by John Coyne
Derek's house was across the river and high on a bluff, looking back toward Ballycastle. While he went to open a bottle of wine, Barbara drifted toward the casement windows, searching for the mansion in the distance. She could feel the castle, sense its presence, but all she could see on that clear, cold night was the river, like a bar of silver in the moonlight. She stood at the windows, hypnotized by the sight. Derek was talking, but she heard only his voice, not his words. Never since her marriage to Warren had she been alone like this with another man. Never since his death had she been anywhere without Scotty. She felt, at that moment, like a new woman, a young girl even, with only her fantasies to guide her. Derek was ready with the wine. Coming up beside her he placed the glasses on the window seat, then filled them. He was telling her about the house, how once it had been a hunting cabin, then later a weekend place for wealthy people from New York City. She stood listening, motionless, as if paralyzed at the window. "Here," he said, "a glass of Pouilly Fuissé. I've been saving it for a special occasion and I think this evening qualifies. It's only taken me months to lure you away for an unchaperoned dinner." She was afraid to take the wine, afraid that in her nervousness she would spill it, but when she touched the thin stem of the glass it brought her at once to reality. She felt the heat of the fireplace on her cheek, could smell his after-shave lotion when he stepped by her to return the bottle to its bucket of ice, twisting it into the ice cubes. At the sound of the ice she thought immediately of Warren, of the last moment of his life. Oh, God, she thought, am I going to be consumed by guilt forever because I'm still alive? "There are tears in your eyes," Derek whispered. "I'm sorry." She brushed them away, hoping her mascara hadn't run. He turned and stood beside her, sipping his wine quietly for a moment. Their shoulders were inches apart, but they did not touch. "Sometimes at night," he began, "when I'm in the house alone, I stand here and look toward Ballycastle. During the summer, when there was more light, you could see the tower and the top floor. That was all you could see over the treetops, but I kept trying to spot the guest cottage. Once the leaves fall I'm sure I'll be able to." She turned away from the window to look at him curiously. "Why?" she asked. "Because I miss you. I leave the office and drive home and immediately I miss you. I keep imagining how you'd look in this house, sitting by the fireplace, making coffee in the kitchen. Silly, I know. But this house seems made for you. It's a perfect fit, a perfect size...eight?" Barbara laughed, touched and pleased by his confession. "How sweet," she answered and touched his arm. At once he turned to her, setting both their glasses down and burying his fingers in her silky hair. She snuggled closer, fitting herself against him, her fingers slowly massaging his strong shoulders. She smiled at him and his hands went behind her, curving around her tiny bottom, gently pressing her body even closer. Breathless from tension, she had to gasp to fill her lungs, to stay alive. He moved her away slightly, brought his hand up to pull her face to his. "Don't," she whispered. "I don't think I could stand it if you kissed me right now." She touched his lips with the tips of her fingers and smiled. "Give me a moment to get used to all this. I'm dizzy. It's been awhile, you know. I wouldn't want to black out here in your living room." "Definitely not," Derek agreed, smiling. "I have an idea. Why don't we have dinner?" Barbara paused, debating. "I don't think I could eat anything right now. My stomach is in knots." He touched her cheek and she turned her face into his hand, kissing his palm. "Then let me make love to you first," he asked. She agreed with her eyes.
"Now who do you want to be, Val? You can pick from any of these races." Scott pointed to the five racial types listed in the Hobgoblin handbook. "Human," Valerie responded instantly, dismissing the other species. "Okay. If you're going to be human, then you have to choose what kind of human to be." On the next page he pointed to a long list of types. "Gad, this is complicated. Miller, bar maid, farmer's wife, sea captain, thief." She read a half dozen other names out loud, then said emphatically, "I want to be a damsel in distress." Scott picked up the red trait cards and shuffled them. "You get to pick four cards. They will tell you your character's constitution, intelligence, luck, wisdom." He spread open the deck and leaned over the coffee table. "Okay, draw the cards but don't show me the numbers. In the game each one of your traits will be tested. Now, it's important that a damsel have a high virtue, or else she'll be seduced by the first wandering black knight or highwayman or even a wealthy landowner who finds her without protection." Valerie drew her cards one by one and looked at them. "What's considered a high number?" she asked. "All the trait numbers run from zero to 100 Anything over sixtyfive is very good. She's not likely to get raped, for example, if her virtue card is that high." Valerie took another peek at her virtue card. The number was 93. "Now sometimes a damsel can have a low virtue card, but she'll save herself by being particularly cunning, or maybe by having enough magical powers. It depends on the Adventures and what forces this damsel comes up against. Now what do you want to call her? She has to have a name." "Marie." "Okay, why Marie?" "It's my middle name, and I like it." Scott paused. "They tell you in the handbook not to use your own name or a friend's name. Take a name that's Irish." "Why can't I use Marie?" "Because suppose something happens to her? If she gets raped by a gang of roaming dwarfs or is tricked into submission by a black knight, then you'll feel bad. It's better if you aren't too closely connected with your character." Valerie shrugged. "Don't worry. I'll be okay. Marie can take care of herself," she said, getting into the game. "Come on now, let's get started. What's my Adventure?" Scott opened the Adventure handbook and flipped to the section on damsels. He had only played the role of Dealer a few times; he preferred to run Brian Boru, to have his character in an Adventure. "I'll roll these cube dice," he explained, "and whatever number comes up, that's the Adventure. Understand? That way it's all chance, the Dealer isn't controlling the game. Except you always have to remember, the dice never lie." "Throw the dice, Scott. Let's play." He spun the two dice onto the plastic Battleboard. "Three. Okay! Now here's the Adventure," he said, going to the correct paragraph in the handbook. "The damsel Marie was orphaned at birth and sent to live in County Westmeath with a wealthy merchant who traded extensively on the North Sea with Scotland, England, Scandinavia and the low countries. At the time of Fin MacCunahail the trade ships were sequestered by the king." "What does that mean, sequestered?" "The king confiscated them, took them for battle," Scott explained. "The merchant's ships were seized without payment and subsequently lost in the Battle of Dublin Bay. Penniless, the trader arranged for Marie to be married off to Lord Monaghan, a wealthy landowner in County Westmeath. "Reluctant to marry the aging lord, Marie agreed only because she wanted to help her foster father. She left Dublin by coach, chaperoned by two elderly aunts. If she arrives in Westmeath still a virgin, the marriage will be consummated and her foster father saved. "However, less than six hours from Dublin the coachman loses his way in a shrouded mist and comes to a stop at Landman's Tavern, the only public house in the Black Bull Pass. "Her aunts order rooms and Marie is sent to bed in the attic of the tavern. Tired, she falls asleep immediately, only to be woken several hours later with a knife to her pure white throat and a man's hairy arm wrapped tightly about her slim body. She is being held captive by Emmett, the owner's son, a dimwitted boy of twenty. Emmett has never possessed a woman, but he has fallen in love with Marie and is determined to make love to her." "I'll scream," Valerie said as Scott closed the book. "She can't scream," Scott said, picking up the tale on his own. "Emmett has his hand across Marie's mouth. He's too big, over twelve stone, and she is helpless." "Well, what is happening now?" "He's putting his hand under her dress." "Oh, God, I can't believe this." She stacked her cards on the coffee table. "Come on, you said you wanted to play." "But I don't like what's happening in this game." "I told you not to call your character by your own name." "You're just getting even with me from before." She could feel herself getting angrier. "Val, I didn't pick a damsel as the character. You did. I didn't roll this Number Three Adventure. Yo
u did. Now come on, run your character-see how she does. Remember, Emmett is dimwitted. You can outsmart him and get away." "How then?" Scott placed four cards on the table. "Here are his traits. Now I roll the dice for him, and you have to choose how you want to engage him, by strength, by wit, by magic, by virtue. But I wouldn't take virtue." "Why?" "Because he wouldn't recognize it. The odds are against you." "I don't understand this," she moaned. "Here, on this one I'll help you. Look at his cards. Emmett is strong-see, he's 83 in brute strength-but his intelligence is only 8. It's his turn so I'll roll the dice for Emmett." Scott tossed one of the cube dice onto the Battleboard. "Nine-that's added to his native intelligence, giving him 17. Now you roll." He handed Valerie the dice and she quickly flipped it onto the table. "Don't tell me your intelligence total," Scott said, looking away from the Battleboard. "That's your secret. Now, Emmett could challenge you, demand to know your intelligence quotient, and if your number is higher than his, he would become your servant for life. But then I, as the Dealer, would also know, and it would influence me in how I run the game. It's better to keep all your traits secret as long as you can. Besides, Emmett isn't important. Okay, what do you do to free yourself?" Valerie thought a moment. "I relax and he thinks I'm giving up and removes his hand from my mouth and then I scream. And my two aunts rush into the attic." She sat up straight, pleased with the solution. Scott nodded, agreeing. "Good, but you have to roll both cube dice to see if your trick will succeed." He handed the dice to Valerie. "You need to score at least four on the roll." Valerie flipped the dice onto the flat Battleboard. "Seven," she said. "Okay." Scott thought for a moment, deciding what should happen. "Emmett runs away," he said, picking up the story. "He climbs out on the roof where he slips on a wet tile and falls to the ground, breaking his neck on a horse post." "Oh, God, you didn't have to kill him. All he was doing was feeling up Marie. I mean, she's not vindictive." Scott shrugged. "This is a brutal and violent game," he said with some pride. "Only the good and strong survive. Now, Marie spends the rest of the night in peace and the next morning she continues her journey inland to the country of Lord Monaghan. "Shortly before noon, while passing through beautiful Macross Valley, they are set upon by highwaymen who surround the carriage and kill two of Marie's guards. Again Marie is captured and her virtue is threatened." Scott set out three tiny horsemen on the Battleboard. "What about my aunts? Why don't the highwaymen go after them and give me a break?" "Because you, Marie, are the beautiful young girl. You are the prize. But don't worry. Help is coming." Scott grinned, thinking of how he would save Marie.
"Tell me if it hurts," Derek asked. "No, darling, no, you don't hurt." He was much slower than Warren, much gentler. It had been almost a year since she had been with a man. Now she let him direct their passion, and she followed his bidding. Derek turned her so that she was lying above him. She was very light. He could not even feel her weight. She buried her face in his neck, then curled her tongue into his ear. He moved his hand across her bottom, stroking the rich curve of her buttocks, and then he came. She grabbed his hair with both hands and waited a moment, felt him driving again and again at her. Then she caught his rhythm and her own body took off. It had been so long that for a split second she worried whether she could come, but her hesitation passed and tumbled into the tide. She was crying and cold and he reached down and pulled the blanket over them without moving, without coming away from her. "Are you okay?" he asked. She nodded and kept crying. "I'm sorry," she said, afraid he would misunderstand. Her face lay near his and she could feel his tongue licking the tears from her cheeks. His tongue was rough on her skin, like a cat's. "I just thought that I'd never make love again." He moved her gently, holding the back of her head as if she were a newborn baby, moving a pillow so she could rest gently. The pillow case was cool on her face. Then he turned back the covers and moved to get up. "Don't," she begged. "I have to." He smiled gently. "You may not believe this, but my beef burgundy is still in the crock pot. It'll taste like tennis balls if I don't turn it off soon." "But you won't come back. I won't have you inside me again." "Yes, you will. In a few minutes." "You promise." In her life she had only slept with Warren, and only when they were younger, before Scotty, had they made love more than once in a single night. Barbara turned on the bed so she could watch Derek cross the room. She had not realized what a fine body he had. Warren had been a huge bear of a man, with thick arms and legs and an enormous waist. She had taken his enormous girth for granted, as she had his graying, the receding hair line. It was a fact of their life together. Now she marveled at the sight of Derek crossing the room, his white body moving in and out of the shadows like the moon. He had the fine, strong body of a dancer, she thought, wide shoulders, a straight back that tapered to his waist, his buttocks rolled into a tight ball. He stepped into the hall, swinging the door halfway closed before he flipped on the light. A shaft of brightness cut across the floor of the bedroom and Barbara closed her eyes to it. Then she stretched, tore at all her muscles, perversely enjoying the aches she felt there. In moments Derek would be coming back to her. He would slip into bed next to her, the length of his body overwhelming hers. She could already smell him, the wonderful sweat of his skin. She could already feel his lips on hers.
Scott unwrapped Brian Boru from a soft cloth and placed him on the Battleboard. "Oh, he's beautiful!" Valerie exclaimed, picking up the miniature. "Did you paint him?" "Yes." The paladin was dressed in an olive green tunic, tiny brown leather boots, and a golden cloak dropped over one shoulder. "I wish Marie looked this good. What's his name?" "Brian Boru. A twenty-fifth-level paladin with magical powers, and a defender of virgins." Valerie glanced at Scott. "Oh, yeah?" she said. "Well, how did he get here? Are you allowed to just drop a new character into the game?" That wasn't allowed, Scott knew. But Brian had to be in the game, or it wouldn't be any fun. "He hasn't just dropped in," he answered. "He was hunting in Macross Valley when he heard the sound of fighting and rode over to investigate." Scott picked up the square dice and shook them out onto the Battleboard. "I have to find out how tough these highwaymen are," he said and rolled the dice twice more. "Okay, they're all within average attack points. Brian can handle them." "But what if they attacked simultaneously?" Valerie asked. "I mean, wouldn't they?" Scott nodded reluctantly, then smiled, thinking she was beginning to play now, to work out the game. "Brian might lose," he offered. "I would have to roll the dice to see if he can repulse the three of them. Let's see. Their attack points are 8, 4, and 12, equaling 24. Now we have to multiply 24 by the basic strength for highwaymen, which is..." Scott picked up the Dealer's Manual. "This game is too complicated," Valerie complained. "No, it isn't. You've just got to give yourself time to learn the rules. Okay, here it is." He ran his finger down a column of names until he found highwaymen. "All right, there are two types: highwaymen who are simple bandits and highwaymen who rob from the poor and give to the rich. We'll make these bandit types, meaning they have a basic strength of 72. That's very high. So three times 72 makes 216 and then that times 24 means..." He took out a small pocket calculator and totaled up the numbers. This game would never work at Flat Rock, Valerie thought. She couldn't think of any students who would go to so much trouble. It was harder than homework, she realized, watching Scott manipulate the numbers. "Five thousand one hundred and eighty-four," Scott announced. He drew a circle around the numbers. "That's the three highwaymen's total strength points." Valerie stared at Scott. It meant nothing to her. They were just numbers. "As a twenty-fifth-level paladin, Brian Boru only has 2040-not counting his sacred sword." "What does the sacred sword do?" "Well, at times of great injustice in Eire, or moments in battle when Brian Boru is being overwhelmed, he can use the sacred sword given to him by the king of Ireland. However," Scott raised his hand in warning, "only the Dealer can allow Brian Boru to use the sword, and it only can be used once in a game." "Then use the sword, get rid of the highwaymen, and let's get on. My damsel, Marie, is getting upset. She doesn't like violence," Valerie answered, getting
into the game once more. "We'll let the dice decide," Scott said, tossing the cubes in the air. "A number above six means Brian Boru can use his sacred sword." "Four," Valerie said, reading the dice. "Try again." Scott shook his head. "No. The dice never lie." "Then Brian could be killed," Valerie responded, realizing the consequences. Scott nodded. "It's the highwaymen's turn to strike back. The Dealer rolls the dice for them and any number means a direct hit. Brian Boru wears armor that can repel an assault up till six. After that it's fatal." Scott picked up the dice to shake. "Wait!" Valerie protested. "What can I do to help?"