The Feline Wizard (22 page)

“Welcome, traveler!”

“Welcome to rest and refreshment!”

“Welcome to delight and pleasure!”

All twelve of them wore short-skirted tunics made by draping a length of clinging fabric around the neck, crosswise over each breast, then wrapped around the waist to form the skirt—simple but extremely attractive, especially considering how the fabric molded itself to their bodies. They advanced barefoot over the cushioned floor, smiling and eager. “May we aid you in taking off your boots, traveler?”

“Why, uh—yes, that would be very nice, thanks,” Matt stammered, then wished he hadn't, for two of them pressed up against him on either side, ostensibly to brace his shoulders, while a third knelt to yank off first the one boot, then the other. Still kneeling and proving how low her neckline was cut, she looked up at him through long lashes. “May I perform any other service, O Guest?”

Matt had the first inkling of the true nature of his visit. He swallowed heavily and said, “Uh, no, thanks, I'm fine.”

“I am sure that you are,” the young woman said with a heavy-lidded glance. “A bath, then?”

Two other young women drew aside a curtain from an alcove, revealing a huge copper tub in a wooden frame, filled with steaming bubbles and emitting a fragrance of sandalwood.

“Yes!” Matt said. “That would be very nice. If you'll give me a few minutes privacy, a bath would be just the thing.” He strode over to the tub before his hostesses could answer.

“May we not help you remove your clothes?” asked one of the women who had pulled open the curtain.

Alarm bells rang, but Matt knew the importance of abiding by local custom. “Yes, that would get me into the bubbles more quickly, thanks.”

Slender hands unbuckled his belt as others plucked the jerkin, then the tunic, from his shoulders—but he stopped when they started pulling at his hose. “Uh, thanks, but I'll do that myself, if you'll just turn your backs for a minute.”

“If you must,” the oldest sighed with bad grace. “Turn your backs, girls.” She set the example, muttering, “Foolish modesty!”

Matt stripped off his breeches and got into the tub quicker than he ever had. At the sound of splashing, the women turned back to look. He heard murmurs of approval at the contours of his chest; then a gentle hand drew a cool cloth over his forehead and murmured, “Lean back and enjoy the heat and moisture.”

It sounded like a good idea. Matt leaned his head back— then felt the warm and yielding surface against which he leaned and decided it wasn't the wisest course of action after all. He glanced at the young women who gathered around the tub with avid eyes. It made him feel odd, like a side of beef on display at the butcher shop.

“A glass of wine, weary traveler?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks. Kind of you.” Matt raised a soapy hand, but the young woman held the glass to his lips and tilted it just a little. Matt sipped, and his eyes widened. That wine was halfway to brandy! He could feel its warmth coursing through his limbs, and they hadn't needed any further warming.

“Drink deeply,” the cup-bearer urged, and Matt did, again to be accommodating.

Then he leaned his head back and said, “Thanks, that's enough. Some more a little later, maybe.”

“Whatever serves your pleasure,” she murmured, and took the glass away—but her voice was husky and smoky, implying a greater pleasure than wine could provide, and Matt was alarmed to feel his body responding. What had been in that wine, anyway?

In fact, there was entirely too much emphasis on pleasure here. Surely these slender, smooth-limbed beauties couldn't
be off-duty soldiers! But he took a closer look at the muscles beneath that smooth skin and decided that they probably were warriors—and that put a distinct limit to his relaxation.

One young woman reached in with a soft, soapy cloth to caress his chest. “Let us wash you, traveler.”

“Uh, very nice, thanks.” But the hand slipped below the water, and Matt protested, “Not really necessary, though.”

“You wish to be clean throughout, do you not?” said the woman behind him. “Sit forward and I shall wash your back.”

And she did, below the waterline and on down. When she passed his waist, Matt said, “Uh, thanks, but I think that's far enough.” Then to the two young women who were working their way below his navel, one on each side of the tub, “You, too.”

They giggled and withdrew their hands a little. “Do you not enjoy it?” asked one.

“Yes, but that's not the issue.” The problem, Matt realized, was that he was enjoying it far too much, and didn't want them to realize it.

Light glared from the door, and he looked up, glad of the distraction. “Ah, mine host!” Then he stopped, staring, for Adonitay and her squadron were dressed like the others, and seemed far more feminine and appealing in short white tunics. No doubt about it—all his attendants were off-duty soldiers, Their exercises, however, were scarcely military.

“Have our sisters made you comfortable?” Adonitay asked.

“Uh, maybe a bit too comfortable,” Matt said, but gave her a smile to soften it. Unfortunately, the smile felt mechanical.

Adonitay elbowed her way through to the tub and took the washcloth; the junior woman surrendered it reluctantly. Adonitay suggested, “Lift your legs, then, that we may wash them.”

Warily, Matt lifted a leg, which drew another spate of murmured, excited discussion about his musculature, shape, and the aesthetic appeal of body hair. The washcloths worked over his toes, feet, ankles, shins, calves, knees, tickling, extremely enjoyable, and he could feet the submerged parts of his body reacting. When the cloths went underwater and worked their
way up his thighs, though, he said, “Uh, that's far enough, thanks. I can wash the rest on my own.”

“But we are quite willing to do it for you,” Adonitay purred.

“Thanks, but I'm big on self-reliance.” Matt took the washcloth and finished up. “If you'll turn your backs now, I'll hop out.”

“Oh, but take another dram first,” the cup-bearer urged, and pressed the glass to his lips—refilled, Matt noticed.

He drank half of it to be nice—against his better judgment— then said, “Just avert your gaze, okay?”

“As you wish,” Adonitay sighed, and all the women turned their heads away, except one, who stood up, holding a huge towel high enough to hide her eyes.

Matt surged up from of the water, stepped out, and into the towel—but not quickly enough to keep a dozen women from peeking. They gave throaty chuckles and whispered to each other, and Mart's face flamed as he clutched the towel around him. He started to dry himself off, but soft towels touched his back and shoulders, and throaty voices murmured, “Let us attend you, brave traveler.”

That part he could deal with—it was the towels rubbing softly around his ankles that worried him. “Uh, thanks, girls, but I think I'll just wrap myself in a sarong and air-dry.”

He managed to swing the towel horizontal and wrap it without any more overexposure, but Adonitay, still kneeling, pouted and looked up at him through her lashes, saying, “Why do you spurn us, Matthew? It is the law of the Grand Feminie that any man bold enough to come among us may amuse himself in any way he wishes, as much and as often as he wishes. Indeed, if he does not, there will be no more warrior women born. Let us please you in any and every way.”

“Uh, thank you very much,” Matt said, “but I wasn't aware of your law, and it wasn't what I had in mind when I accepted your hospitality.”

“But why not?” Adonitay looked up at him, genuinely puzzled, as were most of them—though a few appeared angry. “Do you find us plain and undesirable? Or is it perhaps because you feel at too much a disadvantage when you are naked
and we are clothed? If so, let us be equal!” She pulled her tunic free of her shoulders.

Matt gasped at the sight. “Be-Believe me, it certainly isn't a matter of your being undesirable! You're all very attractive, very!”

“I had thought you found us thus.” Adonitay reached out to caress high on his thigh. “Since it is obvious that you find us so, why do you hesitate?”

Matt looked down at her, and an irrelevant thought strayed thought his mind—that military training sure gave a woman excellent pectoral development. His own sweet warrior queen was similarly endowed; he had always suspected the same reason, and it was nice to have the thought confirmed.

Thinking of Alisande saved him. The arousal was still there, the stimulation still made him tremble, but it was now directed toward another woman, one who wasn't there. “I hesitate because I am married, fair hostess—very much married. But fidelity to a spouse isn't a matter of love and commitment magically making a man immune to the charms of all other women. There's a small matter of willpower involved, too. A husband can see beauty about him and respond to it, but still wish to be faithful to his wife.”

Adonitay gazed at him unblinking for several seconds, while earnest discussion whispered around them, punctuated with muttered oaths of anger and groans of frustration.

Then Adonitay pulled her garment back onto her shoulders and rose, her face a mask. “I understand, and applaud your decision. We are warriors and prize fidelity in all its forms— fidelity, and honor. We have heard of marriage many times, though mostly through husbands who come to break their vows among us. It is very rare that we meet one who cleaves unto his wife in spite of all our charms.”

Matt felt guilty, somehow. “I don't suppose you get very many men stumbling into your kingdom by accident.”

“Very few indeed,” Adonitay said with a sardonic grimace. “It is simply our very bad luck to encounter two in one week.”

“Two?” Matt said, then remembered their earlier conversation. “Of course—the young man who didn't appreciate his good fortune.”

“Nor do you,” Adonitay said sourly.

“I'm afraid not,” Matt said. “Sorry to be such a poor sport about the whole thing.”

“I have a notion you would be excellent in sport, if you allowed yourself to be so treacherous,” Adonitay said with a glint in her eye. “Nay, good traveler, go your ways back to your wife, and give her our congratulations, for she has a husband who is a jewel among men. Few indeed can withstand the blandishments of the Grand Feminie. Be sure that no woman among us who wishes a babe and has proved herself worthy to bear one has ever had to wait long.” She glanced around at the thunderous-looking assemblage. “Though it seems that these shall have to wait awhile longer.” She turned back to Matt. “Go your way, and if it takes you a month and more to cross our land, have no fear. You shall travel under a safe-conduct, for we must reward those few men who know how to keep faith.”

Balkis walked beside Anthony in silence and confusion, deliberately fanning the coals of her anger, small though they might be. They were there at all only because Anthony, walking beside her in equal silence, had a faraway gaze and dazed expression that told her only too well how thoroughly he had been tempted, and how his body had longed to give in.

However, it also told her how strong an act of will it had taken to refuse.

Of course, if he had never lain with a woman before, as the soldiers had said, there would have been some fear of the unknown to help him refuse. Surely it had been fear that made him shun the hungry warrior-women! Balkis thought. Surely his heart could not have become so deeply embroiled with her as to refuse such an opportunity!

Thus she fanned the flames of anger and tried hard to ignore the clear facts as the soldiers had told them—that Anthony was in love with her, so much so that he had refused to commit an action that would have hurt her deeply.

Or would have hurt her if she were in love with him, she qualified. But surely she had given him no reason to think so! Surely she was not! He was only a country bumpkin, after all,
a rude and naive peasant who would be completely lost amid the alleys of Maracanda and the intricacies of Prester John's court!

She had to admit, however, that here in this distant land he was more knowledgeable than she, and just as capable. If she had the experience of traveling, he had some knowledge of desert travel and the places they would encounter, from his talk with the caravan drivers. And he was quite handsome. This thought slipped into her mind by itself. Indeed, she did not have to work at remembering the strange glow that the first sight of him had kindled in her, the rush of blood that had pounded through her veins. Rather, she had to work at forgetting it, for it was all too familiar, a mild version of the few times she had been in cat form when she had gone into heat. Unfortunately, the sight of him still aroused the same emotion; even remembering it made her pulse quicken and her breath shorten.

Again she used the energy to fuel her anger—how dare he so much as look at another woman with lust! How dare he gaze upon a naked female body—never mind that he had been given no choice. Worse, how dare he respond to the sight, even though he refused it! How dare he have longed to accept!

She had not, of course, given him any hope of such reward herself, nor would she—but that was beside the point. If he were in love with her, any other woman would have left him completely unaffected.