THE SHELTERS OF STONE

Brukeval had all the masculine qualities of the men she had grown up with, and she thought he was quite handsome in a comfortable way. She even felt a slight tingle of attraction. She was also feeling tipsy-definitely no more cups of barma for her.

Ayla's warm smile communicated her feeling, but Brukeval thought there was an engaging shyness about her, too, in the way she glanced aside and looked down. He was not used to women reacting to him with such warmth, especially beautiful women who were with his tall, charismatic cousin.

"I thought you might want a cup of Laramar's barma," Brukeval said. "There have been so many people around you, all wanting to talk, but no one seemed to think you might be thirsty."

"Thank you. I actually am thirsty, but I don't dare have any more of that," she said, indicating the cup. "I've already had so much, I'm dizzy." Then she smiled, one of her full, glowing, irresistible smiles.

Brukeval was so entranced, he forgot to breathe for a moment. He'd been wanting to meet her all evening, but had been afraid to approach her. He had been casually spurned by beautiful women before. With her golden hair gleaming in the firelight, her firm and remarkably shapely body shown off becomingly by the soft clinging leather, and the slightly foreign features giving her an exotic appeal, he thought she was the most extraordinarily beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Can I get you something else to drink?" Brukeval finally asked, smiling with a boyish eagerness to please. He hadn't expected her to be so open and friendly to him.

"Go away, Brukeval. I was here first," said Charezal, not entirely in fun. He had seen the way she smiled at Brukeval, and he had been trying all evening to entice Ayla away, or at least extract a promise that she would meet him some other time.

Few men would have been so persistent in trying to interest a woman chosen by Jondalar, but Charezal had moved to the Ninth Cave only the year before from a distant Cave. He was several years younger than Jondalar, had not even reached manhood by the time the man and his brother left on their Journey, and was not aware of the tall man's reputation as someone who had an incomparable way with women. He had learned only that day that the leader had a brother. He had, however, heard rumors and gossip about Brukeval.

"You don't think she's going to be interested in someone whose mother was half flathead, do you?" Charezal said.

There was a gasp from the crowd and a sudden silence. No one had openly made such a reference to Brukeval in years. His face distorted with a venomous look of pure hatred as he glared at the young man in a barely controlled rage. Ayla was stunned to see the transformation. She had seen that kind of rage from a man of the Clan once before, and it frightened her.

But this was not the first time someone had poked fun at Brukeval like that. He had felt especially sensitive to Ayla's predicament when she was laughed at for wearing the clothes Marona and her friends had given to her. Brukeval had been the butt of cruel jokes, too. He had wanted to run to her, protect her, as Jondalar did, and when he saw the way she stood up to their laughter, tears had come to his eyes. As he'd watched her walk so proudly and face them all down, he had lost his heart to her.

Later, though he ached to talk to her, he suffered agonies of indecision and hesitated to introduce himself. Women didn't always respond favorably to him, and he would rather have admired her from a distance than see her look at him with the disdain some beautiful women did. But after watching her for some time, he finally decided to take a chance. And then, she had been so nice to him! She had seemed to welcome his presence. Her smile had been so warm and receptive, it made her even more beautiful.

In the silence after Charezal's remark, Brukeval watched Jondalar move up behind Ayla, hovering protectively. He envied Jondalar. He had always envied Jondalar, who was even taller than most. Though he had never taken part in the sport of name-calling, and had in fact defended him more than once, he felt that Jondalar pitied him, and that was worse. Now Jondalar had come home with this beautiful woman that everyone admired. Why were some people so favored?

But his glare at Charezal had upset Ayla more than he could know. She hadn't seen an expression like that since she left Brun's clan; it reminded her of Broud, the son of Brun's mate, who had often looked at her like that. Though Brukeval was not angry at her, she shuddered at the memory and wanted to get away.