Year of the Boar, Seventh Month, Day 20.
I did indeed have to spend almost two sticks getting the salt out of my hair last evening. A fact which the Chief and his wives found highly entertaining. I was less entertained and am giving serious consideration to taking the scissors to it.... after all, what need have I for waist length hair? It is a complete inconvenience when I have no maid to wash and dress it for me every day. It transpires that the Chief's wives were aware of our... liaison which explains why not a soul was to be seen about the camp yesterday. That annoyed me. I do not like my private life being public knowledge but I suppose that I must get used to the fact that out here with the camp, I can no longer sit in my rooms mired in secrecy. Curiously enough, his wives do not seem to mind; three of them at least, seem to think that I am going to join their ranks. The fourth has clearly taken a dislike to me but I am hopeful that the Chief will see to it that it does not become a problem; I certainly do not relish the idea of a cat-fight over a man! I am almost embarrassed to admit that I have lain with him again since yesterday. After I had washed my hair, I sat with him by the camp-fire while it dried. The camp began to stumble off to their beds and although I wished to go to mine, I cannot sleep with wet hair and so I sat a little longer with the Chief as it dried. He discussed some business with some of the men and I sat silently, unable to follow their fast, spiky tones. When I felt satisfied that my hair was at least dry enough for me to sleep on, I slipped off to my tent. I decided to take the comb to my hair again before I slept, and as well I did for it had become knotty as it dried by the fire and I winced several times as my comb snagged in knots and tugged my hair at its roots. I knelt with my back to the tent flaps but I knew that it was the Chief as soon as I heard a twig snap directly outside. Only he would have no care about being seen at my tent in the later hours of an evening.
I waited. Sure enough, he came inside and sat, cross-legged by me, reaching out to stroke my hair. "Braid it." he said and I saw no reason not to so I sat there parting my hair into three sections, combing each one through again before twisting them around each other into a single, heavy cable and binding the end with a leather strip. No sooner had I finished than the Chief grabbed it and wrapped it around his hand, pulling me to him. Our interlude in the woods had been most ... satisfying ... he growled at me before his mouth sank down on mine and his free hand ripped off my outer wear. As I moved to push at his clothing, he grabbed my wrist and shook his head. "I have certain... needs... " he said; his voice low and tight. "I think you share them..." My fingers flexed as if in response and when I looked into the wide-set cobalt of his eyes, I think I actually saw desire flare in them as if someone had lit a match. The same match sparked deep within my stomach and I felt the breath stop in my throat just at the touch of his hands. It is strange... I do not look at the Chief in the light of day and find my knees trembling and nor do I feel remotely moved to start writing the maudlin kind of poetry that the Ladies of our House turn to when they are in love. I mean, I suppose it if were required, I could muster up some sort of rubbish about his chiselled jaw and the plane of his cheeks or even the way his hair curls at his collar but I see no reason to while away hours composing that sort of nonsense when I do not feel what they claim they do... I am not in love; that is the thing. I am in lust; the two are not the same.
The Chief was more forceful than he had been in the woods. There was no room to demur; he commanded and I obeyed. His growled orders served only to make the flame inside me burn hotter and even when he took the leather from my hair and used it across my behind I did not protest, in fact the bite as he brought it down on my skin was exquisite. I knew that I should be repelled but the cries that came from my throat were not of pain. The sharp sting made me feel as if my entire body was molten. As I arched and writhed beneath him, there was no thought in my head; just a consuming need for more of him. I knew that I should stop it before I became entangled in something from which I could not extricate myself but as our dance continued I found myself longing for it to last forever. Where this will end, I have no idea. I do not love him. Not in the slightest but the response he elicits from my body cannot be ignored. When he brought me to edge of release and denied me, I felt as though I were floating above my own body. Release when he allowed it, brought forth another bout of weeping which I could explain no better then than I could explain it yesterday...
We did not go down to the sea but washed together in the tent and when we had dressed, he slipped out telling me that he would return shortly. When he did come back, he had in his hand a mug of something that smelled utterly foul. I raised my eyebrows at him and he told me to drink it. He had no hold over me now that my needs were sated and I questioned him. "It will bring about your cycle" he told me. "I have no wish for a child and I suspect that you have none either." He is right, of course and although I felt slightly insulted for reasons I cannot begin to imagine, I drank it, doing my best to ignore the vile taste. He nodded as if to thank me and told me that we would sail in two days before he left as quietly as he had arrived. I thought about it, then and realised that if the herbs do bring about my cycle, he will not touch me for as long as it is here. Perhaps that is why I feel so insulted by it. Still, better to be pragmatic; I absolutely cannot have a child.
I waited. Sure enough, he came inside and sat, cross-legged by me, reaching out to stroke my hair. "Braid it." he said and I saw no reason not to so I sat there parting my hair into three sections, combing each one through again before twisting them around each other into a single, heavy cable and binding the end with a leather strip. No sooner had I finished than the Chief grabbed it and wrapped it around his hand, pulling me to him. Our interlude in the woods had been most ... satisfying ... he growled at me before his mouth sank down on mine and his free hand ripped off my outer wear. As I moved to push at his clothing, he grabbed my wrist and shook his head. "I have certain... needs... " he said; his voice low and tight. "I think you share them..." My fingers flexed as if in response and when I looked into the wide-set cobalt of his eyes, I think I actually saw desire flare in them as if someone had lit a match. The same match sparked deep within my stomach and I felt the breath stop in my throat just at the touch of his hands. It is strange... I do not look at the Chief in the light of day and find my knees trembling and nor do I feel remotely moved to start writing the maudlin kind of poetry that the Ladies of our House turn to when they are in love. I mean, I suppose it if were required, I could muster up some sort of rubbish about his chiselled jaw and the plane of his cheeks or even the way his hair curls at his collar but I see no reason to while away hours composing that sort of nonsense when I do not feel what they claim they do... I am not in love; that is the thing. I am in lust; the two are not the same.
The Chief was more forceful than he had been in the woods. There was no room to demur; he commanded and I obeyed. His growled orders served only to make the flame inside me burn hotter and even when he took the leather from my hair and used it across my behind I did not protest, in fact the bite as he brought it down on my skin was exquisite. I knew that I should be repelled but the cries that came from my throat were not of pain. The sharp sting made me feel as if my entire body was molten. As I arched and writhed beneath him, there was no thought in my head; just a consuming need for more of him. I knew that I should stop it before I became entangled in something from which I could not extricate myself but as our dance continued I found myself longing for it to last forever. Where this will end, I have no idea. I do not love him. Not in the slightest but the response he elicits from my body cannot be ignored. When he brought me to edge of release and denied me, I felt as though I were floating above my own body. Release when he allowed it, brought forth another bout of weeping which I could explain no better then than I could explain it yesterday...
We did not go down to the sea but washed together in the tent and when we had dressed, he slipped out telling me that he would return shortly. When he did come back, he had in his hand a mug of something that smelled utterly foul. I raised my eyebrows at him and he told me to drink it. He had no hold over me now that my needs were sated and I questioned him. "It will bring about your cycle" he told me. "I have no wish for a child and I suspect that you have none either." He is right, of course and although I felt slightly insulted for reasons I cannot begin to imagine, I drank it, doing my best to ignore the vile taste. He nodded as if to thank me and told me that we would sail in two days before he left as quietly as he had arrived. I thought about it, then and realised that if the herbs do bring about my cycle, he will not touch me for as long as it is here. Perhaps that is why I feel so insulted by it. Still, better to be pragmatic; I absolutely cannot have a child.
posted by Lady Seira @ 00:47
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