as Yizhaq learned to keep the two seperate, Bhakti felt she could grow to tolerate him.
Let Bhakti have her assumptions and judgements about Al, as long as they kept her content. She was not willing to see Al as a person, was not ready for it, and Al could understand that. Not many people saw her, in that sense, this was nothing new.
"Perhaps," she admitted to perhaps making a good wife, easily, "But that is not my alottment in life." She showed no hesitation in that belief and simply watched Bhakti take a seat on one of the decorative stone benches in the garden.
It ached, in a way she hadn't known, to hear the subtle excitement in Bhakti's voice when she spoke of taking another man. Al looked away, then back, face blank as she finally responded to that want.
"I can arrange that this trip, if you so desire."
If she so desired. She did desire, but Yizhaq's boldfaced ability to be willing to go through with this unsettled her. She did not, or she believed she did not, let that brief, disconcerted moment show on her features. Men should not be so willing to give away their wives. But, then, that wasn't the situation, was it? She was lying to herself if she expected to be fought for, and lying to herself even further if she had suddenly decided she wanted to be desired by. . . simply a woman in a twisted contract agreement.
"The sooner, the more will our families be pleased." She could not sting him with words of want, and so she left them unsaid. They would have been far too easy to use against her, and Bhakti would not be able to deny them.
"I will have your heir, Yizhaq." She locked eyes with him when she said it. And as much as Yizhaq would want to raise it, Bhakti was going to take great care that it was her son. Perhaps he would be born under the name of this blasphemous family, but he would be raised under her word. The sharp determination with which the words were said mirrored those thoughts.
Al said nothing, her jaw tightening, her muscles hard as she contained herself. Bhakti was doing things to her that she did not like, couldn't like. Al was not a jealous person, she was not an angry or emotional or sad person. So where was this coming from?
She should look at this as nothing more than a business venture. Who cared what Bhakti did beyond that?
Al, apparently. "Join me for dinner, tonight," she managed to choke out, before turning and walking away, back toward the house. She wanted to run, but she controlled herself, forced her pace to be even and strong.
The quick, dismissive method with which her husband left her was enough of a sign to Bhakti that she had pricked something, somewhere. Being rid of him was only temporary, however, the words dinner still lingering in the still air between what had been "them".
She'd be going. There was no way out of it.
Time trickled by after the point Al's back was shown, and Bhakti waited with mock patience for her to disappear from sight. It took only a few glances to confirm she was alone enough and draw the slender gift from where she had set it down beside her. Once again, it was examined, turned over, fingers trailing over the spine. Then lightly, carefully, as if holding a holy scripture, she bent back the first page and started to read.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 26, 2010 10:18 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 26, 2010 10:19 am
[8] the dinner party
It seemed there was no limit to the lowness of levels that Bhakti would stoop in order to make Yizhaq ill at ease. It was with a mute expression that she had located the gift she had received at their first meeting. It was with too much care that she had pulled it over her body, making sure that every crease and every part layered over her skin to her idea of perfection.
Now, the mirror in her quarters in use, she used the same thoroughness in her hair and the light dash of powder and color added to her face. The black curls were left partially down and partially tied up. A smile flicked across her face as she took red to her lips, eyeing her own product of disaste. Bhakti did not think that she would have spent this much time getting ready for someone that she loved. The blue fit her and it was a shame that she had not bothered to wear it before.
Scent added to her neck with the palm of her hand, she slowly turned from the sight of her own eyes and took the quiet steps towards the door.
Bhakti was not yet sure what to expect at dinner. It was impossible to throw the low, sharp quips that she felt Yizhaq deserved, but she could affect him visually. It was with neutral steps that she eventually entered the dining hall. Lavish in its own richness, Bhakti did not even flinch as she clasped her hand around the top of the chair. She would wait, of course, for Yizhaq's permission to take her seat. She would make no mistakes.
He needed a haircut, Al noted with a slight frown and furrowed brows directed toward the curls beginning to start in his dark hair. Rubbing his tired, pale eyes with his fingertips, se let out a hard, long sigh and turned away from the mirror and left his chambers, to greet Yizhaq's guests.
The Steward had already let them into the dining hall, where they had taken seats to drink and gossip amongst themselves. There were not many. Two men that Yizhaq had recently closed a deal with, an uncle, and his son.
Still, Al's eyes first caught on Bhakti as she entered, swallowing once before shaking away her nerves. Still, the woman would undoubtedly notice the way Al's gaze locked on to the dress, before moving away. "I am pleased you could join us, please sit down, wife."
Before she could go much farther, the cousin, a bear of a man, handsome with her light skin and brown hair, but with more than enough stubble for the both of them, pushed back his chair, striding toward her. "Cousin!" A large hand was outstretched, gripping her far more elegant hand, and he shook it, pulling her into a back-slapping hug. "It has been far too long! You look well." His face was full of affection, and Al raised her brows, pulling away only slightly.
"I am, indeed, Nasir. It is good to see you here," Her gaze moved toward the older male's father. "And you, Uncle."
A low chuckle from the slightly overweight man, who scratched his beard. "I always enjoy seeing my favorite nephew, Yizhaq."
"Your wealthiest nephew, Uncle." Humor laced her words, even as she separated herself from her bear-like cousin.
"That, too." He allowed, gesturing to the feast before them. "I am enjoying the hospitality."
Nasir [and how ironic it was that his name meant 'Protector'] turned, brown eyes alight as they caught on Bhakti, and he grinned, taking her hand to press a hard, openly flirtatious kiss to it. He was brash. With none of Al's finesse, and the 'lord' glanced away from the sight in distaste.
"Cousin. I should be lucky to find a wife half as beautiful as yours."
"And she should likely be half as intelligent, to marry you, Cousin."
A laugh shared amongst the table, and they seated themselves, Al's gaze pensive on her wine glass as it was filled.
And notice she did. Although her face remained neutral, inside the small cogs of her brain, a piece clicked into place as she took her seat. It was a subtle mark of having begun this round of pain with a strong hand. As she brought her dress up underneath her, her eyes remained on Yizhaq, presenting him a well-natured display of a smile. She hoped her "husband" was flinching inside.
Yet her own train of thought was not allowed to be finished. She had not noticed him before, as she had not thought she was required to, but now it became a source of interest. A relative? She did not stop the quick, surprised glace that she cast towards the only other woman in the room. Al's hesitance did not go without notice, but Bhakti put it away as being a reason to keep up appearances.
Keeping herself straight, refined, Bhakti pretended only to be interested in the fact that they were now her family as well. The humor, however light, caused her to smile and when Nasir laid a hand to hers and sealed it with a display that was far too inappropriate to enact on a married woman, the smile broadened a bit more. She did, however, pull her hand away rather quickly, chuckling in good nature at Yizhaq's comment.
"My husband is overprotective," she added, a glance towards Yizhaq. "As he should be." It was said lightly, with no undertones, but they would both be able to feel what it implied. She kept her own intake of wine to a minimum, wishing her head to be clear for the remainder of the evening. She wanted to remember this, as she wanted to remember every moment where she put the weakly fake man out of her element.
"It's a delight to have everyone here for dinner." The inability to make any sort of conversation irked her. A wife had to sit, wait, and she could most certainly not be nosy. Her mind, though, was reeling to find out more about the man who had been so daring as to publicly be in her personal space. What was more, why was Al letting him even if they shared blood ties?
The dinner went on without much more excitement, the males even engaging Bhakti in a bit of conversation, though they spoke even more to one another. Al, on the other hand, was relatively withdrawn, her pensive, faraway gaze looking at something not within the room, until those times when her attention was called and she responded with an appropriately witty remark.
The meal was enjoyable, to all but her, and as the two business men left, after a light desert and slightly heavier drink, she was left with her family. Could she really call any of them that?
Al stared at the amber liquid within the glass, gripped loosely between her fingers. She sat in a comfortable armchair, it had been her father's, as her Uncle and cousin discussed their travel plans for the morrow. They would be staying in her large home tonight, as was proper for traveling relatives, and she outwardly had welcomed them. Yet, as her uncle expressed his exhaustion and bid them all goodnight, she felt the hard, furious beat of her heart, careful not to look at Nasir.
He, on the other hand, spent his time giving Bhakti openly suggestive looks, and when he thought she wasn't watching, he gave Al ones of a hungrier feel. "We should talk, cousin." The implication was that he meant this to be without Bhakti.
Al glanced up, her pale eyes locking with his brown ones, and her jaw hardened. "Yes, though perhaps it is best if we left such to the morning. It is late, and my wife should rest soon. This trip has left her tired, and I should not like her to go without me. We are but newlyweds, cousin."
Nasir's eyes hardened, but he said nothing, instead looking to Bhakti. "Ah, but, she does not look so tired to me. A young woman like that? I am sure she would simply talk your ear off, Yizhaq. What say you?" He addressed her, directly, and it would surprise both women when Al set her glass down with a loud thunk, standing.
"Do not take such a tone with my wife, Nasir, unless you wish to be excused from her presence." Al's icy tone, laced with dark warning, caused surprise in Nasir's face, as he lifted his hands, apparently unknowing of the slight he had been about to make.
"I apologize, cousin, you are right. I shall wish you both a goodnight, instead."
While Bhakti was no fool, the majority of suggestive looks passed her by. It was not, simply not, appropriate to even consider returning them. Although Bhakti would not the deny she had some interest in him, his outright desire to hit on her left a nauseating feeling drifting through her mind. While Yizhaq was certainly no man, one that seemed to have to qualms in stealing another's wife was away was almost on the same level. Rigid to her tradition to the finish, Nasir had managed to dig into a bitter taste in her mind.
It was not only Yizhaq's jaw that tightened at the implication. Keeping her silence, as she felt was necessary when there were talks between "men", Bhakti could only watch the two exchange distasteful remarks. The look given towards herself by Nasir was not anymore welcome than what her imagination was coming up with for what they could possibly be talking about. Although she did not look away, she desired to, and she swallowed with an uncertainty that was honest.
It was not until Nasir gave the hint that he would be leaving that Bhakti took action. "My husband is not wrong. I am tired." A glance towards Nasir as she stood from her position. She offered a hand, extended to Yizhaq, perhaps a bit too informal for a dinner scenario, but she was urgent to leave. "Yizhaq, if you would." She did not forget her manners, and gave a nod of recognition to the remaining family members. "It was very pleasant to have had dinner with you, and I do hope I'll see you in the morning before you take your leave." A lie, it tasted so bitter on her tongue. This was also necessary.
Like it was necessary to have given all of the power she could to Yizhaq, and in this case, ask for his help. Right now, that wife of hers needed to hold strong in her position of masculinity, however fake they both knew it was.
Al pressed a gentle, functional kiss to Bhakti's knuckles, in a revealing opposite to Nasir's earlier gesture. Turning hard eyes to her cousin, she gave him an easy smile, as if all had been forgiven [but clearly not forgotten]. "Ah, she speaks and I must listen, as all new husbands do."
Al's uncle chuckled appreciatively, his own grip on his glass having become white-knuckled at the exchange. He was the youngest brother of her father, and therefore the one with the least power. Now that Al held the reins of their empire, he would be wise to tread carefully, and they both knew it. Nasir also knew that his own father would punish him for the error. Such was the life of an unmarried son.
Like a petulant boy, Nasir folded his arms across his chest, leaning back into his seat as he watched the two women take their leave.
Al led Bhakti to her quarters in silence, opening the door for her and pausing just outside the threshold. Her pale eyes avoided the other woman's face, and her muscles remained tightly bound. "Your company was a pleasure, this evening." The words tasted bitter on her tongue, though they had both come together to escape Nasir's tyranny.
The moment Bhakti felt that they were alone, her whole facade dropped. When it left, exhaustion came settling in. She pressed her lips together as Yizhaq's words reached her ears and she shook her head, pulling away.
"Don't lie to me before you leave me solitude. I said nothing, did nothing, and was worth nothing." A pause as she took in a deep breath. The ground by Yizhaq's feet was studied. "I appreciate your effort in keeping my image as a good wife." Another moment lapsed in which she debated saying more.
"Good night, husband." Although she would let him close the door, it was a dismissal enough. Although she had tolerated him here, she could not bear to look at him now when he continued to attempt to think that everything was at ease between them. Perhaps the night would pass, and everything would go back to normal, but a simple moment did not amend all of their grievances.
Al's closed her eyes at Bhakti's words, nodding mutely in response to the farewell. She shut the door, quietly, rather than attempt to appease the woman, and let out a breath. Tonight, she knew, would not be one in which she slept, with a predator in her house and another in her mind, hunting and haunting.
Turning after a long moment, hand pressed against the wood of Bhakti's quarters, Al stared down the hall, toward the end of the house in which her own rooms lay. It seemed farther than ever before.
Clearing her throat, she moved, and was relieved to slide the bolt behind herself. Few had the key to such, and it was unlikely that they should disturb her during the night.
The quiet way the door moved shut behind her caused Bhakti to pause. For a long time, she stood close to the door, letting the hollow sound work its way into the memories of feeling. Even the tips of her fingers believed they could remember the feel of that vibration.
Today, she had learned another word. Uncertainty. It was tied closely with the idea of regret and it was hard not to swallow down the idea of asking Yizhaq to stay. One night would not hurt, but she knew in some sense that she did not want to be alone. Instead, her solution would be one of her servants. She would fetch one later, after she was finished and ready for sleep. Some reading in solitude would help clear her head.
The way she went about getting ready was almost monotonous. Her face was wiped clean of color, the reds, creams, and shadows lingering on the towel. The poetic side of her found it similar to taking away every apart of her that did not really exist. Removing, in a sense, Yizhaq from her life for just a night. The dress was treated carefully and placed in an area where the servants would take care that it was cleaned and looked over for any tears or imperfections.
From her wardrobe, she located a familiar gown. It was an emerald-like shade of green, decorated with the gold of five-toed dragons chasing their koi counterparts up rivers. Obviously made of some sort of silk, the cuffs had a lighter, yellowed tinge to them. Perhaps she looked better in blue, but green would remain her favorite for its soft simplicity.
Once more, her bed found itself occupied, and with it the poetry book Yizhaq had found her was opened. (
Nasir was drunk. The odor clung to his breath and to his heavy hand as he struck his knuckles forcefully on the wooden door Al had touched so gently, only a few hours prior. He had, in the chair where he had been left by all, continued to stew, thinking of the relatively public correction he had be given about his behavior. His father was displeased, and for what? Nasir had done nothing but tease a cousin. Then again, it had been a long time since they had last seen each other, and longer still since they had been playmates.
He remembered the day he had found Yizhaq changing, his outrage. He had since mellowed his anger and surprise, as the two had reached an 'understanding' in a young teen's awkward, aggressive touches and thrusts and his younger cousin's quiet shame. He had felt strange inside, after, and left her, growing to decide that he had helped her in some way, realize that she was not a man, despite the years that he had been tricked. He had told no one, and it could not be known if she had, though he had quickly found himself left out of business and pleasure at her father's mighty estate.
Now, he demanded her. He would show her again that they were not equal, no, that he was not below her, as she had placed him. Another knock as he braced himself against the wall, cursing under his breath.
Bhakti's eyes went immediately towards the door. She had not been asleep yet. In fact, she had been more than enraptured with the texts before her. The slightness of arousal had found her, both in body and in mind, and she was not keen on having been interrupted.
It would have been easy, as she opened the door, to make up an excuse to Yizhaq. To send him away. Already a snap on her tongue, Bhakti did not bother with subtlety as she opened the door strongly, its swing was wide and the chamber would be revealed to Nasir in its emptiness.
The surprise on her face was clear. A quick glance a way as she searched for a few words. "I did not expect you here, Nasir," was all that she could manage. Her fingers had gone white where they gripped the door. Perhaps her face had a similar color unevident in the darkness.
"... You." He seemed struck by her appearance, equally surprised by the strong, aggressive nature in which she opened the door. Perhaps she was a man who thought himself a woman? The thought caused an odd, ill-natured smile to touch his hard mouth and his bleary eyes searched the chamber behind her.
"Where is my cousin," it wasn't really a question, and he seemed to quickly forget that he had asked for her as his eyes returned to the woman before him. They moved over her, completely unabashed and dark with lust. He liked the way the dress clung to her form, though something in him wished she was clothed in a more masculine manner... Pushing aside the thought, he grinned.
"Nevermind her," A thoughtless mumble as he reached out to grasp Bhakti's elbow, letting himself into her room. "You shouldn't be left alone, and I find myself lonely as well." The door was kicked shut behind himself.
"He stepped out for a moment to take care of something," she began the line quite quickly. It was impossible, however, to hold her ground as he watched her. The step she took back was unwilling.
Another breath was taken in to retort more strongly, before the gender was slipped in quickly and perfectly into the situation. The mere second she took to process it allowed him to take her away from the security of the door and escape. The implication was clear, and it was with wide eyes that she looked back at him. He knew. And how many other people knew? How few people were they fooling?
"I cannot, Nasir. I am bound by a contract." As invalid as it was now. Her resistance was waning, already she was feeling the guilt push beyond the fear. She did not think she could talk back to him should his insistence have continued. "Please leave." It was not well-said, or calm. It was practically snarled in her growing desire to be rid of someone she considered no less than an adulterer. And from the sounds of it, he would make her one, too.
"Aren't we all?" A hoarse laugh, "I have told no one and will not, but I will have what I want." He always got what he wanted, and that was clear. "What you want, since our dear Yizhaq can never satisfy you." His touch was rough, forceful, and without care, as if she was just an object to fulfill a more private desire within his mind.
He assumed she would find pleasure in his aggressive movements, though he did not consider it his duty to provide such and his mind was not with her as his body was. Afterward, grunting, he would leave in relative silence. He and his uncle would not stay for the morning meal, he knew.
"Clearly we are not," she whispered on her her breath as she found herself relenting the more forceful he became.
There were aspects, that spoke to her. Or rather, she knew as she began to think them, they were deranged formations in light of knowing she'd accepted something she should not. She did not welcome his touch, but she allowed it, and was not indifferent to helping him at several moments.
It eased the pain which was mostly mental, and her cure for that was to think of Yizhaq. Not pleasant thoughts, but that her husband, fake as she was, deserved this. An adulterer for a wife would be fitting. Had Yizhaq not wanted a son? Now, perhaps, she would have the opportunity.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 26, 2010 10:21 am
[9] the things that change
Silence had never been a part of Bhakti's life. But as her door was once again closed, she found her mind empty of words and methods to express them. The room had become a blur. Reality had slipped away, and although she was aware of the sights around her, they were not entirely present in her own conscious state.
In many ways, it was as if nothing at ever happened. Time's motion was unknown and undisclosed as she traveled the length back to the mirror. Her nightgown was stripped in light of getting herself clean enough not to feel the emotions that were left, if she was anything but numb. A new one was selected, this time ironically white, and she settled back into bed as though nothing had happened at all. It would be easy to forget.
But by the time an approximate hour had moved by, it was not. Jaw clenched tight, she slipped slowly away from the warm sheets. The air was chill, as it often was in the night, and the corridor was dark. She ventured in what direction she assumed Yizhaq would have gone, and hoped that she would still be up, trying to do whatever a woman did after humiliation and defeat. Work, more than likely. It was late and the emptiness of the halls sent a shiver through her.
The trip to the study, however, left her empty-handed. She debated giving up at that point, perhaps staying by the study door. She had no desire to venture back through the estate with only the sound of her feet to keep her company.
But she found herself before the door to Yizhaq's bedroom, knowing how she got there, but quite wishing she did not. Resting her forehead against the door, she waited a long while before knocking three times, firmly, loudly.
Sleep did not come easy to those strong of heart. Al had spent most of the night in her study, always productive when she could manage, and had eventually retired to her room after exhaustion overtook her weary body and mind.
Restless, she shifted in the large, comfortable bed. It had been hers for as long as she had been in Imisus, the carvings of the frame whimsically beautiful as they depicted myths and histories. It had obviously taken years and been done by hand. Her father's gift to appease her girl's heart within her boy's facade.
She was, of course, never off guard, in fact, it didn't even feel unnatural to her anymore to be wearing tight binding over her small breasts, her chest perfectly flat beneath an attractive, sleeveless shirt. A matching pair of shorts covered underwear specifically tailored to provide her with the telltale signs of manhood, and so, even in her sleep, she was also Yizhaq.
The knocks stirred her from her thoughts, and she set aside a map and pen, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. A pause, there, as she considered who it might be, and she sighed. The knock spoke of importance.
Moving swiftly, then, she opened the door in part, blinking to find Bhakti there. "... Bhakti?" Clearing her throat, she opened the door completely to allow the woman inside. "How may I be of assistance?"
Although the lack of the term wife surprised her, Bhakti did not desire to take the mental state to process what it could mean. At this very moment, it did not matter. Eyes cast to the floor, she entered in a rush.
It was not until she was inside that she paused, finding she was not sure what to do now that she was here. For Yizhaq, a shake of her head. The formality cut through her as though Yizhaq had prepared it especially for her. Had waited, planned, and crafted the moment simply to see her falter. And she did as she swallowed, driving away the shake in her lower mouth, and taking in a deep, controlled breath of air.
Yizhaq did not understand, could not understand. She was stupid in that she tried the same tricks over and over. As though servants could not help her for anything that required 'assistance'.
Still, she stayed in the center of the room and eventually turned back to Yizhaq. The negative motion of her head confirmed she did not need or want assistance. She did not sit as she wanted to. She did not feel as though she was allowed. Another swallow was made as she eased the burn in her throat. There was no quick way to say this, but she felt as though she had to. It was humiliating even if she had decided the moment it had happened that it was fair, and that there was nothing wrong. Yizhaq had made the first mistake. But the logic was false, and she knew it was false. One night was all it had taken for her to drop to Yizhaq's level. Perhaps, on some level, lower. She had acted of her own volition, Yizhaq had been raised in a demented world.
"I have not been true to you tonight, husband." The word with which she addressed him was done solely on purpose. Right now, it was up to Yizhaq to decide what to do with her. She required his forgiveness to ease her own tormented mind, but did not believe she deserved it.
Bhakti's nervousness made Al, in return, more off-balance and so when the strike was delivered, it knocked the breath from her. Sucking it back in through clenched teeth, her face felt too hot. The familiar heat of shame. Shaking it away, she closed her eyes a moment, considering her options.
Why was Bhakti here? If she had done what she had wanted, so obviously, in the garden, she should still be in that 'real' man's arms. And no doubt it was Nasir, whom she had not intended. It would have been better for one of the business men to have done it, as they would consider it a private victory never to mention again. Nasir, though.
Her hands tightened into fists as she pushed away the image of what must've occurred. Had Bhakti been willing, as Al had not? Had she encouraged him, pleased him, taken pleasure...? She couldn't breathe, holding it all in to stop anything unwanted from escaping.
Had she come to flaunt it in her face? A further insult? No, she did not say it with the right tone, the pitch-perfect one Al had come to know as dangerous. She sounded tired, broken.
Finally, she spoke, voice quiet, low, neutral, "Nor was I true to you, when you married Yizhaq." In one sentence, she acknowledged the pain she'd given to Bhakti, the pain she felt now, and her forgiveness of Bhakti's behavior. She did not move, pale gaze lingering on the slightly older woman's face.
The pause was internally grating. With her eyes turned away, on anything but the other woman, she could not see the clenched fists or the struggle that Yizhaq went through before any words were spoken.
When they were, she shook her head again as a ring began in her ears. This time, she was forced to sit. She would not be able to stay standing. One of Yizhaq's chairs were found and she settled herself in it quickly. Her fingers remained loose despite the tension obviously present anywhere else.
"Don't bring that up now," she hissed out. "Please do not compare that to this." Although she had been mislead, she had not been taken without her will. It had been a shock to her, it was wrong, it still was wrong, but it had not been, and still was not a sin in many ways. There were no laws against such a thing, it was simply never considered. By all rights, by all of Yizhaq's rights, she considered herself both capable and allowed to mislead. It was, in fact, necessary. For Bhakti, the night had not been necessary, and although Yizhaq had tricked her into betraying her own tradition, tonight she had willingly accepted a brutal thrust to her own belief system. She had not only betrayed her family, but her own self.
"I do not understand," she began after a time as she began to piece together her own emotions and feelings on the matter. For now, she could be nothing but honest as for now, the guilt was far more powerful than any hatred. "We had a contract, Yizhaq. Which I agreed to. Your acceptance is honorable, but it is not appropriate. I need you to tell me what to do to amend this." Even if there was likely nothing. Yizhaq's kind words may have eased her mind, but they did not correct the guilt.
Al fell silent again, gaze trailing Bhakti as she moved to sit. She listened, understood, and frowned slightly. What Bhakti said was true, it was different, however, the pain was similar. What each had done had hurt the other, and as importantly, themselves.
"You punish yourself, Bhakti, by ruining the power of your word. I do not need to exact something further upon you," But looking at her, Al realized that she did, or Bhakti would never be able to deal with herself or this marriage. If it took hating Al to survive, then that is what had to happen.
"Act as my wife, Bhakti, that is what you will do," A hand was extended toward the sitting woman. "Come to bed with me, and we shall continue as husband and wife in the morning. We will not speak of tonight again."
As the hand was extended towards her, Bhakti's mind flourished again. The idea of taking it, willingly, almost needfully made her feel disgusted in side. It was a reminder of how much she loathed the situation. But it was not reminder enough.
Eyes closed for a moment, her affirmation came in a slow not. With a strong, unshaking hand she moved to clasp her own around Yizhaq's. It was with a tight, clenching grip that she held on as she stood.
As she pulled forwards, she found her other hand reaching for the cloth of Al's shirt. It was knotted tightly by the grip of her fingers, and although she tried not to, she could not stop the buckle in her knees that made her lean her head against Yizhaq's shoulder. She took in one, heaving breath as the tears started, and then regained a moderate form of composure. It would do her no good to cry in front of Yizhaq when the matter had been settled with the cleanliness of a knife-stroke for slaughter.
She would allow herself to be led, and, for tonight, and perhaps for the nights to come, she had accepted that Yizhaq was to do with her what she pleased.
It felt good, the contact, being used for support by the person she was supposed to spend 'forever' with.
Al was quiet as Bhakti composed herself, allowing her the dignity to remain calm as they moved toward the bed. Bhakti was pulled down on to it, and though Al's lips brushed her hair, attempting to soothe, her touch was not romantic or sexual. She closed her eyes, pulling the other woman close against her and breathed deeply, as if falling quickly into sleep.
She wouldn't sleep at all that night, of course. Not with Bhakti beside her. The Steward would've cautioned her against a murder attempt, but really, Al was just on edge, anxious, worried for the future.
Bhakti was submissive, quiet as she let Yizhaq lead her. The feel of the bed was welcome on a body she did not know had been sore. And although Yizhaq's touch was not welcome and made her feel slightly comfortable at first, it did not take long to relent to the rhythmic sound of Yizhaq's breath and the heat of her closeness.
While Yizhaq would perhaps be getting none, once Bhakti had found herself only subject to a gentle embrace and nothing more, her mind began to let go of insecurities and fears.
Nasir would not touch them here. Yizhaq had no intention of repeating or strengthening the guilt that had come with tonight's betrayal, and it allowed Bhakti to relax both her body and a bit of the bitterness she had grown to hold for Yizhaq.
When she finally found sleep, she would do undisturbed and would be thankful that Yizhaq's relatives had already left when she awoke.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 26, 2010 10:22 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 26, 2010 10:24 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jul 27, 2010 2:20 am
[12] solidifying nature Who: Lord Yizhaq bin Saleh, Mister Georgie and their plagues, Hayat and Adal, respectively. When: Half-past seven, in the evening. Where: Clowe, Shyregoad Why: A chance encounter, of sorts. Weather: Clear, with snow melted by a recent rain, chilly. http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=19705953
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 9:29 pm
[13] with me
Bhakti had grown to hate things about Yizhaq that she had never thought possible. As their nights together had become habit, she could not possibly dislike those. No, it was the mornings, when she woke and somehow Yizhaq had already slipped out, leaving her there, perpetually shivering not with cold but with discontent, that she had grown to hate.
She had especially grown to hate the need with which she relied on Yizhaq. Although Bhakti was never at a loss with how to spend her days without Yizhaq, it was growing increasingly harder to stay focused on something. It was with a growing excitement that she had found that one, unfortunate night had left her with a child. Although there were servants to share with, and a few, rare bits of company she could salvage in this new area, they did not understand like Yizhaq did. There was a knowledge between her and her husband that she could share with no one else. And Bhakti could not bear the delighted comments of others when they complimented "Yizhaq's" son.
It was likely for this reason that as the like golden haze of dawn appeared on the horizon, Bhakti had taken a habit of taking a rather forcefully jerking method of waking up. She seemed determined to be up before Yizhaq, to leave before her, and be the one that left the other alone in bed. It had, in a sense, become a sort of contest for her. One that she never won as Yizhaq always seemed to wake up with her.
It was not surprising that she did, light sleeper or not, when Bhakti elbowed Yizhaq harshly in the gut as she opened her eyes.
Al felt the air slam out of his body as his eyes snapped open, a cough the only noise he made. A brief wheeze, as his hand automatically tightened on Bhakti's hip and he sat up, pressing his free hand to his stomach with a grimace.
A searching, almost-suspicious glance moved over Bhakti's face to find open eyes, and Al pulled his touch away from the woman. His 'good morning' was as startlingly soft as usual, and he slipped from the bed, rubbing a hand over his short hair.
One could never relax their guard around Bhakti, even while sleeping. You'd think the woman had been trained, with the way she struck. "Shall I take breakfast with you?" The question was absent-minded, as he moved to open the drapes.
Finding Yizhaq's gaze on her, Bhakti took in a long breath. Although she instinctively debated apologizing, the moment that the warmth left her back, she completely changed her mind. Instead, she sniffed and laid her head back on the pillows as though she had planned the event all along and desired to stay in bed.
She did not.
"I am not ready for breakfast yet." The verbal punishment came quickly as Bhakti closed her eyes again and tightened her fingers securely at her pillow. But while she pretended to have little interest, she was listening and thinking about her next course of action.
"Where are you going?" It was much too early to be up. At least, in Bhakti's opinion, it was much too early for Yizhaq to be up, already looking for the excuse to move onto work, no doubt.
Al paused in the act of opening the window, considering. It was hard to tell with Bhakti. It sounded as if she was reluctant to get out of bed, even as if she wanted Al to climb back under the comfortable, expensive blankets with her, and yet... And yet, if Al asked, for clarification, Bhakti would snap, slicing him to ribbons with a tongue sharper than a blade.
"I am requested at the North Base," of the Fellowship, of course. "I'll leave next week, so I am beginning a few preparations." He allowed himself a yawn, quietly moving to sit on his side of the bed, watching Bhakti's back. "I am, I think, still weary, though."
A hint, rather, that he was preparing to lay down, for at least a short while longer.
Jaw tightening as Yizhaq continued to speak, Bhakti shifted the placement of her legs. Already the extra weight was becoming troublesome to her. Coupled with the idea of Yizhaq leaving for a short time, Bhakti could not help the tingle of anger and displeasure that made her wish to grit her teeth and leave.
As a result, the, "Then lay down," came out as an even-toned demand. She would wait until Yizhaq had returned to bed before slipping closer, quietly, in a manner that she knew would not be unnoticeable.
At first, Bhakti remained silent. Wordless moments had become more common and there was no exception now.
"How long will you be gone?" Even two months ago, Bhakti would have never dared to ask at all, let alone so bluntly. Two months ago, she did not care and would have been glad for a lengthened time of absence. But two months ago she had not been showing, and she had not yet grown used to Yizhaq's presence. Bhakti could no longer claim herself her own woman and when Yizhaq left, it was akin to losing a close friend. Perhaps not one that she liked. Many times, she despised Yizhaq just as firmly as she had before, but she was bonded to her in mind now and not only in contract.
Al fought down the urge to tense completely as Bhakti moved closer, feeling himself on edge as they came into contact and Al skimmed a palm over the woman's hip to gently touch her abdomen, brushing lightly back and forth in an unmistakably affectionate [or possessive] manner. Allowing himself to breath Bhakti in, his mouth was close to his wife's ear as he answered, voice quiet.
"Only a few weeks, I hope." Things had become dangerous, and Lady Estratus was hidden away. Sir Sloane had requested Al's assistance, which he could not refuse. It was hard to say how long they would need him, but he hoped to simply find their information and be gone.
He did not like leaving Bhakti, odd, but true. They had begun to 'get along'.
Although she had accepted Yizhaq's contact towards her, Bhakti moved her shoulders and back as her wife's hand moved past her hip. The muscles in her arms tensed and she reached to the other woman's wrist, grasping it and holding for a moment. She seemed to be debating as she took in a deep breath, but eventually she loosened her fingers and allowed the touch.
The voice she was familiar with. It was an angry voice from Yizhaq that she was unfamiliar with. Bhakti had long ago stopped attempting from trying to hear it grow loud and instead had searched for the cracking break in that strong, always soft voice that meant she had severed an emotional nerve.
Bhakti's own fingers moved down to touch her own swollen abdomen. It was still much too early for her to be up. Yizhaq never slept enough for her tastes. Always to bed late, and and to the day early. Yet, she would rather have stayed awake than let herself drift off and lose her own solo game once again.
Her own body did not seem to desire to listen to her, and her mind gradually faded in and out of a proper conscious state. "Don't forget to bring back something for your wife." Humor? Perhaps. By then, Bhakti was speaking just to have words. It could have equally been an honest demand.
Al had waited patiently as Bhakti decided whether or not to let his hand smooth over the curves of her body. When the woman could pretend to be asleep, there was rarely any sort of a dilemma, in fact, sometimes the touches became quite... Intimate between them, though they never crossed a certain line.
The fingers of his other hand found their way into Bhakti's dark hair, soothing as he felt her drift in and out of sleep. A low, quiet laugh came, near involuntarily at Bhakti's comment. If anything, Al was a generous husband, never forgetting to bring something new and exciting from wherever he went. Most of the time, it was poetry.
"I would not dare." He did not like to invoke Bhakti's ire, though he was surprisingly good at it [it seemed that everyone was, really]. "I will not be away long."
It was the laugh that made Bhakti return to consciousness. It was close to her ear and although it was not a brand new sound, it was relatively unexpected. Yizhaq did not laugh, at least, not in any sort of true amusement. Quickly, she began to rethink through what she had said, searching for the source of the reaction. She had not yet decided if she liked it, but she desired to be able to make Yizhaq like that again.
"This is wise." Her hands moved back, looping behind the arm that covered her side and her fingers eventually folded over the top's of Yizhaq's. "It is not good for a husband to be away from his pregnant wife for too long. Someone may decide you do not want a wife at all." There was less threat from a man in this case than Bhakti herself. Of course, that husband had made it more than obvious that she desired a wife.
The thought of this made her swallow. The crease of her brows followed and the quick addition of a tight squeeze of her fingers. A bile had grown in her throat, and it was the desire to get water that caused her to move away from Yizhaq and shifted the bed sheets aside. The extra burden had not yet slowed her down as her feet touched floor. The gown on the side of the bed was taken on and she tied it quickly. According to Bhakti, Yizhaq was still not allowed to see her entirely bare even if she had abandoned most clothes while she slept. With a child, they were simply too uncomfortable.
Without a look back, she added, "I am ready for breakfast," and then stood.
It felt good, those mornings when Bhakti wanted Al's affections, though, she was as strange and fickle as a cat, wanting them one moment and scorning them the second she'd had her fill.
"I do want my wife." Al's voice was barely audible and when Bhakti pulled away to slide on her gown, Al immediately let her go, rolling onto his back with a quiet sigh.
When Bhakti had dressed [and it was only fair, as it was highly unlikely that she'd ever see Al entirely bare], Al moved to the end of the bed, swinging his feet over the side and moving back to the window to finish opening it. The servants would be in, as soon as they knew that the pair were up.
Striding across the room, Al reached out to capture Bhakti's hand, squeezing it in parting. "I shall meet you in your quarters," by which Al meant the general area in which Bhakti took her guests. They would be served breakfast there, but Al had yet to change in front of Bhakti, and needed to return to his own quarters.
Of course she did. Bhakti was not a stranger to the fact that Yizhaq's affection were sometimes more daring than she would have liked. The idea of allowing another woman to touch her in such a manner still horrified her, but then, hadn't she already in some way? Bhakti had tried to cast this long ago to trickery, but it was a firm reminder that she had the potential to find a sexual comfort in Yizhaq as well. Her mind, however, did not want it, but she was no stranger to the fact that late at night, her body clearly had begun to crave anything that was more than a platonic affection.
It was the creek of the window which allowed her to relax. Bhakti's hands, which had been wrung together dropped to her sides as she turned to the sound of Yizhaq's footsteps.
She gave her bed-companion a nod then already understanding the implication. This, too, made her shift her shoulders. It had become her own subtle way of telling Yizhaq that she was ill at ease. Having to change in separate rooms was a clear evidence that Yizhaq was still a woman, and Bhakti was still a wife with another's child. That part, she assumed, would always make her feel cheated, angry.
She avoided eye contact with Yizhaq, her only affirmation that she understood that nod and the hasty way she removed her hand and moved away. Breakfast, she could tell, would be gentle for once. Perhaps Yizhaq would talk about his business. Today, Bhakti was content to let that ambiguously gendered life-mate of hers take control of the floor of speech.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 9:39 pm
[14] intimacy
Even though the servants seemed more than pleased to take care of the child, Bhakti was more than insistent on doing most things by herself. Always far more of a heavy sleeper than her husband, things had completely changed in her mindset the moment the baby was born. It seemed that she was never not out of bed now, never not checking on the boy, afraid he would vanish into the night. Even the slightest stirs of sounds made her worried for him. Yizhaq had probably grown tired of this if only because the constant fret of Bhakti would have no doubt made him fret. Tonight, as per Bhakti's request, he was being watched over by one of the servants.
By now, it was late, the always beautifully acted pair of husband of wife having returned from a meeting more formal than it was important. Keeping up appearances seemed to be a part of the job, but Bhakti had grown to enjoy the silent rides they would return home in and the exhausted way she fell into slumber after a long day of socializing.
"We should check on him before bed." It was the first thing Bhakti had said since they'd stepped once more into the estate. Although she had claimed never to doubt it would be a boy, the unknown had always lingered. As she had said months before, he was her son, but in that same manner, he was also Yizhaq's, and she did not feel right going to see the boy without her husband in tow.
"Yes," Yizhaq agreed with a smile, handing off a few things from the meeting to a servant. It still filled him with a strange sort of joy to see the boy's face, Altair, they had named him. Altair bin Saleh. The birth seemed to have given Bhakti a new life, a new focus, and new light that made their interactions more enjoyable and relaxed. It was as if the boy was completely theirs, and in a way, he was.
A hand brushed against Bhakti's lower back, pressing gently to signal that Yizhaq would follow, and he remained a step or two behind his wife, mind still retracing the day's meeting.
The boy was asleep, surprisingly peaceful in all of his new experiences. He was already a curious, bright babe with light eyes and dark hair. A servant let them into the room, beaming to see the pair. They were very attentive parents.
There was impatience in Bhakti's step as she led Yizhaq down the corridors. She did not have to think about where to place her feet or direct herself. Bhakti found herself instinctively knowing the very direction she had last instructed that the boy sleep and it was with annoyance that she waited for the servant to open the door. Never the less, she passed the girl a smile which she presumed was enough thanks.
A glance back was given to Yizhaq before she slipped inside. The meeting was long gone from her own thoughts. They had been replaced by a new softness in her eyes and a clearly maternal focus on detail. She fussed with the blankets around the young boy, yet remained careful not to wake him.
It was with a silent look to Yizhaq as he glanced up to him that explained her wordless curiosity. Much of her still wondered if Yizhaq ever grew curious at what it was like to have had a child. Perhaps she could hold it close, but she was not allowed to bear one, and Bhakti had never found it her place to ask. For a long while during her pregnancy, she had used the fact against her husband to strike a verbal blow, but she still did not know most of the truths to things.
"It is good that he does not have your sleeping habits," Bhakti commented. It was not a joke or meant to be humorous even if it could be assumed to have been.
"Nor your temper," Yizhaq leaned briefly over the babe, gently touching his cheek, the smile that was missing in Bhakti's comment was clearly present in his. "Yet." He ignored the question in Bhakti's eyes.
Yizhaq felt no desire to birth a child, though he had every intention of raising several. Until Bhakti had flung her harsh words, the idea of wanting to hadn't even occurred to him.
Content to linger until Bhakti's concern for the boy was satisfied, Yizhaq leaned back, giving mother and son space while he thought.
The comment caused her to raise both her brows for a moment, regarding Yizhaq's smile. There was not one on her face as she returned her own words. "My temper is not unjustified." It was followed by a soft puff of breath when the word 'Yet' pulled at her hearing. Even the corners of her mouth were slight agreement with the humor of this statement.
Even as Yizhaq moved away, Bhakti put her energy and efforts into the boy. Although she would have been content to have stayed there for the remainder of the night, it was with reluctance that she eventually pulled away. Sahel would, she reminded herself, be present in the morning when she could spend the day reading him poetry and taking him around the garden. If Yizhaq was lucky, perhaps she'd take him to the study for a while to disturb his parent's work.
Several more glances back later, Bhakti had made her way slowly for the door. Teeth were already biting her tongue to keep the chatter from starting. Although Bhakti's words were always well chosen in a way she found to be clear and important, it was hard not to begin to ramble about the young child. Yizhaq would listen, but Bhakti had trouble not feeling as though she spoke too much on the matter. Now, at least, her friends could share in the low chatter that perhaps Yizhaq could not.
As always when Bhakti was around the child, she became a great deal more affectionate. Her steps made were close to Yizhaq as they made their way back to the bedroom. And it was her own youth alight that showed when she intertwined her finger's with Yizhaq's. When it had ceased to be simply her child, Bhakti had forgotten. At some point, it had, and she had surprised her own self with her willingness to share her son.
It was interesting, how often they shared a bed. More so as time went on. In fact, unless Bhakti was particularly harsh [and sometimes even then], Yizhaq spent the nights that he stayed at the estate in Bhakti's room. Yizhaq didn't even think to part ways as he opened the door, letting Bhakti pass through the door, though her fingers weren't relinquished.
He liked this side of Bhakti, the softer side that allowed herself to enjoy things. Bhakti spent far too much time restricting herself, Yizhaq had learned, and did what he could to leave things around to make the woman smile. Poems, flowers, gifts...
If there was one thing Yizhaq was good at, it was stable patience, listening, kindness. It seemed to be working, albeit slowly.
Bhakti took the instruction with practiced ease. The step through the threshold was taken without hesitation and she turned to Yizhaq long enough to watch her close the door.
It was not until there was a final sound of the turn of locks that Bhakti let her guard drop. Her hand slipped from Yizhaq's as she began to pull pins from her hair. They were gathered in her palm, the curls of her hair apparent as the locks fell her shoulders one guesture at a time.
Even before bed, Bhakti usually made the effort to look somewhat decent. It was a product of habit and training. Only haste found her tonight as she disappeared behind a changing shield to strip her dress and adorn a night-robe. She returned without a word, her own hands running through her hair, assuming that Yizhaq would already be changed herself.
She paused there, one hand still at the base of her neck, fingers entangled in her hair. Although her face remained neutral, Yizhaq would be able to see the intellectual mind that worked as she watched. Perhaps she thought it dangerous when Bhakti stopped to think.
Pale eyes were locked on Bhakti as she deftly removed pins from her elaborate hairstyle, freeing her dark, thick hair. Al felt overheated, and the moment Bhakti moved to change, he was removing his own clothing. The most important work to do was changed out as quickly as possible, leaving him in the interesting position of being in tight, black shorts with his soft, expensive shirt still being tugged over his head. It was tossed aside with a sort of masculine grace, revealing an equally dark sleeveless shirt, fitted to a muscular body.
The gloves shielding his mind and hands were moved last, as always, dropped on a table as he turned to glance at Bhakti, an eyebrow raised in response to the thoughtful look in the woman's eyes.
Gaze shifting to her fingers, wrapped up in that dark hair, Al's mouth felt dry as he sat on Bhakti's 'side' of the bed, glancing briefly at the book of poetry lying there. "Are you coming to bed, wife?"
Bhakti took very little time to respond. As her hand gradually moved away, she provided the dip of affirmation with her head. It remained low and with it the cast of her eyes. Fingers lingered at the nape of her neck and she wound a loose curl around a stray finger as she took a few slow steps forwards.
Another pause followed and her eyes went to the book of poetry as well before they returned to Al. "Stay there for a moment." It was a quietly breathed request.
But Bhakti did not leave, although she did hesitate. Eyes unable to remove themselves from the ground beneath Yizhaq's feet, Bhakti crept forwards, her body slightly turned like a spooked animal would warily approach the object of its fear.
Hands dropping to her sides, she wrung them on either side of the gown first before reaching out unsteadily for Yizhaq's hands. At first, there was no forwards motion. Instead, Bhakti had taken the time to close her eyes and take in a breath. Doubt, disgust and apprehension nearly won the battle. Her own resolve only showed its strength when she placed Yizhaq's hands together at the knots which tied the nightgown together. The glance she gave Yizhaq was uncertain, waiting for approval.
Al, time had proven, was excellent at following instructions. He held still, eyes trailing Bhakti, and he was certain he stopped breathing as well, the moment she began to take those slow, hesitant steps toward him.
His fingers stayed relaxed as she lifted his hands, gaze on her face as she kept her thoughts private. The wash of feelings was familiar, uncertainty, distaste, anxiety, and yet, there was something more. Something...
Absolute silence as Al found himself guided to the ties of Bhakti's gown, taking a moment to meet her gaze as he gently undid the knot. It took one gentle pull to remove that barrier, and Al concentrated on slow, careful breaths as his hands slid from the ties to her hips, guiding her just a step closer.
Al didn't move from the bed, patient, despite his hungry eyes. He'd waited for a long time, so a few more minutes wouldn't hurt anything.
As Bhakti felt the first light tugs as the knots were unravelled, she closed her eyes tightly. Fingers moving in an apprehensive desire to be active, Bhatki forced her hands to return to her sides. Although she knew Yizhaq likely wanted her to, she could not return his looks.
The moment the knot was undone, it became obvious and Bhakti's body moved, shifting uncomfortably as she felt bare under Yizhaq's eyesight. A deep breath was taken in as hands found her hips and by the time she had taken the step forwards, she had managed to open her eyes once again.
She watched Yizhaq for a moment, emotions crossing her face as she tried to determine which would be appropiate to feel. Her lips slightly parted to take in more air, a combination of nervousness and a reaction to the gentle quiver her skin gave in response to Yizhaq's motions.
Keeping her gaze on Yizhaq's and avoiding watching the travel of the other woman's hands, she fidgeted in place only with the movements of her fingers. They stayed down by her sides, the rest of her body remarkably still as she let Yizhaq touch her where he willed, and more symbolically, see her bare; free from the formal cover of bedsheet or cloth.
She was beautiful.
Al had always been distracted by Bhakti, her physical presence, her womanness fascinated him in the way something one could never truly have did. In her own way, beneath her perfect manners and well-chosen words, Bhakti was a wild thing, and Al wanted that.
Another gentle pull and Al broke their gaze, bending slightly to press a hot, soft kiss to the woman's stomach. Breathing in the scent of her skin, he paused, almost shaking with the effort it took to move so carefully, with such rigid control.
Al knew that he would have to be in charge, but that didn't mean that he had to be pushy, or rough. He didn't want to be. Not when Bhakti was sharing herself, as willingly as she was able to.
The second before Al pulled her forwards, Bhakti felt a wash of something akin to fear. She had assumed it to be so until Yizhaq's mouth found her abdomen. The breath she took in was sharp, loud. Bhakti found her hands gripping Yizhaq's black shirt.
Bhakti left them there, leaning in slowly to Yizhaq's touch, as her ears listened intently to the sound of her husband's intake of air. There was heat settled in her chest and the promise of weakness in her muscles.
It wasn't a foreign feeling, not entirely. She'd enjoyed her first night, when Yizhaq had first taken her, just as gently. But the knoweldge of previous interactions, the apprehension, and her acceptance of Yizhaq enhanced her emotions and guided her thoughts. It was subconscious, how she slipped closer to let Yizhaq mouth have her. And her body wanted something more, craved hands that did not stay at her hips but ventured lower.
She had been in strong denial, but Yizhaq had only recently proven himself to fill the role she required. Tonight, she could actually feel like a wife.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 03, 2010 9:55 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
