Preoccupied as he was, trying to handle a double load augmented by the weight of the packs, with a single straining hand on his rope, he nevertheless noted with nightmare irrelevance how lithe and sweet her body was against his. Except for the time that first evening at the country dance, he had never held her; it came somehow as a surprise now that she was very much a woman.

Meanwhile reflex took over again. His hand loosened, permitting a controlled slide down the rope, burning fearfully. But he landed roughly on the lower ledge and let Coquina down on the widest portion, where she could lie safely. As he kneeled beside her, her arm came around his neck, hugging him.

“You are strong, strong,” she whispered, eyes closed. “Stronger than I.” Then her hand fell away and she was unconscious.

Her words left him elated. He knew they were sincere. Whatever had passed before, she saw him now as a man and not as a pampered patron. That, perhaps, had been the thing he was warring against. With profound pleasure he set about doing the things that she had done before, for him. He made her comfortable, foraged in the packs for food, and brought it to her. Later he wrapped gauze around and around his clotted hand and lowered the packs to the foot of the cliff, and climbed down himself to arrange a nearby campsite.

Only after they were both down did he allow her to put salve on his hand and re-bandage it. She was taking over again, and he liked it still—and he realized with a pleasant shock that Malice had been driven completely out of his mind for some time, and that there were far more immediate things for his concern.

Nine

Coquina’s first words that evening, as a solitary cricket chirruped from somewhere, were of apology. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay with you, Mr. Five. I did not mean to—”

“Never call me that again,” he said, cutting her off. “I am a man, not a title—a foolish man who almost killed you.”

“Yes, Aton,” she said. “But no one dies on Idyllia.” She got up. “I have work to do.”

Aton grabbed her by the ankle and brought her down again. “Do it tomorrow. Right now you are going to rest quietly if I have to sit on you. Why didn’t you tell me how tired you were getting?”

Her smile was rueful. “A slave does not consider personal problems. The patrons usually have more than enough of their own.”

Aton blanched inwardly at the reference to patrons. Things had not really changed between them. “Have you been a slave here all your life?”

Another wan smile. “Of course not. No one is born to slavery. There are conventions...I came here the only way anyone can: I volunteered.”

“Volunteered!”

“It is a good situation. There’s a long waiting list. The standards are high.”