by Lynsay Sands
“What’s not fair?” he murmured huskily by her ear, then nipped at the sensitive flesh there.
“You will not let me touch you,” she gasped, then groaned. His caress had changed in strength and speed.
“If I let you touch me, it will be over before it has begun.”
“What . . . would?” she managed to get out, her body tight as a harp’s string.
“This.” One finger found and dipped into her and Odel cried out, her body straining as if he had branded her. Her eyes widened incredulously as spasms of pleasure shook her body. Bending his head, Michel caught her cries in his mouth, kissing her passionately as she began to float back to earth.
Leaving that warm, fuzzy place to which he had taken her, Odel began to kiss him back. Her arms were free now, and they slid around his neck. She felt his hands on her back, then he shifted position, drawing his knees up beneath him even as he pulled her into a sitting position. Michel urged her to kneel on either side of his legs and drew her forward until they were chest to chest.
Clasping him close, Odel returned his kiss, then let her head fall back as he again began to kiss his way down her neck. She gave a slight start when she felt his hand reappear between her legs, then sighed in pleasure by his ear. Though she would have thought it impossible, he began to rebuild the fire in her. His mouth slipped over one nipple and Odel leaned back further, holding on to his shoulders. Unconsciously, she rode his hand as he caressed her. This time when her body began to spasm with pleasure, he urged her upward with one hand on her bottom, then directed her downward.
Odel’s eyes widened incredulously as she felt him enter her. He was frightfully large and she felt a bit of discomfort, but then they were joined. They stayed like that for a moment, before Michel clasped her by both buttocks and urged her to move. Odel did her best, but she wasn’t sure of what she was doing. After a moment, he shifted again, easing her gently onto her back.
“Tell me if the straw is uncomfortable,” he whispered in her ear. For a moment, he withdrew, but it was brief before he was sliding back into her. Closing her eyes, Odel pressed against him, her hands sliding down to curl around his buttocks and urge him on. Together, they found completion.
Chapter Seven
Are you warm enough?”
Smiling, Odel nodded sleepily against Michel’s chest, unwilling to move from where he had placed her. They had both found satisfaction this time, and afterward Michel had rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She now lay upon his warm body, rather than the cold straw of the forge floor.
She felt his fingers in her hair and shifted, then raised her head to peer at him questioningly when he murmured, “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked in surprise.
He tugged her head up to his to kiss her before murmuring against her lips, “For my pleasure. Thank you.”
Odel smiled gently when he broke the kiss. “You are very welcome, my lord. And thank you. And thank you. And thank you.” She punctuated each thank-you with a kiss on his nose, chin, and chest.
Chuckling, he hugged her close, then began to run his hands through her hair. “Do you think the doors are still locked?”
“Who cares?” Grinning, Odel eased into a sitting position astride him, then added wickedly, “I could stay here forever.”
“Aye.” Michel reached up to catch and caress her breasts, smiling when she moaned and moved atop him. Her lower body dragged over his manhood and stirred it slowly back to wakefulness. His voice had taken on a husky, hungry quality. “But we should return soon.”
Odel opened her eyes and peered down at him, shifting her body. That told him better than words could that she knew what she was doing to him. “Are you sure you wish to go back?”
Michel groaned at the sweet torture, then caught her by one hip. “Aye, I am sure, minx,” he growled. Then his expression softened. “I would talk to your aunt. I must ask for your hand in marriage.” He grinned. “Then we can do this all the time.”
For a moment joy filled her face and Michel felt all was right with the world. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, and she closed her eyes, her expression shuttered.
“Dear God, how could I have forgotten,” she wondered aloud. Michel felt alarm catch at him. There was something about her words and tone of voice that made him think that the happiness he had only just grasped was about to slip away. His hand tightened on her hip in reaction, as if he could physically hold on to his happiness.
“Forgotten what? What is it?”
Her eyes popped open and she peered at him sadly, then shook her head. “Nothing. It does not matter,” she assured him. “You need not offer for me, my lord.”
Michel narrowed his eyes, feeling as if he had stepped into a roomful of cutthroats and couldn’t be sure which would attack him first. How was he to react to her words? Was it best to proclaim his feelings and desire to be with her, or use a more pragmatic approach? As she began to turn away, he decided the pragmatic approach would carry more weight.
“Odel,” he began carefully. “There is a good chance that what we just did may bear fruit.”
Her eyes widened at that, then she suddenly struggled off of him and onto her feet. Bending, she picked up her gown and began to distractedly don it. Her voice was troubled when she finally spoke. “Aye. You are right, of course. But there is no need to panic. We should wait to see if—”
Michel was on his feet beside her at once. Grabbing her arm, he spun her around to face him. “I do not wish to wait. I wish to marry you.”
Turning her head away, she avoided his eyes and sighed. “No, you don’t. It is just a fleeting . . . fancy. It will pass,” she assured him. “And then you shall be grateful we did not wed.”
Michel felt his insides grow cold at those soft words. “You have no desire to marry me?”
“I have no desire to marry anyone,” she said carefully.
“You mean to say you made love to me with no intention of—”
Odel shifted impatiently at that, cutting him off. “You sound like this was your first time. You were hardly a virgin, my lord. Pray, do not now act the outraged innocent.”
Michel blinked at her accusation, drawing himself to his fullest height when he realized she was right. He had sounded just like . . . well, good lord! He had sounded like a bloody woman! Realizing he was becoming overwrought like a woman, too, he concentrated on calming himself. He watched her dress, then tried for a reasonable tone. “My lady—”
“Odel.”
“Hmm?” he asked, knocked off track.
“I do think you might call me by my name after what we have just done, my lord,” she pointed out.
“Oh, aye.” He grimaced slightly, then politely answered, “And you must call me Michel.”
“Thank you.”
She was still sounding a touch sarcastic, he noted with displeasure, but restrained his temper once more. “Odel, I do not offer marriage lightly. In fact, this is the first time I have ever proposed. I want to marry you.”
“No, you don’t,” she repeated, sounding quite firm on the point, which only managed to annoy him more.
“Pray, do not tell me what I do and do not want.”
“Fine, then I will tell you this,” she snapped, stepping forward to poke him in the chest. “I have spent the last twenty-five years of my life under the thumb of a tyrant. I had to sleep when he said to sleep, eat when and what he ordered me to eat, and even wear, say, and think what he insisted I must. But that is over now. My father is dead and I will never willingly put myself under another man’s thumb again.”
She started to whirl away then, but he caught her back, his eyes burning into her. “You look at me and tell me that you really think that I am in any way like your father. You tell me that this is not just fear speaking and I will walk out that door and leave you be. Otherwise, I will be speaking to your aunt—”
“Nay!” Odel interrupted, then looked away. “I do not believe that. You are k
ind and gentle and you treat even your horse better than my father ever treated me, but—” She shook her head. “But none of that really matters, my lord.” Her eyes holding a sad finality that was more concerning to Michel than her ridiculous outburst of a moment ago could have ever been, she said softly, “I know you think that you love me, but what you are feeling isn’t real. You will wake up someday soon and find you do not want me. This is all magic. So, pray, just consider yourself lucky that I knew better than to accept you. Let it be. I will not marry you.”
On that note, she turned and fled, leaving him staring after her.
“HERE IS WHERE you have been hiding.”
Odel turned from her window to peer at Matilda as she entered her bedchamber. “I am not hiding.”
“Oh? It is nearly time for the nooning meal and you have not yet once shown your face below. What is that if not hiding?”
Odel shrugged and turned to peer out her window again.
Last night, she had hurried straight here after leaving the smithy’s hut. The front doors had opened easily under her touch when she reached them, and Odel had suddenly known that the whole episode had most likely been more of Matilda’s magic. Still, she had been beyond caring at that point. Weaving her way through the celebrating people, she had hurried above stairs to her room and cried herself to sleep. This morning she had woken up with the birds, changed out of her costume, and spent her time alternating between pacing and staring blindly out the window.
“I have just come from a discussion with Lord Suthtun,” Tildy announced. “He is hiding it well, but he is quite distressed. He said that he asked you to marry him and you have refused. But he doesn’t understand why.”
“You should have explained it to him, then,” Odel said bitterly.
“I would have, but I didn’t know. It wasn’t until he told me that you had said what he was feeling wasn’t real that I understood why you had refused him. He left right afterward to check on Eadsele, however, so I came to talk to you.”
“Lucky me.” She sighed wearily.
“Odel,” Matilda said firmly. “I told you this earlier, my dear, but obviously you did not believe me. I have used no magic on Lord Suthtun. His proposal was sincere. His feelings are true. He loves you.”
“Nay.” Odel didn’t even bother to face her. “You used your magic to make him love me. Do not deny it.”
“Oh, child. If it were that easy, I could have simply made you love whomever I wanted you to. That would have saved me a good deal of trouble, wouldn’t it?”
Odel stiffened, then turned slowly to find the older woman nodding.
“It is true. And I told you this yesterday. Why will you not believe me?”
Odel was silent for a minute, then asked, “Can you swear to me that you used no magic on Lord Suthtun? Will you vow it before God?”
Matilda hesitated, then crossed her heart. “I have used no magic on Lord Suthtun.”
“You are lying,” Odel said unhappily. “Your hesitation gave you away.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Matilda cried, then moved to sit on the bed. She sighed. “All right, I may have used a little magic to make his horses tired, and perhaps to put the suggestion in his mind that he should stop to rest here for the night. I may also have had a hand in Eadsele’s falling ill to keep him here—”
“You made Eadsele sick?” Odel cried in horror.
“’Tis just a fever. He will be no worse for the wear,” she muttered, looking slightly ashamed.
Odel considered that briefly, then eyed her narrowly. “And that is it? You did not ‘put a suggestion’ in Lord Suthtun’s mind that he should love me?”
“Nay. I vow before God himself that I have done nothing to determine Lord Suthtun’s feelings for you.” She shifted impatiently. “I cannot influence feelings, Odel. My magic will not do that.”
“But the suitors,” Odel murmured in confusion, not sure whether to believe the woman now or not. What she said made some sense. “They were . . .”
“The suitors,” Matilda muttered irritably. “Of course.”
“Aye, of course. Now you’re caught.” Some of Odel’s uncertainty left her, replaced by bitterness. “I am not so foolish as to believe that they would all be so eager to marry me without some . . . influence.”
“Yes, well, I can see how that would confuse you.” Matilda peered down at the floor, then cleared her throat. “You were right that there is something amiss with them.” She paused to clear her throat again. “They are not human.”
Odel wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. “What?”
Matilda made a face. “Do you remember when you asked me if I had turned Lord Cheshire back into a man before he left? And I said not to fear, he left as he arrived?”
Odel nodded with bewilderment.
“Well, he left as a rat,” Tildy admitted. Then, just in case Odel was misunderstanding what she was saying, she added, “He also arrived as a rat. All the lords who have filled Roswald these past two weeks—except for Lord Suthtun—were originally rats.”
Odel stood gaping at the woman, picturing the men in question. She was recalling the way they had scrabbled so quickly up the trees. Then she remembered the odd way they had of eating and how she had thought it reminded her of something. Now she knew. Rats. She could actually picture them right now—eating. And as they ate they grew ears and whiskers. They were rats. All of them rats . . . And one of them, Cheshire, had—
“Oh, God,” Odel breathed, her face paling and her eyes going round.
“What is it?” Matilda asked with concern.
“One of them kissed me!” she cried. She began scrubbing at her mouth a bit frantically. “Oh, yuck! Ick! Ptooey!”
Matilda rolled her eyes, but allowed her a moment of such behavior, then grabbed her hands impatiently to still them. “As I said,” she repeated grimly, forcing Odel’s attention back to her. “My dust cannot affect people—at least, not their choices. God gave man free will; he would hardly supply me with dust to take that away. I can change the inside of the castle, I can turn ducks into maids, and rats into love-struck men, but I cannot make you love someone, or make that someone love you.”
Odel forgot about being kissed by a rat.
“Then, Michel—”
Matilda nodded. “Lord Suthtun loves you.”
For a moment, joy suffused her face, then it was immediately replaced with regret. “Oh, no! What have I done?”
“Nothing that cannot be undone,” Matilda assured her. Her godmother stood up, grabbed her hand, and dragged her toward the door. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Odel asked as she was led from the room and up the hall.
“You are going to straighten things out,” Matilda announced firmly.
“But how?” Odel cried as they reached and started down the stairs. “What can I say? I thought my aunt had cast a spell on you? He will think me mad.”
“You will come up with something,” Tildy assured her, then paused at the bottom of the stairs. She glanced around before satisfaction crossed her face. “Look.”
Odel followed her gesture to see Michel standing in the doorway to the kitchens, talking to a servant. No doubt he was arranging for something to be taken to Eadsele.
“Go to him,” Matilda urged quietly, digging a small pinch of fairy dust out of her sack. She blew it in the general direction of Lord Suthtun. All at once, the doorway he was standing in was suddenly alive with mistletoe. “Kiss him. Tell him you love him. Make things right.”
Odel hesitated briefly, then swallowed, straightened, and moved determinedly forward. She arrived at his side just as he finished with the servant. The girl retreated into the kitchen and Michel turned toward the great hall, pausing when he found Odel in his path. She saw pain flash across his face, then it was gone, replaced by a smooth, emotionless facade.
“Lady Roswald,” he murmured formally. “Is there something you wished?”
; “Aye,” Odel said huskily. “You.”
At his startled expression, she pointed upward. He glanced up, spotted the mistletoe, and his mouth tightened. She knew he was about to reject her, so she refused to give him the chance. Stepping forward determinedly, she reached up on tiptoe, catching his tunic and tugging him down to her. Their lips met.
It wasn’t as easy as she had hoped. He did not melt into her embrace, did not take over the kiss and give his passion rein. Instead, he remained stiff and silent. Odel tried to coax some passion from him with her lips, but found it impossible.
Tears stinging her eyes, she drew back slightly. She whispered, “I was wrong, my lord. Last night . . . I was afraid. But now I am more afraid of losing you. Please, my lord. I love you.”
Catching her upper arms, Michel eyed her warily. “So you will be my wife?”
“If you are sure it is what you want,” she said huskily. A smile blossomed on his lips.
“Aye, I am sure,” he told her quietly. “I love you, too.”
Joy filling her face, Odel started to reach up on tiptoe again to kiss him, but he lowered his head, meeting her halfway. This time the kiss was mutual.
A cat’s hiss and a rustle of rushes distracted Odel and Michel briefly from their kiss. They both glanced around in amazement as a pack of perhaps twenty rats fled through the open door of the keep and out into the cold winter day. Stranger, the long, thin cat that followed seemed less to be trying to catch them and more to be herding them away. Vlaster. It was a moment before Odel noticed that the great hall was decidedly empty of guests.
“Where did everyone go?” Michel asked with surprise when he saw where she was looking. He glanced toward Matilda.
“Who, dear?” the woman asked innocently, not seeming to notice the panic growing on Odel’s face.
“Lords Beasley and Trenton and—”
“Oh, my, well. They saw the lay of the land and retreated,” Odel’s aunt said sweetly. She arched an eyebrow at them. “Is there something you two wish to tell me?”
Michel hesitated and glanced down at Odel, then smiled widely. “Aye. We shall be married tomorrow,” he announced. He glanced down at Odel when she nudged him in the stomach. “What?”