Shield's Lady

but you lie. You must be lying. Either that or you are a disgrace to your clan. You have treated me abominably. No gentleman would have acted as you have acted.”
    “Sariana, I know you’re angry and I guess you have a right to be, but—”
    “Angry?” she blazed, backing toward the writing table. “Angry? You don’t know the meaning of the word.” She sought for and found some of the colorful phrases the locals used. “You are the arrogant, deceitful, lying spawn of a cloaksnake. With your degree of talent you should consider a career in dragonpony manure production. You have the sensitivity and understanding of a hawkbeetle. You are lower than the son of a needlerat. Worse than that. You must be the result of the mating of a pair of particularly slimey swamp toads. You have the sense of honor of a wharfsnake. I doubt your claim to a legitimate clan, do you hear me?”
    “I hear you,” Gryph said. “But let’s leave my clan out of this.” He stripped off his jacket and slung it over one shoulder. Then he stalked across the chamber to where a beautifully faceted wine carafe sat on a hospitality table. He picked up the carafe and splashed the contents into a tiny glass.
    “By all means let’s leave your clan out of this,” Sariana snapped. “That sounds entirely reasonable considering the fact that there is apparently some question as to the origin of your entire social class.” She couldn’t think of a worse insult.
    Gryph cocked one brow at her as he took a long swallow of wine. “Is that right? Who told you that? Rakken?”
    “Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. He also told me about some totally ridiculous legend your people have managed to feed the rest of the westerners in order to win all sorts of special privileges.”
    “Rakken is surprisingly well-informed. Most easterners never hear much at all about the old legends concerning the Shields.” Gryph poured himself another glass of wine. “What did he say about us?”
    Sariana gripped the edge of her writing desk. She was trembling with the force of her emotions. Her voice shook with it. “He said you Shields have managed to concoct some crazy tale about not being members of the original social classes that arrived on board The Serendipity.”
    Gryph shrugged. “The tale is true.”
    “You expect me to believe that?”
    “No. Not in your present mood. But one of these days you’ll learn the whole story.”
    “I don’t want to learn the whole story. Do you understand? I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want any part of you. I have enough problems in my life without getting involved in some idiotic local legend.”
    “If you had wanted to stay uninvolved with local legends,” Gryph informed her with a strange smile, “you shouldn’t have tried to play games with one.”
    Sariana gritted her teeth. “If you’re talking about my using that hypnotic drug to try to make you a little more agreeable—”
    “I am,” he assured her and took another swallow of wine.
    “I’ve explained about that. I was desperate.”
    “I suppose I should thank you for using the drug. If you hadn’t tried that, I might never have found you. I wasn’t looking for an eastern wife.”
    “You talk about hunting a wife the way you would hunt wild game!” Sariana almost lost her voice again.
    “Wife hunting is more difficult. But it was time for me to try to find one. It’s not easy for a Shield, you know. The right women are few and far between. Under the terms of the First Generation Pact, a Shield is allowed to search for a mate in any social class, but actually arranging to meet a lot of females from a lot of different classes is another problem. The population was so small back in the early days that it was relatively easy to locate a possible mate. The logistics of the situation have changed considerably since then. Clans have learned ways of keeping their daughters out of sight of a potential Shield husband. It’s difficult to line up a number of women from which to choose. Social conventions have proven more formidable protection for young women than weapons and walls would have done.”
    Sariana’s fingers closed around a hand-carved tray designed to hold stationery. “Now you speak of finding a wife the way you would talk of choosing fresh fish in the market!”
    Gryph shook his head. “Shopping for fresh fish is simpler and more rewarding, believe me.”
    It was too much. Sariana lost the last shreds of her self-control. She