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Noah stared at her, panting. His body was rigid again, eyes unfocused. Lyda looked toward his grip, her expression cool. "Why are you touching me without permission?"
One at a time, his fingers loosened. Like a tree left broken by a storm, he dropped back onto his heels, back slumped, head down. Lyda studied him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders, his hands curl and uncurl on his thighs. Only when his breathing had evened out did she touch his head. He flinched, but when he spoke, Gen realized he hadn't anticipated a blow.
"I don't deserve it, Mistress
," he mumbled.
"That's my call, not yours." Lyda stretched out her other hand, a subtle gesture to Gen. Gen came forward without hesitation, despite unsteady legs. When Lyda sent her a pointed glance, she understood. Follow your instincts. Kneeling next to him, Gen put her arms around his shoulders, used her palm to press his face against her neck.
"Easy," she whispered. "Just relax. Just breathe. I'm sorry. I didn't know the right thing to say. I'm sorry."
"I'm never going to figure it out, Mistress." Noah's voice was muffled.
"Just breathe," Lyda said. "All you have to do is breathe for us. Can you do that?"
"Yes Mistress. I'll do anything for you."
"I know. Be quiet now. No words. Just breathe."
*
Lyda forbade Noah to go back into the guest house. When he'd hesitated, obviously torn about leaving her with the damage there, Lyda had given him a look that could have withered daisies. "In the house," she said. "My room."
He followed her, Gen trailing behind. She had an idea of what Lyda intended, but had no idea how she was going to accomplish it, since the molecules around Noah were still jittering like a pending big-bang event.
When they arrived in the bedroom, Lyda pointed toward the open door of the cage. "All clothes off. You're in there until I say otherwise."
His stubborn look appeared. Lyda had obviously handled this situation before, but the volatility surrounding the two made Gen's gut clench. Lyda stepped forward, met him toe-to-toe, despite the fact he was a few inches taller than her. "Are you defying your Mistress, Noah?"
He shook his head, and looked entirely miserable. Lyda touched his face. He closed his eyes as she caressed his jaw, his lips. His body swayed toward her and he sank to his knees. He kept his back straight, but head bowed, only inches separating his forehead from her abdomen. While she didn't close that distance, her touch was gentle.
"I'm glad you want to take responsibility for the guesthouse. But right now, you need to serve your Mistress. I want you to calm down and find your center again." Her tone firmed. "Clean up your space on your own time."
That hit the right chord. Though his attitude was too close to despair for Gen's liking, after a few more tense moments, he pulled off his T-shirt, removed his jeans and underwear. He folded them neatly as he always did and placed them next to the cage. His meticulous care brought a lump to Gen's throat. From the stillness in Lyda's expression, she thought the woman might be feeling some strong emotion herself.
He went back to his knees and slid tiredly onto the mattress inside the cage. Lyda bent, locked the door. "I have some things to do," she told Gen. "Sit with him. No talking. Come to me when he's asleep."
Noah had turned on his side, facing away from them, his back rounded, knees drawn up. Lyda met Gen's gaze and mouthed, "Peacefully asleep."
Gen nodded and lowered herself to the floor beside the cage. A mandate not to talk was probably a good idea, since it seemed like her words had been the straw to set off his rage. But when she'd held him, he'd leaned into her.
Maybe words really weren't what were needed. Gen lay down on her side outside the cage, slid up close to it and put her hand through, resting it on his hip. She also threaded one leg through, pressing her toes against the bottom of his curved foot. Without the bars, she could have spooned with him.
She caressed his rib cage, felt him breathe in and out. Kneading his muscles, stroking his bare spine with her knuckles, gliding over the rise of his buttocks, she felt driven by a not-incongruous mix of maternal feelings with those of a protective lover. She watched his shoulders as closely as Lyda would, so she saw when they began to ease, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. Eventually his even breath told her he slept. Peacefully. Remarkable after the display of strife, but maybe when that broken part of his mind was torn open, exhaustion overwhelmed him more quickly.
Unfortunately the aftermath didn't have the same effect on her. She was rattled to the core. Both by the incident itself--Noah being attacked, his reaction to it--and how this might change how she felt about being part of all of this. She needed information, answers.
When fifteen minutes had passed and his rest seemed untroubled, she went to find Lyda. Though Gen was reluctant to leave him alone, she was pretty sure Lyda wouldn't have told her to leave him when he was peacefully asleep unless she was sure he'd be safe. Being trusted to determine what "peacefully" meant indicated Lyda trusted her judgment on Noah's care. Gen already knew a good Mistress didn't do that lightly. While a part of her wanted to react to the knowledge in a way similar to how she'd felt when M let her do the books for Tea Leaves, she was too fragile to feel much about that.
Lyda was sitting on the back stoop, studying the sunset. When Gen sat down next to her, the woman gave her a nod, offered her a sip from her glass of wine. Gen took it, their fingers overlapping before Lyda relinquished it and Gen took a healthy swallow. Then she put it back in her hand.
"There's more on the table there." Lyda gestured toward the screened porch behind her. "And another glass. Or you can keep sharing mine and we'll refill as needed."
"Like in medieval times, when lords and ladies shared the same trencher. Brendan told Chloe about that. She said it was romantic. I said it was unsanitary."
Lyda looked up at her with those fathomless gray eyes, tilted the glass toward her again. "What do you say now?"
Rather than take it from her hand this time, Gen settled next to her. Brushing a lock of loose hair from her own face, she held it there as Lyda brought the glass to Gen's lips. Gen settled her hand over Lyda's, changing the position of the glass. Lyda's lips had left an imprint on the edge and Gen made sure she put her mouth there, fingers overlapping Lyda's again. Their gazes met, even as Lyda kept tipping the glass. Slow, but intentional, until Gen had several more very generous gulps, the alcohol spreading warmth through her stomach. Then Lyda transferred the glass to Gen's hold.
