by Lynsay Sands
“Excuse me.” She stood up stiffly and walked away from the table, positive her heart was breaking.
Chapter Six
Are you ready?”
Odel grimaced at Matilda’s question, but nodded grimly. “Aye. Is it time yet?”
“In just a moment.” Matilda sounded excited. Odel was not. This was the fourth time Matilda had said, “In just a moment.” Meanwhile, Odel stood waiting uncomfortably in the kitchens, trying to ignore the gaping of the cook and his staff. They had never seen her like this, she supposed. Well, they had best enjoy it, because it was doubtful they would ever see it again. She crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. While the costume Matilda had created for her was lovely, she was positive her nipples showed through the diaphanous material.
Created. Odel rolled her eyes at that. The woman had made her strip naked in her room, then taken out a pinch of fairy dust and blown it on her. When the dust had cleared, Odel had found herself wearing this, the most amazing creation she had ever seen—a toga-like gown made up of the gauziest material ever. It was like wearing nothing at all. Or wearing the stars. Even her skin seemed to glimmer, likely with remnants of fairy dust. It showed a lot of her flesh. It was indecent.
If she had realized she would be expected to wear a costume like this, Odel would have put a halt to the pageant Matilda had suddenly proposed. At the time her godmother had mentioned it, Odel had thought that arranging the skits might keep the woman out of trouble. Little had she realized that she was to be the feature attraction. When Matilda had begged her to be in it, the woman had sworn her part was a very minor role, that she would not even have to learn lines. And the role called for a woman, Tildy had said, and Odel was the only suitable lady present. Her aunt had not bothered to mention the role she was to play. Although, even had she said as much, Odel may have still agreed, not realizing what it would entail her wearing. Now that she knew, Odel was wishing she had simply nixed the pageant to begin with.
“Now.”
She glanced to Matilda questioningly, but the woman was stepping aside and pulling open the kitchen door. Six lords, also coerced into playing roles, immediately began to move forward, pushing her out into the great hall on another of Matilda’s creations: a platform on wheels, covered with gauzy blue material somehow made to remain in the curved shape of waves. Odel was Aphrodite, the goddess of love, rising from the waves.
Sighing inwardly, Odel struck the pose Matilda had insisted on, clasping her hands beneath her chin and slightly arching her back. There was silence in the room as she rolled out, then Matilda’s gay voice began to narrate the story of Aphrodite and Ares. Odel stayed where she was, her gaze searching the audience for Michel, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he hadn’t come below, she thought sadly and sighed. She had been avoiding him. She hadn’t been rude to him or anything—this was not his fault after all—but for her own self-respect and sanity she had decided to keep her distance until he left. She had been hard-put to ignore the confused glances he’d been casting her way ever since.
Matilda had just introduced Ares. Odel glanced around to see the god of war step through the keep doors at the opposite end of the great hall where he had been waiting. Out in the cold, she thought with a grimace. She almost felt sorry for Lord Beasley, the man that Matilda had assigned the role of her illicit lover. But as the figure drew nearer, Odel’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped as she took in Michel’s wry smile. Dressed in a short—almost indecently so—toga and carrying a shield and sword, he mounted the steps to her foamy platform.
As Matilda narrated the tale of Aphrodite and Ares, lovers despite Aphrodite’s marriage to Hephaestus, Michel’s expression turned apologetic. He took her in his cold arms.
“What are you doing?” Odel stealthily whispered in his ear as they embraced. “Lord Beasley was supposed to be Ares.”
“Lord Beasley was not feeling well. Your aunt asked me to step in.”
“Oh.” Odel glanced distractedly at Vlaster. The man rode around the platform in a small chariot-like affair led by two more of her suitors wearing horse masks. Vlaster himself wore a long gold toga and was supposed to be Helios, the god of the sun, catching them in their infidelity. Honestly, the man looked more interested in the cock in a cage that he carried than in Odel and Michel; he was looking at the bird as if it might make a tasty snack. When he rode out of the keep’s front doors and out of sight, Odel shifted a little closer to Lord Suthtun. “You must have been freezing out there. You are still cold.”
“While you are pleasantly warm,” Michel murmured, his arms tightening around her. Matilda droned on. The older woman was relating how Helios was quick to report Aphrodite’s infidelity to her husband, Hephaestus, and how the two plotted to catch the lovers in the act.
The keep doors opened again and Vlaster’s chariot returned on a cold breeze. This time there was a second man with him, a rather large, muscular fellow carrying a hammer: the castle smithy. She recognized him after a startled moment and smiled wryly to herself. Who better to play Hephaestus?
“Your aunt said that when the chariot came back I was to kiss you,” Lord Suthtun murmured next to her. Odel glanced up at him with surprise.
“She did?”
“Aye. She said it was to represent Ares and Aphrodite making . . . er—”
Flushing with embarrassment, Odel silenced him by quickly pressing her lips to his. After a startled moment, Michel’s kiss became real. Odel felt herself melt in his arms. Her hands crept up to clasp around his neck, her body shifting and arching into him. Without thinking, she gave in, breathing small sighs and moans of pleasure into his mouth. Then something unpleasantly cloying dropped over them and Odel and Michel froze in surprise.
“Hephaestus’s net,” Michel muttered. Odel suddenly remembered that she was in the midst of a pageant. Aye, of course, and Hephaestus, or the Roswald smithy, had just thrown a special net over his unfaithful wife and her lover to parade them before the Olympian gods. While Odel and Michel embraced under the net, the platform was pushed around the room.
According to Matilda’s narration, when presented with the unfaithful pair, the gods merely commented on Aphrodite’s beauty. Many simply claimed that they would not mind switching places with Ares. Roswald’s villagers and soldiers were more than happy to act the parts of the Olympians. Even a few of Odel’s suitors made ribald comments.
Feeling herself blush from her forehead to her toes, Odel herself almost felt guilty. She was more than relieved when the circuit of the room was finished and Matilda continued her narration.
The net was pulled from them. Knowing she was expected to exit, Odel waited for the platform to begin moving again, but it appeared the wheels were stuck. The men who had pushed the platform out were straining painfully to move it, but it would not budge.
Frowning, Matilda recited the part where they left again, and again the men strained at the platform, but still it did not move. When Tildy frowned, then glanced toward Michel expectantly, he hesitated, then swept Odel up in his arms. Striding from the platform, he carried her to and through the keep doors. Behind them came the sound of thunderous applause.
“Music!” Odel heard Matilda shout as the doors closed behind them.
No longer in character, Odel was terribly aware of her state of undress. It was a relief when Michel set her down on the icy castle steps.
He frowned with concern, then around at the winter night. “It is rather brisk tonight. How long were we supposed to stay out here? Your aunt did not say.”
Shivering, Odel made a face. “This is long enough, I think.”
“Aye,” Michel agreed and turned to pull open the door, but it did not open. He pulled again. The door remained firmly shut.
“What is it?” Odel asked with a frown, reaching past him to give the handle a tug herself. The door didn’t budge.
“Is it bolted?” Michel asked with a frown.
“We hardly ever bolt the door. It should—” She shook her hea
d with distress and tugged again, fully expecting it to open.
“Perhaps the bolt dropped into place when it closed behind us,” Michel suggested. Odel continued to tug impatiently at the door, not commenting. At last she began to pound on it in the hopes that someone would notice.
“I do not think they can hear us over the music,” Michel murmured after a moment. Odel paused to listen. Sure enough, the musicians were now playing a rather loud song. The audience members would never hear them.
“It is rather cold out here. Is there another door?”
Sighing, Odel began to rub her arms in an effort to warm them. She turned to peer absently around the bailey. “There is a door into the kitchens.”
Nodding, Michel scooped her into his arms again and promptly started down the stairs. “Which way?” he asked as they reached the bottom step.
Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, Odel pointed to the right and Lord Suthtun broke into a jog. He loped quickly along the outer wall of the inner keep, then around to the back and the door leading to the kitchens. Still holding her in his arms, he reached out and pushed at the door. It was as firmly shut as the front doors. Frowning, he let Odel slide to her feet on the snowy path, then grabbed the door firmly and pulled. Nothing happened. The door remained solidly closed. Michel began pounding on it. He banged for several minutes straight, but no one came to open it. They were locked out.
Shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed over her chest, teeth chattering, Odel stood, miserably waiting.
“I do not think they can hear us here either. We should—” His voice died as he turned to peer at Odel in the moonlight. Frowning, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. “My God! You are freezing.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, then suddenly swept her up in his arms again and began to carry her back across the snowy ground.
“W-Where are we g-going?” she chattered, clasping her arms around his neck and holding on for all she was worth. She buried her face in his hair. She had hoped that his heat might warm her, but he was cold, too. He paused several moments later and she glanced around to see him pull a door open. Wincing at the loud creak it made, she squinted in an effort to see inside the room into which he now carried her. It was dark, but not pitch dark. The dying embers of a fire in the center of the small building gave off some light. Carrying her inside, Michel set her down on a stool. Leaving her there, he hurried back to close the door, then moved to the fire to urge it back to life. Within moments he had a nice-size fire going again. He watched it for a moment, then moved to squat in front of her.
“The smithy’s forge,” she got out between shivers.
“Aye.” Michel took her bare feet in hand and began rubbing them, frowning at her icy flesh. “You are freezing.”
“You, too,” she muttered, and he laughed.
“These costumes were not meant for winter wear.” His cold hands moved vigorously up and down her colder calves.
Odel was silent as she watched him minister to her, amazed that he would kneel on the ground to tend to her when he himself was likely freezing. His head was bowed, his hair shining in the light from the fire, his hands moving over her flesh.
“Once I’ve warmed you up, I will go see if I can get them to let us in,” he said, his voice sounding oddly husky. His hands moved over her knees and began to smooth up her thighs.
Without thinking, she reached out, gently touching his soft hair, then stilled when he raised his head. Flushing slightly at the way he looked at her, she let her hand drop away, but he caught it. He began to rub that now, his eyes beginning to smolder. They were both silent for a moment, then he raised her hand to his mouth.
Dragging in a ragged breath, Odel automatically began to close her hand, but Michel held it open. He pressed a kiss to the tender flesh of her palm, then to the sensitive place between her first two fingers. Odel shifted slightly where she sat, her breath catching in her chest as his tongue swiped lightly at her skin. It tickled and sent little arrows of erotic excitement quivering up her arm. She bit her lip to keep from gasping aloud.
Raising his head, Michel peered at her silently for a moment, then bent to bestow another kiss, this time to the inside of her wrist.
Odel raised her other hand to touch the side of his face, her heart swelling when he turned in to the gentle caress. But then he turned back to what he had been doing, his lips nibbling her inner arm up to the crook of her elbow. Odel caught her breath and squirmed on the stool he had set her on, but the breath escaped on a low moan as he suddenly turned his face and pressed his open mouth to the side of her breast.
Shuddering slightly, she clenched her fingers in his hair, then watched, breathless, as his mouth traveled until it found and settled on her nipple. Through the soft material of the gown—the gossamer material may as well not have been there, it was so thin and translucent—he began to suckle at her nipple. The fabric rasped against her suddenly sensitive skin, and overwhelmed by the erotic feel and sight of his actions, Odel closed her eyes on a moan.
She opened them again at once, though, when he urged her legs open. Shifting to kneel between them, he lifted his head and pulled her face down for a hot and hungry kiss. It succeeded in raising Odel’s temperature faster than any amount of chafing could have.
Sliding her hands around his shoulders, Odel kissed Michel with all the passion and yearning of twenty-five loveless years. She felt his hand slide up her side, then around to one breast and she arched slightly, pressing herself into the caress with abandon. She wanted this. She wanted it all, and she moaned in disappointment when his lips left hers. They merely moved along her chin to her ear, though, then blazed another fiery trail down her neck.
Odel was absently aware of his hands at her back, but only vaguely until her gown pulled tight and Michel muttered in frustration against her throat. Realizing that he was trying to undo her costume, she reached to help him, undoing it quickly. Yes, she wanted this.
He tugged the gown forward, drawing it off her shoulders, and pushing it down toward her waist until her breasts were bared. Forgetting the material then, he caught the two globes in his hand and bent his mouth to each. He feasted on them with an eagerness that made Odel’s insides ripple with desire; she watched him pepper her pale flesh with kisses.
Even that, though, didn’t prepare her for her body’s reaction when his lips suddenly closed over one swollen nipple. It was as if her stomach had dropped right out of her and the blazing smithy’s fire taken its place. Gasping for breath, Odel arched backward, her hands clutching his shoulders with excitement. Suddenly, the stool she was on began to overset, and her hands scrabbled against him.
Catching her against his chest, Michel shifted her to the side, then lowered her to the straw floor. His body followed, half-covering hers, as his lips and tongue continued to tease and tug at her nipple. Feeling one of his legs slide between hers, Odel automatically spread hers slightly, then closed them around him. The brush of his leg against her bare inner thigh told her that her skirt had ridden up, but she didn’t care. She wanted to feel more of him. With that intention, she grabbed at the shoulder of his toga, first tugging it loose, then using it to bring him higher.
Giving up his attention to her breasts, Michel lifted his head and shifted upward, his mouth again covering hers. Odel kissed him back, but her attention was focused on his toga and removing it. Pushing it down between them, she let her fingers trail over his chest. She paused curiously at his nipples to see if they were as sensitive as her own, then she reached around to clasp his back and pull him tight against her. She arched forward to meet him. Her hands slid down to clasp his buttocks through the cloth of his toga, then slipped under it. Odel squeezed the flesh of his behind curiously, then hesitated when a breathless laugh slipped from Michel. He broke their kiss to peer down at her.
Swallowing, Odel met his gaze uncertainly, her teeth coming out to chew her upper lip as she saw amusement mingling with the passion in his face.
“I thought I was ravishing you,” he murmured in explanation. “And I was feeling guilty about it, but now I am feeling a little bit ravished myself.” He gave her a wry look, then, as she started to remove her hands, he added huskily, “I like it.”
Odel hesitated, then smiled. She slid her hands back downward, this time bringing one forward to slide between them. He shifted slightly, watching her face closely as he gave her the access she wanted. Odel blushed, but didn’t hesitate when her hand bumped against his manhood. Covering it through the cloth of his toga, she squeezed gently, watching the fire grow in his eyes. Encouraged by that, she slid her hand beneath the toga and grasped him again, her grip firm as it closed over his naked flesh. She had to pause then because she wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
Michel helped. He shifted his hips away slightly, drawing his manhood through her hand, then shifted forward again. Understanding, Odel began to caress him herself. She was rewarded with a quick hard kiss before Michel caught her hand and drew it above her head. Holding it there with one hand, he slid his other hand down over her body until he was cupping the flesh between her thighs. Odel drew in a quick shaky breath, her free hand moving instinctively to push his away, but he caught that one and pinned it above her head as well.
Holding both of her hands fast with one of his own, he returned the other to again press it between her legs. He met her gaze and held it as he began to move his hand against her, pressing the silky cloth down between her legs. Then, drawing it out of the way until she lay open to him, his fingers slid over her honeyed center. Suddenly he was caressing her in a way that made her arch and squirm, and she could hear herself gasping raggedly through her open mouth as if she were drowning.
“Not fair,” she groaned at last, arching into his touch. She shook her head, her hands tugging to be free.