While they ate Shaleh tried to examine Nurlan. It was difficult to do so with him gazing at her so openly.
Alam is taller. And younger. And more handsome.
This man is full of anger, or perhaps sadness. Maybe both.
He is more courteous though. And eats nicer. Maybe he's just on his best behaviour. Like me.
She noticed a small cut on his hand with three small stitched holding it closed.
"That looks recent," she pointed to his hand.
Nurlan held his hand up to look at it more closely. "It happened this morning. I had to break up a fight."
Her mother had told her to "touch his hand if you can, but it has to seem natural."
"The stitching looks good. May I see?" Shaleh extended her hand towards him. He held out his hand in response. She grasped it gently and twisted it slightly so the fire light showed the stitching clearly. His hand was warm, rough, and calloused.
She held his hand for two heart beats longer than was needed.
"It should heal quickly," she smiled.
Nurlan leaned closer. "Tell me of yourself," he requested quietly, so that their conversation would not be heard. Further down the long table Kirill, his wife, and Shaleh's parents were discussing political matters.
"What would you like to know?" Shaleh leaned in. Her mother had also told her to get close enough for him to smell her.
"What do you like? What brings you joy?"
She smiled and held his gaze while trying to think of a response. "Well, I like spring when the snow is all gone. And I love riding my horse."
Instead of smiling back he simply raised one eyebrow. "Spring, and riding your horse? You can do better than that."
"What do you mean," she frowned in surprise and then quickly put her smile back on.
"Everyone likes when the snow is gone and riding their horse. That doesn't tell me anything about you."
She tried to freeze her smile so it would not fall completely.
"Maybe you should go first then, and lead by example," she said a little more heatedly than her mother would have approved of.
"Fair enough," he said with a tight nod. "I like honesty, and I like simplicity. Unfortunately neither of them seem appreciated in the political sphere we find ourselves. I also like the silence of solitude, but that seems an equally unpopular thing to like. Now it is your turn."
Solitude? Is that some kind of hint?
"Let's see," she paused and wrinkled her brow in concentration. She took advantage of the break in conversation to lean forward to pick up a jug of water. She made sure that she turned her head so that he could see her neckline as she poured fresh water into his cup. "I enjoy singing, though I am not very good, and as a child I loved beating the boys in running races."
"That is slightly better, but only just," Nurlan said. "What is the real you? What are your fears? Your hopes? If we are to marry shouldn't we know each other at least a little?"
Shaleh thought for a while. She did not know this game, or if it even was a game. If she spoke openly would it compromise her chances?
"Do you really want to know or are you just trying to be polite?" It was not what her mother would have suggested she say.
Nurlan smiled fully for the first time in the evening. "Something you should know is that I have been married before, but my wife died. I loved her very much. I still do. I am a slow learner, but one thing I have learned is that a marriage where the man and woman do not truly know each other makes a life of bitterness for both them, and their children."
Shaleh looked at him thoughtfully.
Why tell me he still loves someone else? Is he is trying to scare me away? Or is it some kind of test? Well more than one person can test.
"I was told that men look only for beauty in a woman." She smiled at him.
He smiled back. "You are more than beautiful tonight, you are mesmerizing. And you know it."
She blushed both from the compliment and the transparency of her vanity.
"But what will it be like in the winter when we are snowed in our tent with a crying child, and your silk dress is neatly folded away?"
Her smile faded at the horrible image.
"Let me tell you what it will be like," he continued. "It can be paradise, or hell. It all depends on whether or not we love and respect each other. And to love and respect means knowing each other. At the moment you definitely don't know me, and I don't know you. But I would like to."
"You mean it, don't you? You're not playing some game?"
"Games are for children, and I haven't been a child for many years."
"Fine," she leaned in throwing caution away. "But you will not like my answer. There are many things that bring me joy, but most of all is freedom." She expected him to frown or show some sign of displeasure. Most clansmen seemed to consider the ideal woman to be someone who looked after the tent and supplied a stream of babies.
"Freedom to do what?" Nurlan asked with a smile.
"Whatever I want." she said defiantly.
"Ah!" he laughed suddenly, drawing the attention of the others. "Then you have a problem! Freedom is an illusion. None of us in this world can do what we want. Especially those of us in this tent. Isn't that right, King?"
Kirill shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. "It is the burden of leadership."
Shaleh glanced at her mother and caught Pim's scowl.
"So Nurlan, what do you think of this charming young woman?" asked Kirill.
"I think I would like to see her tomorrow, or the next day, once my duties are finished. That way she can see if she really wants a bitter soldier for a husband, and I can see if she is as charming in the daylight as she is in the night."
"Very few women are!" laughed Kirill. "The dark is when women are at their best!" Shaleh saw both Pim and Kirill's wife frown at him.
"As always, I defer to your superior knowledge of such things," Nurlan bowed.
Shaleh gazed at Nurlan.
What a strange man. Either he doesn't know the rules, or he doesn't care. I wonder how he is related to Kirill? Surely not a son.
"And Daughter," said Urlock, "What do you think of Nurlan?"
"I think he is an unusual man, but I have not decided yet if being unusual is good or bad. I accept his invitation to visit when he finishes his duties so he can see if I am more than a silly girl in a silk dress."
Both her parents frowned at her but kept their mouths shut.
***
Gretch the Hunter approached the sprawling camp. The sounds of joy were loud. There would be no joy for him.
A figure walked out from the tents and walked towards him. He checked his clothes. He was satisfied that he looked as much like a barbarian as he could, but his hand still wavered near the hunting knife on his hip. The figure was undeniably female. Her hips swayed rhythmically as she walked straight towards him.
Strange.
He relaxed his hand away from the knife. She was silhouetted by the camp fires behind her so he could not make out her face. But something about her tugged at his memory. She wore a long dress quite different from the clothes that the barbarian women wore. He caught his breath and stopped walking suddenly.
The woman from the dream.
As she drew near he was struck by her perfection. His heart accelerated.
"Hello, Gretch the Killer."
She was not smiling as he remembered her in the dream, if it was a dream.
"So you are real."
"Indeed," she crossed her arms impatiently. "Why are you here, Hunter?"
"You know why."
"Then despite my warning you still intend to kill the barbarian and his friend?"
Gretch locked eyes with her. "Yes. I hunt and I kill. It is what I am."
"You will not get what you desire from being what you are. I have seen it," she said.
"Is that what you have come to tell me?"
"Yes. Turn around and go home."
"Are you going to stop me?" Gretch asked. His hand moved to the knife.
"No."
"Then stand aside." With a supreme act of will he tore his gaze from her vivid blue eyes and walked past her. Before entering the camp he cast a quick glance over his shoulder to get one more glimpse of her, but she had disappeared into the night.
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As always, thank you for your support, comments, and votes!
-Y. V. Qualls